bureaucracy

Models That Shatter: Air Crashes, Dental Bills, and the Burden of Bad Ideas

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Last time around, I dismantled the myth of indestructible buildings—people dream of granite fortresses, their mental models blind to necessary trade-offs—meanwhile ballooning the cost of new construction and keeping more people are stuck in older less safe buildings.  That same flawed thinking now fuels a frenzy over air disasters and my wife’s legitimate grumble over dental bills and paperwork that could choke a horse.  Whether it’s planes plummeting or crowns now costing thousands, folks cling to busted models—piles of regulations, their wild conspiracies, or broken systems—that splinter when reality bites. In my truss design world, I double-check software because it’s half-baked; we should also scrutinize the narratives and red tape the same way, and not add more wreckage.

Air Disasters and the Partisan Haze

The wacky left, not to be outdone by the kook conspiracy right, keeps blaming air disasters on deregulation. Start with January 29, 2025: a Bombardier CRJ700, American Airlines Flight 5342, slammed into an Army Black Hawk over D.C.’s Potomac River, claiming 67 lives. Then a Canadian Dash 8 skidded off a snowy Quebec runway—no deaths, but headlines aplenty. 

Now the April 10, 2025, Bell 206L-4 chopper crash in New York’s Hudson River, six gone, including Siemens exec Agustín Escobar and his family. X posts scream Trump’s crew gutted FAA rules. Never let truth get in the way of a partisan narrative, right? But the facts don’t bend. D.C. hit nine days into his second term—too soon for policy shifts to ripple. The Hudson chopper passed a March 1, 2025 inspection, clean as a new nail. NTSB points to D.C.’s air traffic staffing woes, Canada’s pilot error, New York’s likely mechanical failure—not slashed budgets.

Stats cut the haze. FAA data shows U.S. aviation incidents down since 2020, though Potomac’s toll spiked fatalities. Crashes in media hubs like D.C. or NYC feel like a deluge, but it’s perception, not reality. I’ve seen this hysteria before—folks panicked over food processing fires, but as someone who supplies building components we see many ‘fire jobs’ and not a surge.  Fires due to hot bearings, bad wiring, heaters or dust are quite common and to be expected.  The funny thing none of these food processing fire alarmists reported on the new feed mill near me—non-confirming news doesn’t go viral.  

Then the tinfoil-hat crowd spins BlackRock plots because Escobar was aboard. What are the chances a Siemens exec’s on a chopper? Pretty high, honestly—they’re the ones dropping $500 a seat, not me touring the harbor for free, with my family, on the  Staten Island Ferry. BlackRock’s got stakes everywhere; a link’s no bombshell. As far as the in-flight breakup of the Bell helicopter, my pilot brother snorted, “Never buy an air frame that does 30+ takeoffs and landings per day.”  That is to say there’s a difference between a vehicle with highway miles and the one used as a weekend racer.  Seized gearbox or stress fractures, not sabotage. The SEAL pilot’s fuel call was logistics, not a scream. Yet they weave a blockbuster rather than look at a shop log.

This echoes the indestructible building myth—deregulation won’t make planes drop tomorrow, nor do cabals rig bolts. More FAA rules don’t sharpen mechanics’ wrenches, just like overbuilt trusses don’t scoff at storms. That ELD mandate for trucks?  It jacked costs, no safer roads. D.C.’s staffing gaps brewed for years; New York’s airspace is a madhouse, and always has been. Good design—trusses or aviation—leans on more clarity: sharpen skills, focused goals, while also acknowledging the risk baked in. Pilots should scan skies, not bury their heads in binders. But folks expect oceans to swallow us if one desk job’s cut, their models deaf to reality’s groan.  Failures aren’t a secret plot nor will more rules prevent them all.

