On July 28, 2025, the League's CEO, Celina Stewart, Esq., joined the League of Women Voters of Chautauqua at the Chautauqua Institution for the Chautauqua Lecture Series, with the theme of "The Global Rise in Authoritarianism."

Read her remarks below!

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Good morning, Chautauqua. 

We stand on this beautiful land, nestled between Chautauqua Lake and the vastness of Lake Erie — just twelve miles away.

I want to take a moment of personal privilege to thank you. For this invitation. For your presence. For your belief in the power of people to make change.

To stand on this stage is to step into a lineage of thinkers, artists, and activists who have gathered here for generations. They wrestled with the moral, political, and spiritual challenges of their day.

The Chautauqua Lecture Series is more than a tradition. It’s a living, breathing forum for the most urgent questions of our time. It’s where ideas are not just shared but sharpened. Where democracy is not just discussed — it’s practiced.  

I also want to thank Chautauqua for being a beacon of debate during pivotal times — including the suffrage movement that gave rise to the League of Women Voters. In 1881, this institution hosted its first suffrage debate. By the early 1890s, women suffragists were invited to speak freely here. Among them were Susan B. Anthony and our founder, Carrie Chapman Catt. Their voices rose at a time of both crisis and opportunity — much like today. So thank you to the forefathers and foremothers of Chautauqua, for building a space where even controversial ideas are given room to grow — and move us to action. 

Today, I join you not just to deliver a speech. Instead, I come to offer a reimagined agenda to reclaim democracy through action.

Three words. Three steps. One purpose:

Educate. Agitate. Act.

This week, we are exploring the global rise of authoritarianism — not as some distant threat, but as a present and pressing reality. Across the world, we see how power is abused, freedoms curtailed, and fear weaponized. According to Freedom House, global freedom has declined for 19 consecutive years. Even in places once seen as democratic strongholds, we are witnessing the erosion of rights, the silencing of dissent, and the manipulation of truth.

Here in the United States, recent headlines make it painfully clear that we are not immune. On June 13, Reuters reported that US Senator Alex Padilla was forced to the ground and handcuffed by federal agents. Just three days later, CBS News reported that Minnesota Representative Melissa Hortman and her husband were killed in politically motivated shootings; Senator John Hoffman and his wife were wounded, and another political couple narrowly survived an attack. These events are not far-off hypotheticals — they are here, now, and real.

Who among us imagined we’d live in an America where this could happen? It echoes the shock many felt after the Dobbs decision in 2022 — which was a “Did this just happen?” moment. But the truth is, democratic backsliding rarely announces itself loudly. It creeps in — headline by headline, right by right, until silence becomes complicity.  

Pew Research Center tells us that trust in institutions is plummeting. People are losing faith — not just in the government, media, and higher education, but in each other. 

And today, I want to discuss the ways that our democracy is in retreat — in our courts, our classrooms, our communities, and yes, in our silence. 

I come to you not just as a speaker, but as a witness — as a Black woman, an attorney, a daughter of civil rights activists, and someone who has spent her adult life working to protect and expand the promise of democracy. I now see that promise under threat. I also stand here as the leader of the League of Women Voters of the United States — a 105-year-old movement, more than 700 Leagues strong, with over one million members and supporters nationwide, fighting every day to defend democracy and make it real for everyone.

We are nonpartisan, but we ain’t neutral. We are fierce defenders of the right to vote, the right to be heard, and the right to live in a country where democracy is not just a word that describes our past, but defines our future.  

And I want to be clear: this moment we are in — this moment of constitutional crisis — is not just a moment. It is a test. A test of our values, our institutions, and our willingness to act. 

I’ll start by grounding ourselves in history and identity—understanding how we got here and who we are. By “we,” I mean all of us: you and me in this space, the League, and our nation. Then, we’ll confront the realities of authoritarianism—how it manifests and spreads. Finally, we’ll envision what comes next—not just defending democracy, but reimagining and what it will take to rebuild it.

History of the League and Movements

This isn’t just about preserving what we had, it’s about building what we need. Moving from a moment of crisis to a movement of change requires turning fear into fuel and despair into determination. Now more than ever, the power each of us holds is essential. Movements don’t start with policy papers; they begin with people willing to name what’s broken and imagine what’s possible.

