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Photo by BoliviaInteligente on Unsplash
America at 250 Needs a First-Rung Compact
Sep 18, 2026
A country asking what it wants to become over its next 250 years should pay close attention to the first opportunity it gives its young adults to become useful, trusted and independent.
The Fulcrum’s Letters to America project has deliberately elevated voices ages 14 to 30 as the generation carrying the American story forward. That civic invitation deserves an economic counterpart: a credible path into the work where young adults gain responsibility, judgment and a stake in institutions.
Artificial intelligence is putting that path under pressure.
The Stanford Digital Economy Lab’s August payroll update finds that employment among U.S. workers ages 22–25 in highly AI-exposed occupations stands about 19 percent below where it would be if it had kept pace with similarly aged workers in less-exposed occupations. The comparable gap was 15 percent in the July 2025 data vintage. The adjustment is appearing mainly through reduced hiring of young workers. Experienced workers show no comparable gap.
The danger is not only fewer openings. It is a weaker mechanism for producing the next generation of capable adults.
Entry-level jobs have always mixed productive work with apprenticeship. The junior researcher who prepares a memo learns what evidence survives scrutiny. The new accountant who reconciles records learns which discrepancies matter. The first-year manager who handles routine customer problems learns when a case stops being routine.
AI can perform much of the preparation. If institutions respond by simply removing the novice, they save money today and consume human capital tomorrow.
America needs a first-rung compact for the AI era.
Employers should commit to redesigning junior work rather than treating entry-level headcount as the easiest cost to remove. When AI handles drafting, sorting, summarizing or basic analysis, beginners should move sooner into verification, exception handling, testing, explanation and supervised decisions.
Experienced employees should receive an explicit teaching obligation and the time to fulfill it. Productivity gains should finance coaching, case review and feedback instead of becoming only a demand for more output.
Policymakers should reinforce that design through workforce programs. The Labor Department is already integrating AI skills into Registered Apprenticeships. Public workforce dollars should also ask whether participants receive real responsibility and whether employers can show progress toward independent competence.
The metric matters. An institution that counts only tasks completed or hours saved will optimize for fewer people. An institution that also counts error detection, quality of escalation, supervised decisions and time to independent judgment has a reason to invest in newcomers.
This is a civic issue because institutions earn trust partly by giving people a meaningful place inside them. Young adults who can see a path from beginner to contributor are more likely to experience work as a source of agency rather than an opaque system acting on them.
The United States at 250 is debating institutional trust, opportunity and belonging. AI workforce design connects all three.
The first rung of a career ladder is not nostalgic inefficiency. It is where a society teaches people how to carry responsibility. The AI era should make that rung stronger and faster, not make it disappear.
Gleb Tsipursky, PhD, a behavioral scientist, CEO of Disaster Avoidance Experts, and author of The Psychology of AI Adoption at Work: From Resistance to Results (Georgetown University Press, 2026). https://disasteravoidanceexperts.com/aibook
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A 20-year-old Spelman student and an 83-year-old civil rights activist forge an unlikely friendship through The Legacy Project's mentorship program.
An 83-Year Activist and a Spelman Student Bridge Generations
Sep 18, 2026
More than sixty years separate Lauren Valentine and Dr. Georgianne Thomas.
One is a 20-year-old Spelman College student, in the thick of biology and chemistry courses in preparation for a future career in medicine. The other is an 83-year-old civil rights activist who helped shape history during the Atlanta Student Movement. Dr. Georgianne Thomas, 83, is a member of Spelman’s Class of 1964, educator, author, filmmaker, and civil rights activist who served as executive producer of Foot Soldiers: Class of 1964, an award-winning documentary about Spelman students. On paper, their lives might belong to different eras. In reality, their stories are deeply connected.
Lauren and Dr. Thomas first met when paired through The Legacy Project, Inc.’s Intergenerational Changemakers Program. Beyond just participating in a 9-month program together, the two found something far deeper: a friendship that shows that historical accounts travel beyond mere textbooks and into age-gap conversations and a willingness to learn from someone different from you.
As a current Spelman student, Lauren saw an opportunity to learn from someone whose experiences could offer a deeper understanding of her college’s history and the generations of women who came before her.
