In this episode of the Politics in Question podcast, the team discusses what American politics will look like in 2022 from Congress to the upcoming midterm elections.
Podcast: What will American politics look like in 2022?


In this episode of the Politics in Question podcast, the team discusses what American politics will look like in 2022 from Congress to the upcoming midterm elections.
Beyond picking governors, state legislators, local officials and representatives to serve in Congress, voters in almost every state this year will have the opportunity to amend the language of their state constitution. In one state, they could potentially rewrite the constitution altogether.
Though the U.S. Constitution is rarely amended, voters frequently amend their state constitutions. In every election cycle, voters are asked to ratify constitutional amendments.
In recent years, around 100 amendments have been voted on in each cycle. Most of them are proposed by state legislatures, but some are proposed through the voter initiative process.
This year, however, voters in Michigan will decide whether to convene a state constitutional convention in 2027. At a constitutional convention, elected delegates consider editing or rewriting the state’s constitution, with virtually no limits on what they can do. Michigan’s constitution requires that voters be asked every 16 years whether to hold a convention, and the last three times the question appeared on the ballot, voters rejected the idea in landslides.
If Michigan voters do want to call a convention, an election for 148 delegates would be held in 2027, and the elected delegates would meet to discuss whether to completely overhaul the constitution or propose small changes, though they might not come to an agreement at all.
State constitutions play an increasingly important role in American politics, though voters may not know much about them.
This fall, Michigan voters will cast ballots on whether to convene a constitutional convention in 2027. River North Photography, iStock/Getty Images PlusEvery state has a constitution, and each constitution has an individual bill of rights that provides parallel – and sometimes greater – protections for the liberties guaranteed in the U.S. Constitution’s Bill of Rights. The federal Bill of Rights sets a minimum for the rights and liberties that states must recognize, but state constitutions can increase the protections – or provide different ones.
Following the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Center, which overturned Roe v. Wade and held that the U.S. Constitution does not protect a right to abortion, abortion rights advocates have turned to state constitutions to recognize reproductive rights.
Attorneys and advocates have fought state abortion restrictions, asserting that state constitutions implicitly guarantee the right to an abortion. They have had mixed success with that tack, and better luck proposing amendments to state constitutions to expressly recognize rights to abortion. Conservative efforts to add abortion restrictions or bans to state constitutions have seen more limited success.
As a scholar of state constitutions, I know that turning to such constitutions to recognize rights and liberties is not a new project. It is not an exclusively liberal or conservative one.
After Richard Nixon was elected president in 1968, he appointed Warren Burger as chief justice of the U.S. Supreme Court, succeeding Earl Warren. Under Warren’s leadership, the court had strengthened the protections in the Bill of Rights, required states to fully recognize them and ushered in many of the rights and liberties we know today.
Among them: Miranda warnings – the standard warnings that police are required to give suspects of crimes before interrogations, as well as the requirement that indigent defendants be provided counsel in criminal trials and the rule that unconstitutionally obtained evidence cannot be used against defendants, came from the Warren Court.
Burger’s appointment, therefore, was concerning to criminal defense attorneys and civil rights activists, who feared that the Warren Court’s landmark decisions would be weakened or overturned.
So they turned to state courts and state constitutions.
A group of scholars, advocates and judges began arguing that lawyers and courts needed to take state constitutional rights seriously. They started developing legal arguments that relied on state constitutional rights, which saw some early successes.
Though these efforts began with attempts to ensure rights for criminal defendants, they were not limited to that context.
In 1973, the Supreme Court held that the Constitution contained no right to education and that a funding disparity among school districts in Texas was not unconstitutional.
In response, advocates went to state courts. Relying on explicit provisions in state constitutions that require the legislature to provide students with an adequate education, they argued that funding disparities violated state constitutions.
The Geneva Political Equality Club resolution, adopted Feb. 10, 1908, requesting the New York state Legislature to support a suffrage resolution to amend the state constitution. Library of Congress Rare Book And Special Collections Division
Many courts agreed. Over the past 50 years, education financing lawsuits, aimed at eliminating inequalities in education funding, have made their way through state courts, with some important and high-profile successes.
