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.”
It seems Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis has stepped away from the grueling rat race of a presidential campaign to pursue an even higher, and far more difficult, political prize: amending the U.S. Constitution.
I applaud the governor.
Last week, DeSantis announced that he was seeking fundamental constitutional reform in an effort to “hold the U.S. Congress accountable” and “protect the people of Florida from a reckless federal government.” He proposed four amendments: “a balanced federal budget, congressional term limits, equal laws for the public and members of Congress, and line-item veto authority for the President of the United States.” He is no doubt the most visible figure in the last several years to enter the debate about constitutional reform. And the most polarizing.
But he’s not wrong. The Constitution needs an overhaul. There, I said it. The greatest political charter in human history, the one that proved the model for all others and that has, for the most part, altered the entire trajectory of organized government around the world, is in desperate need of repair. The political document most revered, most venerated, and most esteemed by those at home (including me) and those abroad is, frankly, a bit outdated. We could use a few amendments, or better yet a whole new constitutional convention. It’s time. A return to Philadelphia to rewrite the nation’s fundamental law is long overdue.
What’s remarkable is that the Constitution has lasted as long as it has, and that it has been mostly effective — for a large slice of Americans at least — in safeguarding liberty. It has survived numerous wars, including a brutal Civil War where its very principles were questioned. The document has survived serious challenges to its authority by state legislators and governors (including DeSantis) bent on capturing power. It has survived alarming, and sometimes sickening, decisions by the courts — Dred Scott, Plessy v. Ferguson, Bowers v. Hardwick, Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization. It has survived political scandals, malpractice, high crimes and misdemeanors, disloyalty, and treason. And it survived Jan. 6.
Those who wrote and ratified the Constitution were not sure it would, or even should, endure. James Madison was the strongest proponent of durable constitutions and even he worried that these “parchment barriers” were no match for a government that “draws all power into its impetuous vortex.” His lone experience with federal constitutions was the feeble Articles of Confederation. Lasting only eight years, the Articles proved irreparably broken. Just ask those who tried to vanquish Mr. Shays.
And then there were those who actively opposed abiding constitutions, most famously Thomas Jefferson. “The earth belongs in usufruct to the living,” Jefferson insisted. To be bound by the political visions and values of a prior generation is just another form of tyranny.
“Some men look at constitutions with sanctimonious reverence,” he claimed, “and deem them like the arc [sic] of the covenant, too sacred to be touched. They ascribe to the men of the preceding age a wisdom more than human, and suppose what they did to be beyond amendment.”
His solution was simple: “let us provide in our constitution for its revision at stated periods. ... Each generation is as independent as the one preceding. ... It has then a right to choose for itself the form of government it believes most promotive of its own happiness.”
Jefferson was never able to persuade his contemporaries of the merits of constitutional “revision at stated periods.” His argument was more convincing at the state level — 20 or so states now have built-in constitutional mechanisms for periodic revision. What is more, the remarkable work of Zachary Elkins, Tom Ginsburg and James Melton at the Comparative Constitutions Project indicates that the average lifespan of constitutions across the globe is a modest 17 years. Indeed, Jefferson’s constitutional influence has been greater abroad than it has been at home.
That said, a Jeffersonian-like call for amending the U.S. Constitution has reached a fever pitch. These appeals have happened in academic journals, to be sure. But they’re also surfacing in mainstream political outlets like The Atlantic, Vox, The New Republic and Democracy: A Journal of Ideas. Those outside the Beltway are increasingly questioning the merits of our current constitutional design. Notable academics have written books on the subject. The New York Times recently ran a series on the most influential reforms to our political system. The National Constitution Center in Philadelphia commissioned legal scholars from the libertarian, conservative and liberal persuasions to draft their own constitutions for the 21st century. The push for constitutional reform has even infused pop culture. Consider Chris Rock’s 2020 “Saturday Night Live” monologue in which he insisted we need to “renegotiate our relationship to our government” and come up with a “whole new [constitutional] system”:
Chris Rock monologue - SNLwww.youtube.com
The main question then is whether DeSantis will find any traction. Article V of the Constitution stipulates that revisions to the text can follow two procedural pathways: either two-thirds of both houses of Congress can propose amendments or two-thirds of the states can apply for a constitutional convention. The Floridian appears to be taking the latter route. Either way, he faces a steep and jagged uphill climb. Even if successful in convincing 33 more states to get on board with his plan, DeSantis would then have to induce three-quarters of the states to ratify any constitutional changes. That will not be simple.
