Generational divides in American politics are nothing new, but they seem particularly striking now as the oldest Millennials turn 40 this year. Charlotte Alter has spent the past four years documenting these interesting political dynamics and joins The McCourtney Institute For Democracy to discuss with the team in this episode of the Democracy Works podcast.
Rampant calls to avoid sharing the video of Charlie Kirk’s death have been swift and emphatic across social media. “We need to keep our souls clean,” journalists plead. “Where are social media’s content moderators?” “How did we get so desensitized?” The moral outrage is palpable; the demands for human dignity urgent and clear.
But as a Black woman who has been forced to witness the constant virality of Black death, I must ask: where was this widespread anger for George Floyd? For Philando Castile? For Daunte Wright? For Tyre Nichols?
The contrast shows something deeply disturbing about how America processes death, trauma, and whose humanity deserves protection. When Charlie Kirk was killed, the immediate response centered on his humanity. He was a loving father, devoted husband, and tragic loss. His past controversial statements—comparing Islam’s Prophet Muhammad to Jeffrey Epstein, claiming white Americans were under attack—are now treated as off-limits during this time of mourning. When Black people are murdered, the questions arrive before any centering of personhood: What were they doing? Did they have a criminal record? Were they resisting arrest? Why didn’t they just comply?
Black victims get investigated posthumously, their past mistakes weaponized to justify their deaths before their bodies are cold. Trayvon Martin’s family had to prove he was a “good kid.” George Floyd’s criminal history became national news. The same publications now demanding privacy and respect for Kirk’s family had no problem consuming, sharing, and endlessly analyzing footage of Black people's final moments.
And why wouldn’t they? The economics of Black death are undeniable. A Pew Research Center study showed that “a large share of Americans (88%)—including about nine-in-ten each among White, Black, Republican and Democratic adults” have watched videos of Black death. Google trends shows that the murder of Black people is “amongst the most popular searches in Google’s history.” Images of Black people being killed by police often “garner over 2.4 million clicks in 24 hours, and the average ‘cost per click’ often reaches $6 per click,” making the virality of Black death not only incentivized but nearly guaranteed.
Many of the same voices now demanding “decency” around Kirk’s death were notably silent when Black death videos were being monetized and shared endlessly. The commodification shows a fundamental hierarchy of whose life has inherent value versus whose death serves a utilitarian purpose.
Watch how the media frames these deaths differently. Kirk was killed or assassinated—active language that centers the crime and demands justice. Black victims often “died during a police encounter” or “lost their lives in an incident”—passive language that obscures responsibility. Kirk’s killer is a shooter or assassin. Police who kill Black people are “officers involved in the incident.”
When white people die violently, their death is sacred, an untouchable tragedy demanding reverence and privacy. When Black people die violently, their deaths are educational content, evidence to be analyzed, footage to be replayed during panel discussions, and content to be dissected for lessons about American racism.
George Floyd’s death wasn’t treated as a private family tragedy deserving dignity. It became required viewing for America’s racial education. His final moments were played on loop, analyzed frame by frame, and transformed into memes and political statements. The same media outlets now calling for restraint around Kirk’s death video had no qualms about turning Floyd’s murder into content.
The family treatment differs drastically, too. Kirk’s family gets immediate protection from scrutiny. Their grief is respected, their privacy defended. Black families get thrust into the spotlight, forced to become activists and advocates while processing trauma. They must educate America about their loved one’s humanity while Kirk’s family gets to grieve privately.
Even the calls for justice follow different patterns. Kirk’s death demands swift action, comprehensive investigation, and retribution. Black deaths spark debates about “both sides,” calls for more information, and suggestions that we wait for all the facts. The urgency is different, the moral clarity conditional.
This hierarchy of death reflects America’s hierarchy of life. Some deaths are tragedies that unite us in grief. Others become teachable moments that divide us in debate. Some victims get privacy and dignity in death. Others get transformed into hashtags and causes.
The performative outrage around Kirk’s death video exposes this hypocrisy perfectly. Where was this moral clarity when Black death became America’s most consumed content?