“For me, I feel like it was really important to do a project with somebody who went to Spelman, who is a Black woman, because we're going to have that shared experience, that shared information, we're going to have that bond,” Lauren explained.
That shared Spelman identity created an immediate sense of familiarity between them. Despite the decades between them, neither saw age as a barrier. Instead, it became an opportunity. What could have been a simple mentor-mentee pairing instead felt like the continuation of a larger story, one connecting generations of Spelman women through shared values, challenges, and aspirations.
Dr. Thomas quipped in reply, “When Lauren said, ‘I'm at Spelman,’ I told her to stop right there,” she recalled. “Because we have a sisterhood. And when you hear Spelman, it means stop and find out what that sister needs.”
Lauren and Dr. Thomas’ conversations became a bridge between generations, proving that learning is mutual. For Lauren, the fellowship offered a rare opportunity to encounter history through lived experience rather than textbooks. “So this was just a great experience for me to really, truly immerse myself in that firsthand Black history,” she said. History, often taught through dates, textbooks, and documentaries, became something more personal and human through Dr. Thomas’s enthusiastic storytelling.
Her enthusiasm for civil rights remains as strong today as it was decades ago. For Dr. Thomas, the fellowship gave her confidence that the stories and lessons of her generation would not be forgotten. Through Lauren's curiosity, thoughtful questions, and eagerness to learn, Dr. Thomas found reassurance that younger generations are ready and willing to carry important stories forward. Explaining what the fellowship meant to her, Dr. Thomas said, “The idea that I actually have a name. And a warm body. At Spelman College. And a student. That meant the world.”
Through this fellowship, they were not simply learning about history; they were engaging with it. Dr. Thomas, who marched, organized, and challenged injustice in the 1960s, shared her story directly with Lauren, who herself hopes to be a changemaker in her community. For Dr. Thomas, carrying that legacy is essential. “I wanted her to see, at 83 and she's 20, that the work continues,” she said. “We're still out here on the battlefield. We're still on the journey. We continue to teach.” Her message was not only about remembering the past, but about accepting responsibility for carrying it forward.
Already, Lauren has shared Dr. Thomas’s experiences with friends, family members, and classmates. As Dr. Thomas reflected on working with Lauren, she shared advice on how to truly connect with other generations, saying, “Remind the older ones that they were younger,” she said. “And then the younger ones need to remember that this is where you're going.” Their collaboration continues beyond The Legacy Project’s fellowship, with ongoing plans to install markers commemorating the Atlanta Student Movement across the Atlanta University Center Consortium campuses, and Dr. Thomas expressing hope to include Lauren in future dedication programs.
In a society that often divides people by age, Lauren Valentine and Dr. Georgianne Thomas show how The Legacy Project’s Changemaker Fellowship creates space for friendship and storytelling across generations. Their story demonstrates that when generations choose to connect, both are transformed as they work together to carry legacy across the past, present, and future.
The lesson from Lauren and Dr. Thomas’ story extends far beyond Spelman College. Every community has historical accounts of triumph that never make it into history books. In the same vein, every younger person inherits responsibilities they did not choose but must decide whether to carry, and how to shape the path forward.
As Dr. Thomas reminded Lauren, "You cannot put down the mantle that I picked up in 1960." She said, “I’m still carrying it in 2026.”
The question is whether we are creating enough opportunities for one generation to place them in the hands of the next in collaboration.
If we want history to remain alive, we must do more than preserve it. We must share it, through intentional intergenerational conversation and collaboration. And Spelman sisters, 60-years apart, are leading the way.
Kelly Chi is a junior at UW–Madison, double majoring in consumer behavior and marketplace studies alongside information science. She is passionate about bridging generations through storytelling and capturing shared human experiences.
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A political scientist examines how automatic voter registration is quietly turning non-affiliation into America's largest voting bloc.
AndreyPopov/Getty Images
When Neither Party Is the Default: Rethinking Representation As America’s Electorate Changes
Sep 18, 2026
For most of my career as a political scientist, representation was the central theme of my teaching and research. Early on, I studied how legislators understood their responsibilities to constituents — whether they saw themselves as delegates carrying out constituent mandates, trustees exercising independent judgment, or politicos combining both. That work asked a question that still matters: What does it mean to represent the public in a changing democracy?
