The 'democracy gap' in our politics and elections spells a deep

Hear, O children of the republic, the words of Ralph Nader, a prophet of civic duty: “The ‘democracy gap’ in our politics and elections spells a deep sense of powerlessness by people who drop out, do not vote, or listlessly vote for the ‘least worst’ every four years and then wonder why after every cycle the ‘least worst’ gets worse.” In this saying is a lament, yet also a warning. For he speaks of the hollowing out of democracy, when the people, weary and disillusioned, surrender their voice. They cast their ballots not with hope but with resignation, and in so doing, they create the very chains that bind them.

The ‘democracy gap’ is the widening space between the governed and the governors, between the will of the people and the acts of those in power. When citizens withdraw from the struggle, when they cease to believe their voice matters, that gap grows into a chasm. In this silence, the powerful grow louder, and the ordinary are left unheard. What should be a chorus of many becomes a whisper drowned by the roar of the few. Nader teaches that apathy is not neutral—it is a gift to those who would exploit it.

Consider the fate of Athens, the birthplace of democracy. In her glory, every free man gathered to cast his vote, to shape the destiny of the city. But in time, many became complacent. They ceased to attend the assemblies, leaving decisions to the ambitious few. Thus the city that had been the jewel of liberty fell prey to demagogues, who promised much, delivered little, and led Athens into ruinous wars. The gap between people and power grew wide, and the cradle of democracy rocked itself into decline.

Modern history, too, bears witness. In the United States, voter turnout often hovers below half the population, and among the young—those whose future is most at stake—the numbers are lower still. Many vote without conviction, choosing not the good but the “least worst.” Each cycle they grow more disillusioned, asking why their choices diminish, why corruption deepens, why justice is deferred. They fail to see that their own indifference has allowed the decay to spread. For when the people surrender their power, the powerful need not steal it—it is already abandoned at their feet.

The meaning of Nader’s words is thus twofold: he warns of the trap of listlessness and resignation, and he reminds us that the health of democracy depends not on leaders alone but on the eternal vigilance of citizens. To vote without hope, or not to vote at all, is to consent to decline. And when people despair, choosing the “lesser evil” again and again, they find that evil itself deepens, for the soil has been left barren where the seeds of true reform should grow.

The lesson is clear: democracy is not a ritual performed every four years; it is a daily duty. It is the voice raised in assemblies, the hand extended in community, the courage to demand more than “least worst.” Citizens must organize, must hold leaders accountable, must nurture alternatives, and above all, must believe in their own power. For democracy is not a gift given by rulers—it is the lifeblood of the people themselves.

Therefore, I say to you: do not withdraw. Do not grow listless. Do not cast your ballot as though it were a burden. Instead, carry it as a torch. Educate yourself, speak with your neighbors, demand debates, build movements that reach beyond elections. For only when the people rise from apathy to action will the ‘democracy gap’ close, and the republic be renewed.

Thus Nader’s words echo like a bell across the generations: beware the habit of choosing the “least worst,” for it leads to worse still. If you would save democracy, you must not be passive passengers, but vigilant stewards. Only then will tomorrow’s children inherit not a hollow shell, but a living, breathing democracy—nourished by your courage, and guarded by your unyielding will.