Eberhard is the director of democracy and climate policy at the Sightline Institute, a progressive think tank focused on the Pacific Northwest. Last fall it published her book, "Becoming a Democracy: How we can fix the electoral college, gerrymandering, and our elections."
One person, one vote. That's the dream of American democracy — and, sadly, the myth. The most powerful American lawmaking body patently violates that principle.
The United States Senate was explicitly designed to be undemocratic. It represents states, not people. Population-wise, some states are the size of large cities, others the size of large countries. If Wyoming were a city, it wouldn't even make the list of the nation's most populous 25 municipalities. But more people live in California than either Canada or Australia. Wyoming and California each get two senators, meaning some voters have 70 times more Senate representation.
Half of the nation's people have only 18 senators representing them, but there are 52 senators from the 26 smallest states, home to just 18 percent of Americans.
The skew isn't random. White Americans have, on average, nearly twice as much representation in the Senate as Black and Hispanic Americans. How can this be? The largest states — California, Texas, Florida and New York -- are among the most racially and ethnically diverse. Most of the smallest ones — Wyoming, North Dakota, South Dakota, Maine and Vermont -- are homogenous. Seven of the 10 least populated states are also among the whitest top 10.
It matters. Wyoming, where 89 percent of the people are white, receives 50 times more in federal expenditures than California, which is only 40 percent white. Vermont's Rutland County receives about $2,500 per person in federal largesse, while the folks in New York's similarly-sized Washington County get $600. (To remind: Vermont's 600,000 people, 94 percent of whom are white, have two senators. So do the 19 million New Yorkers, 58 percent of them white.)
Unlike many other countries — with undemocratic upper houses of the national legislature that are less powerful than the lower, "people's houses" — our Senate exerts near-total control over federal legislating: The Senate version of a bill prevails over the House-passed version, at least partially, 82 percent of the time. And the Senate is the exclusive gatekeeper for all treaties and nominations, including the Supreme Court.
The Senate should represent people, not states. But to simply mandate equal representation, we'd have to chuck the whole Constitution. That's not happening. Ours is the most difficult to amend or update of any such charter in the world. Not only that, but Article V guards the Senate against alteration, saying each state must agree before being "deprived of its equal suffrage in the Senate."
The only way to make the Senate more representative within the constraints of the Constitution is to right-size the states. And the Constitution gives us four options to adjust for dramatic state population disparities.
Add states. Nearly two and a half centuries after American revolutionaries fought for representation, more than 4 million American citizens remain deprived of Senate representation — the people of Puerto Rico, Guam, the U.S. Virgin Islands, the Northern Mariana Islands and Washington, D.C. Offering statehood would be fair to their citizens. If all the potential new states have majorities of people of color, their senators would help balance out the Senate's disproportionate whiteness.
Subdivide states. Congress could give blanket permission for any state with more than 13 times the population of the smallest state (the original ratio between the largest and smallest colonies) to break into smaller states, so long as no resulting state is smaller than the smallest state. Thirteen times the population of Wyoming, now the smallest state at 580,000 people) is 7.5 million, which would now comfortably accommodate more than three new states from a subdivided Texas and more than five states spawned by California.
Combine states. Congress could give blanket permission for any state with less than 1 percent of the national population to join an adjacent state or part thereof. Right now, that would apply to the 21 states that are each home to fewer than 3.3 million residents. Several sit side-by-side, creating an opportunity to join together. They'd still be small states. Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont combine for 3.3 million people; there are altogether 3.4 million in Idaho, Montana and Wyoming; and merging Nebraska and the Dakotas would yield a state of 3.6 million.
Redraw the whole map. If we really want to dream, imagine Congress grants all states the opportunity to participate in a collective redrawing of boundaries. States would opt in by the next census, at which time an independent redistricting commission would take into account history, culture and communities of interest to set state lines that make more sense to the people living there and that result in more equally sized states — say, all within a range of 1 million to 5 million people.
States resulting from this process would have more unified sets of values and policy priorities, and their residents would feel better represented by their leadership. For example, many residents of eastern Oregon are already eager to join Idaho, which matches them in geography, economy and culture better than coastal Oregon.
Some political magic would be required for right-sizing the states. But all these options could be accomplished without a constitutional amendment. They require building the right alignment of political movements and enough momentum to tip a series of ordinary majority votes in state legislatures, the House and the Senate.
It's not an easy path, but not impossible. A first step is to raise awareness about the lopsided power held by the Senate, especially during the push for other reforms such as removing the filibuster — the very thing, ironically, standing in the way of D.C statehood and a Senate that looks a little more like America.



















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.