Educate. Agitate. Act. 

Let’s remember: democracy is not guaranteed — it’s a collective act of will. The arc of history doesn’t bend on its own; it bends when we bend it — with our voices, our votes, and, historically, our bodies. The League of Women Voters was born not from triumph, but unfinished business. 

In 1920, women won the vote — but not all women. Black, Indigenous, and immigrant women were excluded. Yet the League was formed — not to rest, but to rise — to educate and organize. 

So I ask you: What will you do with this moment? Will you watch the storm pass, or will you take action? Will you be a bystander, or will you be the movement? Let’s find out—together.

Educate 

Let’s begin where all movements start: with education — understanding who we are, where we’ve been, and what we’re truly up against. Because if we don’t know our history, we risk repeating it. And if we don’t recognize our power, we risk surrendering it. This is the story of not just an organization, but a movement—one that began over a century ago and continues today: the League of Women Voters.

In 2024 alone, the League reached more than 30 million voters with essential election information. Nearly 400,000 people registered to vote using League resources like VOTE411. We hosted over 3,000 debates and candidate forums—vibrant spaces where democracy comes alive — thanks to volunteers who donated over 900,000 hours. That’s nearly $35 million in time given freely by everyday people committed to making a difference. This dedication fuels the quiet, persistent work of democracy across every state and community.

The League operates with a tri-federated structure—national, state, and local—ensuring our presence and impact are broad and deep. We register voters, fight voter suppression, advocate for fair maps and courts, educate the public on ballot initiatives and election procedures, and train the next generation of civic leaders. All of this is done with an unwavering commitment to nonpartisanship.

And to be clear: “nonpartisan” does not mean apolitical, passive, or silent. It does not mean sitting on the sidelines. When it’s our lane, we step up, we assess the situation, and we respond. We are rooted in principles, not parties, empowering voters with facts to strengthen their voice—not to tell them what to think, but to help them make informed choices. This is the League’s enduring mission and our greatest strength.

While the League doesn’t endorse candidates or parties, we do take clear stands on issues that protect democracy: voting rights, reproductive freedom, and election integrity, just to name a few.

This focus lets us rise above partisan divides, uniting people around shared American and moral values rather than political battles. We advocate for fundamental rights regardless of who’s in power, building trust by centering issues — not affiliations.

Our commitment to nonpartisanship is a moral imperative because democracy itself should never be a partisan issue.

When democracy is under threat, we speak out — not left or right, but right and wrong. This has been the League’s identity for over a century: principled defenders of democracy in every era.

The League of Women Voters was founded in 1920, not as a victory lap, but as a continuation of a movement. Born out of the long fight for women’s suffrage, it was led by women who refused silence, who refused exclusion, and who understood that democracy could not thrive while half the population was denied a voice. While the 19th Amendment marked a historic milestone, it was far from a universal win — and the League’s founders knew it.

In that same moment of celebration, systemic injustice remained entrenched. Black women in the South faced poll taxes, literacy tests, and violent intimidation. Indigenous women weren’t recognized as US citizens until 1924. Puerto Rican women were denied the vote until 1935, and even then, only if they could read and speak English. Asian women were barred from naturalization until 1952. Eastern and Southern European women were surveilled and sidelined. These were not footnotes — they were features of a deeply unequal system.

This was the reality the League stepped into: a country that talked progress while enforcing exclusion. Jim Crow laws reigned. Lynchings terrorized communities. The KKK was rising again. Immigrants were detained and deported in the name of national security. The League’s formation wasn’t just about gaining access — it was about building power in a democracy still struggling to live up to its promise. This all sounds so familiar to our current life, right? So, that tension? It still echoes today.

Let me take you back to 1950, a time when fear ruled American politics. McCarthyism gripped the nation — Senator Joseph McCarthy waved lists of alleged communists, and the House Un-American Activities Committee destroyed careers with a single accusation. Teachers, librarians, public servants, and artists were blacklisted simply for reading the wrong book or attending the wrong meeting years earlier. In this climate of paranoia, most civic organizations went silent, purging members and abandoning core values to protect their reputations. 

