The United States has one of the highest news avoidance rates in the world. Tens of millions of Americans don’t read, watch or listen to the news each day. The media is generally held in low regard. So, is there a better way to report and analyze current events that will satisfy readers’ interests?
This episode is from the Let's Find Common Ground podcast as a part of The Democracy Group.
As the U.S. approaches its 250th anniversary, these themes explore how democracy is sustained through philanthropy, local action, trust, storytelling, and shared civic power.
Picking up from where I left off, here's the second half of 26 themes that have emerged leading into 2026, when we'll observe America at 250. Again, where possible and appropriate, I cite sources and seek to give credit where it’s due. If I’ve misattributed anything, please tell me and I’ll fix it. And if there's something you'd add, I'd love to know.
(CLICK the > next to each number for the full content of each theme.)
14. Recognize – and Respect – the Role of Everyone in that Big Tent (The 3Ts: Time, Talent, Treasure)
15. Stop Demanding Ideological Purity Already!
16. Embrace the Ripple Effect of Small Actions
17. Research Matters, But Be Data-Informed, Not Data-Driven
18. Change Doesn’t Happen Overnight. It Requires Long-Term Investment. (Philanthropy Part 1)
19. Democracy Work is More Than Elections (Philanthropy Part 2)
20. Real Risk Requires Funding Safety & Protection (Philanthropy Part 3)
21. People Live Local. So, Fund Local Connection & Capacity (Philanthropy Part 4)
22. Communities Know What They Need. Trust the Messiness.
23. Keep Experts on Tap, Not on Top
24. Joy is a Civic Tool!
25. Recognize the Role of Art in Civic Connection
26. Stories and Narrative Shape How We Understand the World - and Our Role in it.
This list isn’t short.
It may be fair to sum it up by saying embrace your power. Whether as a citizen, a funder, a communications professional, an expert or any other role, be real, talk to real people, collaborate for real solutions (not to feed your ego), embrace the fact that you don’t know exactly how every meeting, every project, and every campaign will go - democracy truly is an experiment.
26 Lessons for 2026 - Part II was originally published by Stories Change Power and is republished with permission.
From courtrooms to redistricting, citizen panels prove impartial judgment is still possible in American democracy.
In the ongoing attacks on democracy in 2025, juries and judges played a key role in maintaining normal standards of civil rights. As it turns out, they have something important to teach us about democracy reform as well.
Juries are an interesting feature of the American legal system. They are assemblies of men and women picked at random, who come together on a one-time basis to perform a key role: rendering an independent judgment in a trial or indictment proceeding. Once they're done, they are free to go home.
It is a famous trope of American life that when called for jury duty, one prays that the service will be limited in duration. But once seated, jurors have a strong interest in doing the task at hand well - and efficiently. As a representative cross-section of the population, they give the accused a good shot at an impartial hearing. This is why it was a big deal for juries to start admitting women and non-white people.
In the fall in Washington, DC, a grand jury played a key role in the administration of justice. The most prominent case is one in which Sean Dunn, a paralegal working at the Department of Justice, lost his temper and threw a sandwich at someone in tactical gear. The gear-clad troops gave a slow, lumbering chase, and he got away. Later, he was apprehended and charged by the DOJ for felony assault.
If you think that assault by sandwich is a ridiculous charge, you are not alone. The grand jury declined to indict. Several other cases in the District of Columbia have seen the same outcome. These are sensible decisions in light of the fact that, by all reports, civilian protests against military occupation have been vocal but peaceful. Despite the famous saying, the Department of Justice is not able to get a grand jury to go along with the plan.
Felony trials and indictments are not the only use of juries. A jury-like mechanism has been used in Michigan to great success for the purpose of redistricting.
In 2018, a citizen movement called Voters Not Politicians formed in Michigan with the goal of taking away the redistricting power from the legislature and putting it in the hands of citizens. Led by former recycling coordinator Katie Fahey, law professor Nancy Wang, and many others, the group successfully ran a ballot initiative that formed an independent redistricting commission (see our report). The measure passed.
