In this episode of Democracy Works from The McCourtney Institute for Democracy, the team discusses democracy’s many doomsayers and how to heed their warnings for the future without falling into despair.
Podcast: On democracy's doomsayers


In this episode of Democracy Works from The McCourtney Institute for Democracy, the team discusses democracy’s many doomsayers and how to heed their warnings for the future without falling into despair.

Examining the 2025 episodes that challenged democratic institutions and highlighted the stakes for truth, accountability, and responsible public leadership.
After a year spent writing columns about President Donald Trump, a leader who seems intent on testing every norm, value, and standard of decency that supports our democracy, I finally did what any responsible citizen might do: I went to the doctor to see if I had "Trump Derangement Syndrome."
I told my doctor about my symptoms: constant worry about cruelty in public life, repeated anger at attacks on democratic institutions, and deep anxiety over leaders who treat Americans as props or enemies. After running tests, he gave me his diagnosis with a straight face: "You are, indeed, highly focused on abnormal behavior. But standing up for what is right is excellent for your health and essential for the health of the country."
With my doctor’s approval, I’ve collected a few short excerpts from the pieces I wrote this year, ranging from Trump’s comments about Rob Reiner’s death to the dehumanizing idea of the so-called "Gold Card" for immigrants. Each situation is different, but they all have one thing in common: treating people as props, enemies, or punchlines instead of citizens who deserve dignity.
To illustrate how these themes have surfaced throughout the year, I’ve gathered several of my 2025 columns below. Each examines a different moment, yet together they reveal a consistent pattern in the public conduct I’ve been tracking. The headlines and links offer a clear record of how these episodes unfolded and why they raised concerns about how citizens are spoken to and treated.
Back in February, Kristina Becvar and I wrote a column in The Fulcrum that described a dilemma this piece brings back into focus:
“Our challenge as a publication, dedicated to keeping our readers informed so we can repair our democracy and make it live and work in our everyday lives, is not to be overly reactive or partisan. At the same time, we must not ignore the dangers of the administration’s degrading, hostile, and accusatory language and dangerous actions when they occur, while also acknowledging inappropriate responses when they occur.”
We concluded that it is all too easy to react to President Trump’s behavior. But if we only do that, we risk losing sight of The Fulcrum’s mission. We invite you to help us make The Fulcrum a place where people inside and outside politics can learn, meet, talk, and work together to repair our democracy and make it part of daily life.
We work toward that mission by:
Sticking to this mission while also calling out dangerous language from the administration is a tough balancing act. It’s possible to strongly criticize harmful words or actions and still admit that some concerns may have a bit of truth. Finding that truth and sharing it responsibly is one of our main goals.
With that mission in mind, I share these examples of how our President has repeatedly gone against the principles of freedom, trust, and honorable success. If that means I have "Trump Derangement Syndrome," I accept it. And if standing up for truth, reason, civility, and the dignity of every person, no matter their background, means The Fulcrum is labeled with this so-called syndrome, we’ll wear it proudly.
The real danger isn’t that some people speak out too loudly about indecency. The real danger is that too many have become numb to it. This numbness manifests in alarming ways: voter participation dwindles as people lose faith in the power of their voice; important policies stall because collective advocacy wavers; and the erosion of moral accountability quietly gains ground. It’s this passive acceptance of the unacceptable that poses the gravest threat to our democracy.
In the words of President Ronald Reagan: “This Nation must remain and will remain a beacon of hope for all who strive for human dignity.” And again: “We will be the exemplar of freedom and a beacon of hope for those who do not now have freedom.”
As we begin a new year, my hope is simple: that readers of this column take a moment to consider what they can do in 2026 to strengthen the democratic principles they value. Imagine what might happen if you committed just one hour a month to exploring a viewpoint fundamentally different from your own—and then sought out a respectful conversation with someone who holds that perspective. Or consider joining a local organization dedicated to bridge‑building in your community, offering your time, your skills, or simply your willingness to listen. These are small but meaningful ways to turn concern into action, and to help ensure that America grows stronger through the shared efforts of people across the political spectrum.
Democracy is not a spectator sport. It asks something of each of us. If we choose to remain on the sidelines in 2026, we risk losing our influence over decisions that affect our daily lives and the future of our communities. The absence of active participation may lead to policies that do not reflect our collective values, gradually eroding the very freedoms we cherish. So let us make a collective pledge to do our part: to engage, to learn, to show up, and to help ensure that our nation remains, in President Reagan's words, a beacon of hope for all who strive for human dignity. By committing to active involvement, we not only preserve our democracy but also strengthen it, securing a better future for generations to come.