Advocates have also brought cases that used state constitutions to recognize LGBTQ+ rights, sometimes well before the Supreme Court did the same.
In the 1980s, the high court refused to strike down a Georgia law that criminalized sexual relations between people of the same gender. Marriage equality was a long way off, too. In several states, LGBTQ+ rights activists successfully argued that their state constitutions protected rights to privacy that made similar laws unconstitutional, a position that the Supreme Court would later adopt.
And by the time the Supreme Court recognized a right to marriage equality in Obergefell v. Hodges in 2015, a growing number of states had come to the same conclusion under their own constitutions.
But the rights and liberties protected by state constitutions haven’t just evolved in a liberal direction.
During the movement for marriage equality, voters in many states ratified constitutional amendments defining marriage as between one man and one woman. Likewise, a handful of state constitutions expressly preclude courts from recognizing a right to abortion.
The National Rifle Association has successfully pushed for stronger rights to bear arms under state constitutions. Also, in many states, victims’ rights amendments guarantee to victims of crimes the opportunity to participate in criminal trials, and frequently constrain defendants’ rights.
As political polarization increases, and as the Supreme Court removes itself from many rights disputes, state constitutions will likely be more important than ever in rights adjudication. Voters, who can and do amend those constitutions, can play an important role in how that plays out.
How State Constitutions Became the Battleground for American Rights and Liberties – on Both the Left and Right was originally published by The Conversation and is republished with permission.

Protesters gather at a Nobody Is Above the Law rally protesting President Trump's interference in the Mueller investigation on November 08, 2018 in Washington, DC.
Americans are told that no one is above the law. Yet every day, they watch a president behave in ways that would get any ordinary citizen fired, disciplined, confronted, or held accountable — and they watch some Americans excuse it. What makes this moment even more striking is that critics across the political spectrum, including conservatives, now warn that the presidency is operating on a dangerous double standard. This is not a partisan concern. It is a constitutional one. And it is tearing at the fabric of our democracy.
For generations, the Constitution has provided guardrails — separation of powers, checks and balances, oversight mechanisms, and limits on executive authority — designed to prevent any leader from functioning above the law. The framers feared concentrated power more than anything else. They believed that the presidency must be constrained not only by written law but by norms of restraint, dignity, and respect for institutions. Those norms held for centuries because presidents understood that the office was larger than any individual, and Congress understood that oversight was not optional.
Today, those guardrails are weakening. The public sees a president who breaks long‑standing norms, attacks predecessors, ignores bipartisan laws, and treats accountability as optional. They see Congress look away. They see institutions hesitate to assert independence. And they see behaviors that would be unacceptable in any other setting — retaliation, public insults, threats, and victimhood — excused simply because they come from the presidency.
If any ordinary American behaved this way — shouting insults, attacking colleagues, ignoring rules, retaliating against critics, and playing the victim — they would face consequences immediately. They would be disciplined at work, confronted at home, or held responsible in court. Yet when the president behaves this way, some Americans defend it, normalize it, or dismiss it. Retaliation is not power. Revenge is not leadership. Playing the victim is not strength. These behaviors do not demonstrate authority; they demonstrate insecurity. And they are behaviors that many Americans would never tolerate from their own families, friends, neighbors, or coworkers.
The public has watched a president verbally attack reporters, demean citizens, and retaliate against critics — yet demand respect in return. They have watched him warn that he will be impeached if his party loses control of Congress, as if oversight were a punishment rather than a constitutional duty. If a president were acting lawfully and responsibly, the loss of congressional control would not be a threat; it would simply be part of the democratic process. The truth is not that Americans want him impeached. The truth is that they want him checked.
And they have watched something else: powerful supporters — including billionaires who would never tolerate such behavior from their own employees — excuse conduct from the presidency that they would punish in any other context. Analysts note that some do not excuse it because it is acceptable, but because it benefits them. That is not loyalty. That is not leadership. It is a distortion of democratic expectations.