Sanctity of death for Black victims would mean their final moments stay sacred, not viral. It would mean their families get privacy to grieve instead of becoming public educators about their loved one's humanity. It would mean their deaths inspire justice, not clicks. But that’s not where we are. America has denied Black victims these basic dignities while demanding them instantly for others.
This racial hierarchy of death is one of America’s most revealing double standards. And so, the question isn’t whether we should share videos of death—we shouldn’t. The question is why our answer changes depending on whose death we’re watching.
Stephanie Toliver is a Public Voices Fellow and a member of the OpEd Alumni Project sponsored by the University of Illinois.
No one can denounce the New York Yankee fan for boasting that her favorite ballclub has won more World Series championships than any other. At 27 titles, the Bronx Bombers claim more than twice their closest competitor.
No one can question admirers of the late, great Chick Corea, or the equally astonishing Alison Krauss, for their virtually unrivaled Grammy victories. At 27 gold statues, only Beyoncé and Quincy Jones have more in the popular categories.
No one can doubt the sincerity of the stargazer who honors the length of the moon’s orbit around the Earth. At roughly 27 days, the lunar cycle can be an emotional sedative or an emotional amphetamine.
But lest we think the number 27 has some magical quality, we should all holler at the agonizing rarity of amending the United States Constitution. After 238 years, we’ve altered the text only 27 times. That’s simply not enough.
It’s difficult to amend the Constitution. Really difficult. In fact, Donald Lutz, the late political scientist at the University of Houston, has conclusively shown that the United States Constitution is the most unamendable charter in the entire world. The eminent political historian, Jill Lepore, recently echoed Lutz’s findings.
James Madison wanted it that way. In Federalist 49, he wrote: frequent appeal to the people [for amendments] would carry an implication of some defect in the government and deprive the government of the veneration which time bestows on everything…”. Stability, he insisted, requires that the Constitution remain mostly untouched.
As a result, Article V—the amendment article—was inserted into the Constitution. Article V has two avenues for new amendments. First, and most commonly, the Constitution can be amended with two-thirds majorities in both Houses of Congress, followed by approval from three-quarters of the states. Secondly, two-thirds of the state legislatures can request that Congress call a constitutional convention. Whatever is produced by such a convention would still need endorsement by three-quarters of the states.
The question is: has the Madisonian method served us well? Increasingly, pundits, scholars, and commentators view Article V as a constitutional vice, a defect of the original design. Indeed, America’s inability to amend its governing charter has contributed to the feeling that the Constitution is increasingly outdated.
And that is why each generation, if given the chance, would dramatically alter the constitutional amendment process. All would lower the bar to make it simpler to align the Constitution with the ever-changing world.
The most interesting proposal to improve Article V comes from the “Silent Generation.” That senior generation favors a conventional first step: two-thirds majorities in both Houses of Congress can propose a constitutional amendment. But then it gets interesting. The “Silent Generation” calls for a “public deliberation period” of at least one full year to consider the implications of the constitutional reform. Citizens would then vote in a national referendum. A super majority of two-thirds support would be required for any proposed amendment that alters the Bill of Rights or other fundamental freedoms. A simple majority is required for any suggested change to the government’s structure.
The emphasis on deliberative democracy carries over to the Baby Boomers. Any proposed constitutional amendment, insists Boomers, must be vetted through expansive public hearings, expert analysis, and a “national dialogue” on the generational and political implications of the change. Input must come from all segments of the citizenry.
The second stage of the Baby Boomer proposal would focus on states. Here, state ratifying conventions would examine the floated amendment. Three-quarters of the states must approve of the change, a high threshold meant to ensure widespread consensus. Similarly, a regional balance among large and small states, urban and rural populations, and economically affluent and less prosperous states is necessary to ensure a high degree of consensus. The final step toward ratification would be a simple majority vote in a national referendum.
Unsurprisingly, younger generations favor more populist and less governmental approaches to constitutional reform. Both Gen X and Gen Z prefer grassroots amendments. Gen Xers embrace the “citizen-initiated amendment,” whereby a petition signed by 2% of the voting population—about 3.5 million eligible voters—can trigger a constitutional amendment. Gen Zers are comfortable with 1%.