David Nevins is the publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.

An Israeli army vehicle moves on the Israeli side, near the border with the Gaza Strip on November 18, 2025 in Southern Israel, Israel.
Since October 10, 2025, the day when the US-brokered ceasefire between Israel and Hamas was announced, Israel has killed at least 401 civilians, including at least 148 children. This has led Palestinian scholar Saree Makdisi to decry a “continuing genocide, albeit one that has shifted gears and has—for now—moved into the slow lane. Rather than hundreds at a time, it is killing by twos and threes” or by twenties and thirties as on November 19 and November 23 – “an obscenity that has coalesced into a new normal.” The Guardian columnist Nesrine Malik describes the post-ceasefire period as nothing more than a “reducefire,” quoting the warning issued by Amnesty International’s secretary general Agnès Callamard that the ”world must not be fooled” into believing that Israel’s genocide is over.
A visual analysis of satellite images conducted by the BBC has established that since the declared ceasefire, “the destruction of buildings in Gaza by the Israeli military has been continuing on a huge scale,” entire neighborhoods “levelled” through “demolitions,” including large swaths of farmland and orchards. The Guardian reported already in March of 2024, that satellite imagery proved the “destruction of about 38-48% of tree cover and farmland” and 23% of Gaza’s greenhouses “completely destroyed.” Writing about the “colossal violence” Israel has wrought on Gaza, Palestinian legal scholar Rabea Eghbariah lists “several variations” on the term “genocide” which researchers found the need to introduce, such as “urbicide” (the systematic destruction of cities), “domicide” (systematic destruction of housing), “sociocide,” “politicide,” and “memoricide.” Others have added the concepts “ecocide,” “scholasticide” (the systematic destruction of Gaza’s schools, universities, libraries), and “medicide” (the deliberate attacks on all aspects of Gaza’s healthcare with the intent to “wipe out” all medical care). It is only the combination of all these “-cides,” all amounting to massive war crimes, that adequately manages to describe the Palestinian condition. Constantine Zurayk introduced the term “Nakba” (“catastrophe” in Arabic) in 1948 to name the unparalleled “magnitude and ramifications of the Zionist conquest of Palestine” and its historical “rupture.” When Eghbariah argues for “Nakba” as a “new legal concept,” he underlines, however, that to understand its magnitude, one needs to go back to the 1917 Balfour Declaration, in which the British colonial power promised “a national home for the Jewish people” in Palestine, even though just 6 % of its population were Jewish. From Nakba as the “constitutive violence of 1948,” we need today to conceptualize “Nakba as a structure,” an “overarching frame.”
As a scholar of genocide and trauma and their literary and philosophical representations, I study how the creation of words (such as “reducefire,” “medicide,” “memoricide” or the coining of “Nakba” as a concept) makes realities thinkable for which previously there were no words. This is important because, as Eghbariah underlines, “generating legal language […] to name certain types of oppression is a crucial step toward demanding justice.” “Naming,” Eghbariah quotes a legal study from 1981, “may be the critical transformation,” because naming opens new narrative possibilities. But to find words to name, we also need to listen. Rosemary Zayigh’s oral histories of displaced Palestinians are foundational. Sherene Seikaly describes the heartrending difficulty of finding language in the midst of today’s devastation: “To parent in genocide is to exist in fragments between speech and silence. It is to find words to prepare children for forced absences, sudden deaths, unexpected arrests, and critical injuries” and to “witness famine robbing speech.”
During the last week of November, two independent agencies issued two reports that documented the systematic destruction still inflicted by Israel. These reports received scant attention, now that the American public is under the false assumption that “peace” has arrived in Gaza.
The report “Developments in the economy of the Occupied Palestinian Territory” was published by the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD). Its summary states that the scale of destruction “has unleashed cascading crises, economic, humanitarian, environmental, and social, propelling the Occupied Palestinian Territory from de-development to utter ruin. The military operations have ravaged vital infrastructure, including hospitals, universities, schools, places of worship, cultural heritage sites, water and sanitation systems, agricultural land and telecommunications and energy networks.” Towards the end, the report warns that while the dependence of Gaza on aid is “absolute, […] even this lifeline is obstructed by violence,” adding that Israel’s military campaign has “plunged Gaza into a human-made abyss, without a respite in sight. The sustained, systematic destruction casts significant doubt on the ability of Gaza to reconstitute itself as a liveable space and society.” Without respite in sight, the 'sociocide' is expanding today, during the 'reducefire.” It is rare to read in the official report of a UN agency an expression like “human-made abyss.”