The mechanism for selecting the commission was unusual. In Michigan, partisan emotions ran high, and it was not clear who could be trusted to select the commission. Voters Not Politicians hit upon a solution: they turned to a lottery process.
Citizens first applied by sending in a postcard. After screening them for minimum qualifications, the Secretary of State implemented a random process to select commissioners. To ensure balance, the process had to include equal numbers of Democrats and Republicans, as well as multiple independents. The commissioners also had come from all parts of the state.
Opponents commented that surely randomly selected citizens would not do a good job of redistricting. But they were wrong. The commission had many meetings, took testimony, and in the end came up with congressional and legislative maps that were quite balanced. In their work, they were assisted by a technical map-drawing expert and legal counsel. Their plans got grades of A from the Princeton Gerrymandering Project.
Not everything went smoothly. Legal counsel came up with an unusual interpretation of racial fairness, leading to a lawsuit in which state legislative lines were eventually redrawn to improve Black representation in greater Detroit. However, even this turned out fine, leading to a replacement map that was still even-handed in treating Democrats and Republicans, while increasing the number of Black-represented districts.
So although legal counsel made a mistake, it turned out well in the end. In fact, the judges in the case specifically lauded the commission for their transparency and work in good faith, imposing a remedy without assigning bad faith to the commissioners.
This story shows that a commission of citizens who have no dog in the fight can, in fact, do an excellent job of drawing lines. Redistricting commissions in other states are not selected at random, but they also do well. Commissions in California, Arizona, Colorado, and Montana have all done their jobs, disbanding at the end of the process, and going home. All in all, these independent commissions have been a success.
Zachariah Sippy and I have reviewed the activities of all such independent commissions in detail in the Duke Journal of Constitutional Law and Public Policy. We found that in each instance, plans created by an independent commission received a grade of A or B from the Princeton Gerrymandering Project. In contrast, mechanisms involving legislatures or partisan commissions often go off the rails, leading to partisan outcomes. It's quite a strong contrast.
As the redistricting wars wear on, keep in mind that there is still room for growth of independent commissions. Arkansas, Illinois, Oregon, and Florida all allow citizens to amend the constitution. If all four of those states used that power to create commissions, it would be relatively balanced in terms of congressional power, since two heavily gerrymandered states—Illinois and Florida—would both be taken off the table.
The lesson from both juries and independent commissions is clear: citizens with no stake in the outcome can help civil rights and democracy. Jury-style mechanisms may be one of our best remaining tools for fair governance.
Sam Wang is a professor of neuroscience at Princeton University and a leading expert on statistical analysis in public policy. He is the founder of Fixing Bugs in Democracy where he covers topics related to democracy, data analysis, and potential reforms.
Like many people over 60 and thinking seriously about retirement, I’ve been paying closer attention to Social Security, and recent changes have made me concerned.
Since its creation during the Great Depression, Social Security has been one of the most successful federal programs in U.S. history. It has survived wars, recessions, demographic change, and repeated ideological attacks, yet it continues to do what it was designed to do: provide a basic floor of income security for older Americans. Before Social Security, old age often meant poverty, dependence on family, or institutionalization. After its adoption, a decent retirement became achievable for millions.
The data tells a clear story about poverty reduction. In 1959, more than one in three seniors lived below the poverty line. Today, that figure is closer to one in ten, largely because of Social Security. Remove the program from the equation, and senior poverty would surge to levels not seen in generations. This is not a marginal safety net. It is the central pillar of retirement security for a large share of older Americans, including roughly 40 percent of retirees who rely on it for at least half of their income.
International comparisons reinforce the point. Many peer democracies, including Canada, Germany, and the Netherlands, rely more heavily on public pensions than the United States, but the underlying logic is the same: predictable, universal retirement income reduces elder poverty. Higher senior poverty rates in the U.S. reflect the thinness of the broader retirement system, not a failure of Social Security itself. In practice, the program often compensates for gaps elsewhere in the American welfare state.
That record makes Social Security’s trajectory under President Trump more concerning. Recent changes do not amount to sweeping benefit cuts, but they do alter how the program is funded, administered, and accessed. Social Security is not a failed program in need of radical reinvention. It is a successful one under strain, increasingly asked to absorb rising health care costs, disappearing pensions, and widening inequality. The question is not whether Social Security works. It plainly does. The question is whether policymakers will strengthen it or quietly undermine it through incremental changes that shift risk back onto seniors.