Healthcare’s Paperwork Quagmire

That same broken model—thinking more rules fix it all—bleeds us dry in healthcare, where compliance piles up and costs push higher.  My Filipino wife got sticker shock: Over $2,000 for a crown!  What???  Her gut said yank the tooth, but the doc—and me—aren’t keen on losing one of those original equipment food grinders. Before we hit the chair, she was annoyed by those butt-covering forms—shields for liabilities (“We asked about novacaine allergies!”) and traps to hunt you down if you don’t pay their yacht lease. 

Earlier this year, my son’s middle school emailed another form, they’re playing dental cop to prove his exam. We lucked out—they took our word his Philippines checkup happened, sparing me need to send their paperwork to Baguio for my in-laws to wrangle.  There, we’d stroll into a clinic, no appointment, $20 for a cleaning or filling. Ain’t swanky, but it’s sterile, does the job, and fits a $8/day wage world. Here, insurance bloats costs like student loans—dentists hike prices ‘cause the check’s guaranteed.  The poor folks get Medicaid, rich get their implants—me: never had dental insurance in my life, other than my couple year subscription to a scam “discount” that did squat unless I was already shelling out.

Since the Affordable Care Act (ACA) was turned into law, healthcare costs per capita soared from $10,620 in 2010 to $14,570 in 2023—37.2% up, inflation-adjusted, per CMS. Life expectancy sagged, 78.7 to 77.5 years, says CDC, while costs kept climbing. Rather than keep your own doctor was the promise, choice is diminished.  Big players like UnitedHealthcare—had controlled 15% market share, Statista—grew hungrier and doubled it.  Locally, Evangelical Community Hospital is now under WellSpan, and Geisinger sold to Kaiser Permanente, a $95 billion beast, both 2023 deals. Less choice, more denials, like truss software spitting out only one overpriced and deficient design.

https://paragoninstitute.org/paragon-pic/american-life-expectancy-fell-for-three-straight-years-after-acas-key-provisions-took-effect/

It is easy to forget the undemocratic way the ACA was formed. It was rushed to get around the results of a special election that would cost Democrats their filibuster-proof Senate. The Democrat Congress rammed through a trainwreck bill to circumvent their loss of Ted Kennedy’s seat.  The last thing we needed, in healthcare, was another layer of management.  Upset Americans—54% of the country wanting repeal—rose up in the mid-terms in opposition to this government takeover of their healthcare choice. 

Unfortunately the oligarchy won and we were stuck with a deeply flawed bill, sold with lies, passed in the dark of night, that nobody wanted—results in more mergers while costs continue to explode.

Obama, getting creative to deal with the botched rollout of HealthCare.gov, created what was called United States Digital Service to fix the issues. This basically gave the Executive Branch a backdoor access to the newly minted government agency that was convenient for the Democrats at the time it was formed. And this, ironically, is now what gives DOGE the authority to do what they have been doing over the past few months.  Whether you see DOGE as a phoenix rising from the ashes or a monster coming from the abyss—you have Obama to thank for it. 

It’s like engineers, for compliance, ditching practical talks for nonsense specs that lead to an incoherent mess of conflicting interpretation—it produces more hassle for everyone downstream, not a sturdier roof or better structure.  This compliance Kabuki—fancy waiting rooms, school nurse cops—doesn’t make better teeth or safer streets, it just bloats our bills and increases our taxes for nothing in return. Philippines clinics run lean on cash, keep it real. Here, we’re buried under a pile of paper. 

Good design—trusses, planes, healthcare—cuts the fat, bets on need of good judgment over more forms.  Models that preach more rules will save us or seeing secret plots are as off as thinking properly engineered roofs can never cave.   The FAA didn’t fix Boeing’s focus on DEI over properly installed bolts in doors and the ACA only added to the cost of healthcare.  We must quit chasing fixes that will only add more dead weight to an already strained structure—and ask: what’s propping this whole mess up? And why’s it heavy enough to crush a man’s soul?

