In the first part of this reflection, I traced the external consequences of what I termed the “Western Fall” in 2016—the geopolitical shift towards a volatile, multipolar world. I concluded that perhaps the most critical variable in this global equation remains the internal health of the West itself. It is here, on the home front, particularly within the United States, that the drivers I first identified—social fragmentation, profound economic inequality, and the alienation fueled by technological disruption—have metastasized, placing the nation’s democratic foundation under unprecedented strain.
Looking back from mid-2025, the symptoms of democratic erosion are no longer subtle theoretical risks; they are documented realities. Respected global indices paint a concerning picture. The Economist Intelligence Unit has continued to classify the U.S. as a “flawed democracy” for nearly a decade, citing deep-seated political polarization and a decline in trust for the functioning of government. Freedom House’s latest “Freedom in the World 2025” report highlights ongoing concerns over political rights and the rule of law. Perhaps most chillingly, the V-Dem Institute at the University of Gothenburg has repeatedly warned of “autocratization” trends, noting that the level of liberal democracy enjoyed by the average American has significantly eroded over the last ten years. This is not just academic. It’s reflected in the public consciousness; recent polling from Gallup and Pew Research in late 2024 and early 2025 shows trust in core institutions—Congress, the Supreme Court, the media—hovering at historic lows. A startling majority of Americans now believe their own democracy is under serious threat.
These symptoms are a direct evolution of the root causes I diagnosed in 2016. The backlash to social liberalization has not abated; it has calcified into intractable cultural warfare, where political affiliation is now a primary marker of tribal identity. The economic inequality I wrote about has only become more acute, creating a vast and politically potent sense of disenfranchisement. Many Americans feel the system is rigged, a belief that populist figures from both the left and right have successfully channeled, further eroding faith in established processes. And the technological landscape has become a far more effective accelerant for division than I could have fully imagined. Social media algorithms reward outrage, AI-powered disinformation makes it nearly impossible to maintain a shared set of facts, and citizens retreat into insulated echo chambers, making compromise and consensus-building exercises in futility.
For the average citizen, the consequences of this decay are tangible and exhausting. It manifests as a pervasive political anxiety that seeps into daily life, straining relationships with family, friends, and neighbors. It’s visible in the persistent government gridlock that leaves critical, long-term problems—from crumbling infrastructure and soaring healthcare costs to immigration reform—unsolved, reinforcing the narrative that the system is broken. Most insidiously, it leads to an erosion of the shared civic story. When citizens lose faith in their elections, their courts, and their fellow Americans, the very idea of a unified nation with a common purpose begins to dissolve, leaving a void filled with suspicion and resentment.
Is there a path forward? The “deliberate steering” I mentioned in 2016 feels more necessary, yet more difficult, than ever. It requires moving beyond partisan rancor to focus on strengthening the democratic “plumbing” itself. A growing chorus of policy experts and civil society groups, from the Brookings Institution to the Carnegie Endowment, point toward several key areas for renewal.
First is institutional fortification. This involves passing robust federal legislation to protect voting rights and ensure election integrity, removing partisan influence from the process of drawing electoral maps, and exploring serious campaign finance reform to reduce the influence of money in politics. It also means reinvesting in the institutions of government themselves, particularly the non-partisan civil service, as a bulwark against political whims.
Second is confronting the information crisis. This is not about censorship, but empowerment. It requires a national effort to boost media literacy skills from a young age, enabling citizens to better distinguish credible information from propaganda. It also means demanding greater transparency and accountability from technology platforms whose algorithms have proven so socially corrosive.
Third, and perhaps most fundamentally, is civic and community renewal. National politics may be toxic, but change can be built from the ground up. Fostering local journalism, supporting community-based organizations that bring diverse people together to solve local problems, and promoting models of deliberative democracy can help rebuild the social trust and habits of cooperation that have atrophied. It is in the local sphere where a sense of shared purpose can be most readily rediscovered.
In my 2016 analysis, I concluded by questioning how political systems would operate as a result of the new normal. For the United States, the answer is clear: they are operating under extreme duress. The internal decay of American democracy is not merely a domestic tragedy; as we saw in Part One, it weakens the entire Western alliance and creates vacuums on the world stage that autocratic powers are eager to fill. The struggle to repair the foundations of American democracy is therefore not just a national imperative; it is a globally significant one. The outcome remains uncertain, resting on the difficult question of whether a deeply divided nation can rediscover the collective will to engage in the hard, unglamorous work of self-governance.