We the people.
So begins the United States Constitution, with those three words.
It’s fitting and unusual at the same time.
After all, we are not a collectivist society. We are as individualistic as it gets. Spurred by capitalism and boundless ambition, we forge ahead in search of our own destiny.
And yet, when it comes to protecting our gains, we rely on collective action. We elect politicians to be our proxies. And we abide by the laws they put into action.
We each have our own journey, our own perspective, our own dreams.
But the essence of our nation? That’s of the people.
For years, I’ve had a simple belief.
I was certain that if one could win the support of the people, they could not go wrong in life.
Basic logic brought me to this conclusion. If such a quality allowed our democracy to endure countless moments of strife, it would certainly work on a narrower scale.
But now, I’m questioning that belief.
For the voice of the collective — the people — it doesn’t always support an equitable society. How could it, when each member of that collective is in it for themselves?
No, courting such an audience is not the panacea it’s made out to be. If anything, it represents selling out — trading our own values for others’ self-serving desires.
And yet, we cannot repel ourselves from the voice of the people. For if we stand too far apart, we find ourselves isolated, ostracized, and supremely vulnerable.
It’s a sticky situation. A high-stakes Catch-22.
So, what is our best path forward?
Back in grade school, my teachers assigned me several books to read.
One of my favorites was Inherit The Wind.
This script covered the events of the Scopes Trial from 1925. In the trial, a teacher in small-town Tennessee was accused of introducing the theory of evolution to his class.
Such an action was unheard of in the South at the time. So unheard of that it was against the law. That’s how the trial came to be.
The Scopes Trial was notorious for the caliber of its attorneys. Clarence Darrow represented the defense, while William Jennings Bryan represented the prosecution.
Bryan was a famed populist — a man of the people. A skilled orator with the ability to reach the everyman, he had run for the U.S. Presidency three times, but never won election.
Now, Bryan was representing the everyman again. But this time, it was in order to protect Creationism. To be of the people, Bryan was trying to keep the theory of evolution from ever seeing the light of day in Tennessee schools.
This all seemed arcane to me. After all, when I read Inherit The Wind, I myself was a student. A student who had learned both the theories of evolution and creationism in class.
More than that, I lived in a region where a museum had a simulated model of the Big Bang. All while the church down the street preached the virtues of creationism.
In other words, I had access to information. My viewpoint on how we got here would come not by educational mandate, but by my own free will.
And yet, a century earlier, I would not have had such liberties. And that irked me.
How could our nation have been so closed-minded? What gave religious zealots the right to dictate the truth? And why did Bryan get such acclaim when he was clearly sporting an autocratic agenda?
At least he lost the presidency, I told myself. And maybe the South just didn’t get it back then.
Fast forward several years.
My school years were done, and adulthood loomed. I had just moved to West Texas and taken a job as a TV news producer.
Within weeks, I was covering yet another science-vs-religion quarrel — this one about sex education.
The county I was in had banned sex education for high school students in favor of abstinence counseling. But such messaging had little sway on the adolescent crowd. Teen pregnancy rates in the county were among the highest in the state.
I thought the whole matter was dumb. I had sat through sex education classes in high school. It was uncomfortable, but it also prevented me from making a life-altering mistake.
I wondered if the single-mindedness of the local educators was failing the community. After all, no amount of preaching wholesome values can prepare a family for the moment when their teenage daughter finds pink lines on a pregnancy test.
But I was heartened by the way families handled this situation. They did not punish their children for violating the abstinence mandate. They supported them.
This was not the land of The Scarlet Letter. The region was not full of destitute teenage mothers. It was stable because the community had set up a system to protect its belief system against all opportunities.
It was at that moment that I came to terms with the thinking of 1920s Tennessee. It was at that moment that I grasped the allure of William Jennings Bryan.
I might not have agreed with it. But I understood it.
And such an understanding allowed me to better fit into my new community.
Being of the people has had its flaws over the years. But the risks were not all that dire.
Perhaps it meant that a group of students wouldn’t get to learn about evolution. Or that high schoolers would become parents. But such setbacks were unlikely to permanently ruin lives.
Recently, though, a dangerous brand of populism has emerged.
The structure of this movement has remained the same — charismatic figures seeking the tribal embrace of the people. But the foundation has shifted.
The collective is filled with mistrust and divisiveness. Partisanship and misinformation have us pointing fingers rather than rallying around a common cause. And we seem determined to push others down in order to raise ourselves up.
Yes, being of the people today means absolving personal responsibility. It means stiffing our neighbors. It means making our society less equitable, not more.
This is the path that we’ve chosen. But it’s not too late to change course.
It’s no secret that times have been tough recently. Illness, isolation, and financial hardship continue to abound.
Fighting through this strife has been no picnic. It’s not pleasant watching those around us suffer.
But perhaps such an experience can help us get back on track.
As we plow forward, we have a great opportunity. An opportunity to keep such suffering from becoming endemic.
If we reframe our mission toward helping our neighbors — and not just ourselves — we stand to gain. We can improve equity, forge unity and build community.
Of the people will realize its promise. And we will regain ours.
Such a future is within our reach. So what’s stopping us?
The cards are in our hands. It’s time to go all-in.