Perhaps you, like many of us, have set your phone to display push notifications of breaking news alerts. If so, it’s probably not beyond the pale for you to feel that American democracy is always teetering on the edge. Urgency is everywhere. Every week – Every day? Every few hours? – brings controversy and threat, a reason to get fired up or feel worn out.

We need urgent hope, yes. But just as importantly, we need long-term conviction.

If urgency gets us into the fight, conviction helps us stick with it. Urgency shows up with signs and speeches; conviction shows up again the next day with open ears and steady hands. In a society where civic life, social norms, public trust, and the law itself are evolving faster than ever, resilience – not just resistance – is what carries us forward.

This is a guide to that kind of resilience. For elected officials or organizations, sure, but mostly for everyday citizens – those of us who want to endure, not just react. Those of us who want to live out democracy every day, not only on Election Day.

First, to be clear: Resistance occupies a significant place in our national landscape. When power is abused, when rights are under attack, when democratic norms are bulldozed, we must speak out. Resistance is a moral and civic necessity. It creates momentum. It draws lines in the sand. It forces those folks who are otherwise comfortable on the sidelines to join the debate.

But resistance alone doesn’t build lasting civic strength. It can burn fast and burn out. Resilience is what keeps the fire lit.

Civic resilience is generative. It’s a slow build, a daily practice, and a habit of mind. It’s the steady conviction that democracy is not something we inherit. It’s something we make, over and over again.

So what does civic resilience look like in action? Well, it’s not necessarily cinematic. In fact, it’s often quiet. It happens when you choose to understand your local ballot initiatives instead of scrolling past them. When you write a letter to your school board, instead of just venting online. When you show up to a community meeting, even when there’s no big crisis on the agenda.

Resilience is trusting that small civic actions add up. It looks like investing in relationships, not just arguments. It’s sitting down with someone who sees the world differently and staying in the conversation – not because you expect to agree, but because you know democracy requires more than agreement. It requires connection.

It also is knowing your civic muscles might not be strong yet, but choosing to flex them anyway. One of the most radical things you can do in our day and age is stay present and stay engaged.

And that when things can get tricky, of course. When we show up in the civic arena – especially around voting, rights, or public accountability – it can look like we’re being “political.” Some are uncomfortable in this space, especially when others will inevitably claim that speaking up about fairness, access, or representation means taking a side.

That’s an unfortunate misunderstanding, partly because of what the word ‘political’ has come to mean in so many corners of the nation; in many ways, the word ‘political’ has merged with a more divisive term: partisan.

There’s a difference between being partisan and being principled, though. There’s a difference between picking a team and upholding the rules of the game. Between advocating for democracy and advocating for a party. Defending the vote, demanding transparency, and insisting on equity aren’t political weapons. They’re democratic responsibilities.

Don’t let the noise discourage you. Don’t let the false choice between “neutral” and “divisive” shut you down. If it strengthens democracy, making it more inclusive, accessible, and accountable, it’s worth doing. Period, full stop.

Today, resilience might be choosing to learn instead of doomscrolling. It might mean initiating a difficult but respectful conversation with a neighbor. It might be signing up to be a poll worker, even if you’re nervous. Or volunteering to help someone register to vote, even if you’ve never done that before.

Resilience also is knowing when to rest. Part of civic health is knowing your limits, trusting your community to carry the baton when you need to breathe, and returning when you’re ready.

Above all, resilience means believing that democratic progress is possible. That Americans of good faith, regardless of background or ideology, can build something better. It may not be easy and it may not be linear, but it is possible.

In Nebraska, in America, there is a quiet supermajority of people who still believe in shared effort. In facts and fairness, in being good to one another. These aren’t soft values; they’re bedrock. But they need support, structure, and participation. That’s the difference between hoping democracy survives and safeguarding it so that it thrives.

The best news? Resilience is contagious. One neighbor starts a conversation; then another hosts a civic potluck. One student testifies before a school board; another starts a community project. And little by little, a civic culture that is stronger, deeper, more inclusive begins to emerge.

This moment in our national life may feel overwhelming. But we’ve been here before. America has faced chaos, corruption, and crisis. And again and again, ordinary people have answered with uncommon courage.

That’s who we need to be now: Not just people who react, but people who rebuild. Not just people who resist, but people who are resilient.