A Different Blueprint: Stripping Away the Myths

Things on the periphery are tough to flesh out, like trying to find out what is happening beyond the event horizon of a black hole. We all live in this big bubble—a commonly shared safe space—where folks will bicker over set topics, blind to how both sides are tangled in a bigger myth. The structures we take for granted, holding us up, are just assumptions we gotta question. These bad models—rules to save planes, forms to fix teeth—are flawed assumptions like thinking buildings never fall. If we want to see reality clear, we’ve got to strip away these biases, prejudices, blind spots, layer by layer. That’s my design philosophy: ask silly questions, and then take ‘em seriously. I mean, why don’t banks handle healthcare instead of employers? Why can’t we get checkups at the local bar? No rule says payers have to be governments or bosses.

Most folks can’t see past their battle lines, let alone a third path. But if we look beyond the forms we know, we might find a better way. It’s about exploring our foundations—digging into the functional fixedness of old ideologies, dusty processes, and our creaky systems. In truss work, I don’t simply trust software math ‘til I test it; in life, and I don’t buy models ‘til I poke ‘em. We can do better by imagining something different—say, healthcare that’s cash-simple, like Baguio, or an aviation culture that trusts pilots over paper. Models preaching conspiracy plots or encouraging more red tape are as wrong as thinking roofs don’t cave. 

In Japan, the electronic toll system on the Tomei Expressway and other routes crashed for 38 hours across Tokyo and six prefectures. The toll gates froze, smart interchanges shut, congestion piled up. And the operator, Central Nippon Expressway Company, had no fix in sight, so they threw open the gates, let drivers pass free, and simply asked them to pay later online. Most places, you’d expect folks to floor it and forget it. But over 24,000 drivers—some say 28,000—went online and paid up, no cops, no fines.  An honor system.

The test of civilization?

That’s not just a country; that’s a different approach to problem solving. They didn’t lean on a coercion model—chasing violators or piling on rules. The culture is what made the difference.  They could trust people to square up and people did. It’s a glimpse of what happens when you question our own status quo.  Why are our systems so heavy, so distrustful, in the first place?  Why does a Christian nation need government to solve all problems yet Japan does not?  This may be a difference between our individualistic frontier mindset and their group harmony formed of rice cultivation.  But it’s also the communal approach of Amish as well.

Mutual aid in Amish country is organic, not institutionalized, they don’t need bulky and wasteful organizations.  They have built an identity together (like the Japanese have) and thus they voluntarily go along with the program.  This may sound stifling, but is it really?  Americans pay a boatload of taxes so that their bought off national leadership can bomb Gaza’s hospitals.  Did we ever vote for that?  No.  The general public is just as indoctrinated and controlled by ideologies as a strict religious sect.  The big difference is that Amish get their barn back days after a fire whereas the rest of us will spend the year sifting through insurance paperwork. 

It isn’t just the Amish who self-organize for sake of immediate needs in their community.

A sustainable future requires effective and efficient resource allocation that does not rely on costly bureaucracy or enforcement agencies.  Governance is best internalized—something we do voluntarily as part of our collective identity or being part of a larger group.  This will require discarding models and myths that aren’t beneficial.  This idea that the world’s problems are either solved by some undefined ideal regulatory regime or are all caused by it’s evil twin of a secret world spanning scheme is simply fantasy that prevents reasonable discussions and pushes away from solutions that will better harness our human potential.

Cooperation doesn’t need to be top down or cumbersome and artificial.  No, love for our own and self-sacrifice love is as coded into human DNA as conflict.  And we should be taking a closer look at Japanese and Amish blueprint.  Honor, a common code of ethics, shared cultural values, an internalized joint identity and being respectful to others can’t outsourced.  Diversity is only strength when it harmonizes and follows the same tune.  It is a combination of building a familial trust, deeper human relationships, and a societal mission that is worthy of fuller investment—not more programs, systems and rules.  