A key feature of the Gen Z amendment process is the involvement of a “Youth Council,” a group of 16-to 25-year-olds who are empowered to propose and evaluate potential constitutional amendments. Both generational constitutions then require super-majorities to endorse the proposed change.
Across all these constitutions, one thing is clear: every generation wants the amendment process to be more democratic, more accountable to the populace. We need to lower the threshold for constitutional revision. The double supermajority—a vote of two-thirds of both houses of Congress, followed by certification by three-quarters of the states—is frankly too formidable. It is no wonder that more than ten thousand amendments have been proposed, but only 27—and none since 1992 (a holdover from Madison's original 1789 list, no less)—have been ratified. It is time to improve the way we improve our Constitution.
The New Testament of the Bible contains 27 books. The human hand contains 27 bones. Most alphabets, including the Greek alphabet, contain 27 letters. The number 27 is a perfect cube.
Interesting facts, all. And not disconcerting. What is disconcerting is that we are celebrating the 238th anniversary of the “miracle in Philadelphia”—September 17, 2025—and we have only attended to 27 of the text’s many flaws. The number 27 symbolizes the nation’s struggle to update its fundamental law, a struggle that has kept us from achieving “a more perfect union.” That struggle must end.
Beau Breslin is the Joseph C. Palamountain Jr. Chair in Government at Skidmore College.
Prairie Gunnels just successfully and with honors completed her first year at Skidmore.
Trump’s mass deportations promise security but deliver economic pain, family separation, and chaos. Here’s why this policy is failing America.
As summer 2025 winds down, the Trump administration’s deportation machine is operating at full throttle—removing over one million people in six months and fulfilling a campaign promise to launch the “largest deportation operation in American history.” For supporters, this is a victory lap for law and order. For the rest of the lot, it’s a costly illusion—one that trades complexity for spectacle and security for chaos.
Let’s dispense with the fantasy first. The administration insists that mass deportations will save billions, reduce crime, and protect American jobs. But like most political magic tricks, the numbers vanish under scrutiny. The Economic Policy Institute warns that this policy could destroy millions of jobs—not just for immigrants but for U.S.-born workers in sectors like construction, elder care, and child care. That’s not just a fiscal cliff—it is fewer teachers, fewer caregivers, and fewer homes built. It is inflation with a human face. In fact, child care alone could shrink by over 15%, leaving working parents stranded and employers scrambling.
Meanwhile, the Peterson Institute projects a drop in GDP and employment, while the Penn Wharton School’s Budget Model estimates that deporting unauthorized workers over a decade would slash Social Security revenue and inflate deficits by nearly $900 billion. That’s not a typo. It’s a fiscal cliff dressed up as border security.
And then there’s food. Deporting farmworkers doesn’t just leave fields fallow—it drives up prices. Analysts predict a 10% spike in food costs, compounding inflation and squeezing families already living paycheck to paycheck. In California, where immigrant renters are disproportionately affected, eviction rates are climbing. The Urban Institute warns that deportations are deepening the housing crisis by gutting the construction workforce. So much for protecting American livelihoods.
But the real cost isn’t measured in dollars. It’s measured in broken families, empty classrooms, and quiet despair. The administration has deployed 10,000 armed service members to the border and ramped up “self-deportation” tactics—policies so harsh they force people to leave voluntarily. The result: Children skipping meals because their parents fear applying for food assistance; Cancer patients deported mid-treatment; and LGBTQ+ youth losing access to mental health care. The Human Rights Watch calls it a “crueler world for immigrants.” That’s putting it mildly.
This isn’t targeted enforcement. It’s a dragnet. Green card holders, long-term residents, and asylum seekers are swept up alongside undocumented workers. Viral videos show ICE raids at schools, hospitals, and churches. Lawsuits are piling up. And the chilling effect is real: immigrant communities are retreating from public life, afraid to report crimes or seek help. That’s not safety. That’s silence. Legal scholars warn that the administration’s tactics—raids at schools, churches, and hospitals—may violate Fourth Amendment protections and due process norms.
