“Politics” has become an umbrella term. What is meant by the “political” could range from moral convictions, pragmatic concerns, educational values, or religious beliefs. Perhaps the reason for partisan stand-offs is the use of politics as a stand-in for the existential—a distraction from questions we would rather not ask. Recent pro-life efforts have revived the abortion debate, advocating for policies that would criminalize the actions of the doctor performing the abortion and the woman receiving it. A series of less publicized choices have been brought to light, showing that what is characterized as a bitter political battle actually has very little to do with politics. Beyond the decision to abort, pro-choice policies have allowed for the determination that certain types of potential life are less desirable than others. Between 60% and 90% of pregnancies that receive a prenatal diagnosis of down syndrome end in abortion—the selective prevention of life. If left to natural development, these pregnancies would have resulted in the lives of down syndrome children. The fact that these children with down syndrome are terminated before birth is an ethical concern, one that cannot be explained by typical pro-choice reasoning. In these cases, the decision to abort was not prompted by a positive pregnancy test, but upon knowing the child would possess particular genes. Aborting on this basis does not merely degrade life inside the womb, but also life outside of it. One’s reaction to the thought of intentionally preventing down syndrome births likely depends on how they answer an old question: If someone will experience suffering, is it better for them to have never been born? If someone says ‘no’, they may view suffering as an inevitable facet of the human experience, one that nurtures virtuous character, strong will and a meaningful legacy. Intertwined with this view may also be the belief that preventing any and all hardship is not within human capacity, and thus is not justification to absolve someone of life. If someone answers “yes,” perhaps they consider it cruel to allow someone to endure preventable suffering, and believe that quality of life is depleted by pain rather than refined. Even within the school of conservative Christian thought—a large portion of pro-life advocacy—there is disagreement on such principles. Any hope of bipartisan understanding depends upon a collective willingness to grapple with our most profound assumptions. To that end, we must regard the normalization of assigning discriminant value to unborn lives with severe caution. Children born with any disability or special condition no doubt require a heightened level of care. Prospective parents face real fears of lacking proper emotional and financial capacity to ensure the child’s well-being. Wondering whether one is capable of being a good parent comes with the territory of having a family, as do overwhelming waves of self doubt. This healthy fear reflects recognition that taking care of a child—one with down syndrome nonetheless—is a serious commitment. Parents also realize the heartbreaking reality that they cannot protect their child forever, despite all their best efforts. Hardship is inevitable, and is not a determinant of life’s value. No one has lived without being subject to challenges, and those who have overcome them often say they would not change the past. As a culture, we cherish stories of redemption, revere the resilient and crave a reason to hope. If potential suffering is a reason to prevent new life, then hope is denied possibility. Choosing to abort out of fear for the child’s happiness may eliminate difficult experiences, but it also demeans the beauty, joy and profound good that could have been possible for them. Carrying children to term based on their certain qualities sets a devastating precedent, suggesting that only certain types of children are worthy to be born. Rather than argue the nature of conception or sentience, particular lives are implicitly deemed as less valuable or desirable than others—the heart of all discrimination—as the vast majority of down syndrome pregnancies are terminated. Aborting on this basis does not merely degrade life inside the womb, but also life outside of it. Selective abortions may not be actively celebrated as Nazi-era eugenics once were, but indifference is tragic in its own right. While the left is known to usually be against discrimination, the pervasive aborting of down syndrome children has been exclusively criticized by conservatives. At first glance, outrage on the right seems typical for a pro-life ethic. Yet, those with a liberal moral framework should be concerned about this subset of abortion policies. The left often has advocated for expanding the inclusion and dignity of the marginalized, giving all people, regardless of race, gender, wealth or disability, equal respect. The down syndrome community should hold a prominent place in the pursuit of toppling stereotypes and recognizing the innate value in a diverse humanity. In fact, the promotion of diversity stems from the belief that human differences add a beautiful dimension to society and the world at large. When confronted with stories of struggle, the natural reaction is not “it’s a shame you were born” but admiration. If this is so, then why do we think that we should end unborn lives to prevent their suffering? This is not a question of partisan loyalty. By packaging the abortion debate as political, we avoid something far more profound. Abortion, even in the name of mercy, assumes that a good life is void of hardship. If deciding which lives are worthy of being born is considered a human right, there is no limit to what actions humanity can justify.
