The volume of misleading and deceptive claims in ads by pro-Trump forces urging a “No” vote on next Tuesday’s referendum in Virginia is deeply troubling and, in many cases, beyond the pale, like pro-Trump billionaire Peter Thiel’s heavy funding of so many of those ads.
In this column last week, I pointed to Lincoln’s concept of our “better angels” as essential to a nation committed to democratic values—an idea that remains critical if we are to heal and move forward.
At its core is the notion of mutual human respect.
My dad left his imprint on me in one very important way. His simple mantra was, “Your word is your bond.”
That idea, understood properly, lies at the heart of Lincoln’s “better angels.” It reflects a fundamental respect for others—the recognition that when you give your word, you are entering into a relationship built on trust.
If you commit to doing something for another person, do it. Be someone who can be counted on. Like anyone else, I’ve had moments when I promised to be somewhere or do something that, later, I didn’t feel like doing. But at those moments, my dad’s words would come back to me. And, time and again, I found that keeping my word was the right choice.
If you develop a reputation for not keeping your word, trust erodes. People may excuse it once or twice, but over time the damage accumulates. At minimum, if you cannot keep a commitment, you owe the other person honesty and advance notice.
Embedded in all this is respect—not just for others, but for their time and their dignity.
This applies directly to truth-telling more broadly.
We don’t assign enough importance to it. Too often, we treat a lie as something fleeting—something that, if it goes unnoticed, carries no real consequence.
But that misses something fundamental: a lie is not just a private act. It is an imposition on others. It distorts their understanding and manipulates their decisions. In that sense, lying is a form of harm—an assault on the trust that makes human relationships, and democratic society, possible.
Too often, the burden is shifted. The liar assumes it is up to others to detect the falsehood and correct it. If no one does, then so be it.
“Well,” the shrug seems to say, “you didn’t catch me.”
Modern society has, in some ways, adapted to this. We build institutions, regulations, and enforcement mechanisms on the assumption that people will lie if they can get away with it. If they are caught, they are punished. If not, they move on.
But a healthy democracy cannot function on that basis alone. It depends on a shared commitment to truth—not just fear of consequences.
That is why the current moment is so troubling.
Some of the messaging surrounding this referendum has gone beyond ordinary political disagreement into the realm of distortion—misleading claims, misattributed positions, and, in some cases, the use of imagery and rhetoric that invoke painful chapters of our history in ways that confuse rather than clarify.
When that happens, the damage is not just to a single campaign. It is to the broader civic fabric.
I have long believed that one of the enduring contributions of major religious traditions has been their emphasis on virtue—on instilling habits of honesty, responsibility, and respect for others. However imperfectly expressed, those values have helped sustain social trust.
When political actors instead lean into deception, especially while invoking those same traditions or moral language, the result is doubly corrosive.
Voters in Virginia now face an important decision. They deserve to make it based on clear, honest information—not confusion or manipulation.
If we are serious about Lincoln’s “better angels,” then the responsibility does not rest only with those producing the messages. It rests with all of us—to demand better, to seek the truth, and to hold one another accountable.
Because in the end, a democracy cannot function if truth itself becomes optional.