Sound familiar?

But the League of Women Voters chose a different path. Some may seem radical when they defended the rights of people they disagreed with — actual communists. In 1952, at the height of this hysteria, the League launched its “Freedom Agenda” — an unapologetic campaign to defend civil liberties and educate the public about their constitutional rights. It was a bold stand, not born of political calculation, but of principle. The League understood that democracy cannot survive on silence or self-preservation. It requires courage — even when, especially when — fear tells you to stay quiet.

The League’s leaders understood what many missed: democracy isn’t just about majority rule — it’s about creating space for honest deliberation, dissent, and difference. And those values matter most when they’re under attack and when those rights are unpopular.

As League President Percy Lee said in 1955, 

“ You cannot turn your back if you cherish the freedoms for which this nation stands. You must devote your energy and your support to those institutions that give it strength.” 

The League recognized that defining loyalty by ideological conformity betrays the very core of democracy.

The Freedom Agenda was bold in both scope and principle. The League opposed loyalty oaths for public employees, defended the right to legal representation before congressional committees, and stood against blacklisting creative professionals, like writers and actors, based on political associations. While many groups scrambled to purge their ranks, the League took a radical stand: if members were committed to democratic processes, their political beliefs should not disqualify them. Inclusion, not ideological conformity, was the foundation of democratic participation.

This conviction came at a cost. Membership declined. Local chapters faced pressure to disaffiliate. Politicians and newspapers accused the League of being subversive. In Westchester County, New York, the local American Legion chapter went so far as to brand the League un-American. But the League stood its ground — and in time, that courage became a defining chapter in its legacy.

The League’s strategy succeeded because it grasped a fundamental truth: authoritarianism doesn’t rise by force alone — it thrives when citizens are convinced that liberty is too risky to protect. Refusing to bow to fear or conformity, the League upheld open debate and inclusive participation, sustaining the democratic habits necessary to resist tyranny. So, when the tide finally turned — when Senator McCarthy was censured in 1954, when the Supreme Court began reasserting civil liberties, pushing back on the Red Scare narrative, when Americans remembered the value of dissent — the League of Women Voters was already there. Unshaken. Uncompromised. A steadfast reminder that democracy’s power lies not in enforced agreement, but in the freedom to disagree.

The Freedom Agenda worked because it embraced a bold truth: democracy isn’t defended by making it smaller and safer, but by making it bigger and braver. The League showed that principled, nonpartisan citizens could take on the most powerful forces, stand up for truth, and prevail. Seventy years later, truth is still under siege. Finding it can feel like searching for a signal in a storm. But the League always knew that democracy isn’t just about casting a ballot — it’s about dignity, safety, voice, and the freedom to live fully. That’s the legacy I inherited. And that’s the legacy I carry — not just as CEO of the League, but as a Black woman in America. Because the forces the League was born to confront never disappeared. They’ve just evolved. And once again, we’re called to rise.

I want to share something personal. I knew at eight years old that I wanted to be an attorney. By twelve, I had already set my sights on Spelman College, an all-women’s college. Years later, I earned my degree from Spelman and my JD from Western Michigan University Law School — fulfilling a dream rooted in purpose. My parents taught me to speak truth to power. To know my history. To stand up for what’s right, especially when it’s hard.

I grew up on the stories of the civil rights movement — not just the marches and the speeches which were amazing in their own right, but the fear. The threats. The violence. The courage it took to register voters in the South, and the even greater courage it took to walk into a polling place knowing you might not walk out.

That history lives in me. And it lives in the League. Because this organization has never just been about voting — it has always been about power, justice, and courage. In a moment when our safety feels uncertain and our democracy under siege, I carry my family’s legacy — and the League’s — with me. And I ask the same question many are asking now: Is this America anymore? And if not — what will we do to reclaim it?

That’s why we’re here. Because the threats we face today — disinformation, voter suppression, rising authoritarianism, these aren’t new. They’re old strategies dressed in new costumes. 

