We are building a citizen army across America fighting for a U.S. Constitutional Amendment that will end the rampant corruption of our federal government and ensure Free and Fair Elections. The massive amounts of money spent in our elections from outside special interests, often with little to no transparency, is drowning out the voices of average citizens and distorting the most fundamental principle of America - a country dependent upon the people alone. By working together, we can solve this problem and ensure true representative government in America for ourselves and future generations with an amendment to the Constitution. Wolf-PAC is using a proven strategy of going through our state governments to achieve an amendment. Learn more about our plan and how to become an active citizen by visiting our website.
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Democracy on the Line: LGBTQ+ Movements as Critical to Democracy
Jun 22, 2026
In recent years, LGBTQ+ people and rights have been increasingly targeted as part of a wave of authoritarian illiberal politics, promoting a global “anti-gender” movement. These attacks on queer people have been characterized as “the canary in the coal mine”; an early warning sign of wider democratic erosion. Autocratic leaders have exploited anti-LGBTQ+ public sentiment to crack down on freedom of expression, freedom of the press, the right to organize, and to silence dissenting voices. In response, many LGBTQ+ movements are re-emphasizing their roles as democratic actors.
LGBTQ+ Rights and Democracy
Because respecting minority groups and representing their voices fairly is a measure of liberal democratic norms, the status of LGBTQ+ rights is sometimes viewed as a barometer of democracy. Societies with strong LGBTQ+ rights protections tend to have freer elections and more robust civil liberties, and LGBTQ+ rights are stronger in democratic states. Rights have often been won through social movements lobbying for change, a core process within well-functioning democracies. Social movements have an integral role in civil society, and a free civil society is a condition of democracy. In free civil societies, citizens can hold their governments to account, exercise free speech, and amplify their voices to make demands on the state. LGBTQ+ movements don’t just benefit from democracy; they are part of the fabric of civil society and democracy itself.
The links between authoritarianism and the recent repression of queer people and their rights is usually told as a negative story, with a list of violations, violence, and restrictions on civic space. This list of wrongdoings is meant to raise the alarm about rapid democratic decline. But there is another side to this narrative. There is an important story to be told about how movements in support of LGBTQ+ rights are protecting democratic values.
When LGBTQ+ Movements Defend Democracy
In the last few years, we have seen instances when LGBTQ+ social movements have actively engaged in protecting freedom of assembly, a core democratic right. Hungary’s former prime minister, Viktor Orbán, tried to ban Budapest’s Pride march in June 2025. The city’s mayor, Gergely Karácsony, allowed the march to proceed. The march transformed into a mass anti-government demonstration, drawing around 100,000 people. This event contributed to the changing landscape that brought about the defeat of Orbán in the April 2025 election. That democracy activists saw a platform for action through LGBTQ+ rights is a promising indication of alliances that can contest anti-gender politics. Freedom of assembly claimed by one marginalized group can open space for wider democratic mobilization.
Other movements have successfully folded together calls for specific LGBTQ+ rights with calls for democratic processes. In Thailand, LGBTQ+ activists were deeply embedded in the 2020 pro-democracy protests, which demanded constitutional reform away from monarchy and toward democracy with free and fair elections. LGBTQ+ people were visible as leaders helping to shape demands and develop new modes of action. Same-sex marriage became a core issue during the protests and led to the 2023 Marriage Equality Act, which passed with overwhelming support in the upper and lower houses. When interviewed, Thai LGBTQ+ rights activists said that they need democracy in order to claim their rights and that democratically elected representatives are more likely to listen to their issues. Activist Matcha Phornin stated: “A significant part of our success came from intersecting with other movements, particularly democracy movements. When democracy is compromised, it becomes difficult to advocate for LGBTQI+ rights. That’s why many LGBTQI+ activists are also pro-democracy activists, which makes our movement more united and therefore stronger. . . . The democracy movement, which includes many young LGBTQI+ activists, has been instrumental in pushing for legislative change.”
