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At the close of 2025, many progressive commentators were seizing on any glimmer of hope that America’s march toward authoritarianism might be slowing to a crawl. On Dec. 26, the New York Times’ Michelle Goldberg proclaimed that “Trump Is Getting Weaker, and the Resistance Is Getting Stronger.”
Goldberg quoted Leah Greenberg, a founder of the resistance group Indivisible, who said that while Donald Trump “has been able to do extraordinary damage that will have generational effects, he has not successfully consolidated power. That has been staved off, and it has been staved off not, frankly, due to the efforts of pretty much anyone in elite institutions or political leadership but due to the efforts of regular people declining to go along with fascism.”
Regardless of whether Goldberg and Greenberg are correct in their assessments, Americans need to recognize that as hard as resisting “fascism” is, rebuilding democracy will be even harder. That means that as progressives mobilize to resist Trump, they must invest in rebuilding the foundation of democracy at the same time. That will require work on many fronts, including addressing the problems of our political institutions, the wealth gap, and our polarized society.
Democracy’s problems were with us before Trump, and they will be with us after he leaves the scene.
Addressing them is the work of schools and civic organizations, for sure. But it is also work that citizens can and must do on their own.
Each of us needs to resolve to relearn how to think and act democratically.
If 2025 taught us anything, it should have been that the architecture of democracy in the United States is in urgent need of repair. As the political scientist Eric Shickler explains, Trump has shown himself to be “willing to destroy essentially any element of the old order—leaving aside the bond market, evidently—to achieve dominance.”
Schickler argues that “capitalizing on changes that go back several decades—the rise of nationalized polarization, the development of the unitary executive theory, and the growing sway of populist conservatives within the Republican Party—Donald Trump has demonstrated that the sources of countervailing power in the U.S. political system are far more fragile than previously understood.”
And while Americans continue to prefer being governed democratically and still support democratic norms, at least in principle, only about one-third of Americans say they are satisfied with the way our democracy is functioning. The results of a survey reported in November suggest the extent of the problem. The survey found that “84% say democracy is either in crisis or facing serious challenges. Only 11% say it is doing well.” Dissatisfaction is greater among Republicans than it is among Democrats and independents. It is also greater among younger people than among older people.
This suggests that democracy will be as much a cultural as a political project. It will require commitment by people on both ends of the political spectrum to lowering the heat and abandoning the rush to righteousness and demonization that, all too often, has characterized our political discourse.
But even then, more will need to be done. That is the work that I call relearning democratic habits.
Recall that almost 200 years ago, Alexis de Tocqueville, the famous French commentator on American politics, argued that the customs, beliefs, and behaviors of the people are more important than anything else in making American democracy work. As the New Yorker’s Adam Gopnik explained more than two decades ago, de Tocqueville knew that “it wasn’t social contracts or declarations of the rights of man which made democracies work but the subtle and contradictory workings of existing mores and manners. … He saw that democracy belonged, in his wonderful phrase, to the empire of example rather than to the kingdom of reason; he saw that it was habitual before it was anything else, and wondered how that habit could grow, and how it could be deformed.”
In our own time, regrowing democratic habits requires that we first identify what some of those habits are. Let me name a few of them here.
First: Tell the truth as you know it, but tell it in a way that can be heard by others who don’t already agree with you.
Democracy is all about persuasion, and few are persuaded by being denounced and accused of being racist, sexist, homophobic, etc. If we want to persuade, we must find ways to give our opponents a place to stand. To do that, we need to understand not just what they think but why they think as they do. That in turn requires empathy.
Professor Michael Morrell argues that “the process of empathy involves understanding another’s feelings, and sensing as these feelings change, but not judging or actually sharing them.” It requires, Morrell explains, “openness toward others, reciprocity, tolerance, mutual respect, inclusion, attentiveness, cooperation and fairness.” Empathy, Morrell continues, “helps us to understand the ‘impacts a decision will have on others’ ” and leads to “legitimate, justified democratic decision-making that truly takes all into consideration.” Without empathy, Morrell observes, “democracy will be a broken promise.”
A second democratic habit involves being a generous listener.
Democracy thrives when citizens remember what the Stoic philosopher Epictetus said more than two thousand years ago: “We have two ears and one mouth, so we can listen twice as much as we speak.” Indeed, as Astra Taylor observed, democracy would be enriched if we recognized what she calls a “right to listen.”
Perhaps that could be better described as a right to be heard. Unfortunately, we know that many people today do not think others are interested in what they have to say. If no one listens, then why speak?
Deciding to listen is a democratic gesture. It requires that we try to understand not only what someone is saying but also what they wish to convey.
The listening that democracy requires means “catching someone else’s words in flight” and trying to enlarge their meaning. Democratic citizens need to develop the habit of listening imaginatively rather than in a competitive or judgmental way. That kind of listening accords to the speaker what Taylor calls “a special kind of recognition and respect.” “As citizens,” she adds, “we understand that the right to speak has to be facilitated, bolstered by institutions and protected by laws. But we’ve been slow to see that, if democracy is to function well, listening must also be supported and defended.”
The third democratic habit is humility.
Humility involves an acceptance of the limits of one’s own knowledge and perspective. “I could be wrong but …” is the locution of the democratic citizen. It helps us accept the results of elections, even when we lose.
“Humility,” John Keane notes, “has an allergic reaction to the self-satisfied Hobbesian rule homo homini lupus est (man is a wolf to men). … Those who are humble … dislike vanity and have an affinity with honesty; nonsense on stilts and lies and bullshit on thrones is not their scene. Humble humans … know that they do not know everything, that they are not God, or a god or goddess.”
“Humility,” Keane argues, “is a vital resource that strengthens the powerless and tames the powerful by questioning their claims to superiority.”
Humility encourages speakers to speak so that their words can be heard by others with whom they don’t already agree. It nurtures imaginative, generous listening. And that is why, as Keane puts it, humility is the “friend of democracy.”
As we contemplate the daunting task of rebuilding American democracy, each of us has a role to play. We can all practice speaking to persuade, not degrade, listening with an open heart and a curious mind, and remembering that we are not gods or goddesses.
If we do, we have a chance to succeed in restoring the health of our democracy. If we don’t, nothing else will matter.
