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We asked Jessica Meza , a Journalism & Advertising and Public Relations student at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, to share her thoughts on what democracy means to her and her perspective on its current health.
Here's her insight on the topic
We, the people, are the first words of the Constitution and the basis of American democracy. The United States of America was founded on this principle by a group of people who were tired of the tyranny of a king. People who wanted representation in a government that would serve them. Today, we find ourselves in a similar situation to that of our founding fathers 249 years ago.
The story of America inspires many to dream, defy, and strive for freedom. I am the product of the hope for the American dream. Like many children of immigrants, I grew up hearing the story of the American dream. Hearing the struggle to put me in the place I am in today. People leave their countries, families, and cultures. All to raise their children in a country of opportunity and freedom. With the hope of providing a better future for generations to come.
Today, that is not the reality for many. Not even native born Americans. But what happened to “liberty and justice for all?” Every day from kindergarten through 12th grade, I would recite the Pledge of Allegiance every morning. I believed in these words and believe that they can be true one day.
At 9 years old, I first formally learned about immigration. I understood the basic concept, and I knew my parents weren’t born in the U.S. But they were always Americans to me. My class learned about the immigrant journey to Ellis Island. About the struggle of leaving your home behind. Also, the treatment of immigrants in the U.S. is due to their status.
As a child, this was when I learned that people didn’t like immigrants. That’s when the rude bus drivers, dirty looks, and frustrated store clerks started to make sense to me. To this day, I still will never understand the treatment of immigrants. They have always been people looking for a better life for me.
As a Latina, I don't believe that democracy has served me in my immigrant community of taxpayers, hard workers, and families. They are not heard, not because of language barriers but due to ignorance and hate. People are being ripped apart from their families for trying to better their lives.
Concentration-like camps are being set up in Florida for immigrants. Politicians are selling merchandise for 'Alligator Alcatraz.' Political activist Laura Loomer tweeted that now the alligators have 65 million meals. 65 million is the number of Hispanics and Latinos in the U.S. There is no due process, no respect.
As a woman, I don’t believe that democracy has served me with the overturning of Roe v. Wade. Women are afraid of losing their bodily autonomy. That in the event they are dying, their child will receive priority over them, even if they want a fighting chance. In the first year of the Dobbs decision, Texas's maternal mortality rate rose 56% after banning abortions after 6 weeks.
In Georgia, Adriana Smith was declared brain dead and was kept on life support for about 5 months to sustain her 8-week-old fetus. She was put on life support to support the fetus until it could be delivered. The family wasn’t given a choice in this decision, and Smith’s body was used as an incubator. The wishes of the family were ignored to support a law that prioritizes unborn fetuses over women's lives.
Rep. Kat Cammack's life-saving treatment to expel her pregnancy was delayed in Florida in 2024. Strict laws have made medical professionals fearful of providing medical treatment, fearing arrest. Doctors have to choose their licenses over saving women's lives with treatments that are easily available. Congress has hijacked women's bodily autonomy.
Married women now fear losing their ability to vote with the SAVE Act. The act would prohibit you from voting if the name on your ID did not match the one on your birth certificate. 69 million women's right to vote is being infringed on. The ideals that pushed women to take their husbands' last names have now risked their ability to vote. These measures taken to prevent voter fraud are creating barriers for women.
This past election, I had the opportunity to vote for the first time in a presidential election. I proudly can say I got to vote for a woman. I can proudly say I voted for someone I thought could lead our nation in the right direction.
The night of the election, I covered a watch party, and I saw so many hopeful women. I got to talk to women who have been waiting ages for a change. I saw young girls who were hopeful for their future. I wonder if those women today still have hope for change.
As an American, democracy is not serving us anymore. Our democracy is in danger, and we are heading towards an authoritarian government.
The people rule a democracy. Right now, we have rich, old, out-of-touch representatives who don't represent any of our interests—Republican, Democrat, Independent, or non-partisan. We are divided by political affiliations when we are all suffering under this new administration.
