Imagine there was a way to discourage states from passing photo voter ID laws, restricting early voting, purging voter registration rolls, or otherwise suppressing voter turnout. What if any state that did so risked losing seats in the House of Representatives?
Surprisingly, this is not merely an idle fantasy of voting rights activists, but an actual plan envisioned in Section 2 of the 14th Amendment, which was ratified in 1868 – but never enforced.
Constitutional rights often exist without clear enforcement mechanisms, but attorney Jared Pettinato thinks he’s found one. He’s filed a lawsuit against the United States Census Bureau, aiming to require it to enforce Section 2. I follow the case in my documentary, FOURTEEN SECTION TWO, now in post-production. Check out the trailer below.
As you can tell, Pettinato wants to make Section 2 an active part of the Constitution. But why did it become inactive in the first place? To answer that question, we need some additional historical context.
Most of us know about the 14th Amendment because of Section 1, which enshrined birthright citizenship, due process, and equal protection within the Constitution. But for the framers, Section 2 was potentially more important because it aimed to ensure that newly emancipated Black men in the South would be able to vote – and by doing so, keep in power the Republican party that won the Civil War.

Photo of the 14th Amendment.
Section 2 begins by stating, “Representatives shall be apportioned among the several States according to their respective numbers, counting the whole number of persons in each State.” It’s not obvious from the text, but this provision abolished the notorious Three-fifths Compromise from the original Constitution. With the adoption of the 14th Amendment, Black people would be counted in full for the purposes of Congressional apportionment.
The framers had a problem, though. Because the South’s full Black population would now be counted, the Confederate states would re-enter the Union with more representation in the House than they had before the Civil War. If former Confederates remained in power in those states, they would suppress the Black vote and then reassert their dominance over the national government.
The Republicans could not abide this possibility, but at the time, they didn’t have the votes for the obvious solution — prohibiting states from denying citizens the right to vote on the basis of race. That would come later in the 15th Amendment.
Instead, they developed a rather convoluted solution in the rest of Section 2. The states would be allowed to abridge or deny the vote as they wished, but there would be a penalty for doing so. If, say, 10% of potential voters could not vote, then the state’s population would be reduced by that same 10% when seats were apportioned in the House. A state could therefore wind up with fewer seats than it would normally be entitled to.
No state would risk such a penalty, which would make Section 2 a strong safeguard of voting rights. But when Congress attempted to enforce Section 2 in the 1870 census, it quickly became clear that it was nearly impossible to gather reliable data about voter denials and abridgements. As enthusiasm for Reconstruction waned, Congress made even less effort to enforce Section 2. It remained in the Constitution as a dead letter. And it mostly stayed that way until 2022, when Jared Pettinato brought his lawsuit.
The lawsuit and the Section 2 background raise many questions. Most obviously, how does a section of the 14th Amendment, a part of “the highest law in the land,” go unenforced for more than 150 years? Is the strange history of Section 2 a quirk or a canary in a coal mine, warning us that something has gone wrong with our Constitutional order?
This is perhaps a more relevant question than I would like it to be. But there’s no denying that much of what we took for granted in the Constitution is up for debate. Everything from freedom of speech to the right to bear arms to birthright citizenship to due process seems less certain than it was not long ago. Perhaps we’ve believed that the Constitution guaranteed us rights because of the words on the page or the orders of a court. But it’s now clearer than ever that the words and the orders relied on a system that may be breaking down.
With so much at stake, why make a film about a part of the Constitution that everyone had pretty much agreed to forget? I think reviving a debate about Section 2 of the 14th Amendment is good for us. It forces us to think about what rights we really want to have and what we need to do to secure them. Clearly, just writing them down is not enough.
When our current crises pass, we cannot simply return to the status quo ante. There are moments in our history that force a rupture in and reimagination of the Constitution. Reconstruction was one. Now may well be another. I hope that studying the history of Section 2 might help us learn from the past, navigate this moment, and find something better on the other side.
A film is a unique way to make that effort. It takes Constitutional questions out of the abstract and makes them real for a wider audience. If you’d like to be a part of the journey, you can subscribe to my newsletter.
A Constitutional Provision We Ignored for 150 Years was first published on the Substack channel, Expand Democracy and was republished with permission.
Todd Drezner is a documentarian, producer, and writer.




















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.