Today I find myself asking a related question: What happens when the electorate changes but the institutions built to represent it do not?
Across the country, voters registered with neither major party are becoming the largest single bloc in state after state. In Massachusetts, roughly two-thirds of registered voters are now "Unenrolled," up from just over half in 2020. In Alaska, more than 60% of voters are registered outside the two major parties. In Colorado, unaffiliated registration has passed the halfway mark. In Oregon, where I live, non-affiliated voters became the state's largest registration category years ago.
This is not simply a story about voters souring on parties. It's also, in part, a story about how states register people to vote.
Since Oregon passed the nation's first automatic voter registration law in 2015, roughly half of U.S. states and the District of Columbia have followed with some version of it. Eligible citizens who interact with the DMV are registered automatically unless they take a separate action to opt out or select a party. In "back-end" opt-out states like Oregon, Colorado, and Alaska, that separate action means filling out and mailing back a postcard — a step a great many people simply never take. The default in these states isn't "unregistered" or "pick a party." It's non-affiliated.
That's not the whole story. North Carolina has one of the largest non-affiliated blocs in the country without any automatic registration system at all, a reminder that plenty of voters are choosing independence on their own, not just defaulting into it. But where automatic registration and back-end opt-out do overlap, the mechanism is direct and measurable, and it's not a criticism of automatic registration itself, which has reliably increased registration rates, particularly among younger and lower-income voters who often fell through the cracks of the older opt-in system. It's an observation about consequences: when a state converts registration from something citizens must actively pursue into something that happens automatically, it also converts non-affiliation from an active choice into a passive default in a meaningful share of cases.
Those consequences show up first in primaries. In states with closed primaries, a rapidly growing share of the electorate is registered in a way that excludes it from choosing party nominees at all, which is a significant reason open-primary campaigns have gained traction in Oregon, Nevada, and elsewhere in recent years.
They also show up in redistricting, where the assumptions behind decades of reform were built for a different electorate. The modern redistricting toolkit — from the Supreme Court's "one person, one vote" line of cases to independent commissions and sophisticated fairness metrics — was developed almost entirely for a political world in which Democrats and Republicans defined the electorate. Districts are not created to represent political parties, though; they're created to represent people. When the largest single group of people in a jurisdiction isn't affiliated with either party, and when many local offices are formally nonpartisan, the two-party lens that redistricting reform was built around becomes a less complete description of who's actually being represented.
A few places are already experimenting with something different. Portland, Oregon, created an independent citizen commission — barred from including party officials or sitting politicians — to draw the city's new council districts, requiring broad supermajority approval and extensive public input before a map could be adopted. Michigan voters did something similar statewide in 2018, creating an independent citizens commission through ballot initiative that likewise bars sitting politicians and party officials from serving. California and Arizona have their own independent redistricting commissions, each built, in part, on the premise that districts drawn by elected officials answering to party organizations aren't the only, or necessarily the best, way to do this.
Not every state has kept pace. Rhode Island's non-affiliated voters are close to half its electorate, yet the state legislature still draws its district maps — a case of a state that modernized its front door to the ballot without modernizing who draws the lines behind it.
None of these experiments proves that independent commissions are the answer everywhere, or that traditional districting approaches have failed. What they demonstrate is more basic: institutions built for a two-party electorate can be redesigned when that electorate changes, and several states are already testing how.
That's worth taking seriously well beyond the states running the experiments. Nearly half the country has now adopted some version of automatic registration, and in the states where that design pairs with a back-end opt-out, it is structurally producing non-affiliated majorities or pluralities. This isn't a regional curiosity. It's a preview of where other states may be headed as more of them adopt similar systems.
None of this means political parties are disappearing, that primaries should be abolished, or that every state needs an independent commission. Those are separate, harder questions, each deserving its own debate. The more basic question comes first: if the electorate a state's institutions were built to represent has changed, should the state's understanding of representation change with it?
