Mark Bauer of Rank the Vote joins host Dan Sally to discuss the surprising impact independent candidates had in this year's midterm elections, Donald Trump's political future, and what that means for electoral reforms such as ranked choice voting.
Republican presidential candidate and former President Donald Trump dances off stage at the end of a campaign rally at the Grappone Convention Center on Friday, Jan. 19, 2024, in Concord, New Hampshire.
Republican National Committee Chairman Joe Gruters says the GOP midterm election “convention” will be a “Trumpapalooza.” It’d be better if everyone called it that.
American political conventions are one of the best examples — among way too many — of American institutional decay.
In the 19th century and much of the 20th century, the quadrennial party conventions were indispensable pieces of political technology. I mean that literally. Traditionally, conventions were where party stakeholders — elected officials, party bosses, etc. — chose the nominee. Factions representing regions, interests, even ideas (how quaint!) would debate and horse-trade with each other, sometimes over days of voting, to name someone the party could get behind.
That system started to atrophy in the 1930s, as Michael Barone, the great political analyst, has argued, because of the telephone. The kind of negotiating required for a nominee to win support was impossible to do by letter. It took too long, and besides, putting things in writing risked exposing deals and other favor-trading for which savvy politicians would never want a paper trail. You had to do it face-to-face.
“The conventions were thus communication devices,” Barone writes, “in which campaign managers assessed candidates’ strength — and responded. Votes would be held back, so as to show momentum on later ballots. Favorite-son candidacies would be launched, in the hopes that they could be withdrawn later for reward or parlayed into a dark-horse nomination. No one had an accurate idea of how many delegates candidates had.”
The telephone changed that. In 1936, President Roosevelt used the new technology of long-distance calling to organize support well in advance of the convention.
Polling, and then television, further sapped away the function of conventions. Who needs party bosses to tell you the mood of the rank and file, when polling can deliver a much richer picture? Why put floor fights and other fodder for opponents on TV? Better to offer a picture of solidarity and excitement.
But the real death knell came in 1972 with the “reforms” promulgated by Democrat George McGovern, which were quickly adopted by the GOP. These reforms — which I think were deformations of our democratic system — took the power to nominate a candidate away from the stakeholders and gave it to rank-and-file voters. We thus became the first and one of the only advanced democracies where parties can no longer choose their own candidates.
I think that was a disaster, but that’s a column for another time. One of the consequences of that disaster was that party conventions essentially became infomercials ratifying a fait accompli. The brokered convention — even the prospect for one — is gone now, replaced by a coronation.
But at least the coronation still serves a purpose. It’s still a necessary function of our electoral system. A boring, intelligence-insulting, performative function, but a function all the same.
This midterm “convention” isn’t even that. No one will be formally nominated. It’s just an opportunity for President Trump to put on a show — about himself.
Defenders might say there’s precedent for this, but their argument proves my point about decay. Democrats in 1974, 1978 and 1982 had midterm conventions. But those conventions involved various committee meetings in which party rules and resolutions were proposed and debated.
In 1978, President Carter defended the midterm convention.
“I believe it is very important for me, as a president, and also as head of the Democratic Party, to have my success and failures assessed objectively and openly by Democrats representing the grassroots of our party around the nation,” Carter said. “I think that was done in a very forthcoming way.”
The Washington Post reported that John C. White, the Democratic Party chairman, was worried that delegate disputes could “turn the convention into a public relations failure.”
“Of course we have a broad range of opinions on some issues within our party,” White said. “But if we get foolish, if we go beyond proper political division and look quarrelsome, these are things that could hurt the Democratic Party and the Democratic president.”
If you think the Dallas Trumpalooza is going to include an open and objective discussion of Trump’s failures, or feature even the slightest political division, I want to congratulate you for having just emerged from a decade-long coma.
This is a commercial with a live studio audience and nothing more. Indeed, the rot of our political institutions on display is not confined to the GOP. One of the featured keynote speakers is Attorney General Todd Blanche. Whether the already ethically compromised AG’s appearance at an expressly partisan event is a violation of the Hatch Act is something for the lawyers to debate. But the spirit of it is grotesque, and a sign that our parties aren’t the only institutions that have lost their way.
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.
A person looks out at the North Tower pool at the 9/11 Memorial and Museum ahead of the 25th anniversary of the attack on the World Trade Center on September 7, 2026, in New York City.
Twenty‑five years after September 11th, the burden of that day continues to affect us in ways that are difficult to express. It was a moment of profound loss, but also one that revealed both the vulnerability and resilience of our national fabric. The memories remain vivid for many of us: where we were, what we felt, and how the world appeared to change in an instant. Even now, a quarter century later, the impact of that morning continues to shape how we understand our country, our responsibilities, and our relationships with one another.
