In the Mess of Our National Disaster, Can We Find the Seeds to Renew Democracy?

In 2023, U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy issued a stark warning: America is suffering from an epidemic of loneliness, and the consequences are dire. “If we fail to [address this crisis], we will pay an ever-increasing price in the form of our individual and collective health and well-being,” he wrote. Then came the line that now feels prophetic: “We will continue to splinter and divide until we can no longer stand as a community or a country.”

This country is certainly dividing, and whether it can stand remains to be seen. As an immigrant from apartheid-era South Africa and a Californian shaken by the fires, I love and fear for the country I have known as home since adolescence. Having grown up in a society fractured by systemic oppression and seeing firsthand how division and authoritarianism hollow out a nation, I recognize the peril America faces. Trump and his allies have solidified their hold on power, reshaping institutions to entrench minority rule, while political violence moves from the fringes to the mainstream. State leaders openly defy court rulings, and democratic backsliding is no longer a theoretical threat but a lived reality. The consequences stretch far beyond our borders, fueling global instability.

Given everything at stake—from escalating climate disasters to an economy teetering on crisis—many are wondering: Are we entirely lost?

No, I say. It’s disastrous, yes. But it is precisely in the disastrous that we may find the seeds of renewal.

We now have a choice: Succumb to panic, numbness, and doomscrolling; or take purposeful action by confronting disaster head-on.

The reality is that democracy has been eroding for years; climate disruption worsens daily. The difference now is that we can no longer ignore the truth of our situation. Mass deportations. The rise of authoritarianism. A looming constitutional crisis. Wildfires, hurricanes, bomb cyclones, rising sea levels. The unraveling is no longer theoretical. It is here.

And this recognition could be our saving grace.

Murthy’s warning underscores the link between personal loneliness, social fragmentation, and political chaos. As Hannah Arendt wrote in The Origins of Totalitarianism, “The isolation of atomized individuals provides the mass basis for totalitarian rule.” Contemporary research supports her argument. A 2021 RAND Corporation study found loneliness is a primary driver for adopting extremist views and joining extremist groups. A 2022 study published in Political Psychology found that weak social bonds correlate with lower voter turnout and increased support for populist parties.

In this context, the disastrous might offer an unexpected antidote.

Charles Fritz, a sociologist who helped lead the University of Chicago’s Disaster Research Project in the 1950s, analyzed a broad data set of catastrophic events and concluded: “The widespread sharing of danger, loss, and deprivation produces an intimate, primary group solidarity among the survivors, which overcomes social isolation, provides a channel for intimate communication and expression, and provides a major source of physical and emotional support and reassurance.” There is ample further evidence to back up his conclusion, as Rebecca Solnit documents at length in A Paradise Built in Hell.

We are wired to adapt to slow declines, to normalize the unraveling. But disaster shatters the illusion of stability. It forces a reckoning. History suggests that disaster not only destroys—it also disrupts. It crushes old assumptions, forcing people to see one another, to respond, to rebuild.

Most of us aren’t living in an actual disaster zone right now. But when we see images of Los Angeles burning, Asheville flooding, or state officials openly defying the rule of law, we feel the urgency of the moment.

We now have a choice: Succumb to panic, numbness, and doomscrolling; or take purposeful action by confronting disaster head-on. This isn’t just about responding to immediate crises, but about addressing the isolation and division that have fueled them. By acting with intention, we don’t just face disaster—we undo the fragmentation that made it possible.

Growing up under apartheid, I learned how systems of oppression function and how they fail. I saw firsthand that division is not inevitable, that transformation is possible—but only when people refuse to be passive in the face of crisis. Former U.S. President Abraham Lincoln understood this too. “We are not enemies, but friends,” he declared in his first inaugural address in 1861, on the eve of national collapse. “We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection.” Those bonds of affection, Lincoln said, could be rekindled by the “better angels of our nature.” He knew then what we must remember now: Survival depends on rebuilding these bonds.

Regardless of how our political situation unfolds, we are entering an era of massive upheaval, and none of us will remain untouched. Whether through fire, flood, or political collapse, displacement is no longer a distant threat—it is a certainty.

Can you feel it? The disaster at your doorstep?

Let it inspire you to act. Talk to the neighbor who voted red. Reach out to your friends. Volunteer with organizations fighting for justice. Host a community discussion, support local activism, or donate to causes that uplift marginalized communities. Advocate for change by calling your representatives. Support artists and thinkers who challenge the status quo. Every action—big or small—helps rebuild what’s been broken.

Let the better angels of our nature prevail. It’s the only way forward.