I would abolish the federal Department of Education and very

“I would abolish the federal Department of Education and very quickly. People don't realize that the federal Department of Education gives each state 11 cents out of every school dollar that every state spends. But it comes with 15 cents worth of strings attached.” — Gary Johnson

In these fiery and uncompromising words, Gary Johnson, former governor and champion of liberty, raises a cry against the unseen chains that bind freedom under the guise of generosity. His tone is not that of rebellion for its own sake, but of one who sees the quiet corruption of control disguised as aid. He speaks of the federal Department of Education, not merely as a government institution, but as a symbol of how power, when concentrated and distant, begins to suffocate the very people it claims to serve. His words cut to the heart of a great philosophical struggle — between freedom and centralization, between autonomy and bureaucracy, between the living pulse of local communities and the cold hand of distant authority.

The origin of this quote lies in Johnson’s long-held libertarian philosophy, one rooted in the belief that government, while necessary, must never grow so vast that it begins to stifle the independence of its citizens. As a two-term governor of New Mexico, he had witnessed firsthand how federal policies often carried with them heavy mandates — conditions that dictated how states must spend, teach, and measure their children’s growth. To him, those “15 cents worth of strings” represented more than just regulations; they symbolized the cost of dependency, the loss of self-determination. Johnson’s critique was not simply of one department, but of a broader truth: that when authority travels too far from those it governs, it loses both wisdom and compassion.

The ancients, too, knew this danger. In the republics and empires of old, the wise often warned that power expands like fire, consuming everything it touches unless restrained. Cicero, the Roman orator, spoke of the necessity of balance — that governance must remain close to the governed, lest it grow deaf to their needs. Likewise, in the city-states of Greece, education was the sacred duty of the polis, shaped by its people and their values. But when Athens began to impose its will upon smaller cities, claiming to uplift them, resentment grew, and freedom faltered. In the same spirit, Johnson’s warning stands as a modern echo of this ancient truth: the greater the distance between power and the people, the less justice remains.

To understand the weight of his words, we might recall the story of the early American republic itself — a nation born in revolt against distant rule. In the years following independence, the founding generation feared above all the concentration of power in a single hand or institution. They believed that education, like virtue, must grow from the soil of the community, not be dictated by a faraway capital. Thomas Jefferson, who founded the University of Virginia, dreamed of education as a state and local affair — a matter of the people, shaped by their culture, their needs, and their freedom. When Johnson decries the Department of Education, he speaks in that same spirit of Jeffersonian liberty, calling for a return to self-rule and trust in the wisdom of ordinary people.

Yet Johnson’s statement is not merely political; it is moral and philosophical. His warning reminds us that every gift from a higher authority bears a hidden cost. When power gives with one hand, it often takes with the other — not out of malice, but out of the nature of control itself. The “strings attached” he describes are not just bureaucratic; they are symbolic of a deeper truth: that dependency breeds obedience, and obedience, when unexamined, erodes the spirit of freedom. This lesson applies not only to states and governments, but to every human life — for whenever we trade independence for comfort, we begin to lose the fire of our own will.

Still, Johnson’s vision is not one of chaos or neglect. He does not reject education — he exalts it. But he believes that true education thrives not under compulsion, but under freedom, creativity, and trust. He imagines a nation where communities craft their own paths of learning, where parents and teachers shape minds without fear of distant decrees, where schools answer not to bureaucrats but to truth itself. For what is education, if not the awakening of the human spirit? And how can such an awakening flourish when smothered beneath the weight of uniform mandates and endless forms?

Let this, then, be the lesson drawn from his words: freedom without wisdom is dangerous, but wisdom without freedom is dead. Every generation must guard against the slow encroachment of control, however benevolent it may appear. Seek always to understand the cost of every gift, the consequence of every convenience. In your communities, in your schools, and in your own lives, strive to preserve the balance between cooperation and independence.

So, O listener, remember Gary Johnson’s call: do not mistake dependency for progress. Question the hand that offers help, if it demands your freedom in return. Build, instead, from the ground up — with courage, accountability, and faith in the people’s capacity to govern themselves. For the fate of liberty rests not in the halls of distant power, but in the hearts of those who dare to keep their minds and their choices free.