• When states pass laws to suppress the vote — especially the votes of Black and brown communities…
• When election officials are harassed and threatened for doing their jobs…
• When disinformation spreads like wildfire, and truth is treated as optional…
• When the foundations and guardrails of our democracy are chipped away…

Not with a bang, but with a thousand cuts — it’s a reminder that the League’s story, my story, and democracy isn’t something we inherit fully formed — it is something we build, protect, and expand together. 

As a country, we’ve weathered wars, depressions, witch hunts, and backlash. And every time, we have risen to meet the moment. The League knows what this fight looks like. We’ve seen it before. We’ve fought it before. And we are ready to fight it again. But we can’t do it alone. We need you — your voice, your energy, your belief that democracy belongs to all of us. 

The question now is: what will you do with what you know? Because education is just the beginning. It is not enough to be informed. We must be ignited. We must move from learning to doing, from witnessing to acting. Reclaiming democracy isn’t a solo act; it requires an orchestrated movement. We must remind this country — and perhaps even ourselves — of who we are and what we stand for. And that we can be the ones who rise to meet this moment. We can turn the tide. So let’s keep going. I want to share what it means to agitate.

Agitate

Let’s be honest about what we’re up against. Authoritarianism doesn’t always arrive with tanks in the streets — though in Washington, DC, the military parade on June 14 felt like a warning shot. A reminder.

More often, authoritarianism wears a suit and tie. It hides behind calls for “law and order” or wraps itself in the flag. It sounds reasonable — until it’s not.

What we’re seeing is what experts call authoritarian drift: the slow erosion of democratic norms, the normalization of anti-democratic behavior, the quiet boiling of the frog. And make no mistake — it’s already here.

Authoritarianism rarely storms in with a bang — it creeps in quietly, through unchecked power and silence dressed as order.

When military parades take over Washington streets, not to honor the people but to project control — that’s not patriotism, that’s intimidation.

When federal troops are sent into cities like Los Angeles over the objections of local leaders — that’s not public safety, that’s power flexed without consent.

These aren’t isolated incidents. They’re part of a broader pattern: dissent crushed, local voices ignored, democratic symbols twisted into tools of fear.

This is authoritarianism — draped in red, white, and blue.

And every time we let it slide, we let it grow. So we can’t afford to be quiet. Not now. Not ever.

Authoritarianism is not just something that happens “over there” — it’s here, and it shows up in many forms. When elected officials discredit elections without evidence or refuse to accept the results of a free and fair vote — that’s authoritarianism. When laws are designed to suppress the vote and silence communities of color, young people, low-income voters, and people with disabilities — that’s authoritarianism. When power is hoarded, courts are stacked, and dissent is punished — that’s authoritarianism. When the press is attacked, truth distorted, and journalists threatened — that’s authoritarianism. And when communities are targeted — when immigrant families live in fear of raids, when trans kids are stripped of care, and when Black history is erased from our classrooms — that is authoritarianism in action.

I will say it plainly: This is the second coming of slavery. 

And I don’t say that lightly. 

I say it because I see the patterns. I see the fear, the control. The dehumanization. 

I see neighbors who are afraid to leave their homes, not sure of who or what is waiting to whisk them away. I see parents who are afraid to send their kids to school. I see people who are afraid to speak up, because they know what happens to those who do. 

And I see something else, too — something that’s just as dangerous. 

I see people who think this isn’t about them. 

People who say, “Well, I’m not an immigrant.” 

“I’m not trans.” 

“I’m not Black.” 

“I’m not poor.” 

“I’m not political.” 

As if authoritarianism only knocks on certain doors. 

NEWS FLASH: This is happening to all of us. 

Because when one group’s rights are stripped away, everyone’s rights are at risk. When one community is silenced, the whole country loses its voice. 

When we allow injustice to happen to “them,” we are writing the blueprint for it to happen to us. 

It looks like Indigenous land protectors are being surveilled for defending sacred ground. 

It looks like people with disabilities are losing access to care when budgets are slashed behind closed doors. 

It looks like journalists are being jailed for reporting on corruption. 

It looks like libraries are being defunded for carrying books that challenge the status quo. 

