What is Democracy?

Descendants of Black Folks Who Don't Have Last Names

Without the recipe of colonization,
there would be no birth of this nation.
No gunpowder, no graveyards on stolen ground—
no America.
Without tribal blood,
without kidnapped gods—
there. would. be. no. America.

You preach "land of the free"
but bind wrists, break backs,
quiet lynchings, hollow screams—
contradiction is your constitution.

You protect animals from cruelty,
then legalize bull bucking
as cowboy culture.
Call genocide a jersey.

You mount foreign founding fathers
on land they stole in armed robbery,
spill blood and name it Thanksgiving,
promise clean water—
but Flint still drinks lies from plastic bottles.

You say "equal opportunity."
We say: Equal for who?
It's only fair when the skin is fair.

Only justice when the judge shares your genes.

Plant drugs in our halls,
guns in the gutter,
poison pipelines so branches never root.

You turn classrooms into cemeteries,
blackboards wet with chalk and blood dreams.
Every backpack—
a body bag
waiting to zip shut.

Beneath your red, white, and blue,
Black lives suffocate under white lies.
We are the legacy you can't unwrite,
history that sits in your mouth
with teeth too Black to extract.

Dralandra Larkins
2025-07-02

where democracy lies

it's breathing, it's reaching,
it's a wish locked away in a birthday candle
until just the right moment to reveal catastrophe,
to reveal lovely chaos tied to lovely wonder,
prayers under sediment soaked memories
of how it could all be,
of where we could all stay safe.
it's the unknown library of
jack pine erupting in fire,
for just a moment
everything seems okay.

in truth, i've never known democracy.

only heard its whispers through the cracks in the wall,
bonafide pipe dream spread by adults who claim
the world is better this way.
as if adult doesn't include your twenties.
as if they don't remember money is not edible,
as if they can't see the rain burning our skin.
it's aching, the thought of what could be.
it's damning, the devastation of it all.

Lily Cartier
2025-06

What is Democracy?

Democracy in the simplest of definitions is a government ruled by the people. Democracy lends its ear to the whims of society, it follows fads, it can bring great resources, and it can cause many tragedies. What is American democracy?

First, the qualifier, individualism is a defining characteristic of American society. This individualism brings many good things, self-confidence and responsibility to start. However, it also opens the door to identity politics. Identity politics aim for the betterment of certain social groups as opposed to the larger collective. Identity politics preys on the inability to identify with those who are not like you which American individualism fosters.

With the qualifier in mind, it becomes clear that American democracy can better be defined as small social groups fighting for things that benefit them often to the detriment of the collective. Further, American democracy pivots upon the inability for large community action to maintain a statis quo set by an upper echelon none of the small social groups will ever be a part of.

An apt definition for American democracy could be, in this author’s opinion, a broken government maintained for the 1% by the us vs them mentality of the other 99%.

Alexis Sininger
2025-06

What is Democracy?

Most of us know that democracy means to be able to follow our stars—beliefs, career, even one's fashion sense—as our guide. To me there is another important aspect of democracy that is often overlooked: community. Democracy fails if we are not willing to work in concert with one another. Law-making and law-abiding require a communal effort in a democracy. And being a member of a democratic state means being willing to go along and get along. One word for this is compromise; a better word is cooperation. I often feel the rugged, solitary individualist side is over emphasized, and the cooperative side gets lost and even denigrated, called socialist and worse. This is ridiculous. Communal cooperation is as American as baseball, jazz and the great American musical.

Mari Wittenbreer
2025-06

Sovereign Speech

“I run the country and the world.” So said
the President marking one hundred days
into his second term. A serious head
of state doesn’t think that way – choose to lay
bizarre claims. With every act he feeds
his self-created myth, becomes a fool
serving his own insatiable needs –
reality, an incidental tool.
When truth depends on one man’s whims, then we,
who gave this power to him, must resist
his hateful rhetoric, cruel decrees, see
through lies, allow our anger to persist.
Protest, boycott, march, write – do what we can –
but never, try to normalize this man.

Joan Duffy Johnson
2025-06

June 14, 2025 — No Kings

I head to the protest,
My friend calls
she breaks the news
Legislators shot in their homes

She pleads with me to be safe
In this country where
Things are already fraught
Where some worship guns and a mad man leads

I cannot control for safety
I can set my heart and mind on courage
I call my husband, he does not answer
I leave him an "if I die" voicemail

I'm handed a badge and a yellow fluorescent vest
I close the white Velcro tabs
I slip the lanyard over my head
The identification on the card reads MARSHAL

I think of John Lewis
As he put on his beige trench coat
As he packed his small knapsack
with a sandwich and an apple

I am practiced at chanting and singing
This is a new role
The main instructions
Have your head on a swivel, look out not in

We learn two people have died
The killer has not been found

People thank me
I thank them
We exchange knowing glances
an arm squeeze, some tears

There is a moment of silence

For those injured and those slain
There are call and response songs
Words of poetry and resolve
Handmade posters held high

My head on a swivel
I see five young men
In red caps, one with a bullhorn
Stirring for likes on TikTok videos

We of the yellow vests make a circle
Our backs to the ones in red we face out
We talk to the protesters, encourage them
move on do not engage

Most follow our instructions
I can tell it is hard for some
The words from the encircled are vile
Filled with lies – I will not repeat them here

I want to ask them if their parents
know they are here
I want to tell them they are welcome to join us
when they realize the faux king has no clothes

This is not my job today
Not while I have on the yellow vest
So, I look out
And encourage others to walk away

After, we gather in the tunnel under the capitol steps
We take off our vests
We lift our MARSHAL tags over our heads
We debrief. Feel relief

I meet up with my husband
We hold tight
We head to a nearby pub
with people we love

At a crosswalk, a woman we don't know
Says I'm so overwhelmed, I can't stop crying
She explains she has been living in a deep red area
Today she saw the world she wants

In the dark paneled upstairs room of the pub
People hold up their protest signs as they leave
No longer in my yellow vest I pound the table
And chant NO KINGS! NO KINGS

The room erupts with me

Diane Brady-Leighton
2025-06