Other LGBTQ+ rights efforts focused on the regulatory environment. In February 2023, Kenya’s Supreme Court ruled that the National Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission could register as a formal NGO. The ruling, which was based on freedom of association protections in the Constitution, concluded a 10-year battle. While same-sex relations remain criminalized in Kenya where social norms are conservative, the legal victory upheld the right to association. In doing so, it protected not only LGBTQ+ organizing but also the broader democratic principle that marginalized groups have the right to organize.
The Broad Reach of Social Movements
Social movements may have direct influence on political regimes and policies, but they also reshape the terms of the debate, open participation to different voices, and reclaim public space. In Thailand, the 2020 protests did not result in democratic change across formal politics, but they did spark a significant shift in public discourse on the issues and on the right to protest. Kenya’s court case held civic space open for dissenting voices even though LGBTQ+ people are criminalized. The Hungary Pride march in 2025 shows the power of people who may disagree on some issues, but who can come together to fight for democratic governance. These shifts contribute to democratic norms and move the balance of power toward the people. Because LGBTQ+ rights have been so regularly attacked by authoritarian politics, LGBTQ+ rights activists are responding by making the case that their rights are fundamental to democracy. LGBTQ+ rights are inextricably linked to the rights and freedoms of all, the protection of which is central to upholding the democratic principles of inclusion, voice, and representation.
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.
Evie Browne is a research fellow at ODI Global, in the Gender Equality and Social Inclusion team, researching gender norms and normativity, sexualities, rights, and social justice. Evie has a PhD in International Development from the University of Sussex with a focus on LGBTQI+ issues and gender normativity among lesbian and bisexual women in Cuba.
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For Imre Huss, Fixing Democracy Starts With Talking to a Stranger
Jun 21, 2026
The Democracy Architects Council, presented by The Bridge Alliance Education Fund and Civics Unplugged, offers a paid, one-year fellowship for eight fellows ages 18 to 28, each selected for their work across a distinct sector of democratic life.
The youngest member of the Democracy Architects Council is building AI-powered civic tech, but he says the real work of democracy still happens face to face.
When Imre Huss talks about why he believes democracy is worth fighting for, he doesn't start with a civics textbook. He starts with his mother, who left Poland alone at 17, after helping distribute newspapers during a period of authoritarian rule there. Huss grew up in Cleveland, Ohio, hearing those stories, and he says they planted a seed: that pro-democracy organizing was something an ordinary person, even a teenager, could actually do.
That seed grew into Govvy, an AI-powered civic technology platform Huss co-founded to close the gap between residents and local government. It emerged from two experiences during his junior year of high school. The first was organizing a hyperlocal campaign (alongside neighbors in their 60s and 80s) to stop a development that threatened a green space in his city. Petitions, yard signs, and an op-ed in the local paper moved the needle some, Huss said, but what actually stopped the project was a single phone call from a retired judge in the neighborhood to a friend on the planning commission. The second was watching, as a youth advisor to his congresswoman, how constituent mail got triaged by interns before it ever reached her desk, even as her social media comments and DMs went unanswered.
"There was this intent to engage, but in practice, there weren't really the tools to do so," Huss said.

Imre Huss
Govvy started out ambitious. Huss said he originally tried to design for every gap he saw across local, state and federal government before narrowing to focus on local elections and day-to-day civic information. He's headed to the University of Virginia this fall on a full scholarship through the Jefferson and Echols Scholars Program, and he's bringing Govvy's mission with him, carefully. A team will keep building it back home in Cleveland, but Huss says he won't import the platform into Charlottesville before he understands what the community actually needs.
"They [tools] should be grounded in the needs of the community, in the interests of the community," he said. "If that doesn't match the needs of the community, then I wouldn't want to bring it there."
That instinct to start local, then scale carefully, shapes how Huss thinks about a contentious debate in the democracy reform space: whether the path forward runs through local organizing or national media. He's landed on both. National media moves faster, he said, but local conversations tend to leave partisan labels at the door. He pointed to a recent trip to the Indiana Civic Summit, in a state that's grown reliably red, where he found real energy for expanding civics education, not because it polled as partisan, but because nobody had attached a party to it yet.
