The state of American democracy has rarely felt as fragile or contested as it does today, yet historian and Pulitzer Prize-winning author Jon Meacham insists that hope remains firmly rooted not in the hands of leaders alone, but in the collective resolve of ordinary citizens.

Speaking at a recent symposium on civic engagement, Meacham rejected the notion that democracy’s survival hinges solely on the character of presidents or politicians. “Democracies are not just about the leaders,” he emphasized.

“They are about the people—their vigilance, their participation, and their unwavering commitment to the ideals that bind us.” His remarks, delivered against a backdrop of rising polarization and democratic backsliding globally, struck a chord with audiences weary of political spectacle yet hungry for meaningful renewal.

Meacham’s perspective draws deeply from his decades of studying American history, particularly moments when the nation teetered on the brink of fracture.

In works like The Soul of America and And There Was Light, he chronicles how the United States has repeatedly navigated crises—from the Civil War to the civil rights movement—not through the heroism of singular figures, but through the sustained pressure of ordinary people demanding accountability. “Lincoln didn’t save the Union by himself,” Meacham noted.

“Abolitionists, freedmen, soldiers, and everyday citizens who wrote letters, marched, and voted created the conditions that allowed leadership to rise to the moment.” This historical lens, he argues, is essential for understanding today’s challenges: the erosion of trust in institutions, the weaponization of disinformation, and the normalization of political violence.

Central to Meacham’s thesis is the idea that democracy is a verb, not a noun—a continuous act of renewal requiring active citizenship. He rejects the passive expectation that elected officials will single-handedly repair a broken system.

“We’ve outsourced our democracy to the politicians,” he lamented, “as if voting once every four years is sufficient. But democracy thrives in the spaces between elections—in school board meetings, in community organizing, in the quiet work of building coalitions across divides.”

This philosophy directly counters the culture of spectatorship that dominates modern politics, where citizens often consume politics as entertainment rather than engaging as stewards of the republic. Meacham urged audiences to reclaim agency: “Your responsibility doesn’t end at the ballot box. It begins there.”

The historian’s critique extends to the role of media and technology in distorting democratic discourse. While acknowledging the internet’s potential for connection, Meacham warned that social media algorithms and partisan news ecosystems have created “echo chambers of outrage” that replace reasoned debate with tribal warfare.

“When we only hear voices that confirm our biases, we stop seeing fellow citizens as neighbors and start seeing them as enemies,” he observed. This fragmentation, he argues, is precisely what authoritarian forces exploit.

Yet Meacham refuses to succumb to fatalism. He points to the surge in voter registration after the January 6 Capitol attack and the grassroots mobilization around local elections as evidence of a resilient civic spirit. “Democracy is a habit of the heart,” he said. “And habits can be rebuilt.”

Meacham also addressed the dangerous myth of American exceptionalism as a guarantee of democratic permanence. “We have no divine right to endure as a republic,” he stated plainly.

Historical examples loom large in his warning: the collapse of the Weimar Republic, the erosion of democracy in Hungary and Turkey, and even America’s own post-Reconstruction retreat from racial justice.

Each case, he explained, began not with a coup but with the slow erosion of norms—when citizens grew complacent, when institutions failed to hold power accountable, and when the language of democracy was stripped of its meaning.

“Democracies die in the mundane,” Meacham cautioned, “in the shrug of indifference, in the lie that ‘this is just how things are done now.’”

Yet amid the warnings, Meacham’s message is ultimately one of defiant hope. He finds inspiration in the “long arc of the moral universe” that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

invoked—a trajectory bent toward justice only through relentless effort. Meacham highlighted lesser-known historical figures like Fannie Lou Hamer, whose testimony before the 1964 Democratic National Convention exposed the brutality of voter suppression, and Ida B. Wells, who risked her life to document lynching through journalism.

“These were not presidents or senators,” Meacham reminded the audience.”They were citizens who refused to accept the world as it was. And they changed everything.” Their legacy, he argued, lives in today’s activists fighting for voting rights, racial equity, and climate action—proof that “the people” remain democracy’s ultimate guardians.

For Meacham, the path forward demands both humility and courage. He rejects the binary of optimism versus pessimism, instead advocating for “realistic hope”—a clear-eyed recognition of threats paired with a commitment to action.

This means rebuilding civic infrastructure: supporting local journalism, revitalizing town halls, and teaching the mechanics of democracy in schools. It also requires personal accountability.

“Ask yourself: Have I engaged with someone whose views I dislike this month? Have I attended a community meeting? Have I checked my sources before sharing online?” Meacham challenged. Such acts, though seemingly small, collectively form the bedrock of democratic resilience.

The historian’s words carry particular weight in an era where faith in democracy is waning, especially among young people.

Recent surveys show declining trust in institutions across the political spectrum, with many questioning whether the system can address existential challenges like climate change or economic inequality.

Meacham acknowledged this disillusionment but framed it as a catalyst rather than a dead end. “Discontent has always been democracy’s engine,” he said.

“The question isn’t whether we’re angry—it’s what we do with that anger.” He pointed to movements like March for Our Lives, where young survivors of school shootings transformed grief into political action, as evidence of democracy’s adaptive power.

Meacham’s vision extends beyond national borders. In a global moment where authoritarianism is ascendant, he argues that America’s role as a democratic beacon depends not on grand pronouncements from leaders but on the vitality of its civic culture.

“When people in authoritarian states see Americans marching for voting rights or protecting free press, it gives them hope,” he explained.

Conversely, domestic democratic failures embolden autocrats worldwide. This interconnectedness, Meacham insists, makes every local election, every community meeting, and every act of neighborly solidarity a contribution to a global struggle for human dignity.

As the symposium concluded, Meacham left the audience with a charge rooted in history’s lessons: “Democracy is not a gift from the past. It is a loan from the future—one we must repay with interest through our labor.”

He rejected the idea that any single election or leader could “save” democracy, framing the work instead as a perpetual relay race where each generation must carry the torch forward. “The founders didn’t give us a perfect system,” he said. “They gave us a promise—and the tools to fulfill it. That promise isn’t in the hands of presidents. It’s in yours.”

In a time of profound uncertainty, Meacham’s message offers neither easy comfort nor despair. It is a call to remember that democracy, as he often quotes Abraham Lincoln, is “of the people, by the people, for the people”—a truth that demands not just belief, but daily, deliberate action.

The survival of the republic, he insists, will be determined not in the White House or the Capitol, but in the living rooms, town halls, and community centers where ordinary citizens choose whether to engage or retreat. For Meacham, that choice remains the heartbeat of democracy itself.