The changes that come next emerge less from headline legislation than from a steady accumulation of administrative decisions that reshape how the program functions day to day. They also fit squarely within the administration’s broader Department of Government Efficiency agenda, which emphasizes cost containment, automation, and workforce reduction across federal agencies.
This year, the Trump administration began altering Social Security through administrative and operational moves rather than major legislation. Cast as efficiency and modernization measures, these changes nonetheless carry real consequences for beneficiaries.
First, the administration ended Biden-era limits on overpayment recovery, allowing the Social Security Administration to recoup funds more aggressively. Because overpayments often result from agency error, the shift exposes retirees on fixed incomes to sudden benefit reductions with little ability to absorb the loss.
Second, the administration eliminated paper checks, requiring beneficiaries to receive payments electronically. While routine for most retirees, the change creates barriers for very elderly Americans and those without stable banking access, turning a technical adjustment into an access problem.
Third, the administration tightened identity verification requirements in the name of fraud prevention. Protecting the system is a legitimate goal, but heightened ID checks often function as gatekeeping devices, particularly for seniors with disabilities, outdated documents, or limited digital literacy.
Taken together, these steps point to a quiet but consequential shift, with the heaviest effects falling on low-income seniors, people with disabilities, and others who rely most heavily on in-person assistance and predictable benefits. Rather than cutting benefits outright, the administration is making Social Security leaner, more automated, and less forgiving. These changes attract little attention, but they shape how millions of Americans experience the program.
The next round of changes, scheduled for 2026, extends this pattern. Instead of addressing Social Security’s long-term financing challenges directly, the administration has favored measures with short-term political appeal that defer hard choices and shift risk onto beneficiaries.
On the campaign trail, Trump promised to eliminate federal taxes on Social Security benefits. That pledge never became law, largely because doing so would have accelerated the program’s insolvency. Instead, Congress enacted an enhanced tax deduction for Americans aged 65 and older. Beginning in 2026, some retirees will owe less federal tax on their benefits, and some will owe none at all. The relief is temporary, set to expire in 2028, and does little to stabilize the trust fund.
At the same time, the Social Security Administration plans to sharply reduce in-person services. Internal targets call for cutting field office visits roughly in half, accelerating the shift to online and phone-based systems. Field offices have long served as the program’s front door, providing hands-on help with retirement claims, disability applications, and benefit disputes. For seniors with limited digital access or complex cases, digital access is not a convenience but a necessity.
Seen together, these changes reveal a consistent governing approach, one enabled by congressional acquiescence and defined by administrative retrenchment and risk shifting rather than overt benefit cuts. Benefits are not being slashed outright, but access is narrowing, administrative burdens are rising, and fiscal pressures are being postponed. The result is a quieter form of retrenchment that preserves the appearance of stability while shifting real consequences onto millions of seniors, especially those least equipped to absorb new administrative and financial burdens.
Social Security’s great strength has always been its reliability. It does not promise wealth, but it has delivered something more important: dignity and security in old age. That achievement was not accidental. It reflects deliberate political choices to pool risk broadly, administer benefits simply, and treat retirement security as a collective responsibility.
What is happening now is not the sudden dismantling of Social Security, but something subtler.
Rather than relying on piecemeal administrative changes, Congress and the president should work together on durable reforms that preserve the program’s legacy and strengthen its long-term foundations. An important step Congress could take is to bolster Social Security’s finances through permanent revenue measures, such as raising or eliminating the payroll tax cap so high earners contribute at the same rate as everyone else. Administrative efficiency should not come at the expense of access for millions, so lawmakers should also require a baseline level of in-person service at Social Security field offices. Finally, Congress should assert stronger oversight of Social Security Administration decisions, including reporting requirements and clear guardrails to prevent misguided cost-cutting efforts from undermining benefit delivery.