"If you put a D or an R next to that, at the national level, you're all supposed to agree on those things," he said. "But there is a lot of nuance within a political party."
That caution carries into how Huss talks about the council's broader mission. He argues one of the group's first jobs is repairing the word "democracy" itself, which he says has become so politically coded that it shuts down conversation before it starts. His approach: find organizations that don't see themselves as democracy groups like corporations, civic associations, sports leagues, and build buy-in one shared value at a time, without forcing a partisan frame onto it.
"We need to figure out how we connect with organizations that hold power," he said, "and then, through those connections, try to communicate a vision of democracy that is greater than just the word democracy."
It's a theory that runs through how Huss responds to a generational refrain he hears often - that young people are "the future" of democracy, tasked with fixing what older generations broke. He calls the sentiment well-intentioned but incomplete. "It's easy to say this is your responsibility as a young person," he said. "But it's very easy to say something like that without actually putting in the effort to foster those young voices and turn them into young actions."
Asked what he wants people to do - not just feel - after encountering his story, Huss didn't point to an app or a campaign. He pointed to the grocery store line.
"Talk to somebody at the grocery store. Start up a conversation. Talk to your neighbors," he said. "We try to separate ourselves, we try to become so individual, and we lose those connections we have across our society."
Kristina Becvar is the executive director of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
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A Lantern in the Rain — A Beacon in Dark Times
Jun 21, 2026
Around 9 PM on May 1, 1865, John Ring lit his lamp and headed to the horse barn. A steady rain was falling. He hung the light on a hook, scanned the stalls, checked the bridle and harness, and moved to the horse. Then he filled the lanterns with kerosene and began rigging the wagon.
Inside, Mary dressed in proper attire and made sure the children — John Jr. (17), Julia (14), Belle (10), Patrick (8), and little Martin (4) — were ready. John Jr., Julia, and Belle would walk behind the wagon in the rain; Mary, John, Patrick, and Martin would ride under a tarp. It would be a two-hour trip to Joliet. They started down the nearly pitch-black road, the wagon rocking in potholes.
As they neared the old Sauk Indian Trail, they saw flickers of light in the mist — a steady stream of lanterns moving toward town. They joined the pilgrimage. Eventually they parked the wagon in a field and walked together toward the depot, joining hundreds of others moving silently through the dark streets. Lanterns hissed in the rain. Torches sputtered. Church bells from St. John’s and St. Patrick’s began to peal.
Farmers, canal workers, laborers, craftsmen, and their families gathered around the depot, draped in black bunting. Suddenly a mournful whistle pierced the night as the engine emerged, hissing, steam rising. One black-and-silver car rolled slowly into view and stopped. Minute cannons fired. Somber music played. A silent crowd of 12,000 watched with reverent eyes.
Abraham Lincoln was going home.
The Rings were overwhelmed, as was everyone. Then, just as suddenly, the train came to life again. The whistle shrieked, and Lincoln’s presidential car disappeared into the night. People lingered, reluctant to leave, waiting for the last echo of the whistle. Joliet had swelled to nearly four times its size that night. From that rain-soaked vigil, the shared experience would carry them — and us — forward.
It was about 3 AM when Mary lit the lamp. Its glow caught the glint of the ornate coffee pot as the flame sputtered to life. The showpiece of their civic identity spoke to her. She teared up, then took a deep breath and sat down. She lifted the pot and recalled its meaning: the griffin handle symbolizing strength and guardianship; the ring for continuity and unbroken lineage; the eagle spout for national identity, courage, and loyalty to the Union; the acorn leaf pattern for potential and new generations; the seal finial for transition and safe passage between worlds. She clutched it close and sobbed as John came through the door. His eyes said everything. It had been a long night. They went to bed with their children.
The next day came too fast. The hangover of the night was still palpable. They rested, gathered themselves, and prepared for the days ahead. Julia took a long walk and picked prairie flowers blooming everywhere.
