When news broke that the United States and Israel had launched a major military operation in Iran, the first instinct for many Americans was to look for a name. We scanned headlines for the decisive leader. We listened for the voice on television who could make sense of it. We searched for someone who could make it feel ordered, controlled, or righteous. We looked for a hero. That’s understandable. We crave clarity in chaos, a face for power and consequence. But it’s also a dangerous reflex that can blind us to how real governance—especially in a democracy—actually works. It made me think of ballet.
On this week’s episode of At Our Table, Senator Lisa Blunt Rochester said “A lot of people want to be the soloist, but the ensemble is more beautiful.” She talked about how audiences fixate on the dancer in the spotlight, while the ensemble does the painstaking, coordinated work that makes the performance possible. That idea feels especially relevant right now. We see headlines about Trump’s invasion or the Ayatollah’s death. It’s easy to get fooled into thinking that a handful of individuals control events that shape the world. This is not a column about whether the latest military strikes were right or wrong. We’re talking about what it means to expect one person to act alone in moments that demand collective responsibility—from Congress and courts to diplomats and civil society. When Trump ordered these strikes without formal congressional approval, it ignited immediate debate about constitutional authority and the role of elected representatives in decisions that can lead to war. It’s tempting, especially in crisis, to think leadership is about one person making the bold call. That instinct is part of the cultural mythology Americans share: the superhero who flies in and fixes everything. But I know as well as anyone that comic book logic doesn’t translate to good government. Even if it feels like Lex Luthor has taken control of the country, we can’t sit back and wait for Superman to save us. Leadership in a republic isn’t a solo act. It never was. In politics, the “ensemble” isn’t abstract. It’s staffers drafting legislation. It’s members of Congress insisting on hearings and oversight. It’s diplomats trying to prevent escalation before missiles fly. It’s journalists pressing for clarity. It’s citizens paying attention after the first surge of outrage fades. This instinct toward soloists isn’t just about personality politics. It has real consequences. If we outsource decision-making—especially on questions of war and peace—to the idea that a single person will act wisely every time, we’re giving up our role as citizens in a democratic society. Many smart people have given us great metaphors: “Democracy is an act…” That gives us collective action that often moves slowly, but it also gives us resilience. Institutions that function through shared authority do not collapse when one person changes course or leaves office. They endure because power is distributed. The ballet metaphor holds in one other way. When a dancer spins, she fixes her eyes on a single point to avoid falling. In a political environment saturated with breaking alerts and reaction cycles, focus matters. The headlines this week are intense and immediate. But the long-term questions—about authorization, oversight, proportionality, and consequence—require sustained attention after the first surge of emotion fades. Right now, geopolitical flashpoints dominate the news. But the long-term work of democracy remains. We need to craft foreign policy with legal and moral scrutiny, fund veterans and refugees, debate war powers in Congress, and support diplomatic avenues alongside strategic ones. All of that requires sustained attention far beyond the initial shock of breaking news. In other words: don’t wait for the next hero to emerge. Ask yourself what an engaged citizen looks like in a moment like this. It’s not just about picking a side in a debate. It’s about demanding that decisions that affect millions at home and abroad go through the processes our system was designed to require. It’s about understanding that one person’s instinct for action, even in a crisis, should never be the only guiding force. One of the reasons this matters is how easy it is to mistake a clever tweet for competence. A fast decision on the world stage can feel decisive. But process is our safeguard. It’s the way a democracy translates chaos into deliberation, passion into policy, and fear into structure. So if you’re looking for a hero this week, look somewhere else. Look at the people and practices that make democratic action possible. Look at the elected officials who insist on their constitutional role. Look at the journalists who ask hard questions. Look at the volunteers who keep their eyes on long, unglamorous work long after headlines fade. Look at the citizens who don’t just watch, but engage. None of that fits neatly into a bumper sticker or a soundbite. None of it has the sudden allure of a dramatic decision or a bold broadcast. But that—the ensemble—is where the real work of democracy actually happens. And in moments like this, it matters more than ever. You’re currently a free subscriber to Jaime’s Table. For the full experience, upgrade your subscription.
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Sunday, March 1, 2026
Show Me A Hero
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