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College Athletes Are Becoming a New Civic Power — And The Team Is Showing How
Sep 09, 2026
WASHINGTON, D.C. — A growing movement is reshaping how student‑athletes engage with democracy, and at its center is The Team, a nonprofit that integrates civic responsibility directly into college sports. Its mission — developing “teammates, leaders, and citizens” — is resonating across campuses nationwide as athletes step into roles that extend far beyond competition.
Elizabeth Ford, the team's program manager, noted that student‑athletes are uniquely positioned to influence civic culture because “they already have a platform, and people listen to them.” Ford highlighted how The Team is channeling that influence into structured, nonpartisan civic leadership.
The organization’s Engaged Athlete Fellowship has become one of the country’s fastest‑growing civic leadership programs for student‑athletes. Applications surged from 59 to 396 between the first and third cycles — an increase reflecting rising interest in civic engagement across NCAA divisions. Fellows receive leadership training, mentorship, and support to design civic projects tailored to their campuses and communities.
Projects have ranged from voter‑engagement campaigns and legislative workshops to mental‑health initiatives, community sports camps, and resource drives. At Howard University, fellows tackled truancy and organized athletic‑gear donations for youth in Africa. At Northwestern, athletes are developing civic‑education programming and spotlighting racial inequities in women’s distance running.
In a Fulcrum interview, Elisee Byun, program coordinator for The Team and a former varsity gymnast at UC Berkeley, emphasized why athletes are embracing civic work: “Athletes know how to show up for their communities. They just need the tools to do it intentionally.” Byun said the fellowship helps athletes connect their discipline and teamwork to civic responsibility.
This year, I met the 2025–2026 Engaged Athlete Fellows in Washington, D.C., where athletes connected with professionals across fields — from tech to sports — who showed how civic engagement strengthens their industries and careers. The gathering offered a firsthand look at how young leaders are translating visibility, discipline, and collaboration into civic impact.
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One fellow, Katherine Helms, a women’s swimmer at North Carolina State University, underscored why athletes are stepping into civic leadership. “I think first of all I believe as athletes we have a platform that can help better our communities and we're also role models,” Helms said. “People look up to us — kids, but also adults.” She described her project, “Swim for Life,” a free, beginner swim and water safety clinic serving children from low-income families in Raleigh. It brought local youth onto a college campus and into a college pool for the first time. “I thought that the impact would be measured on how many kids learned how to swim. But it was more than that. It was confidence-building, seeing themselves differently, and learning a new skill they didn’t think they could do.”
“Swim for Life” is run in partnership with Neighbor to Neighbor (N2N), a nonprofit dedicated to reversing the effects of poverty through mentoring, education, and community development. N2N assists with participant recruitment and family outreach to ensure the program reaches children who lack access to swim education.
Another fellow, Jasmine Jackson, a women’s basketball player at Elizabeth City State University, said the fellowship pushed her to rethink what meaningful community engagement looks like. Her project centered on listening first — not assuming what a neighborhood needed, but building trust through conversation and collaboration. “The biggest takeaway from that project was the impact that it left on the community,” said Jackson. “Literally, from everything from the kids to the principals—just being able to go into a community and not go in with tunnel vision and ‘Hey, we know how you need help,’ but asking them and being intentional and seeing what they need and how you can support that.” Through mentorship, hands-on engagement, and immersive experiences, her goal is to empower future minds by showing them what’s possible and helping them envision their own journey as scholars, athletes, and changemakers.
Jackson’s emphasis on listening and community‑driven work reflects a broader theme emerging across the fellowship: athletes are recognizing that their influence extends well beyond the court, track, or pool. For many, that sense of responsibility is shaped not only by their civic projects but by their own journeys through college athletics — journeys that opened doors to education, mentorship, and long‑term opportunity.
That perspective is especially clear among Division I athletes, who understand firsthand how powerful that pipeline can be. For many, competing at the D1 level isn’t just about sports — it’s a gateway to education, opportunity, and career pathways that will outlast their athletic careers. Only a small percentage ever make it to the professional level, so the college experience becomes the foundation they carry forward. That’s why building a pipeline matters: ensuring that talented young people, especially those who may not know how to navigate the system, can access the same doors athletics opened for them.
