Eleanor Roosevelt’s Ghost Declares her Availability as a National Conscience
Delivered in a whisper on the wind, heard by every leader who ever lied to themselves first.
My fellow citizens, You may not remember me. But I remember you.
I was married to a President once and I have walked beside every President since my death—some proudly, others at a respectful distance. A few tried to banish me.
None succeeded.
I do not seek your applause. I do not need your permission. But in this age of performative piety and conspicuous cowardice, I find myself obliged to do something I have never done before:
I offer myself as a pubic servant.
I hereby declare my candidacy for the position of National Conscience.
- It is a role with no salary, no office, and no term limit.
- It is filled only when needed.
- And I assure you: it is needed.
My platform is simple:
- If you have a conscience—I’ll help you listen to it.
- If you don’t have a conscience—I’ll lend you mine.
- And if you know better, but do worse—I’ll be there in every mirror and headline until you face what you’ve become.
I offer my services not just to Presidents, but to governors, mayors, CEOs, and influencers with more followers than thoughts. To generals and judges. To teachers and tech founders. To daughters who are tired of being polite, and sons who were never taught how to weep.
I do not judge as a god. I do not scold as a mother. I whisper as history—and I linger as consequence.
And I come with one simple message:
“The measure of leadership is not how well you command the room, but whether you have a conscience—and whether you listen to it.
And, for those without a conscience… I’m always available fo fill the position.”
If you feel me near when you’re about to make a choice, don’t be alarmed. That’s just me campaigning.
Thank you.
And do try—just for once—to rise to the moment.
— Eleanor “Granny” Roosevelt
Candidate for the Soul of the Republic
P. S. When I was a child I was called Granny by my mom because I had a serious disposition as a child. I’ve lightened up since then. Death does that to you.
Alex Bakerloo 