After a career spent studying how elected officials represent their constituents, I've come to think that's a question more states should be willing to ask — not because the old institutions have failed, but because every generation inherits institutions designed for an earlier electorate, and periodically it's worth checking whether they still fit the people they're meant to serve.
Kent C. Price is a political scientist and applied public opinion researcher living in Central Oregon. A retired professor from California State University, Bakersfield, he spent more than 30 years teaching voting behavior, elections, and democratic institutions. Over his career, he conducted extensive survey research and advised public agencies on governance, elections, and public policy. His early scholarship focused on theories of legislative representation, including “Instability in Representational Role Orientation in a State Legislature” (1985).
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Lorraine Marquez Eiler, a Hia-C’ed O’odham elder, listens as Tohono O'odham Chairman Verlon Jose speaks during a news conference at the Quitobaquito Springs site on Monday, Aug. 24, 2026.
Stephanie Casanova
“We Will Not Let This Destroy Our Sacred Sites”: Indigenous Leaders Fight Trump Administration’s Border Wall
Sep 18, 2026
Standing near the pond at Quitobaquito Springs, Lorraine Marquez Eiler, a Hia-Ced O’odham elder, shared how her ancestors held ceremonies at the sacred site — a desert oasis in a national park that the federal government is set to bulldoze for a new border wall.
She pulled out a photo of her great-great grandparents and her great-grandparents, who would walk about 50 miles through the Sonoran Desert to the springs. The O’odham call the water flow A’al Vaipia. She showed the image of her ancestors to a group that included Indigenous leaders and a U.S. congressional representative — all there on Monday to condemn the border wall construction.
“All of my lifetime of work has been for the memories of my ancestors, of what they went through. With the incoming wall, should it be disrupted?” Marquez Eiler said in a determined voice, speaking of her ancestral lands. “That’s just another slap in the face, as far as I’m concerned, to my ancestors. And so I ask: Why?”
Lorraine Marquez Eiler’s photo of her great-great grandparents and her great-grandparents, who would walk about 50 miles through the Sonoran Desert to the springs.Surrounded by more than 100 community members at a town hall that followed the visit to Quitobaquito, Marquez Eiler hoped the federal government would pause border construction, as it did earlier this month in Texas after public backlash.
Quitobaquito is sacred to the Hia-Ced O’odham, the Tohono O’odham and other Indigenous people in Southern Arizona and México, who have traveled to the site for generations to join religious pilgrimages and ceremonies. They fear the spring is at risk of drying up if another border wall is built on the protected lands about 30 miles west of Tohono O’odham Nation.
The Nation is now fighting to halt border construction on two fronts: On O’odham land, where the federal government plans to build a new 30-foot border wall; and on adjacent federal land where another new border fence threatens Quitobaquito.
The projects are part of the Trump administration’s push to spend nearly $50 billion in taxpayer funds on border wall construction.
This is far from tribal citizens’ first fight with the U.S. government over destruction and division of their sovereign tribal lands. From the beginning, people of Tohono O’odham Nation have lived on lands that had no borders.

The Quitobaquito pond sits near the U.S.-Mexico border just west of the Lukeville port of entry on Monday, Aug. 24, 2026. The Trump administration is attempting to build a second border fence 150-feet from the existing border, which O’odham tribal members and environmentalists say would damage Quitobaquito, a sacred site to the O’odham and other indigenous people. Credit: Stephanie Casanova
When the U.S. and México governments agreed to separate territories, the Tribal Nation wasn’t informed.
For years and until today, O’odham citizens — on both sides of a border they never agreed to — travel freely across their nation. While they have tried to work with border officials to quell crime, they have fought border walls that separate their people and harm their ancestral lands.
The recent fights under the Trump administration have spurred a legal battle and a high-profile standoff between federal agents and law enforcement from the Tohono O’odham Nation. O’odham people are now fighting for Tribal sovereignty in the face of a Republican-led federal government arguing for U.S. sovereignty.
Feds already razing the land
In the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, where Quitobaquito Springs sits about 13 miles west of the Lukeville port of entry, the Trump administration has proposed a 30-foot tall border fence 150 feet from the existing one. Marquez Eiler is worried she will no longer be able to access land that for generations has been part of her Tribal Nation’s religious traditions, if that wall is built.
