Politicians are addicted to spending and revenue extraction. As

Hear the stern words of David Malpass, carved like a warning into the stones of history: “Politicians are addicted to spending and revenue extraction. As with an addict, there’s little pause for moral or legal contemplation.” This is no idle jest, but a cry against the intoxication of power. For he likens the rulers of nations to those enslaved by vice, who, once bound, cannot control their hunger. And when this hunger is for wealth and authority, the cost is borne not by the addict alone, but by the people, the land, and the generations yet unborn.

The heart of his words rests in the image of addiction. An addict, gripped by desire, thinks not of virtue nor of consequence. He does not weigh right against wrong, nor law against lawlessness. His thoughts are consumed by the next indulgence, the next measure of pleasure. So too, Malpass warns, are many rulers consumed—not with duty, not with service, but with spending beyond reason and extracting revenue without justice. In their thirst for control and their fear of scarcity, they drain the lifeblood of nations.

History bears grim witness to this truth. Recall the ancient Roman Empire, whose emperors, in their lust for grandeur, taxed their citizens heavily and debased their currency to fund spectacles and wars. At first, the people cheered the games and the legions; but soon poverty spread, inflation devoured wages, and trust in leadership withered. Rome, once mighty, began to rot from within. The addiction to excess, untempered by moral contemplation, was among the poisons that led to its fall.

Nor is this only the tale of emperors long gone. In modern times, nations have stumbled under similar weight. Argentina, in the twentieth century, often pursued reckless public spending to secure political favor, only to collapse into repeated crises of debt and inflation. Each cycle left its people weaker, its trust more fragile. Just as Malpass describes, leaders acted as addicts: pursuing immediate satisfaction, blind to the chains being forged around their citizens’ future.

Yet the words of Malpass are not meant to breed despair alone. They are also a call to vigilance and to wisdom. The truth he reveals is that leadership, when unchecked by morality and law, becomes intoxication. The antidote lies in balance—leaders must learn restraint, and citizens must demand it. For just as a healer guides an addict back to clarity, so too must societies guide their rulers back to discipline, justice, and the remembrance of their sacred charge: to serve, not to consume.

The lesson for us is clear: never give blind trust to those in power, for addiction to revenue and spending is a snare that tempts even the well-intentioned. Instead, demand transparency, insist upon accountability, and measure leaders not by their promises of abundance but by their faithfulness to principle. A ruler who pauses for moral and legal contemplation before acting is a protector of the people; one who does not is a danger to the realm.

And in our own lives, let us not think these words concern only kings and politicians. For each of us has appetites—whether for wealth, pleasure, or recognition—that can cloud our judgment. Let us beware of living as addicts ourselves, chasing short-term gain while forgetting long-term consequence. Discipline in small things prepares us to resist corruption in greater things.

Thus, let the words of David Malpass stand as a guiding fire: beware the addiction of power, beware the blindness of greed, and beware the temptation to sacrifice principle for gain. Only through vigilance, restraint, and remembrance of higher laws can leaders and citizens alike remain free. Choose discipline over indulgence, morality over hunger, and you will build a legacy that endures beyond the fleeting intoxication of the present.