Americans also watched a national milestone — the 250th anniversary of the country, originally designed as a bipartisan celebration — reshaped into a personal spectacle. What should have been a moment of shared pride became another example of how easily national symbols can be repurposed for personal branding.
They also watched as the president declined to divest from his businesses, despite constitutional expectations. Multiple analyses estimate that his businesses generated billions in revenue during his presidency — raising concerns about conflicts of interest and Emoluments Clause violations. No other president in modern history has profited at this scale while in office. That, too, is a double standard.
Americans will never forget Senator Susan Collins saying the president had “learned his lesson” after facing accountability. Months later, the nation witnessed an attack on the Capitol — an abuse of power that contradicted her assurance. Ordinary citizens are expected to learn lessons, follow rules, and face consequences. The president is expected to do none of those things.
Some even accept this behavior, calling it a “new norm.” But lowering standards is not a path to stability. It is a path to erosion — of expectations, of institutions, and of the shared rules that hold a democracy together. Many Americans are exhausted — not by politics itself, but by the constant erosion of standards they once believed were shared. How much are Americans willing to tolerate when it comes to standards?
This normalization is not accidental. Scholars warn that when democratic norms erode, societies begin to tolerate behaviors they once rejected. They call this authoritarian drift — not because the nation has become authoritarian, but because the habits that protect democracy begin to weaken. When leaders retaliate against critics, undermine independent institutions, portray oversight as persecution, and demand loyalty over legality, the system starts to tilt. And when the public excuses conduct from the presidency that they would never tolerate from anyone else, the tilt accelerates.
Some policy proposals circulating today — including those in Project 2025 — reflect this shift. They call for expanding presidential control over federal agencies, reducing independent oversight, and replacing career civil servants with political appointees. Analysts warn that these proposals would weaken the very guardrails the framers designed to prevent executive overreach. Whether these proposals are adopted or not, their existence signals a troubling willingness to reconsider the constitutional boundaries that have protected the Republic for more than two centuries.
Americans must stop normalizing behavior that is not normal. We cannot excuse conduct from the presidency that we would never tolerate from anyone else. Democracy depends on shared expectations — and when those expectations collapse, the system collapses with them. Society punishes citizens for behaviors it excuses in the president. The scales of justice feel increasingly flawed. Ordinary people face consequences for misconduct, while leaders often do not. This triple standard — one for the powerful, one for their allies, and one for everyone else — is incompatible with the rule of law.
If the nation wants to restore stability, it must return to the constitutional guardrails that were designed to protect it. That means insisting that presidents separate personal financial interests from public duty, and that Congress enforce transparency and strengthen conflict‑of‑interest laws. It means restoring congressional oversight as a coequal function of government, not a partisan weapon. It means empowering independent institutions to act without fear of retaliation, and protecting career civil servants from political replacement. It means rejecting the idea that misconduct becomes acceptable simply because it comes from the presidency, and demanding that standards apply equally — to citizens, to Congress, and to the executive branch. And it means reviving a culture of dignity, restraint, and respect for institutions, so the presidency once again embodies character, integrity, responsibility, and accountability rather than spectacle, retaliation, or self‑promotion. Restoring standards is not only a constitutional necessity — it is a moral one.
We cannot keep saying that no one is above the law while watching leaders act above it. We cannot keep excusing behavior from the presidency that we would never tolerate from anyone else. Americans want normalcy — a government free of retaliation, corruption, and revengeful acts; a restoration of separation of powers; respect for the Republic and its people; and fidelity to the Constitution. When conservatives and liberals alike begin warning about double standards and unchecked power, it is a sign that the crisis is not ideological — it is structural. If the nation is to regain its footing, it must return to a simple truth: what’s good for the goose must be good for the gander — and the law must apply to leaders with the same force it applies to citizens. Anything less is not democracy.
Carolyn Goode is a retired educational leader and former principal who has spent her career advancing civic responsibility, equity, and public engagement. She writes about democracy, leadership, and the values that strengthen American communities.