David Davitt of the University of Pennsylvania Men’s Track and Field & Cross Country developed new pathways for student-athletes to pursue careers in financial services. His project focuses on building a structured talent pipeline that expands access to professional opportunities by addressing real obstacles athletes face — including rigid recruiting timelines, demanding practice schedules, and limited flexibility for traditional internships.
“When you understand that you have that platform through being there, it's like you want to create that for the next generation,” Davitt said. “I think just experiencing that myself, I really want to make sure that other people have the same opportunity, especially for the ones who don't necessarily know the pathway to get that opportunity, but are well capable of getting in.”
The Team operates as a fiscally sponsored project of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund, the parent organization of The Fulcrum. The partnership reflects a shared commitment to expanding civic infrastructure and empowering new generations of democratic leaders. The Team is already evaluating candidates for the 2026–2027 Engaged Athlete Fellowship — a sign of the program’s continued momentum and the growing national interest in student‑athlete civic leadership.
As student‑athletes continue to rise as influential voices in American culture, The Team is proving that sports can be a powerful entry point into civic life — helping young people build not only stronger teams, but a stronger democracy.
Hugo Balta is the executive editor of The Fulcrum and the publisher of the Latino News Network
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Father-Daughter Bonding: The Art of Disagreeing Well
Sep 08, 2026
From the moment my youngest daughter was born, she carved out her own space in my world. I remember the pediatrician remarking on her long eyelashes, my brief panic when she didn't cry right away, and then the overwhelming relief and joy of holding her as she looked up and seemed to smile.
Growing up in the United States, most children called their fathers “Dad.” She chose something different. She called me Nanna—the Telugu word for father. It was a small, sweet choice that signaled the unique intellectual and emotional bond we would share. I have three daughters, and while my relationships with her older sisters are deep and powerful in their own ways, this is the daughter who shares this particular story with me.
Our linguistic bond went even further. When she was three, my own mother passed away. In my grief, desperate not to lose the word I cherished most—Amma, the Telugu word for mother—I began calling my little daughter Amma. We both loved it. It became our private sanctuary of language and affection, a tradition that has evolved so that nowadays I sometimes call her Madre, the Spanish word for mother.
Even as a child, she possessed a rare ability to think with striking objectivity and plan far ahead. At twelve, she mapped out her life timeline: she would marry at twenty-seven and have two or three children soon after. Life followed her plan almost exactly; she married at twenty-eight—delayed slightly by the pandemic—and now has two children, precisely on schedule.
While my wife and older children looked on with amusement, I often found myself asking this little girl for advice. When I spoke to her, she gave me her full attention and responded with complete sincerity. Over the years, she wrote me beautiful letters. One of them moved me so deeply that I framed it; it still hangs on my office wall. Titled “The Special Relationship between My Dad and Me,” it recounts a childhood trip we took to the Secret Garden in Las Vegas. Even then, she observed the world with clear eyes, writing about how we stood before the gorilla exhibit and discussed the biological similarities between primates and humans—realizing, through that shared logic, just how closely our minds operated on the same wavelength.
By the time she was seven, I sensed she had the makings of a leader—an ambition she wrote about in a second-grade essay we still treasure. When I proudly told a professor at a university event that I was encouraging her to become a CEO, he smiled and remarked, “Ah, so you want her to start from the top.”
Because our relationship was built on mutual respect and freedom, she discussed everything with me, including her dating life. When it came time to choose a husband, I offered only the loosest of boundary criteria. Eventually, she became deeply excited about a young man and invited him over.
I took him on an hour-and-a-half walk around the lake in the park next to our home. I interviewed him—probing his personality, his technical ability, his career potential, and his capacity to be a good father. He passed with flying colors. Only after the wedding did I learn a delightful truth: my new son-in-law knew exactly what I was doing and was actively working to impress me. I felt a wave of joy realizing my son-in-law had outsmarted the father-in-law—a testament to my daughter’s sharp objectivity in choosing him.
