12 Steps to Save Our Flawed Democracy

An honest recovery guide for a country that thinks doomscrolling counts as civic engagement.

​Step One: Admit we are powerless over polarization—that our politics have become unmanageable.

We have to admit that things are broken. Not just “systemically,” not just “over there,” but here—at our dinner tables, in our Slack channels, and definitely in our feeds.

We can’t share side-by-side photos of Jan. 6 and a Pride float and pretend we’ve done our part. We’ve let outrage become identity. And if we don’t own that, we can’t fix anything.

How to start:

• Confess your first political radicalization was a meme account.

• Acknowledge that hating “the other side” doesn’t make you informed.

• Make peace with the fact that no one’s party is as innocent or unified as the merch implies.

Step Two: Came to believe that a power greater than our favorite cause, creator, or candidate could restore us to civic sanity.

That power is democracy—not as performance, but as practice. And it’s not supposed to feel good all the time. Democracy is a group project with people you don’t like.

That includes moderates, voters over 60, people who wear flag pins unironically, and yes—even that friend from high school who still calls Biden “Brandon.” They get a vote, too. That’s the deal.

How to start:

• If you believe in collective liberation, try collective listening first.

• Remind yourself that "abolishing" everything without replacement isn’t a strategy—it's a tantrum.

• Build coalitions, not cults. Make room for nuance, even when it’s messy.

Step Three: Made a decision to turn our political will over to democratic ideals, not just vibes and viral moments.

If your entire strategy for social change lives inside a Canva carousel, that’s not organizing—it’s branding. We can’t “awareness” our way out of authoritarian creep.

We need structure. Policy. Votes. Grit. Also: your mutual aid zine is great, but it won’t stop gerrymandering unless someone files paperwork.

How to start:

• Follow fewer influencers. Follow more city clerks.

• Support candidates who are boring, competent, and vaguely tired.

• Ask what your ideology demands of you, not just for you.

Step Four: Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of our selves.

Let’s talk about the self-righteousness. The purity tests. The “if you don’t agree, you’re dead to me” TikToks.You’ve called everyone from your dad to Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez a “neoliberal shill” this year. Maybe log off for a bit.

Even “good intentions” can be toxic when they’re inflexible, arrogant, and publicly weaponized.

How to start:

• List five times you were wrong in a political argument. Share one. In public.

• Apologize to someone you “canceled” in a group chat but never told.

• Reflect on whether your political identity has become your personality—and whether it’s helping anyone but you.

Step Five: Admitted to ourselves, our group chat, and one actual human being the exact nature of our civic wrongs.

We’re not just talking about who you voted for, but how you’ve shown up.Did you humiliate a coworker for not knowing the difference between “abolish” and “defund”?Did you call someone a fascist for voting third party, then forget to vote in the city council run-off?

If you’ve ever typed “you’re either with us or against us,” and meant it unironically, congrats: this step is for you.

How to start:

• Tell a friend: “I was a little too intense in 2024.”

• Admit when you made it more about your ego than the cause.

• If you ghosted someone over a Biden/Harris bumper sticker, send a “hey, hope you’re well.”

Step Six: Were entirely ready to have our online behavior, ideological rigidity, and terminal smugness removed.

Here’s the hard part: letting go of the moral superiority we’ve built like armor.

You don’t need to be perfect to be principled. You don’t need to destroy people to stand up for something. Sometimes, your enemy is not a Nazi—it’s a tired, underpaid voter who just wants groceries and peace.

How to start:

• Challenge one idea this week without trying to annihilate someone.

• Let someone be wrong without turning it into a carousel explainer.

• Remember: “abolitionist” is not a personality—it's a commitment. It requires love, not just slogans.

Step Seven: Humbly asked democratic ideals to remove our arrogance, sarcasm, and savior complexes.

Humility is hard when your side technically has the facts.But facts aren’t enough. Empathy is the multiplier. And weaponized condescension isn't helping anyone get free.

You don’t need to be the main character. You need to be part of the team.

How to start:

• Replace one hot take with a question.

• Try explaining your politics like the person you're talking to is teachable, not disposable.

• Get comfortable saying “I don’t know, but I want to learn.”

Step Eight: Made a list of all the people, communities, and democratic processes we’ve harmed—and became willing to make it right.

That includes:

• The trans organizers you tokenized for Pride clout.

• The rural voters you mocked for “voting against their own interests,” without ever asking why.

• The school board you didn’t vote for.

• The canvassing shift you bailed on to go viral from your bed.

How to start:

• Reach out to a group you left behind after the headlines died.

• Volunteer for a boring civic task (budget meetings, voter registration, phonebanking).

• Give your time, not just your opinions.

Step Nine: Made direct amends wherever possible—without making it about ourselves.

If you used your platform to punch down, or ghosted a movement when it got hard, or blew up a small disagreement like it was 1933 in Berlin—maybe it’s time to apologize. Quietly.

Without a selfie.

How to start:

• DM someone you flamed. Tell them you acted in bad faith.

• Write a public post acknowledging your misstep—then leave it up. Don’t spin. Don’t deflect. Just be accountable.

• Show up next time, instead of explaining why you didn’t last time.

Step Ten: Continued to take personal inventory and admitted when we were wrong—before the internet told us.

Accountability isn't cancellation. It's growth.You don’t have to wait until you’re ratio’d to course correct. You could just say, “Yeah. I messed up.”

Also: not every disagreement is a moral crisis. Sometimes it’s just you being annoying.

How to start:

• Before posting, ask: “Is this helpful, or am I just trying to win?”

• Keep a log of what you learned this week—not what you proved.

• Get feedback from someone outside your bubble. You know—like a neighbor.

Step Eleven: Sought deeper democratic understanding through reflection, education, and a pause before tweeting.

Democracy is work. Hard work. Long work. Work that doesn’t always trend.

So we sit. We study. We stay open. And yes, sometimes, we shut up for a minute and let someone else talk.

How to start:

• Read a book about policy that doesn’t confirm your biases.

• Attend a community meeting without posting about it.

• Practice presence. Democracy needs more of that than it needs your clapbacks.

Step Twelve: Having had a civic awakening, we tried to carry this message to others—and live these principles in all our affairs.

This is the step where we don’t just recover. We repair.

Not with performance, but with practice. Not with rage, but with resolve.Not with perfection, but with participation. And grace.

How to start:

• Mentor a new voter.

• Support a candidate who isn’t perfect—but is trying.

• Be brave enough to be hopeful out loud. Even when it’s easier to be bitter.

Final Reflection:

There’s no political messiah coming.There’s no app that’s going to fix us.

And your For You Page isn’t going to vote in November.

But this country—flawed, fractured, and exhausting—is still ours to care for.And democracy, for all its chaos, is still the best worst idea we’ve got.

So let’s take the steps. Not all at once.

Not perfectly. Just forward.

Together.