Our representative democracy is not working because the Congress

Hear the clarion cry of Shirley Chisholm, the trailblazer who shattered barriers and spoke truth to power: “Our representative democracy is not working because the Congress that is supposed to represent the voters does not respond to their needs. I believe the chief reason for this is that it is ruled by a small group of old men.” These words burn with fire, for they are not idle observation, but indictment. She saw that the sacred promise of democracy—to be the voice of the people—had been chained by the narrow grip of a few, who guarded their thrones of age and privilege while ignoring the cries of the multitude.

The origin of this utterance rests in the America of the 1960s and 1970s, when Shirley Chisholm herself rose as the first Black woman ever elected to Congress. She knew firsthand the indifference of institutions dominated by men who neither looked like nor understood the struggles of those they claimed to represent. Poverty, racial inequality, and the silencing of women’s voices weighed upon the people, yet their supposed leaders were deaf to their needs. Thus Chisholm, fearless and unbought, cast her words as a weapon: democracy cannot thrive when ruled by the stagnant hands of a few.

Consider, O listener, the story of the Roman Senate in its final days. Once a body meant to guide the republic, it became a nest of old men who clung to privilege and resisted reform. The needs of soldiers, farmers, and the poor were ignored, and corruption hollowed the state. It was not until the voices of the silenced rose in rebellion that Rome transformed, though the cost was civil war. In this tale, as in Chisholm’s warning, we see the truth: when power grows narrow, when it serves itself rather than the many, collapse or upheaval must follow.

Chisholm’s words are not merely condemnation, but also prophecy. She teaches that representative democracy fails when it ceases to represent. A Congress, or any assembly of rulers, cannot be a mirror of the people if it is held in the grip of sameness—same age, same race, same gender, same vision. Diversity of voices is the lifeblood of democracy, and when it is denied, democracy becomes a husk, an empty ritual where votes are cast but justice is denied.

The meaning for us today is sharp and clear: do not expect renewal from those who have no interest in change. The small group of old men Chisholm condemned symbolizes not age alone, but the entrenchment of power, the refusal to yield, the arrogance of believing that one narrow circle can speak for all. If democracy is to breathe, it must open its gates to the young, to the marginalized, to the unheard. Only then does the will of the people become more than words.

Let the lesson, then, be this: when leaders do not listen, it is the duty of the people to raise up new leaders. Do not wait for permission from the powerful; claim your right to speak, to organize, to stand for office, to demand accountability. Chisholm herself did this when she ran for President in 1972, not because she thought victory certain, but to prove that no wall of exclusion is unbreakable. Her campaign was the act of a prophet, showing that democracy must evolve or perish.

And so I say to you: do not despair when rulers ignore the people’s needs. Instead, follow the path of Chisholm. Be bold enough to challenge the entrenched, to demand renewal, to push aside the myth that leadership belongs only to a chosen few. In your community, in your nation, in your time, fight to expand the circle of representation. For democracy is not a gift handed down; it is a fire that must be tended by each generation. Chisholm’s words remain a call to arms: if a small group of old men hold the future hostage, it is the sacred duty of the people to take it back.