To help us all reflect on that day, I invited four contributors to the Fulcrum to share reflections not to revisit the tragedy, but to commemorate the ways it has persisted in our consciousness twenty-five years later.
The meaning of 9/11 has evolved alongside America itself. The grief, unity, questions, and enduring tensions all reflect the ongoing effort to build a healthier democracy. These reflections remind us that citizenship is not a static role; it is a daily practice shaped by the moments that challenge us most. My hope is that this collection encourages us to examine honestly where we are today and to recommit to the mission of strengthening the bonds that unite us.
David L. Nevins is the publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
Beyond the initial shock of the attacks and the inevitable changes to our collective psyche, I have several sharp memories of the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. First was a deeply personal call with my sister. She was witnessing the posters of missing people as she walked the streets of Lower Manhattan, while I sat in a pizza parlor in California. The dissonance was palpable. A few days earlier, her phone call alerted me to the attack, as she checked in to say she was OK. I remember hearing stories in the days that followed from friends whose friends had miraculously missed being in the Twin Towers. Another friend missed the Boston flight. As a result, the attack felt deeply personal. Many friends also grieved those who had been lost. Upon reflection, it may have been my disappointment with Congress that our political unity was so short-lived, which contributed to my entry into good governance organizations in 2003. I'm still dedicated to that cause, 25 years later.
Debilyn Molineaux is a storyteller, collaborator & connector. For 20 years, she led cross-partisan organizations. She currently holds several roles, including serving as a catalyst for JEDIFutures.org and as the host of the podcast Terrified Nation. She previously co-founded BridgeAlliance, Living Room Conversations, and the National Week of Conversation.
On September 11, 2001, I was a young father and seminarian, still figuring out what it meant to lead and serve. The day started like any other—dropping off my child, heading into work—until everything changed. News spread faster than understanding. Words failed. In those first hours, I searched for something to hold onto—some meaning, some comfort.
But in the days that followed, what stood out wasn’t only fear or sorrow. I remember neighbors praying, strangers helping, communities leaning on one another. In the midst of tragedy, ordinary people showed remarkable care.
Twenty-five years later, remembering alone isn’t enough. This anniversary asks what we’ve done with our grief, what we’ve learned, and who we’ve become. We are summoned to a way of being I call weaving: drawing together memory, pain, difference, and hope to create a more compassionate common life. Our healing—and our democracy—depend on remembering honestly, empathizing deeply, and working together. That is the living memorial we owe the future.
Rev. Dr. F. Willis Johnson is a spiritual entrepreneur, author, and scholar-practitioner whose leadership and strategies around social and racial justice issues are nationally recognized and applied.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, my daughter’s neighborhood playgroup gathered at our home. Four four-year-olds were picking apples on a perfect late-summer day.
I watched the little girls playing as the television blared the same images over and over again: planes exploding into New York City’s Twin Towers, the aftermath of the crash into the Pentagon.
These contrasting scenes: innocent children playing in an orchard under a clear blue sky, and the terrible evil unfurling as the towers collapsed and the smoking skies darkened…an unfathomable juxtaposition.
How could both exist in the same country at the same time?
Now, twenty-five years later, those little girls grown, I still wonder. How can so many believe in our nation, and so many disparage it?
That very long day unraveled into that very long week. The plight of Flight 93 unfolded, the story of its brave passengers instigating a takedown, their intentional sacrifice.
Leading the charge to seize control of the plane, Todd Beamer’s words still thrill and inspire me: “Let’s roll!”
Yes. Let’s do.
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."
In New York on 9/11, I was working as a journalist when the first tower was hit, and the city I knew so well became unrecognizable in an instant. I didn’t go home for days. I stayed in the newsroom, trying to make sense of what we were witnessing as we documented the grief unfolding around us.
When I finally returned home, I remember stopping in place. House after house on my block had raised an American flag — a quiet, collective gesture that felt like the neighborhood was exhaling together after holding its breath for days. The first thing I did was put up my own flag.
In that moment, the flag became more than a symbol of the nation; it became a reminder of the responsibilities we share as citizens. It wasn’t an act of patriotism as much as a gesture of mourning and connection — a way to say we are still here, we belong to one another, and that even in the face of unimaginable loss, we can choose to rebuild the civic fabric that holds us together.
The memory of 9/11 continues to shape how many Americans understand citizenship today: not just as a legal status, but as a commitment to community, service, and showing up for one another in moments of crisis.
Hugo Balta is the executive editor of The Fulcrum and the publisher of the Latino News Network
An immigrant's perspective on why America's election debate over security vs. access is a false choice — and how USPS mail ballot rules fit in.
I came to the United States from India in 1982. In Indian elections, I watched officials check voter identity and mark a voter’s finger with indelible ink. Party representatives observed the process. The system was imperfect, as every large democracy is, but it sent a simple message: casting one vote is a serious civic act, and the process should make that clear.
