If we vote to Leave and take back control, all sorts of

There are moments in the life of nations when a single choice becomes the measure of their destiny. In the midst of such a moment, Boris Johnson spoke these words: “If we vote to Leave and take back control, all sorts of opportunities open up. Including doing new free trade deals around the world, restoring Britain’s seat on all sorts of international bodies, restoring health to our democracy and belief to our democracy.” Though his words were born from the fires of political debate, they carry within them the eternal rhythm of history — the yearning of a people to reclaim sovereignty, to renew faith in self-governance, and to rediscover the spirit of independence that built their nation. Beneath the surface of rhetoric lies the ancient pulse of civilization itself — the struggle between unity and freedom, between shared order and self-rule.

The meaning of this quote speaks to the age-old desire of nations to be masters of their own fate. Johnson’s cry to “take back control” is not merely political language; it is a call that resonates with every people who have ever felt their destiny governed by distant powers. To him, the act of leaving — of stepping away from the great machinery of the European Union — was a symbolic restoration of autonomy, the right to shape one’s laws, borders, and ambitions without permission from beyond the sea. His words seek to awaken belief — not only in Britain’s might, but in the moral vitality of democracy itself. For a democracy, when truly alive, must breathe its own air, not that which is filtered through foreign halls.

The origin of this quote lies in the tempest of the Brexit referendum of 2016, one of the most divisive and transformative episodes in modern British history. Johnson, then a leading figure of the “Leave” campaign, sought to kindle in the hearts of his countrymen a sense of renewal — a vision of Britain as a sovereign actor upon the world’s stage. His mention of “free trade deals around the world” and “Britain’s seat on international bodies” harkened back to the island’s legacy as a global power, a nation whose ships once crossed every ocean and whose influence shaped continents. Yet beneath the promise of prosperity and diplomacy was something deeper still: the appeal to belief, to faith in national identity, to the spirit of a people who, in his telling, had forgotten their strength.

History is filled with echoes of such moments, when nations sought to reclaim their independence in the face of vast alliances or empires. One might recall the tale of Athens, which, centuries ago, wrestled with its own union — the Delian League — born for defense but twisted into dominance. When Athens overreached, its allies sought freedom from its grasp, crying that they wished again to rule themselves. Or consider the story of India, whose call for independence from Britain was likewise wrapped not only in economics and politics, but in the language of dignity and self-determination. The lesson in these examples is that the yearning for autonomy is one of the oldest fires in the human soul — noble, but also perilous, for it burns with both hope and pride.

In Johnson’s vision, Brexit was not an act of retreat, but of renewal. He spoke of “restoring health to our democracy,” as though democracy itself were a living body that had grown pale and weary, its heart beating too faintly to sustain belief. To him, leaving the Union was a medicine for that weakness — a way to remind Britons that their votes, their laws, and their destiny were their own. Yet his words also carried an undercurrent of warning, even if unspoken: for to claim control is also to accept full responsibility. Freedom, once won, demands wisdom to wield it. A nation that takes back the helm must also know how to steer through storms.

The heroic tone of Johnson’s words evokes a long tradition of leaders who spoke to the soul rather than the structure of their people. He offered not a manual of governance, but a myth — the myth of rebirth. In invoking Britain’s seat on international bodies, he reminded his listeners of empire, exploration, and endurance. His appeal was not to policy, but to memory — to the imagined greatness that still lives in the collective heart. Such appeals, powerful as they are, can both inspire and divide. For every voice that heard in them the promise of renewal, another heard the echo of nostalgia, and the danger of isolation. And yet, even in division, his words revealed a universal longing: the desire for belief, for a democracy that feels alive, responsive, and real.

And so, O listener, the lesson of Boris Johnson’s words extends beyond Britain, beyond Europe, beyond the politics of the hour. It is a reminder that every people, at some point in their history, must ask themselves: Do we still believe in the power of our own voice? To “take back control” need not always mean separation — it may mean reawakening responsibility, reviving participation, remembering that democracy dies not when it is conquered, but when it is forgotten. The health of a nation lies not in its wealth or treaties, but in the belief of its citizens — the conviction that their choices shape the course of their destiny.

Therefore, whether one stands for unity or for independence, let Johnson’s words stir reflection rather than rivalry. For the true meaning of sovereignty — in nations or in men — is not in the act of leaving or joining, but in the courage to govern oneself wisely. The freedom to choose is sacred, but the wisdom to choose well is divine. Let every generation, then, strive not merely to “take back control,” but to wield that control with humility, vision, and a heart steadfast in service to truth.