A second report resulted from a study undertaken by a team from the Max Planck Institute for Demographic Research (MPIDR) and the Centre for Demographic Studies (CED) in Rostock, Germany, on the true death toll of Israel’s campaign of annihilation in Gaza. Using a scientific modeling approach, and based on data received from a number of different public sources from Israel, Gaza, and the United Nations, the researchers established that the official death toll by the Gaza Ministry of Health very likely reflected an undercount of at least 35%. In concrete numbers, they estimate the death toll between October 7, 2023, and December 31, 2024, to exceed 78,000 people. After their study’s publication, the scientists also presented an update estimating that by October 6 of this year, the “violent death toll” had “likely surpassed 100,000.” However, as the lead author Ana C. Gómez-Ugarte added, this estimate does not take into account the “indirect effects of war, which are often greater and more long-lasting,” meaning that the toll is likely to be much higher. Already in July 2024, three researchers affiliated with Canadian, Palestinian, British and US research institutes had warned in a “Correspondence” to the renowned medical journal The Lancet that “in recent conflicts, such indirect deaths range from three to 15 times the number of direct deaths,” and that it would be plausible to apply a “conservative estimate of four indirect deaths per one direct death” to the death count in Gaza. The researchers point out that it is impossible to know how many dead are buried under the rubble. Using their “conservative” numbers, the estimated death toll would reach a staggering half a million.
Given that Israel had dropped already in February 2024 the equivalent of two atomic bombs, these numbers are unfortunately not unrealistic, also in light of the threat, issued in November 2023 by the Likud Minister Avi Dichter that Israel would be “rolling out the Gaza Nakba and that there was “no way to wage a war.” Indeed, the correct concept should be “campaign of annihilation,” not “war.” This is what Palestinian legal scholar Noura Erakat responded to when she warned in February 2024 that Israel did not want peace, but a “Nakba peace.” She described “Nakba peace” as “the establishment of security achieved through the removal of native Palestinians who, by their very existence and refusal to disappear, challenge Zionist settler sovereignty.” Her words prove today prophetic. The so-called “peace plan” that is in place with US support allows only for a “Nakba peace” under whose auspices, as Makdisi writes, “Israel can confine an entire population without any means of subsistence to an utterly desolated wasteland and leave it entirely dependent on a trickle of aid handouts that it can turn on and off at will.”
We have to pressure our political representatives to stand up against the appalling variety of “-cides” that define Palestinian life and that risk becoming accepted as the new normal. We have to learn and teach the new words that name these new forms of “colossal violence.” We have to pressure our political representatives to reject the current “Nakba peace” and push for a future that is based on true equality of political rights for Palestinians and Israelis. Crucial steps
include demanding legislative oversight, such as insisting on the State Department’s and Department of Defense’s adherence to the Leahy Laws that prohibit financial and military assistance to foreign military or police units involved in gross human rights violations, and adherence to international law. Other steps include supporting civic advocacy groups dedicated to pursuing a just future in Israel/ Palestine, such as Amnesty International, Jewish Voice for Peace, the Palestinian Futures Fund, the development organization in Palestine, Taawon, and the American Friends Service Committee. But no less important is to finally center Palestinian voices, in Gaza, the West Bank, and here in the United States, and, in Sherene Seikaly’s words, to “listen to ordinary people narrating extraordinary things.” As Seikaly reminds us with Rosemary Sayigh, Palestinians tell their stories to assert “living despite catastrophe” and to “hold tightly” to their “visions of the possible.”
Elisabeth Weber is a Professor of Comparative Literature at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and a Public Voices Fellow with The OpEd Project at UCSB.

Donald Trump has repeatedly used the phrase “holding the cards” during his tenure as President to signal that he, or sometimes an opponent, has the upper hand. The metaphor projects bravado, leverage, and the inevitability of success or failure, depending on who claims control.
Unfortunately, Trump’s repeated invocation of “holding the cards” embodies a worldview where leverage, bluff, and dominance matter more than duty, morality, or responsibility. In contrast, leadership grounded in duty emphasizes ethical obligations to allies, citizens, and democratic principles—elements strikingly absent from this metaphor.