By Mia Downing
According to a new Gallup Poll, 77% of Americans today say our founders would be disappointed with America, versus 42% in 2001. While the number of Americans who believe this has fluctuated throughout the years, 2026 shows the highest level of disappointment in decades. On its face, it looks like America is a nation that has lost faith in itself. The Dividing Lines Much of this disappointment can be explained by partisan politics. According to the same Gallup poll, Republicans are more likely than Democrats to say that the founders would be pleased with America. 25 percent of Republicans say the founders would be pleased, versus just 13 percent of Democrats. These are the figures under President Donald Trump, a Republican President. However, under President Barack Obama, a Democrat, the numbers are flipped. In 2013, only 12% of Republicans said the founders would be pleased, compared to 42% of Democrats. Furthermore, in the current 2026 Gallup poll, only 10% of Democrats believe that the U.S. has succeeded a great deal, compared with 30% of Republicans and 20% of independents. While party politics can explain differences in skepticism or optimism in America, so can age. Only 8% of adults aged 18 to 34 say the country has succeeded “a great deal.” Compare this to those aged 35 or older, of whom 23-24% say the same. Interestingly, we do not see the same divides when looking at income levels, as those with an income of less than $50k have the same views as those with more than $100k on whether America has made a great deal of progress in its history. The partisan and generational divide is real; however, it is also true that in recent years, the pessimism felt by Americans is greater across the board, regardless of differences between groups. The Way Forward – Understanding The Other Beneath all the pessimism, a majority of Americans across various demographics still feel that the country has made progress by at least a “fair amount”. As Americans, we have things to celebrate, such as the Declaration of Independence, the right to free speech, and the right to vote, which have been earned by minorities over time. Women gained suffrage, people of color gained rights through the hard-fought Civil Rights Act of 1964, and same sex marriage is now legal. Furthermore, America has become the commercial capital, hosting top companies like Google, Microsoft, Apple, and Amazon. America is also the host of Hollywood, using it to export our culture globally. However, if the boons of such successes are not shared with the average American, who struggles to realize the American dream, then pessimism will only grow. If the United States is to stay united, its people must establish a shared understanding. That is where good-faith conversations come into play. It is why, in my view, the First Amendment — the right to free speech — is valuable and worth preserving. The right to vote and the right to express oneself freely are what should unite Americans, if nothing else. Therefore, in the spirit of America’s 250th birthday, let us celebrate honest, civil debate. Let us not describe different viewpoints through the lens of a “culture war,” but rather as an opportunity to explore different ideas. Whether we are Republicans or Democrats, young or old, rich or poor, we must not isolate ourselves in our respective camps and instead seek to understand those with whom we disagree. This is where organizations like Our National Conversation play a vital role. At a time of increased fracturing, having a forum that encourages honest, cross-partisan dialogue is a must. Indeed, we do not need to share the same opinions on America to have a conversation about it. As long as we devote ourselves to keeping that conversation alive, the next 250 years are still ours to write.
By Vaibhav Sinha
A year ago, Keir Starmer looked unstoppable. After leading Britain’s Labour Party to a decisive election victory, Starmer was hailed as the leader who finally returned his party to power after more than a decade of opposition. However, he is now stepping down as prime minister, marking one of the most dramatic political reversals in recent British history. The speed of Starmer’s rise and fall raises an intriguing question for Americans: Could the same forces reshaping British Labour politics also be reshaping the Democratic Party in the United States? The answer is complicated. Britain and America have different political systems. Yet, both countries are grappling with many of the same challenges: voter frustration, ideological divisions and growing dissatisfaction with traditional political parties. One of the clearest lessons from Starmer’s resignation is the power of voter frustration to make voters in Western democracies grow increasingly impatient with traditional political parties and institutions. For many British voters, Labour’s return to power was supposed to signal change after years of economic uncertainty, political instability and public dissatisfaction. Yet for some, the pace of change felt too slow, while others felt that the government had failed to address important issues. As expectations collided with political realities, frustrations began to mount. This growing sense of disillusionment is hardly unique to Britain. In the United States, public trust in government and political institutions has also declined in recent years, with many Americans expressing dissatisfaction with both major parties. The challenge for leaders on both sides of the Atlantic is no longer simply winning elections; it is convincing voters that the government can still deliver meaningful results. Voter frustration, however, was only part of the story. Starmer’s government also found itself navigating deep ideological divisions within both the Labour Party and the broader electorate. After years of internal conflict under former Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn, Starmer sought to move the party toward the political center in hopes of appealing to a wider range of voters. Initially, this strategy proved successful, helping Labour secure a decisive electoral victory. Yet governing from the center brought new challenges. Some progressive supporters argued that Labour had abandoned many of the policies and values that energized the party’s base, while more moderate and conservative voters remained skeptical of Labour altogether. In trying to satisfy both groups, the party often found itself caught in the middle. This dilemma is not unique to Britain. American Democrats continue to wrestle with similar tensions, balancing the priorities of progressive activists, moderates and independent voters. As both parties have discovered, building a broad coalition may be enough to win an election, but maintaining the coalition once in power can be far more difficult. Perhaps the most important lesson from Britain’s political upheaval is that dissatisfaction with traditional political parties is no longer confined to a single country or ideology. Across much of the Western world, voters have become increasingly frustrated with established parties, viewing them as disconnected from everyday concerns. In Britain, this frustration has fueled support for smaller and outsider parties on both the left and the right, challenging the dominance of Labour and the Conservatives. Similar trends can be seen in the United States, where confidence in both Democrats and Republicans remains relatively low, and many Americans express a desire for alternatives outside the traditional two-party system. While the political systems of the United Kingdom and the United States differ significantly, both countries face the same underlying challenge: rebuilding public trust. In an era marked by economic uncertainty and political polarization, voters are increasingly willing to abandon long-standing political loyalties if they believe their concerns are being ignored. Britain’s experience does not mean the American Democrats are destined to face the same fate. However, Starmer’s rise and fall serve as a reminder that electoral victories are not permanent. In today’s political environment, voters expect results, authenticity and a clear vision for the future. Parties that fail to provide them may quickly find themselves out of favor. Acknowledgement: The opinions expressed in this article are those of the individual author, not necessarily Our National Conversation as a whole.
By Alan Jimenez
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