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David Rosh Pina

American Rome

Brandon Mowinkel (unsplash)

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.”
William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

No, this essay is not based on Francis Ford Copolla´s new and dreadful movie Megalopolis or a lecture by Roman Empire specialist and political activist Mary Beard, but the point of this essay follows the same leitmotif as those cultural references: drawing a parallel between contemporary America and the ancient Roman Empire. While this comparison has been attempted many times before, it often overlooks the vast technological and geographical differences that render such analogies flawed. No, this essay will not attempt a broad, generalized comparison, as that would require much more time and depth. Instead, it focuses on a specific parallel between the 2024 US presidential election and the political situation in Rome in 44 BC. Like Ancient Rome of that period America may be transitioning between an oligarchy and an Empire.

America is a unique phenomenon in human history. Never before has such a large, multiethnic country, with so much economic and financial power, adopted popular democracy as its constitutional system. As George Carlin once said, “When you’re born, you get a ticket to the freak show. When you’re born in America, you get a front-row seat.” From its inception, America has been designed as a capitalist Nirvana, attracting millions from around the world seeking a better life. Its growth is built on the exploitation of the seemingly endless natural resources of the American continent, the extermination of its native population, the peaceful borders with subservient neighbors, and the existence of a large domestic market that has served as a springboard for global expansion.

Unlike countries of similar size, America was not founded on the ideas of a specific religious or ethnic group, though its founding fathers were Anglo- Saxon Christians. Rather, it was built on ideals of individual freedom, born out of the Age of Enlightenment. America became the second constitutional democracy in the modern Western world, following the Netherlands, and the first in the New World.

Similarly, the Roman Empire expanded from the Italic Peninsula across the Mediterranean Basin, relying on the military power of the most advanced army of its time and absorbing a diverse range of barbarian peoples. To maintain cohesion across such a vast and multilingual empire, the Romans depended on a sophisticated road network—their primary means of communication. In the ancient world, sustaining a true democracy, with the principle of one person, one vote, was exceedingly difficult. Citizenship was restricted, representing only about 10 percent of the population, and maintaining large-scale public discourse was virtually impossible.

In contrast to dictatorships, where a single individual dictates and the rest follow, democracy requires a broad dialogue to reach collective decisions. Before the invention of the printing press, telegraph, and modern information technologies, successful examples of popular democracy were confined to small city-states like Athens, where such a dialogue was feasible. Even the Dutch Republic, one of the first modern attempts at democratic governance, eventually regressed into monarchy by the end of the 18th century. Democracy, at its core, depends on the infrastructure of information exchange, which was largely absent in the ancient world, save for rudimentary systems like the Roman roads.

A common misconception about ancient Rome is that it transitioned directly from a senatorial democracy, where citizens of a small nation-state governed vast territories, into an autocratic system dominated by an emperor. In reality, for many years, Rome was ruled by an oligarchy. After the passage of the Lex Hortensia in 287 BC, Rome was theoretically a democracy—at least for landowners. However, in practice, it remained an oligarchy, with key decisions still made by the Senate. Although power was nominally vested in the people, they rarely exercised it. The Senate retained significant control, particularly during a time when foreign policy took center stage. While as many as 300,000 citizens had the right to vote, most lived far from Rome, making large-scale political participation difficult. Foreign affairs required swift decision-making, and the Senate, composed of about 300 experienced and exceedingly wealthy senators, was better equipped to handle these complex matters than the distant and often uninformed electorate.

A seat in the US Senate typically costs around $15.7 million, according to Quora. This raises the question: who can afford such a price if not millionaires, or those backed by them? No matter how strong your ideas are, winning an election in America requires substantial financial resources. Once in Congress or Senate, it becomes difficult to dislodge incumbents because they have access to insider trading opportunities and privileged economic information that gives them an advantage in the stock market—privileges unavailable to the general public. This helps many members of Congress amass personal wealth.

For example, former Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi, is reported by Investopedia to have a net worth of $240 million. It’s hard to see how such wealth could be accumulated on a yearly congressional salary of $174,000 alone. The situation is even more extreme for presidential elections, where running a successful campaign can require billions of dollars. As a result, American politics has increasingly become a game for the ultra-wealthy.

This dynamic was solidified by the 2010 Supreme Court ruling in Citizens United v. FEC, which declared that corporations are entitled to the same free speech rights as individuals, including the ability to make unlimited donations to political campaigns. This decision has paved the way for an oligarchic system, shifting the US further away from its foundations as a constitutional democracy.

In ancient Rome, there was a man, immortalized by Shakespeare, who sought to end the power of the Roman oligarchy. He was a populist demagogue who advocated for peace with Rome’s enemies and promised generous benefits to Roman citizens in exchange for dictatorial power. His name was Julius Caesar, and he was assassinated before he could dismantle the oligarchic triumvirate ruling the empire. His great-nephew Augustus later succeeded where Caesar could not, becoming Rome’s first
emperor.

This is the only meaningful parallel between the US and ancient Rome. It’s not about superficial similarities like Washington, D.C. resembling the Roman Forum, or the fact that the upper chamber of Congress is called the Senate. The real parallel is that America, like Rome, may be in a transition from an oligarchy to an empire. The Democratic Party represents the current oligarchy, first electing an aging senator who struggled with communication due to his age, and later nominating a candidate with similar issues. They offer a continuation of the existing order.

The Republican Party, on the other hand, embodies authoritarian populism, with a candidate who has already shown a refusal to abide by democratic norms and seeks to consolidate power. They propose a rupture from the current oligarchy, offering peace to America’s adversaries and promising benefits to the citizenry.

For a brief moment, there was the idealistic candidacy of Robert F. Kennedy Jr., reminiscent of a Frank Capra movie, advocating for a return to a more democratic era. Yet, the Democratic Party’s oligarchy didn’t even allow him to compete seriously. Whether Kennedy could have won or lost is beside the point; he entered a battle for democracy unprepared for the entrenched power he was up against. America is no longer the popular democracy it once was during the days of his uncle, John F. Kennedy.

For the American voter, two stark choices remain—akin to a Mexican standoff where the options are equally grim: being stabbed or shot. They can either vote to uphold the current oligarchy or opt for the rise of an authoritarian empire. This is the real issue at stake in the election. Everything else is just political theater.

About the Author
Growing up in Portugal, my love affair with the English language started early. I binge-watched American TV shows (thanks, 'Friends') and sang along to The Beatles until my family probably wanted to "Let It Be." Our summer road trips across Europe were always set to the Fab Four's greatest hits, and I’m proud to say I’ve actually read all 367 pages of their 2000 Anthology book. Twice. After earning my master's at USC in Los Angeles (where I learned to love traffic and In-N-Out burgers), I made the leap to Israel, thinking, "What could be more interesting than the Middle East?" Spoiler alert: Nothing is. I've since worked in marketing for several high-tech companies, dabbled in PR, and even collaborated with the Jerusalem Post. I’m a bit of a polyglot, speaking five languages, and I’ve published two books. One is a children’s book in Hebrew called "Yara and her Grandfathers," which focuses on the LGBT community. The other is my latest novel about the creation of Tel Aviv, titled "The White City." (Yes, I'm already thinking about the movie rights.) These days, you can find me living in Tel Aviv with my wonderful wife Lena and working for the municipality. Life’s good, and I still find time to occasionally belt out "Hey Jude" in the shower.
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