While everyone is entitled to a little vacation now and then

The words of Mike Quigley remind us of a truth as old as the republic itself: that accountability and trust are the twin pillars upon which the public’s faith in government stands. “While everyone is entitled to a little vacation now and then,” he says, “America’s top legal officers should adhere to basic measures to increase accountability and restore the public’s trust in government.” In these words lies not only a warning but a call to remembrance — that those who hold the law in their hands also hold the hearts of the people, and they must guard both with vigilance and humility.

In the ancient world, the wise rulers of Athens and Rome knew that the greater the power one holds, the heavier the burden of responsibility becomes. The Roman consul was reminded by his attendants, even in triumphal processions, that he was mortal, that glory fades, and that virtue, not indulgence, must guide a leader’s actions. So too must modern stewards of justice remember that their duty to the public trust outweighs all personal comfort. To govern or to interpret law is to serve a sacred trust — one that must be purified continually through transparency, integrity, and self-discipline.

Quigley’s message arises from an age where cynicism corrodes civic belief and the people’s eyes, once bright with hope, now glance toward their leaders with suspicion. The vacation he mentions is not merely rest from labor; it symbolizes the human need for ease and reprieve. Yet when rest becomes neglect, when ease dulls the moral blade of leadership, decay sets in. A nation may forgive mistakes, but it cannot long endure deceit or indifference in its guardians of law.

Consider the example of Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher. Though burdened by war, plague, and betrayal, he rose before dawn each day to meditate on virtue and write words of wisdom that would outlive his empire. He knew that accountability begins within, that no man can govern others until he has governed himself. His “vacations” were not escapes but acts of reflection, in which he strengthened his conscience so he might lead justly. Such is the contrast Quigley invokes — between the indulgence that blinds and the discipline that illuminates.

When those entrusted with justice falter, the public trust trembles. History’s darker hours remind us: corruption in high places spreads like fire through dry grass. In the Watergate scandal, it was not only crimes that wounded the nation, but the betrayal of faith — a wound deeper than law could heal. The nation’s recovery began not with punishment, but with a restoration of accountability, the humble confession that no office, however exalted, stands above the truth.

Thus, Quigley’s words are both moral compass and warning bell. They call for a renewal of transparency, for a rebirth of duty in those who shape justice. To increase accountability is not to restrict liberty — it is to protect it. The people’s trust, once lost, is not easily regained; it must be rebuilt stone by stone through consistent honesty and open action. To lead without accountability is to lead upon sand; to lead with it is to build upon rock.

Let every citizen, too, take heed. For accountability is not the burden of the few, but the foundation of a free people. Each must demand truth from their leaders and from themselves alike. To restore trust in government, one must begin by restoring trust in the self — by acting with honor, keeping one’s word, and choosing transparency over convenience. Let that be our practical action: to live by the same standard we ask of those who serve. Only then will the light of integrity once more shine through the halls of power, and the people say, with renewed belief, “Our government serves us because it serves the truth.”