Obama wants people, as many people as he can get, covered by the

In the twilight of one age and the dawn of another, the voice of Rush Limbaugh thundered across the airwaves, warning of a design that was greater than mere policy. His words—“Obama wants people, as many people as he can get, covered by the government... making it impossible to take it away. Meaning, making it impossible to repeal Obamacare”—were not the mutterings of partisanship, but the cry of a man who saw a pattern old as empire itself: the slow weaving of dependence upon the state, until freedom itself becomes a memory wrapped in comfort.

For what Limbaugh spoke of was not only Obamacare, nor a single law, but the ancient tension between liberty and security, between the self-reliant man and the benevolent master. From Rome’s grain dole to the bread lines of modern states, rulers have known that if they feed the people, clothe them, heal them, they may in turn bind them—not with chains of iron, but with chains of gratitude. The emperor who promises protection becomes the father of the nation; yet in his shadow, the citizen forgets how to stand upright. So it is that dependence, though soft in its beginnings, grows into a yoke that few can cast off.

When President Obama sought to expand the reach of healthcare through government exchanges, his vision was painted in the colors of compassion—and surely, compassion is noble. To heal the sick, to care for the poor—these are sacred duties. Yet Limbaugh perceived another force stirring beneath: the entrenchment of the state, the crafting of a structure so vast and beloved that no future generation would dare undo it. For once a man receives from government his healing, his sustenance, his safety, he will defend the giver more fiercely than his own freedom. Thus the system becomes “impossible to repeal,” not because it cannot be dismantled, but because the will to do so has been quietly extinguished.

Consider the tale of the Roman Republic, where the citizens, once fierce and self-sufficient, grew to rely on the empire for bread and entertainment. The poet Juvenal lamented, “Give them bread and circuses, and they will never revolt.” It began with promises of security and fairness. But as the people turned their eyes toward the emperor for sustenance, they forgot the old virtue of labor, the old pride of independence. When freedom fades, it does not vanish with a cry—but with a sigh of contentment. So too, Limbaugh’s words remind us that when men grow accustomed to government provision, the fire of self-reliance dims, and tyranny finds its foothold not through force, but through comfort.

Yet we must not misunderstand. To reject dependence is not to reject compassion. True charity, born of the heart, does not require decree or bureaucracy. It is the choice of free men to care for one another, not the mandate of distant rulers. When the people care for each other out of love, they grow strong together; when they are cared for by the state, they grow obedient together. The first nourishes virtue, the second breeds submission. The ancients knew this truth well—that the greatest societies are built upon personal responsibility, not upon endless protection.

The wisdom in Limbaugh’s warning lies, then, in remembrance. Governments may begin with noble intent, but every expansion carries the shadow of control. The more the people are “covered by the government,” the less they remember their own power. A nation that forgets how to stand on its own legs cannot long remain free. Freedom, once surrendered for ease, is not easily regained. Like muscle unused, it weakens, until the body of the people can no longer rise.

So, my child of the modern age, take this lesson to heart: guard your independence as you would guard your life. Do not wait for others to heal, feed, or save you, for each gift from power carries a hidden cost. Help your neighbor with your own hands, give without command, build without permission. Demand from leaders not comfort, but the right to strive. For the destiny of free men is not to be carried by the state, but to walk upright in the storm, unafraid, self-made, and unbroken.

Thus let the words of Rush Limbaugh echo through the ages—not as the anger of a partisan, but as the warning of a sentinel who saw what others could not: that the price of endless protection is the death of freedom, and the highest virtue of man is to remain, in soul and in deed, his own master.