Fraudulent and improper payments have long bedeviled Medicare, a

“Fraudulent and improper payments have long bedeviled Medicare, a $466 billion program. In particular, payments for durable medical equipment, like power wheelchairs and diabetic test kits, are ripe for fraud.” Thus spoke Charles Duhigg, the chronicler of habits and systems, unveiling a truth that cuts to the heart of human governance: that even in the noblest of designs, corruption can take root. His words are not cold numbers from a government report — they are a lament, a warning, and a call to vigilance. For behind every fraud, behind every stolen dollar, lies a deeper theft — the theft of trust, the erosion of integrity, the quiet decay of what was built to serve the weak and the ill.

When Duhigg speaks of Medicare, he speaks of a monument — a system born from compassion, built to ensure that age and infirmity need not mean abandonment. It is the fruit of a society’s promise to care for its elders and those who cannot care for themselves. Yet, like all great institutions, it stands vulnerable not to armies or disasters, but to the corruption of small acts — the doctor who lies for profit, the vendor who inflates costs, the official who looks away. These are the termites that gnaw at the beams of the republic, invisible yet relentless. And so Duhigg’s words remind us that the challenge of justice lies not only in creation but in preservation.

To call something “bedeviled” is to name it haunted — not by demons of myth, but by the restless spirits of greed and complacency. The system, vast as an empire, becomes difficult to guard. Where there is abundance, the unscrupulous gather; where compassion opens its hand, the cunning seek to grasp. Duhigg’s warning about “durable medical equipment” — the wheelchairs, the test kits, the tools of life itself — carries an almost poetic irony. That which is meant to aid the suffering becomes the weapon of deception. In this way, fraud is not merely theft; it is profanation, a desecration of mercy. It is the betrayal of both taxpayer and patient alike.

The ancients, too, wrestled with this same disease of deceit. In the time of the Roman Republic, a law was enacted — the Lex Cornelia de Repetundis — to punish those who misused public funds meant for the people. Yet even as the ink dried, new schemes arose. Senators, governors, and traders found ways to twist the law to their favor. Cicero himself, the great orator, lamented that corruption was not the failure of law, but the failure of conscience. So too, in our age, Duhigg’s words echo this truth: no program, however noble, can endure without vigilance, transparency, and moral courage.

It is not the machinery of Medicare that fails, but the morality of man. Systems are reflections of their stewards. When honesty weakens, oversight becomes a formality; when greed strengthens, compassion becomes currency. The power wheelchair, meant to restore dignity to the crippled, becomes a symbol of false claims and forged receipts. The test kit, meant to save lives, becomes the instrument of theft. The tragedy here is not in the fraud alone, but in the loss of belief — when the people begin to doubt the goodness of the very systems that were built to protect them. Once faith is lost, even the purest design becomes a hollow structure.

Consider the tale of the Athenian treasury at Delos, built to store the collective wealth of the Greek allies during the wars against Persia. It was meant to serve all, to defend all. But over time, the Athenians grew ambitious, diverting funds for their own glory — to build temples, fleets, and statues. The alliance became an empire; the guardians became tyrants. Thus, the downfall began not with invasion, but with misuse of trust. History, like Duhigg’s warning, teaches us that when the resources of the many are exploited by the few, decline follows as surely as night follows day.

So, my children, let this teaching take root in your hearts: a system’s strength is the reflection of its people’s integrity. The corruption of one man may seem small, but the accumulation of small corruptions becomes a flood that drowns justice itself. If you are entrusted with responsibility — whether for a nation’s treasury or a single task — guard it with reverence. See every dollar of the public’s money as sacred, every trust as holy. For those who misuse it commit not just financial sin, but moral betrayal.

And remember this final truth from Charles Duhigg’s wisdom: vigilance is not cynicism; it is faith in action. To watch over the systems that serve us is not distrust, but devotion. Question authority, audit the powerful, demand transparency — not out of anger, but out of love for what is good. For when honesty governs, mercy endures; when integrity leads, compassion thrives. And in the balance between generosity and responsibility, civilization itself finds its strength.