It looks like reproductive health care is being criminalized, and doctors are being threatened for doing their jobs. 

It looks like drag performers are being targeted by legislation, and artists are being censored for their expression. 

It looks like workers are being fired for organizing, and whistleblowers are being silenced. 

It looks like climate activists are being labeled as extremists, and scientists are being pressured to alter their findings. 

Authoritarianism doesn’t need your identity to target you — it just needs your indifference. 

This is not just about policy. It’s about power and terrorizing others. About who gets to belong, who gets to be safe.  

And it’s about accountability — or the lack of it. 

Because let’s be honest: this crisis didn’t start with one administration. It didn’t start with one President or person. It didn’t even start in the last decade. 

It’s been built for years through gerrymandering, voter suppression, disinformation, and the slow dismantling of democratic norms. 

When President Nixon resigned in 1974, following two years of political scandal, illegal activity, and obstruction of justice, the League responded with a call for systemic reform. League President Ruth Clusen declared at our 1974 national convention: 

“The corruption, venality, and arrogant usurpation of power which led to Watergate has had a deadly corrosive effect on political thought and life.” 

She cited polling at the time showing that 66 percent of Americans distrusted the government — and recent polls show there is even more lack of trust — and warned that if faith in institutions was not restored, democracy itself would be endangered. 

The League understood Watergate as a rupture in the constitutional order that demanded structural repair. As Clusen stated, “We must recognize and then rectify those parts [of government] which stemmed from flaws in a still imperfect system.” 

In the wake of Watergate, the League rose to meet a crisis of trust and accountability, helping shape its modern identity as a fierce advocate for transparency and democratic reform. That moment tested the very fabric of our democracy — and the League responded with clarity, courage, and conviction.

Today, we face another defining test. The erosion of checks and balances, attacks on the rule of law, and open disregard for democratic norms signal a constitutional crisis we cannot afford to ignore. But just as we did fifty years ago, we can meet this moment — not with fear, but with the full strength of our legacy and the urgency of now.

In early April, the onslaught of increased attacks on our democratic systems and a complete and utter failure by Congress to intervene came to a head when the president defied a US Supreme Court order to return the wrongfully deported Marylander Kilmar Armando Abrego Garcia to the United States.  

Let me say that again. The President of the United States defied the United States Supreme Court. And today continues to hide behind language like “What does ‘facilitate’ actually mean?”  

That is just unacceptable. It assumes that we either aren’t paying attention or aren’t savvy enough to see that it has no basis. It’s, to put it politely, a bunch of crap. 

It flies in the face of our democracy, much like the racist rhetoric, dismantling of equality initiatives, and attacks on voting access that we are seeing play out in the world of politics today.  

Make no mistake: That is an effort to undo the progress we made with the Voting Rights Act and the Civil Rights Act. To reduce the number of eligible people who can participate and vote in each election cycle. To find another way to exert control over the American people.  

This is not a drill. This is not “we’ll be fine in four years.” This is not “someone else will fix it.” 

This is a five-alarm fire. 

And the question is: Are you watching it burn, or are you the water that puts it out? 

And are you a sprinkle — or will you be part of a downpour? 

Because here’s what I know: Everyone agrees that democracy is threatened. But very few people see themselves as part of the solution. 

We keep waiting for someone else to save us. For the courts. For Congress. For the next election. And while I hate to be the one to tell you, I just have to — there is no cavalry coming.  

Democracy is not saved by governments. It is reclaimed by the people. 

We have to stop looking for help and start being the help. 

We have to stop talking about the problem and start organizing the solution. 

And here’s the good news: We don’t need a majority to make change. 

According to political scientist Erica Chenoweth, it takes just 3.5 percent of a population to be actively engaged in nonviolent resistance to bring down an authoritarian regime. 

Their research at the Carr-Ryan Center for Human Rights said: “Nonviolent protests are twice as likely to succeed as armed conflicts...and those engaging a threshold of 3.5 percent of the population have never failed to bring about change.”  

Three and a half percent! 

That’s a committed few — willing to show up, speak out, disrupt, and stand firm. 

Willing to be the water. 