Latino immigrants and U.S.-born Latinos differ sharply in how much their identity shapes their daily lives, according to recent findings from the Pew Research Center’s 2025 National Survey of Latinos. The survey shows that Latino immigrants are far more likely than U.S.-born Latinos to say their identity is central to who they are, and that it influences their experiences in the United States. Pew researchers Gabriel Piña, Mark Hugo Lopez, Sahana Mukherjee, Dalia Fahmy, and Alexandra Cahn report that the divide reflects differences in cultural connection, lived experience, and generational distance from immigrant roots.
Pew’s analysis finds that Latino immigrants are significantly more likely to say their origins are central to their identity, while U.S.-born Latinos — especially those in the third generation or higher — are less likely to feel that connection. The report notes that “U.S. Hispanics are divided on whether their identity helps or hurts them in America,” with some respondents describing their Latino identity as a source of pride and connection, and others saying it is tied to discrimination or barriers.
The generational divide is long‑standing. Pew’s earlier research shows that the more generations removed someone is from their family’s immigrant roots, the less likely they are to identify strongly with those origins. In a 2021 analysis, Pew found that 81% of immigrant Hispanics felt a strong cultural connection to their family’s origins, compared with 71% of second‑generation and 63% of third‑generation Hispanics. “The majority of Hispanics also feel a strong cultural connection to their family’s origins,” the report states, but that connection weakens across generations.
Identity labels also shift across generations. Pew’s 2020 research found that 56% of foreign‑born Latinos most often describe themselves by their country of origin — Mexican, Cuban, Puerto Rican, Salvadoran — while only 33% of third‑generation Latinos do the same. Meanwhile, the share who describe themselves as “American” rises sharply across generations, from 4% among immigrants to 33% among third‑generation Latinos. “The terms Hispanics in the United States use to describe themselves can provide a direct look at how they view their identity,” Pew researcher Ana Gonzalez‑Barrera wrote.
The new 2026 report also highlights political differences. Pew found that Latino Trump voters are less likely than Harris voters to say being Latino is central to their lives, suggesting that political identity may intersect with cultural identity in complex ways. The survey, conducted in English and Spanish, included 4,923 Latino respondents and used nationally representative sampling methods.
Together, the findings paint a portrait of a diverse and evolving Latino community in which identity is shaped by immigration history, cultural connection, political experience, and generational change. For immigrants, Latino identity often remains a daily anchor — a lens through which they navigate opportunity and discrimination. For many U.S.-born Latinos, identity is more fluid, influenced by assimilation, geography, and the distance from their family’s migration story. Pew’s researchers note that these differences are not signs of division, but reflections of the many ways Latinos understand who they are in America.
Study Reveals Sharp Generational Divide in How Latino Identity Influences Daily Life was first published by the Latino News Network and republished with permission.

Clerk Matthew Sandbar, 34, demonstrates part of the ballot-sorting process to members of the media attending a walkthrough of the Philadelphia Ballot Processing Center used to process the ballots of the 2022 US midterm elections, in Philadelphia on October 27, 2022.
Tallying the results of Washington, DC’s first ranked-choice election in June took about 10 days—longer than many voters are used to. In an age when artificial intelligence can generate an answer in seconds, waiting days for election results can feel old-fashioned, inefficient, even suspicious. And it is about to matter far more widely. This November, 17 states, cities, and counties will use ranked-choice voting, including Maine and Alaska statewide, in races that could help decide control of Congress. More voters than ever will watch results take days to resolve, and more will be asked to trust a count they cannot see.
But that slowness may be one of its most democratic features.
I come to this question from health informatics, where I study how even AI-generated information that sounds clear, fluent, and helpful still requires careful review before it reaches a patient. The same verification problem applies to elections. The more authoritative a system sounds, the more important it becomes to make sure the output can be checked.