Parts of Quitobaquito lands originally belonged to a family of Hia-Ced O’odham descent. In 1937, President Franklin Roosevelt signed a proclamation establishing the Organ Pipe National Monument as a way to preserve a vast swath of the Sonoran Desert. The new monument was part of a U.S. National Park Service effort to preserve “ecological wonders of the country,” the agency’s website states.
Now, a few miles east of the pond, construction equipment from federal government contractors sits next to the border, the land around it already cleared. Cactuses along the border are marked with a colored string, and a rope lines the proposed area where a second border wall may be built.
Construction equipment is seen near the U.S.-Mexico border just west of the Lukeville port of entry on Monday, Aug. 24, 2026. Credit: Stephanie Casanova
If that line continues west, the Quitobaquito pond is right in its path. If contractors bulldoze the cacti, they will destroy legally protected desert plants. They will destroy flora that is sacred to the O’ohdam people, who traditionally believe that plants and the earth are their ancestors.
When the U.S.-México boundary was created through the 1854 Gadsden Purchase, it divided the Tohono O’odham Nation’s ancestral lands. Today, there are about 3,000 enrolled O’odham citizens living in Sonora, México, and families often cross the border to visit family, visit cultural sites, and for religious ceremonies.
Tohono O’odham Nation sues federal government
About 30 miles east of Quitobaquito — on O’odham land — the administration has also proposed building a 30-foot fence in three areas where the border is currently marked by heavy steel fencing a few feet tall.
In June, the Tohono O’odham Nation filed a lawsuit against the Department of Homeland Security in an attempt to block border wall construction on their land.
“While the Nation values its close relationship with the Department, it has long opposed construction of a border wall on the Reservation,” the lawsuit states.
“The Nation understands that construction of the wall would entail significant devastation on the Reservation, including the destruction of mountain peaks sacred to the O’odham,” the suit argues. “It would fray the ties between O’odham communities and families on opposite sides of the border, interfere significantly with O’odham religious rituals and practices, and destroy plant and animal resources sacred to the O’odham.”
The Nation’s lawsuit cited instances earlier in the year when federal contractors “destroyed ancestral sites of great importance while constructing the wall” adjacent to O’odham land.
In April, a Department of Homeland Security contractor damaged the Las Playas Intaglio, a 1,000-year-old fish-shaped geoglyph in Arizona’s Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge that pointed toward the Gulf of California.
Border Patrol continues construction
In a memorandum outlining opposition to the lawsuit, the federal government’s attorneys said the Tohono O’odham Nation failed to show that the border wall construction is being done in excess of the federal government’s legal authority. The document also emphasized the U.S. government’s “preexisting right to secure the border.”
“While the United States has worked — and will continue to work — cooperatively with Plaintiff to promote their shared interest in border security, Plaintiff does not hold veto power over the United States’ sovereign duty to secure its borders,” the memo said.
While waiting for a decision from the courts, tribal leaders put up “No Trespassing” signs on Aug. 7, saying in a news release that border wall contractors who attempted to enter the Tohono O’odham Nation would be “illegally trespassing.” Early Tuesday morning, contractors entered the Nation accompanied by about 20 “masked, armed” border patrol agents, according to a news release from the Tohono O’odham Nation.
In an emailed statement Thursday to Arizona Luminaria, Rodney Scott, U.S. Customs and Border Protection commissioner, said CBP is moving forward with the federal government’s border wall construction project along the 62 miles that cut through the Tohono O’odham Nation.
“The project will close one of the most dangerous smuggling and trafficking corridors on the Southwest border: remote desert that has facilitated decades of drug loads, migrant deaths, and cartel activity,” Scott wrote.
A Department of Homeland Security spokesperson in the same email said, “the worksites are inside the 60-foot Roosevelt Reservation,” referring to designated land north of the U.S.-México border that the federal government manages.