It was hard at first, but John and Mary were nothing if not resilient. They had already passed the hardest test — entering America through New York City, navigating the bustle, competition, and rough-and-tumble of immigrant life. They had come through America’s front door as part of the Irish migration wave. They set up briefly in the city, prepared for their first son’s birth, and learned quickly how to navigate American life amid the tumult.
Now on the farm, years passed. Buildings rose. A well was dug near the barn. The homestead became a working farm. And Julia blossomed. She was intelligent, attractive, and fully aware of her moment when she met Peter — first at church gatherings, later at her uncle’s dry goods store. Mary spoke of him often with her brother Thomas. They agreed Peter should become his business partner. Julia noticed Peter’s character, integrity, and decency. It felt familiar — the same qualities that defined the Ring household.
Peter had come directly from Armagh, Ireland, at 21. He had heard of Chicago and the opportunities for the Irish expatriate community. He recognized instantly that his future lay in America. He read about American ideals — equality, opportunity, self-creation. Status here was earned, not inherited. He liked that. He left Armagh and headed straight for Will County.
Peter reached out to Thomas Delaney, the owner, hoping for a position in his dry goods business. Thomas observed Peter’s way of doing business — fairness, steadiness, integrity. Still in his early twenties, Peter had a maturity that stood out. Thomas saw how he navigated the Panic of 1873–74, how customers trusted him. It was so antithetical to the times in America — a nation awash in price-fixing, stock manipulation, rebates, kickbacks, and corruption in local law enforcement and the courts. Peter and the Rings stood in stark relief to all of it. They held to their principles and endured. They followed their builder instincts and looked for common ground to strengthen their community.
Thomas offered Peter an earned partnership. Peter, now 26, bought in.
Within two years, a fire destroyed the store. But Peter, instead of being daunted, reached deep. He bought Thomas out and reopened within two more years. At 28, he felt confident he had landed on his feet. And Julia Ring — 22, striking, smart, steady — was catching his eye. They were mirrors of each other. They married, and Julia moved into a small apartment above the store at 33 Chicago Street, next to the Joliet courthouse.
Within a year, Julia was expecting. They were elated. Patrons wished them well. They had found in each other their match.
But in the autumn of 1882, as their first child was due, Peter fell ill. Within ten days he was dead — typhoid, common and untreatable. Julia, now 24, was an expectant widow. She planned the funeral at St. Mary’s and was overwhelmed by the turnout. It was noted that no fewer than 85 carriages were parked outside — not counting those who came on foot or horseback.
Alone and with a business to run, she turned to her Uncle Thomas. Together they decided to close the store. With Thomas’s help, they wound down the business. Mary and John helped her pack and brought her and her newborn daughter Angela back to the farm.
The lives of the Rings and Peter Mackin weren’t perfect — they simply kept building, even when the country around them faltered. They endured their nation’s shortcomings by working together, not because America was flawless, but because it offered the strongest promise yet written for equality and opportunity. They lived in integrity while the nation drifted, trusting that ordinary people make the founding ideals real. That responsibility has not changed. Corruption comes and goes; the ideals remain.
Their example reminds us of something simple yet instructive: that we endure by choosing the Union again and by voting for the system that keeps aspiration possible in a diverse society as it actually exists. If we can still make it work here, we can make it work anywhere. We are Americans first and foremost by choice — and into that choice, that possibility, Angela was born, carrying the next chapter of what we build together forward.
The American Experiment continues.
Patrick Fitzgerald is a Buffalo-based writer whose work explores civic responsibility, community life, and the quiet virtues that hold people together. Raised in the Midwest and shaped by the steadiness of farm communities, he writes about proportion, neighborliness, and the shared duties that form the backbone of American civic life. His essays draw on lived experience, family lineage, and a deep sense of place to offer readers a grounded, reflective perspective on how we can rebuild trust in one another.