Her personality—a delicate balance between wanting to make others happy and harboring a strong inner drive—became especially clear when it was time to choose a university. She was accepted to both UCLA and UC Berkeley. Sensing her wavering out of a desire to please us, I reframed the question: “Which choice will make you less unhappy?” With a very narrow margin, she admitted that Berkeley would make her less unhappy. Hearing that narrow truth was all I needed. I told her she must go for the best option with zero compromise. She chose Berkeley, and later, medical school in Chicago.
Today, she is a practicing psychiatrist, a dedicated wife, and a mother to two young children. Her life is beautifully full. Yet, despite being exceptionally busy, she makes time to read the articles I write. When I gently told her not to feel obligated, she shook her head. She told me she reads her Nanna’s articles not out of duty, but because she genuinely loves them—even if it is just a small part of an essay each day.
We know each other as close friends. We still laugh and reminisce about the exact names and quirks of every tourist who shared an unforgettable eleven-day European bus tour with us. We are keepers of the same memories.
This brings us to the polling booth.
Politics is a subject we discuss thoroughly. We agree on most things, but when we diverge, it is a matter of perspective rather than logic. My daughter feels a deep, personal connection to the DACA program, having gone to medical school alongside brilliant classmates whose careers and lives in this country were constantly under threat. When she reads the news, she feels that vulnerability acutely on behalf of her peers. For my part, while I understand and respect that passion completely, I tend to view the same issue through a broader policy framework.
There is a small, quiet part of me that once wished I could bring her around to my perspective. Not out of ego, but out of the lifelong habit of wanting to share every conclusion with her the way we once shared every idea. But that small sting is quickly overtaken by something larger. I raised all three of my daughters to be independent thinkers—to pursue their passion without compromise, to follow their own conviction wherever it leads. That was always the goal. So when she stood her ground on her vote, armed with genuine reasoning and conviction, I felt the deepest possible pride. She was not agreeing with me. She was proving that I had succeeded as a father.
We both understand and appreciate how the other person arrives at their conclusion. Because our relationship has always been anchored in a lifelong habit of critical and integrated thinking, we respect each other’s cognitive processes entirely.
On Election Day, we climb into the same car, the atmosphere filled with warmth and easy conversation. We joke that we are driving all this way for a “net zero” benefit because our ballots will neutralize each other. But beneath the laughter lies a shared sense of satisfaction.
We walk into the polling booth side by side. Standing next to each other—separated only by those thin cardboard dividers—we exchange a glance that needs no words. Then we cast our ballots for two different candidates.
As we walk back to the car, we do not feel defeated; we feel a quiet, powerful wave of pride. We have fulfilled our responsibility as good citizens. More importantly, we have proven that different perspectives do not mean a divided heart. We may cancel each other’s votes, but we amplify each other’s lives.Meda Parameswara Reddy, Ph.D., is Director of the Reddy Center for Critical and Integrated Thinking. A former R&D executive with 30 U.S. patents, he focuses on analyzing human behavior, public health, and global affairs, drawing on an interdisciplinary background. He has published in multiple RealClear platforms, Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci., The Humanist, AFRO American, South Asia Monitor (on the editorial board and host of a show), and others.
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A Navy veteran turned NY State Assembly staffer reflects on youth, bipartisanship, and why good government is still possible in 2026.
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I Left Government More Hopeful Than I Started
Sep 08, 2026
Friday was my last day working for the New York State Assembly. While finishing my Master of Laws at Columbia, only a month after leaving the military following ten years as a Naval Aviator, I saw on LinkedIn that an Assembly member was looking for a District Director. I applied for the job, got it, and, with a semester to go, took it. It was my first job out of the military, and it was absolutely wonderful. At a time when trust in government is lower than it's been in almost seventy years, I was part of a team that made me believe, more than ever, that government can be a force for good. I want you to believe it, too.
My boss was the kind of politician one dreams of: hardworking, earnest, and incredibly smart. He was an absolute model of public service and neighborliness, who grounded us in the mission that anyone who ever came into contact with our office should walk away with more faith in government. He did his best to show up everywhere and for everyone; I watched him give every ounce of himself to serving his constituents in Manhattan and representing them in Albany. Sometimes they called and complained anyway. Most who observed his effort became enamored. I can say confidently that New York is better for having had him in the state legislature.
