The Wicked Witch of the West sees Dorothy and her companions as a threat.
So she unleashes her army of flying monkeys.
The monkeys do not question orders. They do not examine evidence. They do not decide who is right or wrong.
They simply carry out the wishes of whoever commands them.
That is what makes them frightening.
The scene remains memorable nearly 90 years later because it captures a timeless truth: Powerful people rarely act alone.
Every generation has its own political metaphors.
Some arrive unexpectedly from a 1939 movie about a Kansas farm girl, a yellow brick road, and a wizard who turns out to be less than advertised.
As children, many of us feared the Witch’s monkeys.
As adults, we should understand what they signify.
The danger in any democracy is not merely a powerful leader.
The danger arises when institutions created to serve the public begin to serve the interests of a single individual, a single party, or a single ideology.
When the machinery of government appears increasingly focused on critics, opponents, investigators, former officials, journalists, or private citizens who have crossed a president, journalists have an obligation to ask a simple question:
Is justice being pursued?
Or is power being performed?
That question becomes more urgent in light of recent reporting by Alan Feuer of The New York Times, which documented extraordinary failures in several politically sensitive prosecutions. Federal judges dismissed cases, criticized prosecutorial conduct, and questioned behavior during grand jury proceedings—actions legal experts described as highly unusual.
In Chicago, a federal judge dismissed charges against political activists after finding what she called a remarkable pattern of misconduct. In Wyoming, judges dismissed multiple indictments after a Trump-appointed U.S. attorney made highly prejudicial remarks to grand jurors. The prosecution of former FBI Director James Comey also drew judicial scrutiny for errors and irregularities in grand jury proceedings.
Whether those cases ultimately succeed or fail is not the central issue.
The larger issue is public confidence.
A free society depends on confidence that prosecutors, judges, juries, law enforcement officers, and elected officials act according to law rather than out of personal loyalty.
The Justice Department holds a special place in that system. Citizens may disagree with its decisions, but they must believe those decisions are grounded in evidence, due process, and impartiality.
Once that confidence erodes, the damage extends far beyond any one administration.
But the monkeys are not the most important lesson in Oz.
Eventually, Dorothy and her companions arrive before the mighty Wizard himself.
He appears enormous and all-powerful until Toto wanders behind a curtain and reveals the truth.
The mighty green-faced, floating head of the Wizard is not a magical being.
He is simply a man operating levers, lights, smoke, and sound effects.
“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain,” the Wizard booms.
The scene is often played for laughs.
It shouldn’t be.
For journalists, it may be one of the most important lessons ever put on film.
The movie arrived in 1939, as authoritarian leaders across Europe were cultivating personality cults, demanding loyalty, and using propaganda to project strength. Citizens were encouraged to trust the image rather than to examine reality.
The Wizard of Oz offered a different lesson.
Power often depends on perception.
Without the curtain, Oz is simply a man whose authority rests on spectacle.
Every day, public officials, corporations, advocacy groups, celebrities, influencers, and institutions present carefully crafted versions of reality. They craft narratives, stage events, and shape public perception.
Journalists are not supposed to be impressed by the machinery.
Our job is to find out who is operating it.
The profession’s highest purpose has never been to celebrate power, but to examine it.
That is why Toto may be the most important character in the story.
The little dog performs the essential act of journalism.
He investigates.
He wanders where he is not supposed to go.
He ignores instructions.
He becomes curious.
He discovers evidence.
Then he reveals it. Good boy!
The crowd sees the truth with its own eyes.
Journalism is not about telling people what to think.
It is about providing verified information that enables people to think for themselves.
The scene resonates because each generation faces its own Wizards.
Some wear political uniforms. Some wear business suits. Some sit behind television desks. Some command armies. Some command social media followings.
All depend, to some degree, on public perception.
The challenge for journalists is to remember that no institution, political party, government, corporation, or leader is above scrutiny.
All power deserves examination.
There is one final lesson hidden in Oz.
Throughout the story, the Scarecrow seeks a brain, the Tin Man a heart, the Lion courage, and Dorothy a way home.
In the end, they discover they possessed those qualities all along.
It is a profoundly democratic idea.
The health of a free society does not depend entirely on its leaders.
It depends on citizens who can think critically, act compassionately, and show courage when circumstances demand it.
It depends on people who can distinguish evidence from assertion and truth from performance.
That is why journalism matters.
And that is why news literacy matters.
Dorothy’s final discovery may be the most important lesson of all.
The power she sought was never in the Emerald City, the palace, or the Wizard’s hands.
She had it all along.
Democracy works much the same way. It rests on informed citizens willing to ask questions, demand evidence, and occasionally pull back the curtain.
The Wizard’s command remains familiar nearly a century later.
“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.”
The journalist’s response should be equally familiar.
That’s exactly where we’re looking.
Come on, Toto. We’ve got work to do.