The Fourth of July celebration of freedom rings hollow this year. The contradictions built into a national commemoration of our triumph over autocracy feel newly personal and perilous – especially to those who have, until now, felt relatively secure in the federal government’s commitment to democracy and the rule of law.
But the contradiction is far from new. Black, brown and Indigenous communities have always seen the gap between the ideals of American democracy and the lived reality of exclusion. Frederick Douglass’s 1852 address What to the Slave is the Fourth of July? demanded that Americans confront the hypocrisy of celebrating liberty while millions were enslaved. Today, those contradictions persist in enduring racial disparities and policies that perpetuate segregation, second-class citizenship and selective protection of rights.
And just as the nation seemed to be inching toward reckoning and repair, we are now witnessing a dangerous backslide. Our federal government is increasingly hostile to even the mention of race and racism, actively dismantling protections that were hard-won over decades. Each day brings new signs of an anti-democratic campaign –eroding civil rights, stoking racial division and weaponizing law to silence dissent and disempower communities. This inversion of democracy – where power flows upward, not outward – is bold and widespread.
The chilling effects of federal overreach touch everyone. People of all races, backgrounds and positions have lost jobs, funding, and trust in institutions once seen as pillars of democracy. The backlash has laid bare a truth long familiar to marginalized communities: that America’s stated ideals often fail to match its realities.
Still, despair is not a strategy. Democracy is not a spectator sport. It is built – and rebuilt – by people who show up in their communities, workplaces, schools and congregations, determined to make freedom real. The most powerful response we see is not top-down, but grassroots: people choosing to act, even in small ways, to defend democracy from where they stand.
We write as three legal professionals – of different racial identities, vantage points, and approaches to justice – but united in our understanding of the urgency of this moment to ask a question that may feel counterintuitive to those trained in the law: What can people do to advance democracy and equity outside of the courts?
First, we must not retreat. Rather, we must overcome our disillusionment, disheartenment and exhaustion and recognize our linked fate across race, class, generation and geography. Authoritarianism thrives on disengagement and disconnection.
One way to remain connected and energized is recognizing that this moment of transition is also an opportunity to transform our democracy. We can envision the future we want, untethered from the limitations of the current moment. Then, from the vantage point of this future, assuming it has been achieved, we can ask ourselves what we did today to make that vision a reality. This perspective avoids asking “what should we do”, which limits us to thinking within our current circumstances, instead asking “what did we do”, which allows us to think beyond our current challenges and limitations and instead create new opportunities and possibilities.
From the vantage point of the future, we can ask: where can I connect today? Where can I act today? What kind of change agent am I willing to be today to create the future I envision?
Here are some ideas:
We can engage those directly affected by injustice in the decisions that shape their lives. We must pay attention to who is thriving – and who isn’t – in our institutions, and do the hard work of reimagining our institutions and systems. That is democracy in action.
One model comes from two Columbia Law students engaging high schoolers in Harlem and Queens to learn how local government works – a first step toward civic participation and transformation. Another comes from the artist-activist Tonika Johnson’s Folded Map project, which paired Black South Side Chicago residents with their white North Side “map twins” to explore stark neighborhood inequities. The project fostered real relationships, cross-racial learning and grassroots coalitions, while exposing the systemic racism behind dramatic disparities in infrastructure and investment.
There is work happening under the radar, too. On campuses where formal DEI efforts have been banned or gutted, faculty and staff are creating informal coalitions to sustain equity-focused collaboration and resist institutional amnesia. In several states, even court systems are taking action, building partnerships between judges, lawyers and communities to address racial disparities in access to justice.
Sometimes the opportunity for transformation comes in a policy window. In Indianapolis, the state’s plan to rebuild a major highway became a chance for the Rethink Coalition to shift the conversation – from road engineering to community renewal. Their vision? A process and outcome centered on repairing the harm done to historically Black neighborhoods when the highway was first built. But what made that vision powerful was not just the idea, it was the strategy. Rethink helped put tools, data and technical expertise directly into the hands of community members so they could fully engage in reshaping the project. By democratizing access to planning knowledge, they ensured that residents were not just consulted, but empowered to lead. That’s what it means to build toward the future now.
This is the kind of work that keeps us grounded in radical hope – a belief in the possibility of transformation against the odds. It is the practice of democracy, not just its theory. And it’s available to all of us.
As the attacks grow louder, more coordinated, more entrenched, we must be even more committed to acting where we are – with whoever we can – to not only defend the fragile, unfinished project of building a multiracial democracy, but to take the time to dream about what our more robust democracy would look like, and then to take the next best step in that direction, undeterred by the current moment.
If enough of us engage – across differences and at every level – these efforts can add up to a reimagined nation. One that finally lives up to its promises. One that, someday soon, we can celebrate without contradiction.
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Deborah N Archer is the president of the ACLU, the Margaret B Hoppin professor of law at NYU Law School, and the author of Dividing Lines: How Transportation Infrastructure Reinforces Racial Inequality. L Song Richardson is the former dean and currently chancellor’s professor of law at the University of California Irvine School of Law. She previously served as president of Colorado College. Susan Sturm is the George M Jaffin professor of law and social responsibility and the founding director of the Center for Institutional and Social Change at Columbia Law School and author of What Might Be: Confronting Racism to Transform Our Institutions.
