Democracy is a Verb

We have to work for it.

(Hendersonville, NC 6-14-25. Drone photo by John Owens)

In a very red county, and in a very red city of only 15,000 people, over 3,500 people showed up on Saturday, June 14, 2025, to protest against the rule of Trump. I was just beyond the frame on the right side of this photo, back behind the police tape, because I was warned to either take off my K-95 mask or leave the protest area. I kept my mask on and moved three feet back to satisfy the officer who stood by me until I moved.

As an aside: That police officer shouldn’t have told me to unmask since my mask was for health reasons, but he didn’t know that or didn’t care. I wrote to the Police Chief after the protest to invite his officers to be better informed about the bill that exempts masks used for health reasons.

But I was there, nonetheless, if not on the front row of the protestors. We all showed up in our own ways.

We were all taught a (false) story about America, weren’t we? In school, we learned about three co-equal branches of government, about checks and balances designed to prevent tyranny, about representation and the rule of law. We were told that while no system is perfect, ours was built to self-correct. That good people, elected by the people, would protect our freedoms and right the ship when it veered off course.

But that story no longer holds. The ship is way off course. First, it presupposed that good, moral, smart people would be elected.

We put our trust in lawmakers, and they have let us down. Again and again. The checks don’t check. The balances are unbalanced. And the consequences are deadly.

In recent years, we’ve watched politicians ignore ethics, amplify lies, and pander to extremists while everyday people suffer. We’ve seen courts stripped of impartiality, legislative bodies paralyzed by partisanship, and basic rights rolled back. We’ve watched as money and power drowned out the voices of the people. The result is not just political failure—it is moral failure.

What happens when the system built to protect us becomes the system that endangers us?

Many of us were raised to believe that if we just followed the rules, voted in every election, and trusted in the process, justice would prevail. But this presupposed a rational, good leader. Now the process feels rigged. Gerrymandered districts dilute our votes. Judges hand down decisions that defy precedent and public opinion. Lawmakers refuse to act on gun violence, on climate collapse, on reproductive autonomy—despite overwhelming public support. And a madman inhabits the White House.

How do we reconcile our civic faith with this lived reality?

First, we must tell the truth. The myth of an infallible American democracy must be laid to rest. The whole world can see this—why can’t we? The structures are not neutral. They were built by and for a specific few—and they still largely serve those same interests. Naming that isn’t cynicism; it’s honesty. And honesty is the foundation of real change.

Second, we must resist despair by choosing engagement. Not the kind of blind patriotism that demands silence in the face of injustice, but the kind of engaged citizenship that asks, again and again: how can I show up? That might look like organizing at the local level, protecting voters’ rights, supporting independent journalism, or running for office yourself. It might mean protesting, donating, educating, storytelling, or simply refusing to look away.

It is understandable to feel disillusioned. But disillusionment is not the end—it’s the beginning. It means we are no longer under illusion. It means we see things as they are. And from there, we can begin to imagine—and build—what might be.

We need new stories now. Stories of solidarity, of resistance, of care. Stories that are more truthful than the textbooks and more hopeful than the headlines. We need to remember that democracy is not a noun—it’s a verb. It only works when we do.

The checks and balances may be broken. But we are not. Not yet.

Love,

Patti