His Chief of Staff was one of the savviest managers I have ever met. She had come from tech and quickly became a political force; we should be glad she chose public service when it is clear she could do anything–she would have made a formidable military officer because she is such a natural mission commander. She optimized the entire office, reminding us to set boundaries to prevent burnout, but calling us out if she knew we could do better. She brought out the best in us. We never wanted to disappoint her.
The legislative team was composed of two policy savants. One of them entered the office as an expert in computer science and artificial intelligence, while the other quickly became one. Together, they were behind an incredibly impressive legislative agenda that included the most progressive AI safety law in the country. These two will shape the future of AI regulation–if we're lucky. They are also funny.
Our director of constituent services is perhaps the most empathetic person I have ever met. She took call after call from neighbors on their worst days and worked tirelessly to help them solve their problems. On top of that, she managed a schedule that was busier than the governor’s, according to a staffer who would know. She also made sure we were all taken care of emotionally and that the office was stocked with snacks. On my last week of work, she gifted me a tote bag she had hand-embroidered with colorful hearts and the words ‘HATE HAS NO HOME HERE.’
We did not agree with each other on everything. Our office was not an echo chamber, but we addressed tension with compassion and curiosity to move things forward. We trusted each other, and recognized that ultimately we won and lost as a team. I can’t help but think that such an office mindset played a role in the Center for Effective Lawmaking giving our boss the highest freshman effectiveness score of any New York City legislator, and the second highest in the entire state. Teamwork is useful for more than just morale.
By the way, every single bill my boss passed had at least one partner across the aisle. I think this must be thanks in part to legislating with that same collaborative mentality, allowing for bipartisan cooperation. It turns out, lawmakers who build coalitions across party lines are simply more effective at passing legislation than those who don't, regardless of which party controls the chamber. In fact, political scientists at the University of Arkansas found that “the states where legislators were the most civil towards each other passed roughly twice the number of bills that the most uncivil legislatures passed.” To illustrate the point, in 2023, Congress passed only 27 bills total. In only four years, my boss passed 35 himself (and they’re good ones).
Moved by the effort of everyone on the team to ensure we were operating at maximum efficiency, and blown away by the efficiency itself, I have tried to internalize what made it possible. It does feel relevant that the oldest person in our office was 43. Younger generations may be better equipped to address many important issues of our time, and not just because of their vitality. It was the 23 year old in the office, after all, who taught me how to use and optimize Claude. More Gen Z adults report owning crypto than any other generation–that fluency could be an asset. The legislative duo I described are geniuses, so who cares that even the older one was born only three weeks before September 11th? While elder knowledge is critical and intergenerational exchanges are important, it's hard not to think our youth was a factor in that efficiency.
Unfortunately, young people are strikingly scarce in government. Of the 2 million people in the federal government, roughly only 7% are early-career individuals, while that demographic makes up 20% of the broader American workforce. Millennials made up more than a quarter of the voting-age population but only about 7% of the 117th Congress. Now, they’ve increased to 15%, but Gen Z still sits at .2%. We should identify and remove the hurdles keeping young people out of public service. It’s the right thing to do, and it might even lead to significant improvements in government effectiveness.
Our government has a lot to fix before it can earn back the people’s trust. It will be more important than ever to elect the right people to represent us. Before you exercise your civic duty of voting, consider asking yourself: how much energy do these candidates have? And what kinds of coalitions do they build? If we want to elect leaders capable of meeting the moment, a capacity to work hard and an ability to work with others should count at least as much as a good resume or simply incumbency.
I want to live in a world where a high functioning government doesn’t feel like the stuff of fantasies or The West Wing. After getting a year’s worth of eyewitness evidence, however, I leave New York affirmed that this is achievable, that good people are among us, and that progress is not just possible but within reach. Our office wasn’t perfect, but we gave it our all every day, and we have a lot to show for it. I know we’re not the only ones. If you feel called to serve, go find your team.
Julie Roland was a Naval Officer for ten years, deploying to both the South China Sea and the Persian Gulf as a helicopter pilot before separating in June 2025 as a Lieutenant Commander. She has a law degree from the University of San Diego, a Master of Laws from Columbia University, and is a member of the Truman National Security Project.