And that’s what the League is doing.  

We launched Unite and Rise 8.5 — a bold and necessary initiative to engage and mobilize 8.5 million voters between now and November 2026 to protect and preserve our democratic institutions.  

That is the estimated number of voters it would take to bring about change during an authoritarian regime through nonviolent protest. That is the League’s part of the fight as a backbone organization. 

That’s the 3.5 percent. 

And according to turnout experts at the University of Florida, approximately 245 million Americans were eligible to vote in the 2024 general election. If 3.5 percent of these eligible voters — eight million, five hundred and seventy-five-thousand people — engage in nonviolent civil resistance and stand up against what is going on in America today, we will bring about meaningful change. 

So the League is not just educating voters. We are agitating systems. 

We are not just registering people. We are mobilizing movements. 

We are not just defending democracy. We are demanding better. 

Authoritarianism thrives in darkness, so we must keep the light on. You are the eyes and ears of your communities, and more importantly, you are the voice that lights democracy. 

Because we know what’s at stake. We’ve seen it before. And we refuse to go back. 

So, I’ll ask you: What kind of water will you be? 

Will you be a drop — or a waterfall? 

Because the fire is very real. But guess what? So is our power. 

And if we use it — if we organize it, if we amplify it, if we believe in it — we can turn the tide. 

I like to think of the League as the firefighters of democracy. In moments of crisis, chaos, or controversy, we don’t retreat — we run toward the flames.  

We do so not out of recklessness, but because what is engulfed in those flames means something to us. It’s worth saving. A democracy where every person has the desire, the right, the knowledge, and the confidence to participate. 

But today, those flames feel especially fierce. The fire is higher, hotter, and more relentless than ever before. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed. It’s tempting to step back, catch our breath, and hope that someone else will answer the call this time.  

But then that is not who we are. That is not what the League of Women Voters was built to do. 

We were built for this moment. We were forged in the fires of suffrage, civil rights, and social change. And now, in 2025, we are once again being called to be bigger than ourselves, to protect those whose voices are not welcome, to sustain what we have all worked so very hard to build. 

I know we can move from fear back to freedom. From silence to solidarity. From moment to movement. 

However, only if we act. 

Let’s talk about what it means to act, not just to defend democracy, but to reimagine it.

Democracy Is a Collective Act of Imagination

Education is essential. Agitation is necessary. But neither is enough on its own. 

We must act. And not just react, not just defend or hold the line. Not just wait for the next punch to land, but to expect it, steer for it. Know it’s coming, and be ready. 

Advocacy doesn’t belong to a select few; it’s a right and a responsibility we all share.  

And democracy is not just a system. It’s a story — one we tell ourselves about who we are and who we can be. 

And right now, that story is broken, so we must write a new one. 

Earlier, I mentioned what happened to Senator Padilla when he asked a question. If that can happen to someone with a US Senate badge and a national platform, imagine what’s happening to everyday people when the cameras aren’t rolling.  

This isn’t just about one moment or one person — it’s about a pattern. A pattern of silencing people, of criminalizing dissent, of normalizing force over dialogue. And we cannot afford to look away. As hard as it is, we can't.

Business is not usual. We can’t act like it is, and we can’t operate under a set of rules that no longer apply. 

At this point, we are not just defending democracy — we are imagining what comes next in these unparalleled times. And that can be a reinvention of what democracy looks like, because the old systems are cracking under the weight of inequality, disinformation, and distrust. 

That’s not a reason to despair. It’s our command to build. 

Because when the old house is crumbling, you don’t just patch the roof. You design something new.  

And that’s what we must do now. We must be architects, not just guardians. We must reinvent democracy — one that is inclusive, resilient, and just. 

And that starts with imagination. Because every movement begins with a dream of what you hope for. A belief that something better is possible. 

The movements of the past didn’t just demand change; they dared to imagine it first. They looked at the world as it was and insisted on what it could be. 

And today, we are called to do the same. But we have to ask ourselves: what do we want? Please indulge me as I share my vision.  

A place where immigrants are welcomed. Where families are reunited, not detained, and where accents are heard as stories, not threats of losing some sort of ground or piece of the American dream. 

