Citizenship isn’t just about voting, serving on a jury, or helping your community. It’s about standing up for democratic principles when they’re under threat — and refusing to stay silent.
It’s easy to believe that democracy can fix itself. That no matter how far we drift, the system will right the ship. Courts will step in. Institutions will hold. The public will rise up just in time.
It’s a comforting thought.
But it’s also wrong.
Democracies don’t self-correct. They renew themselves — but only when enough people care enough to do the work: show up, speak out, stay engaged. Without that, even the strongest system begins to decay.
History doesn’t whisper this truth — it shouts it.
In the 1930s, a Catholic priest named Charles Coughlin (pronounced Cog-lin) stood behind a radio microphone and told a gripping story: that the Ku Klux Klan had burned a cross outside his church in Royal Oak, Michigan. He claimed he stood tall in defiance, vowing to build a church that would resist hate. The tale spread quickly — in articles, speeches, and even a Hollywood pilot.
It was dramatic. It was inspirational to the many who believed him.
And it was entirely false.
No police reports, no local witnesses, no evidence. But the story worked. It helped turn Coughlin from a parish priest into a national figure. After the 1929 crash, his weekly broadcasts mixed Catholic teaching with populist outrage, attracting tens of millions of listeners. At first, he praised President Roosevelt — calling the New Deal “Christ’s Deal.” But when power gave way to ego, he turned on Roosevelt, branding him a traitor to faith and the working class.
Coughlin’s rhetoric grew darker. He called bankers “thieves” and told his followers that if the ballot failed, bullets might be the answer. He blamed the Depression on an “international conspiracy of Jewish bankers” and justified anti-Semitic violence as payback for Christian suffering.
By 1940, the Catholic Church finally silenced him. But by then, Coughlin had already built the blueprint: grievance-based broadcasting disguised as moral truth. He used the radio the way some use social media today — not to inform, but to inflame; not to unite, but to divide.
We’ve seen the pattern repeat: Viktor Orbán in Hungary. Erdoğan in Turkey. Marcos in the Philippines. And we’re witnessing versions here at home — loud voices wrapped in patriotism, warning of “others,” attacking institutions, bending truth to fit a narrative.
Still, many assume: “This will pass. The system will hold.”
But systems don’t hold themselves. They rely on people — judges, journalists, lawyers, citizens — willing to stand up. Without that pressure, even the Constitution becomes just paper.
That exhaustion you feel? It’s real. That distrust? Earned. But civic withdrawal is not neutral. It’s complicity by default.
Democracy may die in darkness — but it also dies in indifference.
This isn’t just a test of leadership.
It’s a test of citizenship.
And the real question isn’t whether one person can break democracy.
It’s whether enough of us are willing to stand up and speak out — before it’s too late.
Because history doesn’t just repeat itself.
It waits for us to forget.
Jim Lichtman has been writing and speaking on ethics since 1995. His weekly commentaries can be found at: http://www.ItsEthicsStupid.com.
