'Get along, go along' is not an inspirational philosophy, and

In the fiery and fearless words of Molly Ivins, the Texan truth-teller and journalist whose wit could cut sharper than any sword, we hear a call to courage that echoes across the ages: “‘Get along, go along’ is not an inspirational philosophy, and only God knows how much moral cowardice it has covered up over the years. Serve your time, collect your chits, and cash 'em in for your home state? No, I'd say we could ask for more than that from our senators.” Beneath the humor and plainspokenness lies an eternal cry for integrity—a warning to all who wield power that comfort is the enemy of conscience, and compliance the slow poison of the soul.

The origin of this quote arises from Ivins’s lifelong devotion to political honesty and civic accountability. As a journalist who chronicled the American political landscape with razor-sharp satire and righteous indignation, she had seen too many leaders trade conviction for convenience, and too many citizens grow numb to mediocrity. Her rebuke of the “get along, go along” philosophy is a condemnation of moral compromise—the quiet corruption that happens when those in positions of responsibility choose peace over principle. In her words we hear not only critique but a demand: that those entrusted with power must serve truth before comfort, and justice before ambition.

Throughout history, the “get along, go along” spirit has worn many masks. In ancient Rome, Cicero warned senators against yielding to tyranny for the sake of safety, declaring that “the welfare of the people is the highest law.” Yet his words fell on ears dulled by fear, and Rome’s freedom crumbled beneath the weight of indifference. So too in every age have nations decayed not from the fire of rebellion, but from the slow rot of cowardice—when those who could have spoken chose silence, and those who could have led chose to drift with the tide. Ivins, in her own era, named this cowardice for what it was and reminded her readers that democracy demands courage.

There is something almost prophetic in her tone when she mocks the idea of serving time and “collecting chits.” The image she paints is one of a political class content to play the long game of self-interest—biding their time, currying favor, and ultimately seeking reward, not reform. To her, this was not leadership but servitude to the status quo. True leadership, she believed, is born of vision and conviction. The public servant must be more than a manager of routine; they must be the guardian of ideals. To serve merely to survive is to betray the sacred trust of the people.

Consider the story of Sir Thomas More, who refused to “go along” with King Henry VIII’s political whims. Offered riches and comfort in exchange for compliance, More stood firm, choosing truth over power, and went to his death with honor intact. History remembers him not as a martyr of obstinacy but as a champion of conscience. His courage, like Ivins’s wisdom, teaches us that the world is shaped not by those who get along, but by those who stand apart when principle demands it. For every age has its temptation to conform, and every generation must decide anew whether to bow or to rise.

Ivins’s challenge—“we could ask for more than that from our senators”—is as relevant today as it was in her time. It reminds us that citizenship is not passive, that we must hold our leaders to higher standards than mere survival and politeness. But it also reminds us to ask the same of ourselves. For in our workplaces, our communities, our daily lives, we too are tempted to “get along” when we should speak, to “go along” when we should resist. Her words are a mirror, reflecting back the moral question that each generation must answer: Will you do what is right, or merely what is easy?

Let this then be the lesson drawn from the wisdom of Molly Ivins: Courage is not noise, but steadfastness. It is not rebellion for its own sake, but loyalty to truth even when silence would be safer. Let us demand more from those who lead—and from ourselves. Let us learn to question, to challenge, to refuse the dull comfort of complicity. For the health of any nation depends not on its wealth or armies, but on the moral fire of its people.

And so, dear listener, remember this: The world will always offer you chances to “get along” and “go along.” But the soul’s highest duty is not to comfort—it is to conscience. Stand for truth, even when it isolates you. Speak with courage, even when it costs you favor. For history has never remembered those who drifted quietly with the tide; it remembers those who dared to row against it, carrying in their hearts the eternal light of integrity.