We have lost our sense of community. Start talking to your neighbors; they are also people being impacted. Begin having difficult conversations with each other. It'll be mild discomfort, but you'll gain a better understanding of your neighbor. The price of community is inconvenience, but the cost of having no community is suffering in silence.
Democracy can serve us again. There is still hope to better our country. To ensure that we are fighting for liberty and justice for all. Because the Constitution begins with 'We,' not 'them.'
Demonstrators rally outside the U.S. Supreme Court as justices hear oral arguments on whether President Donald Trump can deny citizenship to children born to parents who are in the United States illegally or temporarily, on Capitol Hill, in Washington, Wednesday, April 1, 2026. (AP Photo/Mariam Zuhaib)
Luz Angela Nuñez with her daughter Aisha Quershi Nuñez at their home in College Point, Queens. Photo: Mia Anzalone for Documented.
Kimberly Alvarez, 25, with her daughter Evangeline and her husband John Alvarez in Medellin, Colombia. Photo courtesy of Kimberly Alvarez.Alvarez arrived in New York City in February 2024 with her husband John Alvarez as asylum seekers from Venezuela. In April 2025, Alvarez found out she was pregnant with her first child, a baby girl. Her first reaction, she said, was fear.“How am I going to keep her alive?” she said. “That’s what I was thinking. ‘How am I going to be able to take care of her?’”At the beginning of Alvarez’s pregnancy, she said she was aware of the immigration enforcement occurring around the country, but vowed not to let it deter her from showing up to her doctor’s appointments.“When you went out, you were always on alert because you didn’t know if [ICE] might be around. I never saw anything suspicious,” Alvarez said. “But of course, you feel scared.”In October, when Alvarez was six months pregnant, her husband was detained by ICE agents at 26 Federal Plaza. When the immediate shock wore off, she obsessively checked the Online Detainee Locator System to find out where her husband went. A day later, she discovered that he was being kept at Delaney Hall detention center in New Jersey. Alvarez quickly set up an account to pay for phone calls, and every two days, she would pay about $10 for a one-hour call, updating her husband about the baby, her appointments and how she was doing.“Crying was the only way for me to release the tension,” said Alvarez, who worried that her lack of sleep and bad diet were impacting her baby. “Crying was the only way for me to release the tension.”—Kimberly AlvarezThat tension built up day by day, week by week following her husband’s arrest. Alvarez had stopped her work as a cleaner in the neighborhood’s synagogues two weeks before her husband’s detention because of her pregnancy. The plan, she said, was to rely solely on his income as a maintenance worker for “the food, the rent, everything.” Left with few choices, Kimberley had to rely on her mother’s income as a cleaner. The older woman had moved to New York from North Carolina to assist with Alvarez’s pregnancy. “I feel like I’m supposed to help my mom, not the other way around,” Alvarez said. “I felt powerless because I couldn’t do anything.”On Dec. 9, Alvarez gave birth to a daughter, Evangeline. While her baby was healthy, Alvarez’s anxieties did not go away. While she returned to cleaning synagogues a few months after Evangeline’s birth to help make ends meet, Alvarez and her daughter rarely left home. Alvarez said she felt paralyzed, getting frequent alerts from a neighborhood WhatsApp group when ICE was spotted nearby. One day, she said, ICE arrested her friend’s husband in Sunset Park, in an area where she would sometimes take Evangeline for walks.“I’m so afraid that I’ll go out and run into one of them and that they’ll take her away from me,” Alvarez said. “That’s my biggest fear, that someone will take her away from me and I won’t know where my daughter is.”In March, her husband decided to voluntarily remove himself from the United States and move back to Colombia, where he is originally from. It was a family decision, but it was not a happy one — hiring immigration lawyers was too expensive, Alvarez said, adding that staying in the U.S. felt too uncertain. 