The People Want a King, Part II: The Idolatry of the State and the Call to Self-Rule

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A decade ago, in “The People Want a King, Part I,” I wrestled with the ancient cry of Israel—“Give us a king!”—from 1 Samuel 8, seeing in it a mirror to our own craving for centralized power. I cast Trump, then a looming figure on the horizon, as a Saul-like pretender—brash, self-absorbed, a king unfit for the throne. The heart of man, I argued, is frail and fearful, ever eager to trade liberty for the illusion of security. Now, ten years on, we revisit that cry, turning the lens inward and upward: what happens when the king we demand becomes a god we worship? And what might it mean to cast down that idol and govern ourselves under a higher law—one that admits no rival?

Let us begin with a heresy: government is not sacred. It is not a divine institution bestowed from on high, nor are its stewards a priestly caste anointed with heavenly oil. Scripture offers no such mandate. The state is a human construct—a tool, a mechanism, a servant of necessity. It is not the ekklesia, the called-out assembly of God’s people, nor the Kingdom of Heaven breaking through the veil. It is, at its core, a business: a transactional entity exchanging services for tribute. When it ceases to serve—when it grows fat and lazy, a Blockbuster Video in a Netflix world—it deserves no reverence, only replacement. To treat it otherwise is to fashion a golden calf from the scraps of bureaucracy.

Yet the cry persists: “The nation is too complex for such simplicity!” I encountered this objection recently, a rebuttal to my call for radical restructuring. The argument, draped in the garb of sophistication, insists that governance transcends mere commerce—that its intricacies demand a permanence beyond critique. This is a shade thrown at those, like the DOGE reformers, who dare to wield the axe of efficiency against the overgrowth of empire. It is a plea for the status quo, cloaked as concern for “public trust.” But trust in whom? The regime that has ruled longer than memory, entwined with corporate titans and special interests, bleeding the commons dry? The trust was shattered long before any billionaire CEO took the helm; it crumbled under tax rates that plunder and wars that pulverize the defiant.

Here lies the theological crux: complexity is not a virtue—it is a veil. In 1 Samuel 8, Samuel warned Israel that their king would take and take—sons, daughters, fields, flocks—until they were slaves in all but name. The modern state has fulfilled this prophecy with chilling fidelity, its mission creep a slow idolatry. What begins as a servant becomes a lord; what promises order delivers oppression. The labyrinthine bills, the thousand-page tomes of legislation—these are not signs of wisdom but of deceit, a Sanhedrin of scribes hiding corruption behind the law’s letter. To call this sacred is to confuse the Temple with the moneychangers’ tables.

Government as business is no mere metaphor—it is a functional truth. It trades protection and infrastructure for our coin and consent, a covenant not unlike the marketplace. Yet unlike the agora, where competition hones the blade of excellence, the state resists renewal. Private enterprise, for all its flaws, bends to the will of the consumer: Sears falls, Amazon rises. Governance, enthroned as monopoly, calcifies. Its priests—elected or appointed—crown themselves with divine right, decrying reform as sacrilege, a “threat to democracy.” But democracy is not their god; power is. And power, unchecked, builds altars to itself.

This is the sin of the political establishment: they have conflated the nation with their institution, the people with their rule. The nation is not the state, nor the state the nation—just as Israel was not its kings, nor its kings Israel. Government should reflect the imago Dei in its people, a stewardship of justice and flourishing. Instead, it mirrors Baal, demanding sacrifice from the many for the feast of the few. How is this sustained? Through a catechism of control—children reciting pledges, citizens taught to venerate the machine as eternal. To question it is to court excommunication.

Yet Scripture beckons us elsewhere. The restoration of governance requires a return to first principles: simplicity as clarity, transparency as righteousness, accessibility as the leveling of pride. The state’s convolution is no accident—it is a shroud for sin, a “you wouldn’t understand” that echoes the serpent’s whisper. To dismantle it is not anarchy but exorcism, a stripping back to the studs to expose what festers. The old guard, like Saul clinging to his throne, shriek at the loss of their sacred monopoly. But their divinity is a lie, and their temple must fall.