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U.S. President Donald Trump boards Air Force One on August 14, 2026 at Joint Base Andrews, Maryland. Trump is traveling to Long Island to tour law enforcement facilities in Nassau County and rally support for local Republican candidates ahead of the upcoming midterm elections
Travel Far Enough, You Meet Yourself
Is it possible that our President has simply not traveled enough?
Born and raised in Queens and attending Fordham University in the Bronx, Donald Trump has no record of traveling outside New York until he was over 20, when he transferred to a college in the neighboring state of Pennsylvania. Were his formative years amiss, then, in his learning about other places and other people?
Is his view akin to the famous New Yorker cover by Saul Steinberg, an illustration of the United States with New York City as the epicenter of the country and the Hudson River the border of the known world? We can now at least add Washington, D.C., and Mar-a-Lago to the map of “the realm.”
Our President has now traveled some, but what we recommend is another kind of travel. Not a state-sponsored trip or a venture to scout locations for future Trump Towers. This would be a genuine travel experience, enriching and eye-opening, showcasing other cultures and ways of living.
It will extend far beyond viewing military parades, hobnobbing with such “understanding” world leaders as Kim Jong Un, or taking tea with the King.
WHERE, then, should the President go? As Elon Musk’s Starship spacecraft is not yet ready to take passengers to Mars, perhaps he could explore our own vast country?
Maybe he could travel to “flyover country,” the farming states, where his ying-yanging tariffs and trade restrictions have played havoc with rural economies. Or possibly to California, number one in homeless U. S. citizens, and while there, regale homeless veterans (approximately 32,500 nationwide) with tales of his brave exploits invading and bombing foreign countries.
Or he might tour the Great Lakes, and rename the other four?
WHEN should he go? This will be tough, as he is very busy building his ballroom and renaming bodies of water.
How about a trip in early November, around the midterm elections? Despite the long-discredited accusation of widespread voter fraud, it would be reassuring to know he might be so caught up divvying out ladles of soup in a soup kitchen somewhere that he wouldn’t remember to deploy the military for “election security.”
HOW will he travel? He should definitely not take his Qatari-donated, newly renovated 747, especially after last time, when he had to be smuggled off clandestinely in a catering truck. It’s unlikely any traveling companions, like the Secretary of State or of the Treasury, are going to fall for the ruse a second time. Besides, we may need those people. No more decoys!
Perhaps the President could fly commercially, although this likely would expose him to undue suffering. Without gold bathroom fixtures and maple wood floors, the trip will be no “Luxury Experience.” If only he still had his “Trump Shuttle,” bought with a massive loan he later defaulted on, saying then, “I’m smart. I got out at a good time.”
Considering the potential pitfalls, maybe it’s best the President travel incognito, disguised perhaps as an elderly woman wearing a lot of bronzer.
Wherever, whenever, however: our President needs a vacation.
Moreover, we need a vacation from him.
If the President refuses our travel suggestions, here’s another idea:
Let’s get him a pet! He has never owned a pet. As we know with our children, pets teach essential life lessons: compassion and empathy; they instill a sense of responsibility. There is a well-established connection between those who can care for a pet and those who can care for people.
So, which pet should we choose? A puppy? A kitten? A boa constrictor?
Imagine, the President may even decide he likes having a pet. After all, what is more obedient than a well-trained dog, besides possibly the Cabinet? And what is more docile than a sweet kitten, other than plausibly the Supreme Court?
The President may even become more mellow with a pet afoot and less likely to slap tariffs on our allies, or attempt to annex our neighbors, or bully our Congress. (Realizing, of course, a bully requires active participation from the bullied to maintain his status.)
Maybe we should do both: get the President a pet and devise a travel plan for him. (Do you think we could possibly convince him to leave his phone at home?)
Let’s go for it! After all:
Travel far enough, you meet yourself. (David Mitchell)
And for our President, that would likely be the most profound discovery of all.
Amy Lockard is an Iowa resident who regularly contributes to regional newspapers and periodicals. She is working on the second of a four-book fictional series based on Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice."