“Exhausted” by Politics? A Personal Reflection on American Democracy

“Is America Still a Democracy?” William Nelson Cromwell Professor of Jurisprudence and Political Science Austin Sarat confronted this foreboding question on Nov. 1 in the Alumni House, alongside a panel of academics and government officials. With terms like “authoritarianism,” “kings,” and “constitutionalism” appearing casually in news headlines, I too had been wrestling with the state of our political system. Not long ago, it felt absurd to question whether the nation long regarded as the torchbearer of democracy could be floundering. In just my lifetime, the American institution of democracy has withstood a recession, countless proxy wars and a global pandemic; I questioned if the present moment was a threat at all. But with each new executive order signed, every unreleased presidential tax return, and the sight of militarized police on civilian streets, my confidence began to erode. I found myself submerged in a tornado of media noise, and turned to this event for much-needed clarity. Yet as I listened to accomplished political professionals attempt to reassure a room of Amherst students, I began to wonder whether this panel was directed at the right audience. In a country where 65% of Americans feel “exhausted” discussing politics, the state of democracy is not just in the hands of academics and students at Amherst College. Rather, this panel made me question whether a focus on the populace would offer a different perspective? Democracy cannot be restored through elite dialogue alone, and the erosion of everyday political participation — especially among my generation — poses a more serious threat.

Sarat began by asking if President Donald Trump has “a Messiah mindset” but panelist Martha Minow, a professor at Harvard Law School, quickly reframed the question: the issue, she argued, is not whether Trump sees himself this way but whether his voters see him that way. This shift from the individual to the electorate surprised me, but it ultimately set the tone for a panel focused less on political leaders and more on the public that empowers them.

A sentiment shared by all panelists was that democracy is backsliding because Americans are in a constant state of deteriorating trust — in politicians, in the effectiveness of political advocacy, and in each other — and consequently, politicians have exercised more power without being challenged by the American people. I believe that Trump is not only acutely aware of the mistrust and hopelessness of the nation’s citizens, but capitalizes on it. With the scapegoating of marginalized groups, such as immigrants, and even of politicians across party lines, Trump has been able to channel public frustration into resentment. In my generation, political disagreement has become a moral fault line, pushing people into ideological corners. I’ve heard from countless peers that they unfollow someone who posts a political statement they disagree with on Instagram. Even this seemingly harmless act weakens the foundations of open discussion that democracy depends on, discouraging political participation in our daily lives. 

This growing political distance not only has social impacts, but also discourages Americans’ willingness to engage in the democratic system itself. Panelist Catherine Lhamon argued that this growing cynicism has blurred moral boundaries, making political corruption seem less like an exception and more like an expectation. The term “corruption” has become ingrained in daily political conversations — so much so that it often goes unheeded in our minds. However, the panel prompted me to consider the actual implications of this rhetoric — when Americans cast their ballots, moral integrity becomes a luxury political preference, overshadowed by immediate personal concerns, such as the cost of groceries, housing, and taxes. 

This conversation was especially relevant in a week where major elections were occurring on Nov. 4 in New York, California, New Jersey, and Virginia. As a New Yorker, I found New York City Mayor-elect Zorhan Mamdani’s popularity demonstrative of the public demand for noncorrupt, “authentic” politicians. Regardless of one's political alignment, Mamdani — as a brown, young democratic socialist — stood out in comparison to previous NYC mayors and candidates. During his campaign, Mamdani documented himself taking public transportation and eating at local bodegas, efforts to relate to average New Yorkers. Did New Yorkers vote Mamdani for his policies, or because he was relatable and different?

Regardless of why Mamdani won, his victory produced a kind of civic energy I hadn’t seen in New York since former President Joe Biden’s election in 2020. Crowds gathered in Union Square, cheering and waving signs; friends my age posted “I Voted” stickers with a pride usually reserved for presidential races. This excitement certainly stemmed from pride in voting for a representative who people thought actually represented the communities they serve, who was recognizably “New York.” Yet this moment of engagement also highlighted how unusual such enthusiasm has become. There appears to be a dramatic disconnect, now more than ever, between Americans and politics. In a country where government shutdowns force millions of people to lose critical benefits, I wonder how many Americans believe that elected politicians genuinely have their best interests in mind. 

The obvious question this raises is: How do we fix this? Or, as Sarat put it, “How can we convince people it is worth it to preserve a system that many voters believed has already failed?” The panelists agreed that Americans no longer communicate with one another in spontaneous, casual ways like they did previously. It is clear that a fundamental cause of political polarity lies in this communication divide — even Congress has spent the past month refusing to communicate across party lines, playing what Delaware Sen. Chris Coons called a “game of chicken.”

In my first few months at Amherst, I have found that the college actively encourages such intellectual dialogue — whether in small class discussions, moderated club meetings, or even events like the panel discussion itself. However, during the panel, as I sat in a room filled with century-old books, adorned with a red carpet, and historic busts, I couldn’t help but wonder how far these solutions extend beyond campuses like ours. I questioned how much these conversations actually addressed the issues outlined by the panel — to what extent is a conversation between liberal arts students and professors just simply an echo chamber of ideas? 

It is easy for Amherst students and political professionals to champion deliberation in elite academic spaces; it is far more difficult to cultivate such habits in communities without the infrastructure, time, or resources to support them. How does this theory of democratic renewal translate outside higher education, into the everyday realities of Americans who are more concerned with working multiple jobs or accessing basic public services? It is these urgent issues that are primary concerns for American voters. With the active underfunding of public education, constant Supreme Court emergency rulings, and unlawful detainment of citizens by immigration authorities threatening democracy, there is only so much increased dialogue and uplifted morale can do right now. What faith can a citizen have in the power of their vote when Trump’s 211th executive order or legislative gridlock can override it? 

There is no easy answer to whether America is still a democracy today. America’s democratic crisis is not a single broken system but a collection of fractured relationships: between voters and government, between communities, and even between neighbors. Structured, intellectual discussions, while effective in exclusive intellectual circles like Amherst, prove ineffective in the world outside higher education. Even when non-academic professionals are included in these conversations, they are still far away from the average American. 

Ultimately, this issue is less about education than it is about broader elitism. While it is beneficial to hear from political professionals, it is just as, if not more, important for the Amherst community to turn to one another — the classmate you disagree with most, the coffee shop barista in town, your neighbor at home. In a moment when mistrust runs high, and institutions feel increasingly brittle, both citizens and politicians must act — not just talk — if American democracy is to remain recognizable at all.