When I later became an American citizen and cast my first ballot, the experience felt very different. A poll worker found my name on a list and handed me a ballot. In my precinct, there was no photo identification check. I was surprised—not because I expected voting to be difficult, but because I expected a system as consequential as an election to have clear, visible safeguards.
America’s election debate has become trapped in a false choice. One side hears “security” and fears exclusion. The other hears “access” and fears weak controls. A durable democracy needs both. Eligible voters should be able to vote without needless burdens. At the same time, ballots should be handled through rules that are transparent, verifiable, and understandable before Election Day.
That is why the current debate over mail ballots and the U.S. Postal Service matters. USPS has proposed standards for federal-election mail ballots that would require official-election-mail markings, compatible envelope designs, and unique Intelligent Mail barcodes. The proposal would also create a process through which states supply information about voters who are to receive mail ballots. A unique barcode can help election offices and voters follow a ballot through the mail stream. It cannot decide who is eligible to vote, and it should not be presented as a substitute for state election administration. But tracking is a useful form of accountability.
The proposal is not settled law. It has faced court challenges, and courts have temporarily blocked or allowed parts of the government’s effort to proceed while litigation continues. That legal uncertainty is itself a reason for care. Election rules should not be imposed hurriedly, or changed so close to an election that administrators and voters cannot understand them.
The sound principle is simpler than the partisan argument. Build verification at the front end, and build access into the same system. If a state requires identification, it should provide a free, practical way to obtain the required document. It should offer reasonable alternatives for voters who do not drive, have disabilities, live far from an issuing office, or lack a stable address. It should give the public clear instructions well before voting begins. And it should allow voters to correct a problem with a mail ballot when state law permits.
This is not merely a matter of optics. Trust is an economic asset. Families saving for retirement, small-business owners making investments, and workers planning their futures all depend on institutions that can resolve disputes lawfully and peacefully. A close election will always produce disagreement. But disagreement is less damaging when the public can see the rules, understand the chain of custody, and know that every eligible voter had a real opportunity to participate.
Americans do not need to agree on every rule of election administration. States have different histories and different systems. We do need to agree that the goals are legitimate: one eligible voter, one ballot; no eligible voter turned away by an avoidable barrier; and election procedures that are stable enough to earn public confidence.
The USPS proposal can add value if it is kept in that proper role. Better ballot tracking and clearer mail standards can help make the delivery process more visible. But Congress, states, election officials, postal workers, and courts should insist on safeguards for privacy, costs, timing, and voter access. Security without access fails democracy. Access without credible procedures weakens trust. The country needs both.
As the United States marks its 250th year, this should be an area for practical cooperation. Election security is not a partisan trophy. It is maintenance on a democratic system that every American relies on.
Meda Parameswara Reddy, Ph.D. is Director of the Reddy Center for Critical and Integrated Thinking. A former R&D executive holding 30 U.S. patents, he focuses on the analysis of human behavior, public health, and global affairs, drawing on an interdisciplinary background. He published in multiple RealClear platforms, Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci., The Humanist, AFRO American, South Asia Monitor (on editorial board, and host of a show), and others.
mpreddy54@yahoo.com, mpreddyinsights.com, https://lnkd.in/gn2zQJbs
A federal court sided with LAHSA, but LA nonprofits are still fronting millions to deliver government-funded homeless and DV services. Time to fix this
Politics nerds have many ideas about how to strengthen American democracy; however, few directly address silent elections. For example, ranked-choice voting does nothing to encourage more candidates to run if there are not enough. Term limits increase turnover, but even newcomers can frequently run uncontested in general elections if they have won competitive primaries.
Fortunately, the cause isn’t hopeless. For one, tightening campaign finance laws would put potential challengers on more even footing with corporate-backed politicians, encouraging more candidates to run. Independent redistricting would also help. The Cook Political Report, a poll aggregator, considers only 69 of America’s 435 House districts competitive. Fair redistricting means more competitive districts and therefore more contested elections.
However, independent redistricting can only help so much. In Massachusetts, where registered Democrats outnumber registered Republicans 3-1, it is impossible to draw many competitive districts. It is therefore unsurprising that Massachusetts has the highest rate of uncontested congressional elections despite receiving an A grade for district fairness from the Princeton Gerrymandering Project.
Fortunately, uncontested elections are not inevitable. Direct interventions that focus on the problem can reduce their occurrence. One often-overlooked proposal is open primaries. With open primaries, a single primary occurs for all parties from which two or more of the highest vote-getters—regardless of party affiliation—advance to the general election. Open primaries ensure that the important electoral decisions occur in general elections—where they receive more turnout and attention—instead of primaries.