Take Ukraine as a case in point. In the peace talks on Ukraine this year, Trump has insisted that Russia “holds the cards” in the ongoing conflict. But if Russia does indeed hold them, it is not because of some immutable law of geopolitics. It is because the United States—and Trump himself—has ceded those cards by failing to fully back Ukraine’s defense.
Power in international relations is not simply a fixed hand dealt by fate. Instead, choices, commitments, and the willingness to stand by allies all shape it. By declaring that Russia holds the cards, Trump disregards the moral responsibility the United States bears to ensure that Ukraine is not left vulnerable to aggression.
This card-game metaphor strips away the human stakes, treating war and diplomacy as transactional contests. By contrast, principled leadership recognizes national purpose and moral duty. When leaders use only the language of leverage, they obscure the deeper truth: democratic nations have a duty to resist authoritarian expansion, not just calculate strength. Trump’s language thus reflects a broader erosion of social or humanitarian responsibility.
America’s role in the world is not defined by who holds the cards alone. Far more important is whether those cards are played in defense of freedom or surrendered to expediency.
Trump has used this metaphor countless times. He asserted that the United States “held the cards” in its trade war with China, basing his claim on the size of America’s consumer market. Yet the data contradicts this claim. Even as U.S. tariffs reduced Chinese exports to America by nearly 30%, Beijing redirected its goods elsewhere, fueling a record $1 trillion trade surplus. Exports to Europe and Southeast Asia rose significantly, demonstrating China’s ability to reroute supply chains and blunt the impact of U.S. consumer leverage.
Moreover, China has repeatedly used its dominance in rare earth minerals as a counterweight—a sector worth billions annually and vital to defense systems, semiconductors, and electric vehicles. By imposing export controls on rare earths and finished magnets, Beijing makes clear that leverage is not one-sided. The U.S. may have a vast consumer market, but China’s grip on critical materials and its ability to diversify trade partners show that America’s “cards” are far from decisive. Trump’s metaphor thus often clouds reality. Global trade leverage is fluid. China has proven adept at offsetting Trump’s strategic claims.
Of course, Trump also loves to claim leverage over Congress. His constant insistence that he “held the cards” reveals a deeper pattern: he treats constitutional checks not as guardrails, but as obstacles to be bulldozed. In 2025, he tried to cancel nearly $5 billion in foreign aid—already approved by lawmakers—through a rare maneuver called a pocket rescission. He also deployed thousands of National Guard troops to cities such as Los Angeles and Chicago without the governor's consent. Courts later ruled these moves unlawful. He even fired independent agency officials at the Federal Trade Commission and other bodies, flouting statutory protections and claiming these actions proved executive leverage.
The reality, however, is more complex. Unlike the unilateral leverage Trump describes, real power is balanced by constitutional design. Courts have struck down several of his maneuvers, and even members of his own party questioned their legality. Congress retains the power of the purse, oversight authority, and the constitutional mandate to check executive overreach. Trump’s card-game metaphor focuses on unilateral action, whereas the constitutional system demands collaboration within shared powers. In truth, the cards are distributed by design in our Constitution, and democracy depends on respecting that principle.
Trump’s repeated use of the “holding the cards” metaphor may resonate with some as a symbol of dominance, but it ultimately fails to provide moral direction. Leadership is measured not by who bluffs or claims leverage, but by who upholds responsibility and principle.
Reducing governance to a card game overlooks the values that define America: freedom, trust, and a commitment to democratic institutions.
America needs leaders who play not just to win, but to serve the people and defend democratic values.
David Nevins is the publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.

Most customers carry a particular image of Campbell's Soup: the red-and-white label stacked on a pantry shelf, a touch of nostalgia, and the promise of a dependable bargain. It's food for snow days, tight budgets, and the middle of the week. For generations, the brand has positioned itself as a companion to working families, offering "good food" for everyday people. The company cultivated that trust so thoroughly that it became almost cliché.
Campbell's episode, now the subject of national headlines and an ongoing high-profile legal complaint, is troubling not only for its blunt language but for what it reveals about the hidden injuries that erode the social contract linking institutions to citizens, workers to workplaces, and brands to buyers. If the response ends with the usual PR maneuvers—rapid firings and the well-rehearsed "this does not reflect our values" statement. Then both the lesson and the opportunity for genuine reform by a company or individual are lost. To grasp what this controversy means for the broader corporate landscape, we first have to examine how leadership reveals its actual beliefs.
