One: balance the budget now, not later. Two: Get Americans jobs

When Virgil Goode declared, “One: balance the budget now, not later. Two: Get Americans jobs by ending illegal immigration and making legal immigration harder. Lastly: Impose term limits,” he spoke as a man calling his nation back to discipline, self-reliance, and renewal. In these words lies a stern philosophy — the belief that a republic, like a household, must be ruled not by indulgence but by restraint; not by endless expansion, but by balance, duty, and accountability. To hear this quote is to hear the echo of an older age — one where leaders spoke not to please the crowd, but to awaken its conscience.

The first command — balance the budget now, not later — is the voice of prudence, the ancient virtue that guards civilizations from collapse. From the empires of Rome to the dynasties of China, history has shown that debt is the slow poison of nations. When the coffers are emptied and the people are lulled into comfort paid for by tomorrow’s labor, decline begins. Goode’s plea is not merely economic; it is moral. It warns that a people who spend beyond their means also think beyond their means — imagining that prosperity can exist without sacrifice. The wise must remember that every coin borrowed from the future will one day demand payment in pain.

The second command speaks to the protection of livelihood — Get Americans jobs by ending illegal immigration and making legal immigration harder. Here, Goode voices a sentiment as old as the walls of ancient cities: the instinct to preserve the integrity of one’s community. To the ancients, citizenship was sacred — a covenant between the individual and the state, built upon mutual labor and loyalty. His words may be harsh to modern ears, yet they spring from the same root that once led nations to defend their workers, their identity, and their sovereignty. He speaks of belonging, and of the right of a people to secure their own foundations before extending the walls of welcome to others.

History gives many mirrors for this struggle. In the waning days of the Roman Republic, leaders opened the gates to armies and laborers from conquered lands, believing it would strengthen the empire. Yet over time, the very structure that made Rome great — its disciplined citizenry — was diluted by dependency and division. The result was not prosperity, but conflict. Goode’s warning, then, is not against compassion, but against the erosion of the covenant between a nation and its people — the sacred trust that citizens must be the first to eat of the bread they have baked.

The third command — Impose term limits — reaches beyond policy into the very soul of governance. It is a call to humility, to remind rulers that power, left unchecked, hardens into tyranny. In every age, from Athens to Washington, leaders have been tempted to see themselves as indispensable. Yet the ancients knew that leadership is a stewardship, not a throne. The call for term limits is a call to renewal — that government must breathe like the sea, with tides that rise and fall, washing away corruption and pride with the coming of each new generation.

Together, these three imperatives form a trinity of political wisdom: discipline in spending, protection of labor, and rotation of power. Goode’s vision, though rooted in his own time, reaches across centuries. It reminds us that liberty endures only where responsibility is honored, and that freedom without structure decays into chaos. His voice, like those of the old republics, urges a return to principle — not because it is easy, but because it is the only path that leads away from ruin.

The lesson, then, is this: a nation must govern itself as a wise man governs his household. Spend only what you earn. Guard your gates, not from compassion, but from forgetfulness. And when you hold power, hold it lightly, knowing it is lent, not owned. In this way, a people may endure the tempests of time and remain sovereign over their destiny. For as Goode’s words remind us, the strength of a republic does not lie in its laws alone, but in the character of those who dare to uphold them — now, not later.