Alaska implemented open primaries in 2022 and enjoyed its most competitive election season in a decade: only 12% of state legislature elections were uncontested. California has adopted the system as well, and in 2024, only one California state assembly election was uncontested, and no state senate seats were, suggesting that open primaries can create electoral competition.
California has more ideas to offer than just open primaries. One is district size. California’s state assembly has only 80 seats, creating constituencies 2.5x the size of any other state house district in America. And with one million people per district, California’s state senators represent more constituents than US Representatives. More people means more potential candidates.
California’s competitive elections are buoyed by California’s generous benefits for elected officials. State legislators in California are the highest paid in the country and receive a strong benefits package. California’s system is not perfect. Many barriers to entry, especially for working-class individuals, still exist. However, it’s enough to consistently produce contested elections for the most important offices.
Another potentially impactful reform is multi-member districts, where multiple elected officials represent one district. Studies show that multi-member districts can greatly reduce the rate of uncontested elections. Competitive elections require fewer total candidates with multi-member districts because a district of 30k people needs only four candidates to competitively elect three legislators (four candidates for three spots), whereas three districts of 10k people need six candidates total to competitively elect one legislator each (two candidates for one seat in each district). Multi-member districts also help new candidates by letting them challenge multiple incumbents simultaneously and get elected by beating just one.
Multi-member districts are already used in parts of the United States, including for state house elections in Arizona, South Dakota, and Washington, all of which had relatively few silent elections in 2024, when they last elected their state houses.
Institutional reforms can help increase the number of candidates who run, but some barriers are innate to the political process, or at least to the political culture. Political office is often a demanding, underappreciated job where politicians struggle to make the change they want. What’s more, aspiring politicians must invest massive amounts of time into a campaign before they can start doing the job—and often, they lose.
Tahirah Amatul-Wadud knows what it’s like to lose an election better than most. In 2018, Amatul-Wadud challenged incumbent Richard Neal for the Democratic nomination in Massachusetts’ 1st congressional district and lost. A lawyer and long-time district resident, she was motivated to run because she felt the country was moving in the wrong direction and that Neal was letting it happen.
Outspent 21-1 by Neal, then running for his 16th congressional term, Amatul-Wadud was always a long shot. “Sometimes we romanticize these David and Goliath moments,” she told me, “but it's very risky to be David.” Ultimately, she lost by a 70-30 vote margin. When I asked her about her now eight-year-old loss, Amatul-Wadud spoke with hints of nostalgia as she told me she is proud to have run. “People got to see an African-American woman, in hijab, on television,” she says. “It mattered that my pictures were in the newspaper. It mattered that I was on the television, debating the congressman. And it didn't just matter to little black girls and boys and little Muslim girls and boys. It mattered to every young person.”
No single reform can guarantee quality contested elections, but a cultural change can. In Canada’s 1867 parliamentary elections (the country’s first), 25% of seats were won by “acclamation”. Silent elections remained common for several decades, but eventually—and not due to any specific policy—the practice faded: no Canadian parliamentary seat has been won by acclamation since 1957.
Canadian democratic institutions and culture promote contested elections. For one, Canada has four national parties, helping ensure at least two parties run a candidate in every district. Additionally, election season in Canada is short and doesn’t include a primary, meaning that candidates need not invest nearly as much time as they do in America.
One of Canada’s minor parties, the Rhinoceros Party, demonstrates the difference between Canadian and American political culture. Founded in 1967, the satirical Rhinoceros Party has advocated for filling the Canadian Senate by lottery and putting more green cars on the street (as in painted green). The party had its best year in 1980, when it captured 1% of the popular vote, and more recently ran 29 candidates in 2025. Though deeply unserious, Canada’s Rhinoceros Party makes politics fun and encourages politically disillusioned voters to engage.
Amatul-Wadud is a big believer in the importance of culture. “We have to raise the dignity of being an elected leader, by encouraging people to run who we think have not only the skills, but the moral compass to do so and to support them financially and with our time.” If America can create that cultural shift, American democracy will be all the better.
We may be witnessing the start of such a shift. Amatul-Wadud’s opponent, Neal, is now finishing his 38th year in Congress. In total, he has won 11 general elections and 13 primaries uncontested, but in 2026, he faced a primary challenger, and in November he will face a general election challenger. This shift may be underway, not because of an institutional reform, but because we are in an urgent political moment that is inspiring unconventional candidates to run small campaigns whose impact is anything but. America must use that energy to sustain a cultural shift before it runs out of longshot candidates.
Rafael Gonzalez is an MPP student at the Yale Jackson School of Global Affairs. Before graduate school, he worked for Boston Consulting Group, the World Food Programme, and the International Atomic Energy Agency. He has previously been published by Public Seminar for an article on industrial agriculture.
For Trump, even 9/11 is an opportunity