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Theater, the Constitution, and How We Keep the Republic Alive
Jun 21, 2026
The American stage has long served as a place where we gather to confront the deeper truths of who we are. Across the generations, playwrights and performers have turned the theater into a kind of public square, inviting us to face our history, our contradictions, and our aspirations. In recent years, works as different as Hamilton and What the Constitution Means to Me have shown how powerful theatre can be for both reflection and change. They tell us that democracy is not only debated in courtrooms or decided at the ballot box; it is equally shaped by the stories we tell, the questions we ask, and the courage we summon to look deeply within ourselves.
Recently, at Cape May Stage in Cape May, New Jersey, I attended a performance of What the Constitution Means to Me. The play centers on fifteen-year-old Heidi Schreck, who financed her college education by winning national constitutional debate competitions, using the nation’s founding document as both a guide and a lens for interpreting the world.
As an adult, Heidi reflects on her adolescence, and she presents a narrative that is both deeply personal and distinctly American. She perceives the Constitution not as a remote, outdated document, but as an influential force shaping her family, her identity, and her understanding of the nation’s expectations and promises. Her account demonstrates that the Constitution is not merely a historical relic but remains embedded in our daily lives, decisions, vulnerabilities, and aspirations.
By integrating humor, historical context, and candid storytelling, the play prompts the audience to reconsider democracy, individual rights, and civic responsibility without the acrimony we witness every day in mainstream and social media.
I departed from the show with a renewed sense of optimism that civil discourse on challenging topics remains achievable, and that genuine reflection is still possible in a nation where polarization often undermines nuance and critical thought.
When the final applause faded, I found myself thinking not only about Heidi’s story, but also asking myself, if a single play can open a space for honest, unguarded reflection on the Constitution, then perhaps this is exactly the kind of reflection we need, especially now, as we are living through a moment when polarization can feel like the country’s defining feature, when the distance between us seems to widen faster than our attempts to bridge it.
The Constitution was never meant to be an artifact or a weapon; it was meant to be a shared inheritance, a living framework that “We the People” must continually interpret, renew, and keep. Benjamin Franklin understood this fragility. When asked what kind of government the delegates had created, he famously replied, “A republic — if you can keep it.” His warning was not for the politicians of his day but for every generation that would follow. It was an alert for us today.
Keeping the republic has always depended on citizens willing to look inward, to ask what democracy itself means to them, and to do that work not in isolation but together. If we can reclaim that shared act of reflection, if we can remember that the story of America is still ours to write, then perhaps the next chapter can be one that draws us closer rather than drives us apart.
That is why Civic Season, a growing national tradition stretching from Juneteenth to July 4, feels so vital. Civic Season is a nationwide invitation — especially to young Americans — to explore our history honestly, participate meaningfully with our democracy, and imagine the future we desire to build together. It connects our newest federal holiday, Juneteenth, with our oldest, Independence Day, symbolically linking the full arc of the American story: the triumphs, failures, reckonings, and unfinished work.
As the nation approaches its 250th anniversary, Civic Season serves as a reminder that democracy is not a static inheritance but an evolving project. Its endurance depends on the active participation of each generation. The future of the republic will be determined by the curiosity, courage, and engagement of young people and their successors. These qualities are not merely commendable; they are indispensable. Let Civic Season serve as a reaffirmation that Franklin’s challenge remains relevant: “a republic, if you can keep it,” and that its preservation has always relied on our collective commitment.
Do You Want to Make a Difference?
Democracy is not a spectator activity; it requires active participation from every individual. When civic engagement declines, collective influence over decisions that shape our lives and communities diminishes. In such circumstances, hope is often replaced by cynicism.
The freedoms valued by society rarely vanish abruptly; rather, they erode gradually through neglect if permitted. It is imperative to recognize that democracy merits our sustained time, attention, and courage.
Now is the moment for yall Americans to step forward, embrace our individual and collective role as stewards of our nation, and boldly shape the next chapter. If you believe in a stronger, more inclusive future, your voice and actions are essential. Let us rise to Franklin's challenge and show that together, we can keep the republic—strong, vital, and united.
David Nevins is the publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
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