photo: Eric Dekker

Washington is far too often remembered for its scandals than its triumphs—a reality that would have stunned and saddened our first president. Yet history’s true measure lies with those who chose conscience over expedience, and duty over ambition.  Their choices came at a cost, but they show us what integrity in public life looks like—and how it can still guide and inspire our own. After more than thirty years writing and speaking about ethics, I know how rare—and how necessary—that kind of courage remains.

For me, the leader who embodied unquestionable character, and honor was George Washington, the man who could have been king. Twice he walked away from power: first in 1783 when he resigned his military commission after the Revolution, then again in 1796 when he refused a third presidential term. Washington wasn’t a perfect man. About 317 enslaved people worked at Mount Vernon: 123 were owned by  Washington.

remembered for setting the standard for integrity in public life—his honesty, humility, and steadiness became qualities that Americans came to expect in their presidents.

In an era when leaders clung to authority, Washington demonstrated that public service was service—not entitlement. His restraint set the model for democratic leadership.

Nearly a century later, in the heat of Andrew Johnson’s impeachment, Republican Senator Edmund Ross cast the deciding vote for acquittal. Party leaders demanded conviction. The public clamored for it. But Ross, believing the charges to be political rather than constitutional, voted “not guilty.” The cost was immediate: he was denounced, politically ruined, and never re-elected. Yet his single act upheld the independence of the presidency from a partisan Congress and became one of the earliest examples of principle over party.

Then there’s Margaret Chase Smith, who in 1950, at the height of McCarthyism, issued her “Declaration of Conscience.” She warned against the “Four Horsemen of Calumny—Fear, Ignorance, Bigotry, and Smear.” At a time when silence was safer, Smith became the first Republican senator to openly challenge Joseph McCarthy. While she was stripped of committee assignments, her stand paved the way for McCarthy’s eventual censure.

During Watergate, White House counsel John Dean warned Richard Nixon of “a cancer on the presidency.” By choosing to testify before the Senate, and with his words confirmed by the Oval Office tapes, the cover-up was exposed. Dean paid a personal price with conviction and prison, but his decision was an act of conscience—a refusal to be part of deception any longer.

Most recently, Republican Representative Liz Cheney echoed Smith’s courage. In condemning Donald Trump’s role in the January 6th attack on the Capitol, Cheney sacrificed her leadership post and, ultimately, her seat in Congress. Her dissent was not political calculation but fidelity to her oath: the Constitution above all else.

Each of these leaders stood against the tide of power and political loyalty, risking reputation and career for something greater. They left their mark not in victory, but in proving that integrity still has a place in public life—and in the conscience of the nation.

We cannot excuse its absence. We must demand its presence.