Even the administration’s security claims are shaky. Yes, border crossings are down—by about 60%, thanks to policies like “Remain in Mexico.” But deportation numbers haven’t met the promised scale. The Migration Policy Institute notes that monthly averages hover around 14,500, far below the millions touted. And the root causes of undocumented immigration—like visa overstays, which account for 60% of cases—remain untouched.
Crime reduction? Also murky. FBI data shows declines in some areas, but experts attribute this more to economic trends than immigration enforcement. In fact, fear in immigrant communities may be making things worse. When people won’t talk to the police, crimes go unreported. That’s not justice. That’s dysfunction.
Public opinion is catching up. In February, 59% of Americans supported mass deportations. By July, that number had cratered. Gallup reports a 25-point drop in favor of immigration cuts. The Pew Research Center finds that 75% of Democrats—and a growing number of independents—think the policy goes too far. Even Trump-friendly voices like Joe Rogan are balking, calling raids on “construction workers and gardeners” a betrayal of common sense.
On social media, the backlash is swift. Users on X (formerly Twitter) call the policy “ineffective,” “manipulative,” and “theater.” And they’re not wrong. This isn’t about solving immigration. It’s about staging a show—one where fear plays the villain and facts are the understudy.
The White House insists this is what voters wanted. But a narrow electoral win isn’t a blank check for policies that harm the economy and fray the social fabric. Alternatives exist: Targeted enforcement focused on violent offenders; visa reform to address overstays; and legal pathways to fill labor gaps. These aren’t radical ideas—they’re pragmatic ones. And they don’t require tearing families apart to work.
Trump’s deportation blitz is a mirage. It promises safety but delivers instability. It claims to protect jobs but undermines the very sectors that keep the country running. It speaks the language of law and order but acts with the recklessness of a demolition crew. Alternatives exist—and they work. Cities that focus on community policing and legal pathways report higher public safety and stronger economies. Reform doesn’t require cruelty. It requires courage.
Stanford’s Strengthening Democracy Challenge shows a key way to reduce political violence: reveal that most Americans reject it.
In the aftermath of Charlie Kirk’s assassination—and the assassination of Minnesota state legislator Melissa Hortman only three months ago—questions inevitably arise about how to reduce the likelihood of similar heinous actions.
Results from arguably the most important study focused on the U.S. context, the Strengthening Democracy Challenge run by Stanford University, point to one straightforward answer: show people that very few in the other party support political violence. This approach has been shown to reduce support for political violence.
Showing that few Americans support political violence is clearly not the only approach (see various resources like these), but it represents a strong starting point. This method often corrects misperceptions about out-party political violence support. The work of social psychologist Kurt Gray and others shows that people think more like prey rather than predators; people usually try to reduce harm and, generally, only possibly respond if attacked first. When Americans think that those in the other party are less threatening to me / us, there is less need for me / us to be threatening to them.
The Strengthening Democracy Challenge found that five of 25 tested interventions significantly reduced support for political violence. This article unpacks these five interventions, especially the top two performers, which explicitly showed that very few in the other party support political violence.
Even with a need for more research, it is unfortunate that, aside from a few leaders, organizations have not taken this conclusion from the Strengthening Democracy Challenge and have not implemented programming or messaging around it.
Yet this can change, and organizations (including my own, More Like US) can take steps to share that few Americans support political violence.
Such an approach is entirely compatible with still being concerned about violence. It can simultaneously be true that a small sliver of the public can cause terrible damage in terms of violence, and the American public should know that the vast majority of their fellow citizens oppose it.
Looking at online spaces may lead to an incorrect perception of support for political violence. However, More in Common shows that those who spend more time on social media indicate more support for political violence, and the Financial Times / Co-operative Election study finds that content from the political extremes on social media are vastly overrepresented.
A useful resource is the Polarization Research Lab, which tracks attitudes and perceptions toward political violence with weekly surveys. Americans vastly overestimate the share of those in the other party willing to condone political violence, including murder, where perceptions of support are at least 15 times greater than in reality. Results like these should be publicized much more widely.
The Strengthening Democracy Challenge tested the effectiveness of interventions of eight minutes or less focused on the U.S. political environment. All interventions were online and asynchronous, so they did not test face-to-face conversations or interpersonal activities.
