Can America rebuild its political culture?

For more than two centuries, American political life was held together by unwritten codes—customs, behaviors, and quiet understandings that guided how power was won, wielded, and relinquished. These weren’t rules etched into law, but habits passed down through practice: conceding gracefully, disagreeing civilly, trusting institutions to outlast partisans.

That glue is now dissolving. In 2025, calls for compromise are derided as betrayal. Institutions once seen as referees—Congress, courts, even school boards—are increasingly cast as players in the partisan scrum. “Polarization” may be the polite term, but it barely captures the depth of what’s coming undone. This is political culture decay, and it’s accelerating. It doesn’t announce itself with a bang. Like corrosion, it creeps—until a structure you thought was sturdy begins to collapse.

Once upon a time, politics was about policy. Now, it’s about performance. This shift didn’t happen overnight. Fragmented media ecosystems, the constant churn of campaign fundraising, and the rise of social platforms have trained politicians to think like influencers. Outrage, not outcomes, drives engagement. Today’s legislative sessions feel more like streaming content—viral clips, grandstanding, and moments choreographed for partisan audiences.

That evolution has warped the job description. A successful lawmaker was once someone who could whip votes or broker deals. Today’s standouts build followings by attacking the institutions they serve. The more inflammatory the rhetoric, the bigger the donations—and the louder the applause.

This dynamic distorts public expectations. Voters aren’t clamoring for policy breakthroughs; they’re demanding purity tests. Cooperation becomes betrayal. Gridlock isn’t failure—it’s theater.

It’s no wonder that a 2023 Pew survey found 72% of Americans believe elected officials “don’t care about people like me.” That’s not just a complaint—it’s a verdict on a system that rewards showmanship over service.

Democracy rests on one fragile asset: trust. And that trust, once eroded, is brutally hard to rebuild. The slow disintegration of institutional credibility is no longer abstract. It’s tangible, measurable, and visible in every national poll. Take the Supreme Court—long regarded as the sober counterweight to political whim. By 2024, Gallup reported its approval rating had plummeted to 34%, as more Americans came to view its decisions as partisan signals rather than principled judgments.

Congress fares worse, locked in perpetual disapproval. Presidential legitimacy, meanwhile, has become conditional—granted or withheld based on partisan affiliation. Increasingly, one side’s victory is the other side’s conspiracy.

These trust gaps don’t stay confined to Washington. They ripple outward. Millions ignored public health guidance during COVID not due to the science, but because they no longer trusted the messengers. Election officials now require personal security. Local school board meetings have morphed into ideological battlegrounds. When democratic institutions lose credibility, rules become optional—and the system itself grows brittle.

A healthy political culture doesn’t require agreement on every issue. But it does require some shared story—some sense of “us.” For much of its history, America stitched together its many contradictions with a unifying narrative: a country flawed, but striving. A republic founded in idealism and refined by struggle. That story wasn’t universally believed, but it was broadly available. It created room for debate without defaulting to despair.

Today, that story is splintered. Competing media silos offer Americans radically different portraits of their country. One paints a besieged nation overrun by outsiders and sabotaged by global elites. Another sees a republic built on systemic injustice, in need of root-and-branch reform. What used to be the middle ground now looks like no-man’s-land.

Social platforms amplify this fracture. Their algorithms elevate outrage, suppress nuance, and reward conflict. Misinformation outpaces correction. Even once-neutral rituals—like honoring the flag or teaching U.S. history—are now litmus tests for political loyalty. Without a shared story, civic identity fractures. And when there’s no “we,” there’s only “us” versus “them.”

America isn’t the first democracy to flirt with cultural collapse. But history suggests the ending isn’t always redemptive. Brazil offers a sobering parallel. In the 2010s, its political culture deteriorated rapidly. Institutions were dismissed as corrupt; the judiciary became a punchline. What followed was a populist surge that left the country’s electoral legitimacy badly frayed—even before ballots were cast.

Hungary’s democratic backsliding is even more systemic. Prime Minister Viktor Orbán began by undermining trust in the media and courts. Over time, those rhetorical attacks gave way to institutional overhauls that hollowed out dissent entirely. Elections still occur—but the playing field is no longer level.

The United States, for now, retains an open press, independent courts, and active civil society. But the cultural immune system is weakening. January 6 was not an outlier—it was a flare-up. The more that civic norms are treated as optional, the more future ruptures become likely. Charisma cannot substitute for culture. If the center doesn’t hold, the void won’t stay empty for long.

Culture, unlike policy, doesn’t change with the stroke of a pen. It requires modeling, repetition, and shared investment. That renewal begins at the ground level. Civic education needs a revival—not just facts and dates, but an understanding of democratic norms and why they matter. Local groups and nonprofits have a role to play, too: creating forums where disagreement doesn’t devolve into hostility.

The media, for its part, must reckon with its incentives. If the current model rewards division, then reform must come not just from within but from regulation and consumer demand. News must be more than entertainment with banners.

Nationally, the burden falls on both parties. Leadership means more than winning—it means protecting the rules of the game. That requires calling out disinformation, respecting institutional processes, and disciplining those who cross red lines. In other words: prioritizing democracy over partisan victory. But ultimately, this is a citizen’s job. Political culture is shaped not just by those in power, but by what the public tolerates—and what it refuses to accept.

What America faces in 2025 is not a policy crisis—it’s a civic unraveling. The erosion of trust, the loss of shared narratives, and the corrosion of institutional credibility have pushed the country into dangerous territory. Inflation will rise and fall. Immigration laws will shift. But without a stable political culture, no solution will stick and no system will function.

The real test is whether Americans still believe that democracy is something you participate in, not just something you inherit. Because once the cultural scaffolding gives way, even the strongest laws can’t keep the roof from caving in.