Rep. Adelita Grijalva, left, and Tohono O’odham Chairman Verlon Jose listen as Lorraine Marquez Eiler, a Hia-C’ed O’odham elder, shares how her ancestors would hold ceremonies at Quitobaquito Springs. Grijalva visited the springs with tribal leaders on Monday, Aug. 24, 2026. Credit: Stephanie Casanova“This is about tribal sovereignty”
At Quitobaquito Springs, Marquez Eiler, the tribal elder, led U.S. Rep. Adelita Grijalva toward the pond to share more with the congresswoman about the tribal communities’ fight.
“After standing here today, seeing this land, and directly hearing from the nation, I am more convinced than ever, this is not just a border construction project,” Grijalva said. “This is about tribal sovereignty, it’s about sacred land, it’s about history, culture and spiritual practices of the O’odham people and others.”
Tohono O’odham Chairman Verlon Jose and Vice Chairwoman Carla Johnson organized the trip to Quitobaquito to stand against the Trump administration’s insistence on building a new border wall.
For the Tohono O’odham and other Indigenous people, the land is their church, where they hold ceremony and prayer, Jose said. The federal government has a history of destroying the O’odham’s sacred land, he added.
When the first border fence went up between 2019 and 2020, contractors blasted through O’odham burial sites on Monument Hill.
“This is not ours to own. It is ours to protect, to protect for the people. To protect for you and I and everyone the creator has placed here on this earth,” Jose said.
Sara Mae Williams, Justice of the Peace in Ajo and a Tohono O’odham citizen, shares their concerns regarding border wall construction on Tohono O’odham land at a town hall at the Ajo Plaza Rec Hall on Monday, Aug. 24, 2026. Credit: Stephanie Casanova“Why do we not want a wall?”
A few hours after their visit to Quitobaquito on Monday, the International Sonoran Desert Alliance, which Marquez Eiler co-founded, hosted a town hall in Ajo, about 40 miles north of the springs. Grijalva, Jose and Johnson shared their efforts to stop the construction projects and listened to residents’ concerns.
More than 100 people filled the Ajo Plaza Rec Hall.
They shared worries over whether the wildlife would survive another construction project – the Quitobaquito pupfish, an endangered species, the Sonoyta mud turtle, the desert caper plant and the Quitobaquito tryonia, a tiny springsnail, call the springs their home.
They criticized the taxpayer cost for the border fence as too high – more than $46 billion in federal funding for projects from California to Texas. They urged Grijalva to push for comprehensive, humane immigration reform instead.
“Why do we not want a wall? Because we are not afraid of who is on the other side,” said Sara Mae Williams, Justice of the Peace in Ajo and a citizen of the Tohono O’odham Nation. “It’s us. It’s our people. It pains me when they try to divide us.”
On Tuesday, Grijalva and other Democratic federal lawmakers who represent the borderlands – Reps. Veronica Escobar of Texas and Raul Ruiz and Juan Vargas of California – sent a letter opposing the wall to the Department of Homeland Security and the Department of the Interior.
The lawmakers urged the Trump administration to stop further construction of the border wall “until meaningful government-to-government consultation has occurred with the Tohono O’odham Nation and Congress has received a full accounting of the project’s impacts on Tribal lands, cultural resources, and surrounding communities.”
The fight continues
U.S. District Judge Richard J. Leon denied the Nation’s motion for a preliminary injunction on Aug. 14. In a written opinion explaining his decision, the judge said the Tohono O’odham Nation is “unlikely to succeed on the merits because the federal Roosevelt Reservation exists along the international border and, in any event, plaintiff has not established that construction of a border wall will indeed alter Reservation boundaries.”
“The international border is an area of great significance to both the United States and to the Nation,” Leon wrote. “While I have concluded that a preliminary injunction is unwarranted, I fully expect the Government in the months ahead to follow through on its guarantees of consultation and cooperation with the Nation to address the Nation’s concerns regarding border wall construction!”
The Tohono O’odham Nation appealed that decision on Wednesday, court records show.
“We will not let this destroy our sacred sites, our burial sites, our holy places, the places of our ancestors,” Jose said at the town hall, pausing to stress his sentences. “We will not let it destroy our environment. We will not let it further divide our people. We will not let it divide our reservation.”
“We Will Not Let This Destroy Our Sacred Sites”: Indigenous Leaders Fight Trump Administration’s Border Wall was originally published by Arizona Luminaria and is republished with permission.
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