Where health care is a right, not a luxury. Where no one has to choose between medicine and rent (for god sakes!), and mental health is treated with the same urgency as a broken bone. 

Where truth is celebrated and taught, not banned. Where students learn the full story of themselves and this country — both the pain and the progress — and are trusted to think critically. 

Where climate justice means clean air in every ZIP code, not just the wealthy ones. 

Where democracy is not a performance, but a practice — by all of us, because we understand that it benefits all of us. 

Right now, this might seem like a reality that is slowly slipping through our fingers. So let’s make a fist and some collective commitments. 

Remember what I said about the League of the 1950s — those brave souls who stood tall as fear and falsehood threatened to erode our most sacred constitutional rights. In a time when patriotism was weaponized and truth put on trial, they chose courage over comfort. Today, as familiar shadows creep back across our democracy, I stand before you to call for a New Freedom Agenda — a bold recommitment to one another and to the unfinished promise of this nation. Just as our foremothers rose to meet the challenges of their time, we must now reimagine that legacy — not as nostalgia, but as a blueprint for action. Because when democracy drifts, it takes bold visionaries to bring it back.

Our Unite and Rise 8.5 campaign emerges not just to resist authoritarianism, but to reimagine what’s possible. To mobilize communities that have been ignored. To amplify voices that have been silenced. To disrupt the machinery of fear with the momentum of hope. 

It’s a commitment to each other, to the future, and to the belief that democracy is worth fighting for. 

We’re organizing to activate a multi-million people movement not as a symbolic number, but as a strategic threshold for change.  

We are investing in younger generations — not just with hope, but with infrastructure like affordable housing. We’re building digital platforms that meet them where they are, equipping local leaders with toolkits, training, and other civic education tools, and mentoring the next wave of leaders who are already organizing, designing, and dreaming bigger than we ever did.  

We are supporting pro-democracy alliances across race, class, gender, identity, geography, and party. Because democracy doesn’t belong to one group, it belongs to all of us. It’s not a solo performance, it’s a symphony. And we are tuning our instruments together — from rural town halls to urban organizing hubs, from faith communities to student coalitions.  

We’re fighting for structural reform — not tweaks, but transformation. Independent redistricting to end gerrymandering. The One Person, One Vote campaign to remove relics of slavery from our elections. Because the system isn’t broken by accident — it was built this way. And we’re not here to patch it. We’re here to rebuild it — law by law, practice by practice, brick by brick.

We’re building power for women and people of color — not in theory, but in action. Through training that equips, resources that sustain, and networks that uplift. With a clear message: Representation isn’t the finish line — it’s the starting point.

And we’re tracking our progress — not just in numbers, but in relationships built, voices elevated, and systems challenged. 

Because every action — no matter how small — is part of our collective impact.  

Every conversation. Every registration. Every protest. Every post. Every vote. 

It all adds up. It all ripples out. 

And that brings me back to my metaphor of today: the power of water. The feeling of the vastness of the almost limitless water so nearby at Lake Chautauqua and Lake Erie. 

Water is powerful. Water is patient. Water is persistent. 

A single drop may seem small. But enough drops together can carve canyons, sustain cities and wildlife, and change landscapes. 

That’s what we are. Think about people power as a force quelling the flames. Simply put, we are the flood of democracy. 

We are the force that wears down injustice. That smooths the stones of oppression. That nourishes the roots of change. 

Because the impact of one drop is limited. But collected together, we are unstoppable. 

That’s what the League is. That’s what democracy is. That’s what this movement has to be. 

It’s all of us — flowing in the same direction toward justice, equity, and freedom. 

And when we move together, everyone feels it. Everyone is changed by it. 

Because democracy is not a spectator sport. It’s a collective act of imagination. 

And it’s not just about who we are. It’s about who we can become. 

I’ve already asked you a lot of questions today, so what’s one more, huh? What are you building? What are you imagining? What are you willing to fight for? 

