Breslin is the Joseph C. Palamountain Jr. Chair of Political Science at Skidmore College and author of “A Constitution for the Living: Imagining How Five Generations of Americans Would Rewrite the Nation’s Fundamental Law.”
This is the latest in a series to assist American citizens on the bumpy road ahead this election year. By highlighting components, principles and stories of the Constitution, Breslin hopes to remind us that the American political experiment remains, in the words of Alexander Hamilton, the “most interesting in the world.”
The simple statement that elections matter seems so obvious. But then again, it’s not clear that Americans — a disillusioned and frustrated lot if there ever was one — fully accept that the act of choosing representatives can drastically shape lives.
Just consider individual rights.
The election of the president of the United States has a direct effect on the appointment of federal judges, and those judges, more so than practically anyone, determine the strength and scope of our individual freedoms. Ergo elections impact rights.
The Dobbs case overturning Roe v. Wade and consigning a woman’s privacy right to certain geographical residencies is just the most noteworthy example. Think about the latest First Amendment cases where the Supreme Court reduced Thomas Jefferson’s separation of church and state to a mere pony wall (Carson v. Makin and Kennedy v. Bremerton, both decided in 2022). Or the recent redistricting case where, to the surprise of many, a slim liberal majority emerged to safeguard fundamental voting rights (Allen v. Milligan, 2023). Elections matter.
America’s constitutional drafters understood this. James Madison’s constitutional vision depended entirely on elections. He said so in Federalist 14. “In a democracy,” he argued, “the people meet and exercise the government in person; in a republic, they assemble and administer it by their representatives and agents.” Rejecting the idea of a direct or pure democracy in favor of an extended republic, said Madison, cured two political evils: rule by permanent majorities and the trampling of minority rights. To make an extended republic work, he knew, requires elections.
Alexander Hamilton agreed. In a 1777 letter to Gouverneur Morris, the New Yorker wrote: “A representative democracy, where the right of election is well secured and regulated & the exercise of the legislative, executive and judiciary authorities, is vested in select persons, chosen really and not nominally by the people, will in my opinion be most likely to be happy, regular and durable.”
Predictably, Abraham Lincoln was the most eloquent on the topic. He declared in his famous July 4, 1861, oration to Congress: “Our popular government has often been called an experiment. Two points in it our people have already settled — the successful establishment and the successful administering of it. One still remains — its successful maintenance against a formidable internal attempt to overthrow it. It is now for them to demonstrate to the world that those who can fairly carry an election can also suppress a rebellion; that ballots are the rightful and peaceful successors of bullets; and that when ballots have fairly and constitutionally decided, there can be no successful appeal back to bullets; that there can be no successful appeal except to ballots themselves, at succeeding elections. Such will be a great lesson of peace; teaching men that what they cannot take by an election neither can they take by a war; teaching all the folly of being the beginners of a war.”
Of course, words are one thing. America’s first constitutional defenders embraced elections, but not inclusion. Aristocratic elements penetrated popular government in the early republic; participation was restricted to the few. The initial expansion of the electorate beyond propertied white men came during Reconstruction, four score and three years after America’s constitutional birth. It was too long in coming. And yet once the 15th Amendment welcomed Black males to the ballot box in 1870, resistance to a more expansive electorate weakened a bit.
Wyoming allowed women to vote in 1869; Utah followed a year later, and then Colorado, and Idaho, and Washington, and California. By 1920, when the 19th Amendment finally recognized women’s suffrage across the country, 15 states had already expanded their voting rolls to include women. In 1925, Congress enacted the Indian Citizenship Act, granting the vote to Native Americans born in the United States. Less than a generation after that milestone, Asian Americans could vote as well.
The 1960s were a boon for the eager electorate. The 23rd Amendment, ratified in 1961, allowed folks inside the Beltway to participate in presidential elections, while the 24th, three years later, barred all poll taxes. The Voting Rights Act of 1965, a landmark piece of legislation (which was extended in future years under Republican Presidents Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford and Ronald Reagan) followed. And in 1971, the 26th Amendment was ratified. From that day on, even teenagers could vote.
For a century — between 1869 and 1971 — each generation contributed to bringing more voters under the tent. To be sure, expansion of access to the ballot box has accelerated throughout America’s political development. Millions more Americans are voting now than just 60 years ago. An identical 62 percent of the voting age population turned out for the presidential elections in both 1960 and 2020. The difference? The vote tally: 68 million ballots were cast in 1960; 160 million were cast in 2020.
But closer inspection reveals a slightly darker picture. Essays like this one tend to romanticize the past, as if constitutional champions throughout American history suddenly awoke to a more inclusive and progressive conviction. That, sadly, is not the case. More voters means greater struggles to hold on to the vote. Literacy tests, grandfather clauses, poll taxes, white primaries, intimidation, even fraud — these were once the common methods used to prevent a free Black population from voting. States adopted similar schemes to disenfranchise women after passage of the 19th Amendment. Immigrants, Native Americans, Jews, and other demographic groups faced their own voting obstacles.
And those injustices are not yet behind us. Over the past few years, many states have subtly, and not so subtly, increased barriers to voting, including imposing greater restrictions on voting by mail, reducing polling locations, introducing or expanding ID requirements, and limiting voting day registration opportunities. According to the Brennan Center for Justice, 2021 holds the unenviable title as a “record-breaking year for legislative activity around voting rights.”
The Supreme Court deserves some of the blame for opening the door to official voter suppression. Shelby County v. Holder (2013) gutted the Voting Rights Act by obliterating Section 5, the provision that required states with a history of discrimination to get “pre-clearance” before implementing changes to their voting procedures. The five-member conservative majority opined that such red tape had become “out of date,” that the requirement to get pre-clearance was now an unconstitutional congressional intrusion on state authority. The consequence? States that once imposed poll taxes and literacy tests, indeed ones that looked the other way when Black voters were literally beaten for casting a ballot, could now be trusted to self-monitor their own electoral procedures.
But make no mistake, it is “We, the People,” who deserve most of the blame. Membership on the Supreme Court is a product of our choices on Election day. It’s quite simple: If we did not want Chief Justice John Roberts, who wrote the majority opinion in Shelby, to eviscerate Section 5 of the Voting Rights Act, or Justices Antonin Scalia, Clarence Thomas, Anthony Kennedy, and Samuel Alito to concur in that finding, we should have voted differently for the presidents who appointed them.
Similarly, we have the collective power to raze the barriers to universal voting; we can reverse the recent trend away from electoral expansion; we can insist on motor voter laws, minimally restrictive mail voting, an Election Day paid holiday, more polling locations, and on and on and on. How? By fearlessly and consistently entering the voting booth.




















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.