The danger is not that Social Security will fail overnight, but that it will be slowly hollowed out. A program that still works remarkably well could become harder to navigate, less predictable, and less protective, especially for the seniors who depend on it most. That outcome is not inevitable; it is the result of political decisions. The question now is whether policymakers will honor that legacy by acting decisively to pass sensible, lasting reforms that strengthen the program rather than allowing it to erode.
Robert Cropf is a Professor of Political Science at Saint Louis University.
Māori elder in Aotearoa gathers her whānau around the table to discuss local elections, community needs, and the responsibility of collective leadership.
Sometimes democracy begins around a table. Sometimes it begins in a gathering with whānau (extended family) where kai (a meal) is shared, stories are told, and courage is quietly born in conversation. This is where we begin.
We were just ten days away from the close of local elections, what you might call city elections.
In Aotearoa, or New Zealand, these elections happen every three years, usually in October. This is community-based democracy at its heart, rooted in participation, where residents help shape the future of their towns, cities, and regions. This is how communities decide who makes choices about local issues such as water, housing, roads, parks, libraries, and the well-being of community members.
And for Māori, especially in my district and community, this part matters in a very real way. Our vote is not just paperwork. It is a way of carrying forward who we are and making sure our communities are not spoken for by others. When we participate, we remind local government that decisions about the land, water, roads, and the well-being of community members must include us.
There is a lot in our district that needs attention: aging water systems, unsafe and unsealed roads, limited and overcrowded housing, the pressure on our coastlines due to overuse and poor planning, and the growing impacts of climate change on our communities and cultural sites. Access to health care, transportation, and basic services is uneven. Māori families often feel these gaps the most.
These are not abstract political debates. They shape daily life for whānau across our communities. By voting, we make sure our experiences, our priorities, and our solutions are part of the decisions being made. It is how we protect what matters and push for the change our people deserve.
During these elections, many Māori communities are also campaigning for fair representation through Māori wards. This would ensure that our voices are heard at decision-making tables. For us, this is more than politics. It is tino rangatiratanga, our right to self-determination and shared leadership in the places we call home.
As a kuia,—an elder woman of my tribe—a nanny, and an aunt, I see it as my role to activate our circle of influence. When elections draw near, I gather our whānau, more than 20 of us, around the table. The gathering includes grandchildren old enough to vote, nieces, nephews, cousins, young parents, new voters, in-laws, and elders. Each comes with their voting papers in hand, ready to learn. Ready to listen.
We do not start with candidates. Over dinner, we ask the deeper questions: What is the role of local and city government? What will this mean for us as a whānau, as a tribe, as a community? What kind of leadership will protect our whenua—our ancestral land, uphold our values, and build the future we want for our mokopuna, our grandchildren?
Only after this conversation do we talk about the candidates, who they are, what they stand for, and what their campaigns really mean for us. Through debate, laughter, and reflection, everyone comes to their choice. By the end of the meal, our voting papers are filled in, sealed, and ready to post.
We also organize a time for whānau to bring their forms to our marae, our traditional gathering place. Sitting side-by-side at a table, sharing a cuppa, and reviewing the forms together, gives confidence and reinforces that every voice matters.
These gatherings may seem small, but they carry real power. Each hui, or gathering, is a chance to grow political awareness, strengthen critical thinking, and build belief in our collective voice. What begins around the table ripples outward, fortifying families, shaping communities, and showing that even small acts of participation create profound change. Democracy is not abstract. It lives in our kitchens, our marae, our stories, and our shared meals. It lives in the wisdom of our elders and the curiosity of our young ones. It is the practice of belonging, responsibility, and hope.
Around the world, others are gathering too. They are standing, teaching, resisting, and defending democracy in their own ways. From our tables here in Aotearoa to your town halls, city squares, and community spaces, we are connected by the same truth: every voice matters because democracy is strongest when it lives in the hearts, hands, and homes of the people.
This article was originally published as part of Resilience & Resistance, a Charles F. Kettering Foundation blog series that features the insights of thought leaders and practitioners who are working to expand and support inclusive democracies around the globe.
Phoebe Davis is an activist for Māori rights and education in Aotearoa. She is also a former Kettering Foundation international fellow.