DC’s June 16 primary followed a system that requires more than a simple tally: Voters rank candidates, and if no candidate receives more than 50% of first-choice votes, lower-performing candidates are eliminated, and votes are redistributed according to voters’ next choices. New York City already uses ranked-choice voting in local primary and special elections.
There is nothing wrong with ranked-choice voting, but it must be carried out with verifiable results. Because election counting is not just a math problem; it is a trust problem, especially in the US today, where election workers face harassment, routine counting delays are recast as fraud, and many voters already doubt institutions before a single ballot is counted.
In this climate, counting ranked-choice votes in a way that allows for public verification might take longer than people are used to. Every ballot must be tied to a voter-verifiable record. Every round of tabulation must be explainable. Every disputed outcome must be auditable by people who can inspect the evidence themselves.
AI is not yet counting votes, but AI and machine-assisted systems are already touching elections before ballots are counted, including information voters receive, and how their signatures are reviewed. In 2024, X’s Grok chatbot gave users false information about ballot deadlines; after election officials from five states complained, X changed Grok so election-related questions directed users to Vote.gov, the federal government’s official voting information website. In North Carolina, 10 counties piloted automated signature-verification software for absentee-by-mail ballots in 2024. The pilot did not affect whether any ballot was counted, but later reporting found reliability problems: The software failed to match about 11% of signatures, most software-flagged signatures were approved after human review, and technical issues complicated the test. Neither example is the same as artificial intelligence counting votes, but both show how software can shape what voters are told or what happens before a ballot enters the count.
I have seen the problem in my own research. AI systems can cite studies that do not exist, with titles, authors, and journals that look real until you check them. A 2026 Nature analysis warned that hallucinated citations are polluting scientific literature, and OpenAI researchers have warned that some training and evaluation systems reward guessing over acknowledging uncertainty. A system that gives a confident answer may look more useful, even when that confidence is misplaced, than one that says, “I don’t know.”
That matters because elections often turn on ballot conditions that are not immediately machine readable and need human review: stray marks, undervotes, overvotes, damaged ballots, or ambiguous voter intent. In races where the margin between the candidates is narrow, a few disputed ballots can change the result. These questions should not be resolved by a system whose rules, error rates, or decision process the public cannot understand or meaningfully examine. They should be handled through documented procedures, human review, paper records, and public audits.
Human counting is also imperfect. But precisely because humans are fallible, democratic systems have developed safeguards such as paper ballots, bipartisan observation, chain-of-custody rules, cure processes, recounts, and post-election audits. Risk-limiting audits, for example, hand check samples of paper ballots and can trigger a fuller count if the sample does not support the reported result. Colorado was the first state to conduct a statewide risk-limiting audit in 2017; today, all Colorado counties conduct one before results are certified. Other states have since adopted, required, or piloted risk-limiting audits.
The best election systems do not ask voters to trust either a person or a machine. They produce evidence. That is where current policy is behind the curve. States have moved quickly to regulate AI-generated deepfakes in campaign communications, because fake videos and robocalls can mislead voters. But far less attention has been paid to the AI inside election administration itself. That gap should close before AI moves deeper into election administration, especially into decisions that could affect whether a ballot is accepted, cured, rejected, or counted.
Federal and state governments should establish clear standards for AI used in anything election related. The Brennan Center for Justice has called for such safeguards around quality, transparency, consistency, certification, and monitoring. Election offices should have to explain to the public what an AI system does, who checks it, and how voters can verify the evidence. AI systems whose rules, error rates, or decision process the public cannot understand or meaningfully examine should not make final decisions about whether a ballot counts.
Voters have a role, too. Ask your local election officials whether AI tools are being used anywhere in election administration and how those decisions can be audited. Ask how voters will know if the AI setup gets something wrong. And volunteer as a poll worker. You don’t need a background in elections; local officials train you. Democracy needs more people who understand how ballots are handled, checked, and verified.
AI may soon be able to produce election results in seconds. That does not mean it should. The labor of democracy is not a bottleneck in need of streamlining. It is part of the safeguard.
A Democracy Cannot Run on an AI Model was originally published by Common Dreams and is republished with permission.