Federal elections happen every two years in this country.

Hear the words of Jared Diamond, scholar of civilizations and the rise and fall of nations: “Federal elections happen every two years in this country. Presidential elections every four years. And four years just isn't long enough to dismantle all the environmental laws we've got in this country.” At first glance, his words may seem but a commentary on politics. Yet beneath them lies a profound truth: that the guardianship of the earth must be shielded not only by passion, but by the enduring structures of law, lest the fleeting ambitions of rulers undo what generations have fought to protect.

He speaks of elections, the cycles of democracy—two years for legislators, four years for presidents. These rhythms, short as the turning of seasons, bring constant change to those who hold power. Leaders rise, and leaders fall. Some come with wisdom, others with folly; some seek the common good, others their own gain. Yet Diamond reminds us that even in the turbulence of politics, the environmental laws—the safeguards for the land, the air, the waters—remain standing, like pillars that endure the storms. For in their design lies resilience: it takes more than one fleeting reign to tear them down.

Consider the Clean Air Act and the Clean Water Act of the United States, born in the 1970s when rivers burned with fire and smog blackened the skies. These laws were not fragile declarations but mighty frameworks, designed to endure beyond the passions of any one administration. Presidents came and went, Congress shifted many times, yet the foundations held. Diamond, with the wisdom of one who has studied collapsing civilizations, sees in this a blessing: that four years is not long enough to dismantle what was built with foresight and collective will.

History itself proves his point. In ancient Rome, wise rulers laid down roads, aqueducts, and laws of citizenship that endured far beyond their lifetimes. Even corrupt emperors, even seasons of decay, could not swiftly undo what had been woven into the structure of the empire. Yet when, at last, those structures were neglected or dismantled piece by piece, the collapse of Rome followed. The lesson is plain: institutions that endure beyond the whims of leaders preserve civilization; those too fragile to resist temporary folly are doomed.

The emotional core of Diamond’s teaching is hope tempered with warning. He rejoices that environmental laws are strong enough to withstand the storms of politics, but he also implies a danger: if vigilance falters, if laws are slowly chipped away, then time itself may achieve what four years alone cannot. Thus his words are both comfort and call to action—comfort in knowing that the earth is not at the mercy of one ruler, and warning that endurance requires constant defense.

The lesson, O listener, is clear: place your trust not only in leaders, but in institutions, laws, and collective action. For leaders are as grass—they flourish for a season and are gone. But laws, if crafted with wisdom and upheld with vigilance, are like oak trees that grow deep roots and provide shelter for generations. It is not enough to rejoice in their existence; one must also guard them, strengthen them, and pass them down intact to the future.

What then shall you do? First, learn the history of the environmental protections you enjoy, so you may understand both their power and their fragility. Second, remain vigilant during every cycle of elections, not only the grand contests of presidents but also the quieter, humbler choices of legislators who shape the laws. Third, act in your own life to preserve the earth, for laws alone cannot succeed without the will of the people behind them.

And remember always: as Jared Diamond declared, four years is not long enough to undo what was built with vision and sacrifice. Yet neglect can undo in decades what vigilance can preserve for centuries. Be, therefore, guardians of the earth’s laws, defenders of its protections, and teachers of its wisdom, that no season of folly may erase the legacy meant for generations yet unborn.