The Stagnation of the External, the Promise of the Internal

Consider the contrast: a business that squanders its capital dies; a government that squanders ours endures. This is the curse of external governance—its inertia defies the natural law of adaptation. Were it subject to the crucible of choice, only the fittest form would stand. Instead, it grows sclerotic, a Leviathan too holy to slay. And the people, seduced by its permanence, make it their idol. They crave a king to think for them, a mediator to absolve their agency. Politicians—prostitutes of the soul—oblige, peddling promises they half-believe, deluded into messiahs of their own making. Zelensky’s advisors call him mad with grandeur; Washington’s geriatrics are no different, mistaking their tenure for providence.

This is not governance but bondage, a learned helplessness masquerading as piety. The privately employed know their limits—life persists beyond their shift. But the state’s acolytes preach indispensability, as if only they can wield the scepter. Contrast this with self-governance: a people ruled not by fleshly lords but by principle, by the law written on their hearts. Jeremiah 31:33 whispers of such a day; Hebrews 8 seals it in Christ’s blood. At the civic level, this need not mean chaos but discernment—shuffling roles, pruning branches, trusting that micromanagement by fools yields only thorns.

Why, then, the sanctity of the status quo? It is the coward’s theology: easier to bow to mystery than to wrestle truth. As Israel preferred a king to the uncertainty of judges, so we prefer bureaucracy to responsibility. Samuel’s warning rings anew: the king takes, and we cry too late. External governance is not our salvation—it is our stagnation, a false god promising safety while forging fetters.

The Myth and Monuments of the Federal Cult

To cement this idolatry, the Federal government has woven a mythology and erected monuments rivaling the temples of old. Consider the Capitol, that domed sanctum of marble and myth, its steps ascending like an altar to a civic deity. The Lincoln Memorial, a brooding Parthenon, gazes over a reflecting pool as if to baptize the nation in its own reverence. These are not mere buildings—they are shrines, designed to awe, to whisper: “This is eternal, this is beyond you.” Like the ziggurats of Babylon or the temples of Rome, they fuse power with divinity, demanding obeisance from the pilgrim and the peasant alike. The Founding Fathers, recast as demigods, stare down from friezes and statues, their words carved into stone as if they were Moses descending Sinai. Big Brother is not God—yet here he looms, a surveillance state cloaked as savior, its all-seeing eye promising protection while its fist tightens the leash.

This cultic architecture is no accident—it sells the lie that the state is sacrosanct, its form immutable. The pledge of allegiance, recited by schoolchildren, is a liturgy; the flag, a totem; the Constitution, a holy writ too sacred to amend save by the high priests of amendment. Yet this is a sleight of hand. The Constitution, for all its brilliance, is a human document, not a divine oracle—its framers knew it, urging vigilance against its abuse. The Federal cult inverts this, turning a tool into a god, a means into an end. As the temples of Baal housed idols to blind the masses, so these monuments obscure the state’s frailty, its susceptibility to rot.

Enter January 6th, 2021—a day branded as a desecration, a violation of the “sacred ground” of democracy. The narrative drips with priestly indignation: rioters stormed the Capitol, profaned its halls, threatened the holy order. Politicians clutched their vestments, decrying the “insurrection” as an assault on the nation’s soul. But let us parse this claim with a smirk—how many have died at the hands of this government, overseas and at home, in the name of “protecting democracy”? Millions, if you tally the wars and drones, yet the single death of that day gets the sackcloth and ashes. If the Capitol is sacred, what makes it so? Not its service to the people—its corridors have long echoed with the clink of corporate coin and the murmur of self-interest. Not its fidelity to justice—its laws have sanctioned plunder at home and terror abroad, not least against Argentina, whose people still bear the scars of U.S.-backed meddling and economic strangulation. The sanctity, then, is a projection, a mythos guarding the idol. January 6th was chaos, yes—ugly, reckless, and lawless—but to call it a sacrilege assumes the temple was holy to begin with. It wasn’t. It was a house of power, not of God.