History is not written by those who watched — it’s written by those who went from outrage to organizing. From resistance to resilience. From hope to hard work. I think about the book written by Theodore Roosevelt, "The Man in the Arena." It is often associated with the idea of actively participating in life rather than being a passive bystander. It’s a powerful speech about the importance of getting in the ring for the fight, and that is what is required by each of us now. 

This isn’t just about changing policy — it’s about shifting power, rewriting the rules, and reimagining who gets to write them. Let’s build a democracy our ancestors would recognize as hard-won progress — and one future generations will inherit with pride.

Act. Wake Up. Rise.

So here we are. Here’s our new Freedom Agenda: 

We’ve educated ourselves. We’ve agitated the status quo. We’ve imagined bold new possibilities. 

Now it’s time to close — not with finality, but with momentum. 

Because this isn’t the end of the speech. It’s the beginning of the next chapter. 

Let me return to where I began — to why I’m here. 

I’m here because I believe in democracy. Not as a theory, but as a lived experience. As a promise we make to one another — and to the generations that follow. 

I’m here because I was raised to believe that silence is complicity. That justice is not inevitable. That freedom is not free. 

I’m here because I’ve seen what happens when we forget our power. And I’ve seen what’s possible when we remember it. 

And I’m here because I know — in my bones — that this is not happening to other people. It’s happening to each one of us. 

This is not someone else’s fight. This is our fight. 

No one gets to sit this one out. 

We need everyone to wake up to the threats, to the possibilities, to the role they can play. 

We need everyone to rise — not just in protest, but in purpose. 

Every person sitting here today holds power in their voice, your story, and your presence. And together, that power multiplies.   

Because we are not the first to face this kind of moment. And unfortunately, we will not be the last. 

We stand on the shoulders of suffragists who marched in the streets. Of civil rights leaders who risked and sometimes lost their lives. Of organizers who built power from the ground up. 

And now, it’s our turn. 

We must let this administration — and every level of leadership — know that we will not be silent. Our democracy is worth fighting for. Not a democracy shaped by fear, exclusion, or the consolidation of power, but one grounded in fairness, accountability, and opportunity for all Americans. 

We are living in a time of uncertainty, where many are angry, overwhelmed, and afraid. But in the face of that fear, we have a choice — to step back or to step forward together.  

People are searching for hope, for belonging, and for a reason to believe that their voice still matters.  

They are not alone; the League is here. 

Let us turn our fear into fuel, our pain into purpose, and our outrage into organized action. Let us be louder than lies, stronger than suppression, and more united than those who seek to divide us.  

That is our strength. That is our legacy. And that is the opportunity we hold in this moment — not just to respond, but to reshape the future. 

History will remember this chapter. Let’s make sure it remembers that when democracy called, we answered.  

It’s our turn to carry the torch. To be the ancestors that future generations will thank, not question as history often does, “Why didn’t they do something?”  

So here’s what you can do, if you were wondering where to begin. 

Join the League. 

Be part of something enduring — a movement that knows democracy isn’t something we inherit fully formed. It’s something we build, protect, and pass on.

Register voters. 

Every name added to the rolls is a declaration of power. A refusal to be erased. A step toward a more representative democracy. 

Educate your community. 

Be the voice that cuts through the noise. Share facts. Host conversations. Have the hard conversations. Make civic knowledge contagious. 

Speak the truth. 

Even when it’s uncomfortable. Silence is the oxygen of authoritarianism — and truth is its antidote. 

Show up. 

To the meetings. To the hearings. To the polls. To the streets. Your presence is a form of protest. Your body is a ballot. 

Consider donating to the League to increase our capacity.  

Fuel the fight. Your support helps us train organizers, protect voters, and expand access to the ballot, especially in communities that have been historically silenced. And we must not forget those being silenced in this moment as well.

Lastly, always be the water. 

Persistent. Unyielding. Collective. Let’s be the torrential rain that reshapes the political landscape. 

And remember: Authoritarianism doesn’t rise on its own. It rises when people look away. When people give up. When people stay silent. 

But democracy doesn’t rise on its own either. It rises when people rise up. 

So don’t just admire the League’s history. Join its future. 

Wake up. Rise up. 

And let’s build the democracy we deserve — arm in arm, side by side, together. 

Thank you.