While the researchers covered various goals, they were most focused on significantly reducing support for political violence, anti-democratic attitudes, and partisan animosity.
Over 250 interventions were submitted, and the organizers chose 25 that seemed most promising. About 1,000 Americans tested each of these most-promising interventions, and roughly another 5,000 served as a control group. The organizers called this setup a “megastudy.”
Regarding political violence, participants were asked questions about the extent to which it was 1) OK to send threatening and intimidating messages to leaders in the other party, 2)
OK for an ordinary member of one’s own party in the public to harass an ordinary member of the other party on the internet in a way that makes the target feel frightened, 3) justified for members of one’s own party to use violence in advancing their political goals these days, and 4) justified for one’s own party to use violence if the other party wins more races in the next election.
Ultimately, the researchers published their findings in the prestigious journal Science last year.
Of the five interventions significantly reducing support for political violence, the two that performed best clearly showed that very few in the other party support political violence. In many cases, this finding will help correct misperceptions of widespread political violence support.
In terms of the mechanism to why this works, it can help to think of an example. One may think to themselves that if those in the other party do not support violence against us, there is little reason for me to support violence against them.
Going deeper, psychologist Gray and others show that people have evolved as prey rather than predators, so moral actions are usually based on defensiveness and harm reduction, not proactive viciousness.
The two interventions that explicitly showed those in the other party overwhelmingly disapprove of political violence are as follows:
Without further research, some details about mechanisms and what works are unclear.
Even in the two interventions above, does it matter that those interventions used data on support for political violence in the context of political goals, such as blocking major laws or helping a party win? Would it be equally effective to show low rates of support for political violence in general?
The mechanisms are quite unclear for the other three interventions that significantly (but barely) reduced support for political violence.
Taking a step back, it is hard to draw other conclusions. Of the five interventions that significantly reduced support for political violence, three focused on all Americans, while two focused on political leaders. The method of intervention was all over the map—while there were two videos, there was also a multiple-choice question game, an op-ed, and a supposed exchange of messages.
So far, the only clear initiative that has come from these interventions is Disagree Better, originally a National Governors Association initiative spearheaded by Utah Governor Spencer Cox, who was part of the 2020 Utah campaign ad described above. In the aftermath of Charlie Kirk’s assassination, this is getting more media attention than ever since Gov. Cox is so focused on it.
This initiative does have value in encouraging people not to lash out and make their thoughts and feelings about each other worse. This said, it does not directly deal with violence. (It also does not relate much to the video itself, which was much more about commonalities and shared opinions, rather than how to disagree.)
Despite the uncertainties in the research, I draw the conclusion that showing very low rates of support for political violence among all Americans—especially among those in the other political party—seems to be the best option. While further research can refine this conclusion, waiting for perfect results is a dangerous “paralysis by analysis.”
The only possible pitfall I see is a misunderstanding that this messaging about political violence is saying that violence is not a problem. Yet messaging can acknowledge that a small fraction of the public can cause terrible damage in terms of violence, while also communicating to the American public that the vast majority of their fellow citizens oppose political violence. Good messaging can convey both of these points.
According to the Polarization Research Lab, Americans dramatically overestimate the share of those in the other party willing to condone political violence. In terms of out-party murder as of mid-September 2025, 1.3% of Republicans and 1.9% of Democrats claim to support it. This is admittedly troubling, but it is vastly better than Americans’ estimates of the other party. Both Republicans and Democrats think roughly one-third of those in the other party support political murder. This is about 17x and 26x times greater than self-reported values, respectively.
My organization, More Like US, focuses mostly on college campuses. So far, talking about political murder has seemed like a somewhat extreme and provocative topic for campus, but it will now be much more front-of-mind. Since we have various initiatives and resources correcting political misperceptions, revealing misperceptions on political violence is a relatively straightforward next step.
Let’s not have these assassinations be in vain. A silver lining is that very few Americans support political violence. It is possible to acknowledge the risks of this political violence while also showing that the American public overwhelmingly opposes it.
James Coan is the co-founder and executive director of More Like US. Coan can be contacted at James@morelikeus.org