The true violation predates that day: the slow consecration of a bureaucracy into a deity, the elevation of marble over morality. Ancient temples hid their emptiness behind splendor; the Federal cult does the same, crying “blasphemy” when the curtain is pulled. January 6th didn’t defile a sacred space—it exposed a hollow one, a monument to a king the people demanded but never needed. And here’s where Argentina’s President Javier Milei enters, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he handed Elon Musk a chainsaw in 2025, etched with “Viva la libertad, carajo” (“Long live liberty, damn it”). Milei, who’s taken his own chainsaw to Argentina’s bloated state, wasn’t just gifting Musk a tool for bureaucracy—he was practically dancing with glee to see Musk turn it on the U.S. regime that’s bullied his nation for decades, from IMF debt traps to covert coups. It’s less a symbol of shared efficiency and more a middle finger to the empire, wrapped in a libertarian bow.

Trump’s Mandate and the Singular King

So where does Donald Trump fit in this unholy pantheon? In Part I, I cast him as a flawed Saul—brash, impulsive, a king more enamored with his own mirror than his people’s good. I stand corrected, or at least refined. Trump is no savior, nor should he be—Christians have but one King, enthroned above all earthly powers (Colossians 1:16-17). Yet he wields a mandate, both legal and theological, to tear down these idols, and therein lies his purpose—not as messiah, but as iconoclast.

Legally, Trump’s authority stems from the Constitution itself—a document that vests executive power in a president elected by the people (Article II, Section 1). His 2024 victory, a roar against the entrenched cult, grants him the democratic right to wield that power against inefficiency and corruption. The Federal government, swollen beyond its constitutional bounds, has no divine charter to resist pruning. The framers envisioned a lean state, not a Leviathan; Trump’s DOGE-inspired axe—however blunt—aligns with that original intent. He can shutter departments, slash budgets, and fire the high priests of waste, all within the law’s letter. The shrieks of “threat to democracy” from the old guard are the death rattles of a dethroned idol, not a defense of principle.

Theologically, his warrant runs deeper. Scripture abhors idolatry—Exodus 20:4-5 commands no graven images, no bowing to crafted gods. The Federal cult, with its temples and myths, is precisely that: a false deity usurping allegiance owed to Christ alone. When Jesus declared, “Render to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s” (Matthew 22:21), He drew a line—Caesar gets coins, not worship. Trump, for all his bombast, serves as a wrecking ball to this blasphemy. He need not be pious to smash Baal’s altars; Gideon was a coward before he toppled the poles (Judges 6:27). If Trump’s tenure exposes the state’s hollow sanctimony—January 6th as symptom, not sin—then he fulfills a divine irony: a flawed vessel breaking a greater folly.

Yet here’s the correction to my 2015 take: Trump is not the point. I overstated his flaws as disqualifying, missing the forest for the trees. He’s no king to crown—Christians must reject all earthly thrones save one. “My kingdom is not of this world,” Christ said (John 18:36), and Paul echoed, “Our citizenship is in heaven” (Philippians 3:20). Trump’s role is transient—permitted, not ordained—to dismantle a false god, not to replace it. The Christian’s allegiance lies with the King of Kings, whose rule brooks no rival, be it Trump, Biden, or the marble gods of DC. Self-governance, then, is not just civic—it’s spiritual, a refusal to outsource our souls to any throne but His.

The Eschatological Hope

The people want a king, but the King we need refuses a throne of stone. To cling to the state as sacred is to repeat Israel’s folly, to trade the Spirit’s freedom for Saul’s spear. Self-governance is not utopia—it is obedience to a higher call, a shedding of idols for the stewardship God demands. Complexity is a liar’s refuge; trust is a martyr of our making. Let Trump tear down the temples—legally, he can; theologically, he should—but let us not crown him in their place. Overturn the tables, tear the veil, and build anew—not a kingdom of men, but a commonwealth of the free, under no crown but His.