The Current Political Moment Requires Level Heads
For nearly two years, Americans have watched our country be tested in ways many of us never imagined witnessing in our lifetimes.
Freedom of speech. Freedom of the press. The right to dissent. Relationships with longtime allies. The limits of presidential power. The principle that government serves the public rather than the personal interests of its leader.
The Constitution, and democracy itself.
With the November 3 midterm elections approaching, Americans have an opportunity to impose a powerful check on an administration that, in my view, has demonstrated profound contempt for those limits.
We must take it.
None of us can say with certainty what will happen between November’s election and the seating of a new Congress in January. But if we are concerned about that uncertainty, the most immediate, concrete response available to us is to vote.
With Donald Trump and his MAGA movement involved, staying calm can feel like an unreasonable request. Every day seems to bring another outrage, another threat, another development that would once have sounded too absurd to take seriously.
After enough of those developments, the imagination begins doing its own damage.
What if he somehow manages to stop the election? What if he declares martial law? What if ICE appears at polling places? What if ballots are seized, certification is obstructed, or political violence erupts? What if there is another insurrection—or several?
These fears do not emerge from nowhere. The insurrection at the Capitol on January 6, 2021, gave Americans reason to take threats against the democratic process seriously. We should describe that event plainly, rather than allowing “Jan. 6” to become a substitute for acknowledging what happened.
But taking a possibility seriously does not require treating it as a certainty.
That distinction matters. When every imagined catastrophe begins to feel inevitable, fear can become paralysis. People can begin asking why they should bother participating in an election they have already convinced themselves will be stolen, canceled, or rendered meaningless.
We cannot surrender our agency to predictions.
We should scrutinize credible threats, demand safeguards, support election workers, and insist that public officials fulfill their responsibilities. We should verify alarming claims before repeating them. When there is evidence of wrongdoing, we should respond through lawful, peaceful action.
And we should vote.
Saying “we are not okay” is understandable. Calling America a “nation in distress” may express exactly how we feel. But expressions of distress are not, by themselves, an answer to the conditions causing it.
That is why I find the symbolism of a deliberately lopsided American flag troubling. Others may intend it as a determined protest. To me, it risks communicating surrender—a kind of civic cowardice, as though we have already conceded that our country is beyond saving.
I see a different kind of cowardice in the red MAGA hat: the willingness to place loyalty to a strongman above independent judgment. The motives are different, but neither submission to a leader nor resignation to despair offers the democratic resolve this moment requires.
I would rather see us display an upright American flag with an unmistakable message: “Pro-America. Anti-Trump.”
That is the symbol I believe we should rally around. It affirms that our country belongs to its people, that patriotism includes holding a president accountable, and that we intend to participate in shaping America’s future.
We should refuse to let Trump claim ownership of the flag—or persuade us to display ours as though he has already defeated us.
But even the best symbol needs action behind it. A slogan tells people where we stand. A ballot helps determine who holds power.
The same applies to declaring “I am antifa.” Most decent human beings oppose fascism. In that ordinary, literal sense, being anti-fascist should be a basic moral conviction. That does not mean everyone who opposes fascism identifies with the political label “antifa,” nor should they have to.
And we should not make that opposition our entire personality.
We need to articulate what we stand for: constitutional government, civil liberties, equal protection, honest elections, and a country where public officials answer to the people. Those commitments give our opposition purpose and direction. We need lives sustained by community, compassion, creativity, and service, too.
Our opposition should lead us toward the society we want to build. It should not leave us so consumed by one man and his movement that they define our entire existence.
Nor is “burn it all down” an answer.
What, exactly, are we proposing to burn down? The institutions we need to protect our rights? The democratic mechanisms through which we can demand accountability? The country that we—and millions of people more vulnerable than ourselves—still have to live in?
Even as a figure of speech, it offers destruction without a credible account of what comes afterward. There is no assurance that something better will emerge. Ordinary people may suffer while those most willing to abuse power face even fewer obstacles.
We can be furious without becoming reckless. We can recognize profound national distress without making despair our political identity.
Protest matters. Public dissent matters. Organizing matters. These efforts become stronger when they bring people into sustained civic participation, including voting. They cannot substitute for electing people willing to exercise the powers of their offices responsibly.
This may prove to be among the most consequential elections in American history. The absence of a presidential contest does not diminish its importance. A Congress willing to investigate abuses, demand answers, and exercise its constitutional authority can make an enormous difference.
An election cannot repair everything. It can determine whether those responsible for confronting executive misconduct are willing to do their jobs.
Our country has held elections through the COVID-19 pandemic and other challenges, including the Great Depression, Civil War, and both world wars. That history offers no guarantee that democracy will preserve itself. It reminds us that even extraordinary national danger need not extinguish the public’s voice.
In our nation’s 250th year, we must exercise the rights generations fought to secure and extend.
We can rightfully believe that what we are witnessing is fascism and still be level-headed.
We can believe that something is profoundly, fundamentally wrong with this country and still be level-headed.
We can believe that the nation is in dire distress and still be level-headed.
We can believe that America has forfeited its claim to leadership of the free world and still be level-headed.
We can believe that repairing the damage may take generations and still be level-headed.
We can have bleak predictions for the future and still recognize that predictions are not outcomes.
Being level-headed does not require softening our convictions. Anger, grief, and alarm can all be justified. We can feel those things while remaining precise about what we know, honest about what we do not know, and determined to act where we can.
Nobody can promise us an uneventful November or a peaceful path to January. False reassurance would be irresponsible. So would declaring defeat before the votes have been cast.
If you have not voted, make your plan and follow through. If you have, help someone else find reliable voting information. Continue paying attention after Election Day. Accountability will require more than a single trip to the polls.
Future generations will judge how Americans responded when the country’s democratic commitments were tested. They will ask what we did with the choices still available to us.
Let our distress move us to action. Let our anger strengthens our resolve. Let our convictions guide us toward something worth preserving.
Fly the flag upright. Speak your conscience. Stand up for your country.
And vote. Period.