But the conversation about constitutional reform needs to continue. As America approaches its semiquincentennial on July 4, 2026, and then, 11 years later, the 250th anniversary of its constitutional birth, we are right to wonder about particular provisions of our commanding charter. The woefully undemocratic Senate, the troubling Electoral College, the curiously short two-year House term, the archaic life tenure for federal court judges, the unenumerated right to privacy ... these are just a few of the Constitution’s many shortcomings.
There are more, of course, and the political environment is just going to get even more complex. We have to face the prospect that a Constitution for the 18th century may not be a Constitution for the 21st. In the end, Americans would be wise to heed that possibility.




















image of U.S. President Donald Trump is displayed on a digital billboard in Times Square in New York on April 8, 2026.
Trump is stuck between two realities. Neither serves the American people
Normally, I worry that events may overtake a column. But not so with the Iran war.
I don’t worry about running afoul of a headline or Truth Social post from the president because what is said about the situation is no longer very relevant to the reality.
On April 8, Nick Catoggio, my Dispatch colleague, dubbed an earlier stoppage with Iran “Schrödinger’s ceasefire.” This was a reference to the famous thought experiment by the physicist Erwin Schrödinger, who was trying to explain the weirdness of “superpositionality” in quantum physics. A cat in a box is both dead and alive at the same time until you open the box. Schrödinger meant to illustrate the absurdity of the idea that particles aren’t any one thing, but a “cloud of probabilities.”
The Trump administration is stuck in a word cloud of probabilities of his own making. The war is over. The war is on. The war isn’t a war. We have a deal, but we don’t have a deal, but we’re about to have a deal. We destroyed Iran’s military. No, we left it intact. We want regime change. No we don’t. We already accomplished it. We “obliterated” Iran’s nuclear program a year ago. We had to go to war in February to prevent nuclear war. The Strait of Hormuz is open, closed, or something in-between. No deal without “unconditional surrender.” Let’s make a deal!
This everything-all-at-once vibe can be disorienting, particularly since most Americans didn’t have a war with Iran on their bingo cards until the shooting had already started. President Trump didn’t prepare the country or consult with Congress beforehand because he thought it would all be a smashing success in a matter of weeks.
The miscalculation that started it all: killing Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, and much of Iran’s senior leadership, on the first day of the war. To “the great proud people of Iran, I say tonight that the hour of your freedom is at hand,” Trump announced on Feb. 28. “When we are finished, take over your government. It will be yours to take. This will be probably your only chance for generations.”
I support regime change in Iran and shed no tears for Khamenei or his goons. But when you start a war by killing the regime’s top leaders, it’s not unreasonable for the remaining ones to conclude that you really intend regime change.
Khamenei was a murderous fanatic, but he was a fairly cautious one. He liked to threaten closing the Strait of Hormuz or attacking our regional allies, but he was reluctant to actually do it, fearing it would invite a regime change war. The mullahs and IRGC goons believed, not unreasonably, that if they lost their grip on power, they’d be lynched by the Iranian people they’ve brutalized for decades.
By starting with a regime change war, Trump removed any reason for the regime not to go for broke. When you have nothing to lose — particularly when you are a millenarian religious fanatic — a Persian Alamo strategy makes a lot of sense.
So Iran closed the Strait of Hormuz and attacked its neighbors.
But it turns out this wasn’t the Alamo. In the contest of wills, Trump blinked. The Iranian regime’s tolerance for punishment proved — so far — to be greater than Trump’s and that of our gulf allies. Militarily we could finish the job, but that would require ground troops and much greater economic turmoil. In a conflict Trump launched unilaterally without the prior support of Congress, NATO or the American people, Trump doesn’t have the political capital for that.
But that’s only half the problem. Trump wants the war over, but he doesn’t want to pay — militarily, economically, politically — what that would cost. So he wants to make a deal that ends it. But there is no deal available that wouldn’t come at an equally undesirable cost. Any deal that looks like what President Obama struck with the Iranians would be too embarrassing to bear. But the Iranians are convinced that they can get just such a deal, and they’re willing to drag things out as long as it takes.
The result: Trump’s in a box of his own making. He thinks he can talk his way out by simply asserting a reality that doesn’t exist. When the financial markets get nervous, he announces a breakthrough that is, at best, a possibility. When the Iranians agree to a deal that looks similar to one Obama might negotiate, Trump goes back to his threats.
It can’t go on forever. But I’m sure it’ll last until long after this column is forgotten.
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.