The facts are straightforward. Robert Garza, a former cybersecurity analyst, has sued Campbell's, alleging that Martin Bally, then a vice president and Chief Information Security Officer, insulted Indian workers, disparaged Campbell's foods as "s--- for f---ing poor people," and mocked consumers—all during a meeting intended to address Garza's compensation. The lawsuit claims Bally also bragged about coming to work under the influence of marijuana and repeatedly used explicit racial slurs. According to Garza, the recording supports his claims. After Garza reported the incident to his supervisor, Bally was dismissed.
Campbell acknowledged the recording's authenticity, condemned Bally's remarks as "vulgar, offensive, and false," and severed ties with him. The company now faces a state-level investigation concerning product quality and questions about possible retaliation.
What's most striking about Bally's alleged remarks isn't just the crude language or the ignorance. It’s the confidence with which he shared them. To belittle food that millions depend upon as "slop for the poor" reveals not only personal arrogance but internalized elitism and a profound disconnect from both consumers and the company's declared values. If this is how executives view their products and those who rely on them, no marketing campaign can bridge that gap.
For employees, especially those targeted by bigotry or scapegoating, the harm runs even deeper. Corporate culture doesn't merely flow downward; it seeps into everyday behavior, from missed advancement to subtle exclusion. When employees see that reporting misconduct can lead to retaliation, as Garza alleges, trust erodes quickly, and the damage lingers.
Consumers sense this contempt too. In an era of economic strain, the realization that leaders quietly mock customers' realities is more than a PR challenge; it's a breach of the social contract. It signals that the promise of a fair exchange is negotiable and all too fragile. If contempt destroys trust, the usual cycle of corporate contrition does little to repair it.
Crisis management has become rote: issue a statement, insist the offensive behavior doesn't represent the company, fire the offender, and announce an internal review. Campbell's followed this script and reaffirmed its commitment to quality. These actions matter, but they fall short of addressing deeper failures.
No executive rises to senior leadership in a vacuum. Bally's conduct was possible because a culture allowed him to advance while his attitudes went unchallenged or unnoticed. Such reality should prompt a more honest question: if a workplace can absorb and overlook contempt of this magnitude, what else has it normalized? What day-to-day habits have become so ingrained that the system itself sustains arrogance and exclusion?
If these questions expose the limits of routine corporate apologies, the next step is to consider what real accountability would require. Authentic accountability demands transparency that goes beyond formulaic statements and crisis scripts. Campbell’s, or any company, must move from symbolic gestures to real, structural change: independent audits of workplace culture, genuine opportunities for employees to reach senior leaders without fear of retaliation, and real consequences when retaliation occurs.
Diversity and anti-bias training may help, but they mean little without independent reporting channels, third-party oversight, and steadfast whistleblower protections. Recruitment and advancement should prioritize those who understand the realities of workers and consumers, not just candidates who fit the old leadership mold. Most challenging of all, product and marketing decisions should involve the consumers who actually use the brand. Respect is genuine only when it is participatory.
If Campbell's is sincere in its supposed gratitude for its customers, the first step toward repair is a willingness to share influence with those very people. Consumers hold more power than they realize. They can demand more than apologies and short-term fixes. Public trust isn't a performance; it's a responsibility. When leaders betray that trust, the only credible response involves actual culture change and consequences that reach into the structure of leadership.
Boycotts and social media outrage apply pressure. But real consumer advocacy expects independent review, measurable equity commitments, and transparency in hiring, retention, and advancement. It supports companies that protect whistleblowers and uphold these standards long after the headlines vanish. With all this in mind, the final question is whether redemption is possible—and if so, what it must look like.
The Campbell's scandal isn't just a corporate misstep; it points to a broader breach between the powerful and those who trust, labor for, and support them. If companies seek redemption, it won't come through slogans or glossy advertisements. It will have to emerge through actions that honor dignity in tangible, lasting ways.
If leaders can't replace contempt with genuine respect, self-reflection, and a humility fitting their responsibilities, the divide between the influential and everyday people will only widen. The consequences will outlast brand reputation or quarterly profits. They ripple through the moral integrity of public life. That growing divide is a test of who we are and what we're willing to accept from those who shape the literal and symbolic bread of our daily lives.
Rev. Dr. F. Willis Johnson is a spiritual entrepreneur, author, scholar-practioner whose leadership and strategies around social and racial justice issues are nationally recognized and applied.