We don't need unelected federal agency bureaucrats in Washington

“We don’t need unelected federal agency bureaucrats in Washington telling our states what they can and can’t do with respect to protecting their limited taxpayer dollars in private enterprises.” Thus spoke Marsha Blackburn, a guardian of the principle of self-governance, whose words strike at the heart of a tension as old as nations themselves — the struggle between power and liberty, between the center and the periphery, between the rulers and the ruled. Though wrapped in the language of modern politics, her words echo with ancient wisdom: that freedom flourishes only when authority remains accountable, and when those closest to the people are trusted to guard their own destinies.

When Blackburn speaks of “unelected federal agency bureaucrats,” she invokes a powerful image — not of individuals, but of systems that have grown distant from those they serve. These are the silent architects of policy, the unseen hands that write rules without the consent of those bound by them. Her protest is not against governance itself, but against the disconnect between power and representation. In her view, when decisions that shape the lives of citizens are made by those who never faced their judgment, democracy begins to weaken. For true power, she reminds us, flows upward from the people, not downward from a faceless institution.

The ancients, too, understood this truth. In the early days of the Roman Republic, before emperors ruled by decree, Cincinnatus was called from his farm to defend his country. He took command, saved Rome, and then laid down his authority to return to his plow. He ruled only as long as the people’s trust required it, and no longer. This was the ideal of servant leadership — power exercised not for personal glory, but for the preservation of liberty. Blackburn’s words, in their modern form, recall this same ideal. She warns that when authority becomes detached from accountability — when unelected bodies claim dominion over the will of the people — liberty begins to decay like a house without its foundation.

And what of her defense of the states, those sovereign pillars that together form a republic? Here lies another echo of ancient wisdom — the principle of subsidiarity, that governance is best practiced at the level closest to those affected by it. The city knows its streets better than the empire knows its borders; the farmer knows his land better than the ruler in his palace. Blackburn reminds us that local wisdom must never be silenced by distant command. For the strength of a nation lies not in the weight of its central authority, but in the vitality of its many voices — states, communities, and individuals working in harmony yet free to guard their own affairs.

In her words, too, is a reverence for the stewardship of public wealth, the “limited taxpayer dollars” entrusted to government by the labor of its citizens. To squander this trust is to wound the covenant between people and state. Blackburn’s warning is simple yet profound: that the guardians of the public purse must remain close to the people whose sacrifices fill it. When distant powers dictate its use, they risk turning service into control, and stewardship into subjugation. Freedom without responsibility breeds chaos, but authority without accountability breeds tyranny.

History offers us many examples of this struggle between distant control and local self-determination. Consider the story of the American colonies, who once bristled under the commands of an empire across the sea. Taxes were levied, laws were decreed, and yet the colonists had no voice in their making. Their cry — “No taxation without representation” — was not a rejection of order, but a demand for justice. It was the same cry that echoes in Blackburn’s words: that the right to govern must always belong to those who bear the consequences of governance. Out of that ancient cry, a new republic was born — one built upon the idea that liberty endures only when power remains answerable to the governed.

Thus, her statement becomes more than political rhetoric; it is a philosophical call to vigilance. For even the freest societies must guard against the slow encroachment of unaccountable power — the kind that hides behind titles, agencies, and rules. Blackburn’s voice reminds us that democracy is not sustained by laws alone, but by watchfulness, by the willingness of every citizen to question authority and demand transparency. Freedom does not die in a single blow; it fades when people stop noticing its erosion.

So, my children, take heed of this wisdom: Respect authority, but never worship it. Trust leadership, but always hold it to account. Remember that the power of the state exists to serve the people, not to master them. Be vigilant stewards of both your liberty and your labor, for these are sacred gifts purchased by generations who came before you. Let your voice never be silenced by distance or bureaucracy, and let your leaders never forget that they are servants, not sovereigns.

For as Marsha Blackburn’s words remind us, freedom is not inherited — it is maintained. The balance between unity and liberty, between nation and state, is a delicate one, requiring both wisdom and courage. To preserve it is the duty of every citizen — not through rebellion, but through responsibility; not through rage, but through reason. Guard your freedom as you would your heart — for once lost, it is not easily restored.