A Perfect 10 Has Nowhere to Go

 

This also appears in O'Dwyer's PR

Years ago, during a job interview, I asked the chairman of a global company how he would rate his organization across a range of measures.

“The company is a 10,” he said.

Not an eight or even a nine and a half. A 10.

I wondered: Really? No dissatisfied customers, no failed employees, no products to improve, no smarter competitors?

Whether his answer reflected confidence, salesmanship, or sincere belief, I knew what bothered me. A 10 leaves you nowhere to go.

Today, we are seeing a far more consequential version of the “10” mindset in President Donald Trump’s effort to reshape how America tells its history.

There is much to celebrate in this country, and debate over history is natural. Historians argue, interpretations change, and new evidence emerges. But starting with the conclusion that America must look good and then filtering facts accordingly is different and dangerous.

In March 2025, Trump issued an executive order titled “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History.” The administration argued that recent interpretations had replaced objective history with an ideological narrative portraying the United States as inherently racist, sexist, oppressive, or irredeemably flawed. The order directed federal historical sites to avoid content that “inappropriately disparage[s]” Americans and to focus on national achievements and progress.

That criticism deserves consideration.

Museums can be selective, ideological, and wrong, too. But the remedy for one-sided history is better history, not government-directed history that leads to a preferred conclusion. A history museum’s purpose is to help us understand what happened, not to make us feel good or bad.

Trump later complained that the Smithsonian was “OUT OF CONTROL” and focused excessively on “how bad Slavery was” rather than American “Success” and “Brightness.”

The dispute has since intensified. In July 2026, Trump issued another order, “Restoring Trust in the Smithsonian Institution,” pressing for changes at the National Museum of American History. In September, the administration threatened to curtail federal agencies’ support for the Smithsonian, including artifact loans, procurement assistance, and discretionary grants.

The campaign extends beyond the Smithsonian. A court-ordered inventory found that the National Park Service had removed at least 51 exhibits from 37 sites, including material about slavery and climate change. A federal judge ordered the exhibits restored, but the administration appealed.

This illustrates the danger. When inconvenient facts are softened or removed because they conflict with an officially preferred national narrative, public history shifts from inquiry to persuasion. When the government decides in advance which conclusions citizens should draw, persuasion can become propaganda.

Propaganda does more than distort the past. It limits what we can do tomorrow. Those who cannot admit mistakes cannot learn. A company convinced that it’s a 10 stops improving. A country taught that acknowledging failure is unpatriotic risks losing democracy’s most vital capacity: self-correction.

There is a revealing contradiction in Trump’s most famous slogan: Make America Great Again. MAGA acknowledges that America can lose its way and needs repair. But “again” points backward, tempting us to polish the past until it shines.

American exceptionalism need not mean American infallibility. The United States was an extraordinary political experiment, founded on ideas of representative government, liberty, and individual rights that inspired people around the world. Taking those ideals seriously requires examining the times the country betrayed them.

The Founders themselves were hardly unanimous about their country’s moral condition. At the Constitutional Convention, Gouverneur Morris called slavery a “nefarious institution” and “the curse of heaven” on the states where it prevailed. George Mason, himself a slaveholder, warned that “Providence punishes national sins, by national calamities.” Yet the Constitution compromised with slavery.

That does not reduce the founding to hypocrisy. It shows that people can accomplish great things even while tolerating profound injustice. Later generations inherit both the achievements and the unfinished work.

The Marquis de Lafayette understood that distinction. When Lafayette returned to the United States in 1824 as a celebrated hero of the Revolution, he remained devoted to the American experiment—and opposed to slavery. At Monticello, Israel Jefferson, an enslaved man who worked there, later recalled hearing Lafayette argue that enslaved people ought to be free and that no man could rightfully own his “brother man.”

Lafayette had risked his life for America. Challenging one of its greatest injustices did not make him hostile to the country. It meant he took its principles seriously.

Honest history explains American progress; it does not diminish America.

Give us Washington, the leader and slaveholder; Jefferson’s Declaration and his failures; westward expansion and its cost to Native Americans; Normandy and Jim Crow.

If America was always a 10, what exactly were all those Americans fighting to change?

Abolitionists, suffragists, civil rights marchers, reformers, and ordinary citizens did not make America less American by exposing the gap between ideals and reality. Much of what we celebrate as progress came because they refused to pretend the country had already arrived.

The Constitution does not proclaim a perfect Union. Its preamble speaks instead of forming “a more perfect Union.” Those two words matter. More perfect means unfinished. Improvement is possible. Tomorrow can be better because we recognize what was wrong with yesterday.

That chairman’s assertion stayed with me because it violated something I have come to believe about successful organizations, people, and countries. The moment you convince yourself you are a 10 is often the moment you stop improving.

America does not need to be told it has always been perfect. It needs honest history that shows what it accomplished and what Americans had to struggle to change.

That is not a rejection of America’s story. It is how the story keeps moving forward.

Stopping Ourselves from Mattering Less

Oh boy, was I wrong. “Who needs these humanities requirements?” I asked as a college student. I was going to be a scientist and wanted to place my attention on (what I thought was) my ultimate goal. 

Sure, I learned to appreciate the genius of Shakespeare and enjoyed the scrum in my political science classes. But I loaded up on the hard not the social sciences. I bought the promise that technology had the answers to everything. One couldn’t be a whole person without a rock solid background in math, chemistry, physics, biology.

Whole person, huh? I said I was wrong, right? I’m not sure I can say it enough. I’ve come to hate mutual exclusivity and false equivalencies and yet, there I was. It took me years to figure out (with no small contribution from my wife) that interesting people, valuable people, are a package. We should have an appreciation – a facility, even – with a multitude of subjects spanning STEM subjects to the liberal arts.

We need to know enough about both the humanities and science to be capable citizens. With the politicization of so many topics – vaccines, evolution, climate change, stem cells – a more roundly educated public is essential. 

We need to expect and demand more of our leaders, too. I wonder how many of them read books like David McCullough’s 1776 or John Adams that chronicled how the founding fathers built a nation on progressive values; Peter Watson’s Ideas with two million years worth of language, thought, and invention; Constantine’s Sword by James Carroll on the evolution of faith and systematized prejudice; Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time to make your head ache when contemplating the enormity of our universe, or Abe by David Reynolds to show us how personal evolution and compromise gave rise to one of our greatest presidents.

Social media and cable news echo chambers have made it all too easy to receive what the algorithms are trained to feed us. We suffer from inertia, from a lack of curiosity, from what used to be the common practice of debating the issues (and not the facts). If the facts don’t fit the person’s worldview or “frame,” as the cognitive linguist George Lakoff termed it, the facts bounce off like bullets shot at Superman’s chest. Your opponent deflects all the data, swears on what they believe to be true, while you get blue in the face.

But now comes the latest assault on holistic education. The New York Times recently reported that West Virginia’s “flagship school will no longer teach world languages or creative writing — a sign, its president says, of the future at many public universities.” What the WVU administration is calling a “transformation,” others are calling a “blood bath.” It’s frightening to think this could be the beginning of a very dangerous spiral.

The questions of how to educate, what to teach, and with what money are not new. But this is different. We’re looking at institutional changes that could take years, generations to repair. If we’re not careful, if we don’t invest in expansive, accessible education, we will be less able to govern, less capable of informed, civil discourse, and less capable of maintaining our competitiveness on the world stage. The hollowing out of education, and the under-budgeting and the reversal of opportunity are as grave a threat as any facing our country.

Author of Camelot, Inc.: Leadership and Management Insights from King Arthur and the Round Table.

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