On the surface, the coronavirus pandemic seems to have driven already-divided Americans even further apart.
Police brutality has triggered violent protests in dozens of cities. In a split that's been dubbed the "lockdown left" versus the "reopen right," Democrats are bickering with Republicans over whether public health or the economy should come first. In the House, GOP lawmakers have sued Democrats for permitting proxy voting during the pandemic. And President Trump is stoking all these divisions as the defining strategy of his reelection campaign.
"The unity that was created during and after world wars for America lasted years, the unity after 9/11 lasted months — and the unity during this Covid crisis might be days," says former Rep. Tim Roemer, an Indiana Democrat who helped spearhead a recent bipartisan letter signed by 110 former lawmakers, top government officials and governors urging Congress to respond with more strength, unity and cooperation.
But the rancor and bad blood roiling government officials are not the whole story.
Americans are also reporting heightened public unity and trust as communities draw together in the crisis. A survey last month by More in Common found 90 percent saying "we're all in it together," compared to only 63 percent in 2018. The number who described the country as unified jumped eightfold in the same period.
The Trump administration's chaotic response to the crisis has created a leadership vacuum that all sorts of smaller players have stepped in to fill — state and local leaders, nonprofits, foundations, CEOs, small businesses, neighbors helping neighbors. The pandemic has intensified inequities and political divisions around the globe, say scholars at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. But it's also created the kind of disruption, or major shock, that can lead to new political alignments, as happened in Japan following the 2011 nuclear disaster at Fukushima.
But the public health emergency in the United States has added energy and urgency to several "centers of gravity" in the movement to revive democracy and civil society, argues Kristin Hansen, executive director of the Civic Health Project, which promotes reducing polarization.
These include organizers working to bridge ideological divides at the individual and community level — what Hansen calls the "social aspect" of civic health — and activists seeking structural democracy reforms, from bolstered voting rights to more regulated campaign financing. The latter have coalesced around a broadly bipartisan movement to save the election, principally by greatly expanded mail-in voting.
A rallying cry for the "bridging divides" camp is to counter the prevailing social media and cable news narrative that Americans are hopelessly divided, with a more positive message about the caring and connections that are bringing communities together. Two powerhouse groups in the "bridging divides" movement — the Aspen Institute's Weave: The Social Fabric Project, and the Listen First Project — recently teamed up to form a Weaving Community initiative to build unity amid the pandemic.
"I think a lot of the power and importance of this campaign is that we are serving up a counter narrative to the dominant narrative that America is likely to experience over the next six months as we head into a critical election," says Hansen.
The Weaving Community initiative has drawn a long list of influential partners and sponsors, and describes its goal as ensuring that "the pandemic drives us together, rather than apart."
The "structural reform" camp of the democracy movement continues to wage legal and policy battles on multiple fronts, but the mandate to protect mail-in balloting during the pandemic has taken center stage. Its latest alliance is a new cross-partisan coalition, dubbed VoteSafe, led by one prominent former governor from each party, Republican Tom Ridge of Pennsylvania and Democrat Jennifer Granholm of Michigan. VoteSafe is promoting both access to absentee ballots and public health at polling places, and has partnered with such leading groups as RepresentUs and the League of Women Voters.
The divisions pitting Americans against one another rage on, of course. Governors under pressure to open non-essential businesses with little federal guidance have faced ugly protests by armed extremists. Congress passed three economic relief bills in the early stages but lost little time bogging down yet again. The pandemic could spell years of economic and political instability, both at home and abroad.
Yet even on Capitol Hill, some see rays of hope. The recent letter to Congress that Roemer helped organize spotlighted the work of the Select Committee on the Modernization of Congress, which has worked across party lines to recommend dozens of institutional reforms to modernize and strengthen the House. These include measures to make the House more transparent, efficient and accessible, and in the long run more capable of working across partisan differences.
"You can't fix things on the economy or on our health pandemic without a functioning legislative branch, and a branch that can solve problems," says Roemer, who was ambassador to India after leaving Congress.
For now, average Americans appear to be doing a better job coming together than federal officials. But at all levels, the pandemic is simultaneously pushing Americans apart and drawing them together. For advocates of restoring a functioning democracy and bolstering civic health, the question is whether these disruptive forces will lead to more chaos and division, or create an opening for greater unity and change.
Carney is a contributing writer.




















A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.