ENGLISH 110-37 Introduction to Academic Writing

In a time of political division, attacks on reproductive freedom, and growing threats to civil rights, Hulu’s The Handmaid’s Tale feels less like dystopian fiction and more like a reflection of reality. The Handmaid’s Tale is based on Margaret Atwood’s 1985 novel, the show is set up as a dystopian society called Gilead, a theocratic regime that has taken control over the U.S. They stripped women of all their rights. In this horrific world women are forced into certain roles chosen based on how “fertile”. More specifically I want to explore season one episode one(Offred). As well as season two episode one (June).  Some of the concepts from these episodes explore politics, reproductive freedom, sexism, and the dangers of patriarchal systems. While these episodes might be seen as “entertainment” they still serve as powerful warnings about what can happen when authoritarian ideologies gain power and bodily autonomy is politicized. 

In the first episode of the show “Offered” we get to be introduced to a terrifying reality where a democratic society essentially collapsed and is being taken over by a militarized, patriarchal government. Through some of the flashbacks we get to see how June’s normal life slowly deteriorates, she was once a working woman with a child and a career—loses her job, loses control of her bank account as well as her freedom. Yes, these changes seem swift and insane but possible due to an authoritarian government using a fertility crisis to justify “emergency” laws. The women are stripped of their rights; they are either supposed to work as handmaids to be essentially slaves or be forced to have children for barren couples. The infertile women are put in a kitchen to be a Martha and cook. The last role would be working in the colonies which would ultimately lead to certain death. The higher-up women are meant to be mistresses and are owned by their husbands.  

The breakdown of rights echoes what has happened in the United States since the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade Back in 2022. Since this law was overturned many women especially down south found themself unable to find abortion/fertility health care, even in cases of rape or danger to their health. In a lot of cases, numerous women have died due to being denied medical care. This relates to Gilead, and how pregnant people are not seen as humans but more as vessels to reproduce. In both cases, these “laws” are driven by religion and politics. There is no compassion nor any concern for actual life. The show uses the bible to justify their actions. In the real world, many American politicians also use religion to push anti-abortion legislation, often citing “God’s will” as justification. This fusion of church and state is exactly what The Handmaid’s Tale warns us about.

In season two episode one “June”, focuses on June’s escape where the state hyper focuses on her body. Since she is pregnant she is not seen as a human being but as property which is how she is classified by the government. The state is supposed to monitor her every move and control every aspect of her down to what she eats. Even her freedom depends on whether she complies with carrying the baby to term.

This isn’t far from the current reality in many U.S. states. After Rode was overturned multiple states passed “fetal personhood” laws, giving embryos legal rights that can override those of the pregnant person. In certain states like Alamabma men are allowed to sue women for getting abortions even in cases like abusive relationships. There is a law called SB8 which allows people to sue anyone who helped anyone get an abortion making people into bounty hunters. Besides the government’s observation of June, it can also be a story about resilience. In one of the episode’s most powerful scenes, June sheds her red Handmaid robe and says her name out loud: “My name is June.” The act of rebellion is deeply impactful as well as empowering. It can remind us that even in the darkest times, reclaiming who you are and fighting back matters.

One of Gilead’s main goals is to enforce gender roles. With women being either reproductive machines or caretakers. The LBGTQ community is labeled as “gender traitors” and brutally punished. Identity is not allowed to exist outside of what the country deems “natural.” Disgustingly the U.S. has seen a rise in anti-LGBTQ+ legislation that share the same oppressive values. In the last couple of years ALONE a multitude of states have proposed or passed laws restricting gender-affirming care for transgender youth, banning books with LGBTQ+ themes, as well as outlawing drag performances. Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” law prohibits discussions of sexual orientation or gender identity in schools. These policies, like Gilead’s, attempt to erase people’s identities under the guise of “protecting children” or “preserving traditional values.”  June’s small act of reclaiming her name is especially powerful in this context. It speaks to the importance of visibility, truth, and resistance in a world trying to erase who you are. 

Throughout The Handmaid’s Tale, language is weaponized. The Handmaid’s greet each other with phrases like “Bless the fruit” as well as “Under his eye.” Sayings like these are supposed to condition them, strip them of individual thought, and remind them of their place. Gilead uses religion selectively, quoting scripture to justify violence, rape, and punishment. In the current state of our country, similar language is often used in politics to manipulate public opinion. Phrases like “pro-life,” “traditional family values,” and “religious freedom” are used to pass laws that restrict rights, especially for women, LGBTQ people, and people of color. Much like Gilead, these slogans are meant to sound moral and virtuous while covering up harmful policies. 

The use of fear is also a big tool used in Gilead as well as today in our world of political climate. The government uses fear of immigration, “woke culture,” or “gender ideology” to enforce authoritarian legislation. In The Handmaid’s Tale, the use of fear keeps the population in check In the U.S., fear is being used to dissolve progress, silence dissent, and divide communities. 

With a new president and another election on the horizon, Americans are at a crossroads. Rights of all sorts—especially reproductive rights—are under threat. The Handmaid’s Tale reminds us that freedom is not a given and that democracy can evaporate rapidly if people do not stay awake, informed, and ready to fight back. The show also reminds us to appreciate solidarity. Even under harsh oppression, the Handmaids do their best to help each other out—whispering tales, sharing furtive handshakes, and remembering good times. Protest movements, community organizers, teachers, and doctors in our reality are doing the same thing: staging resistance and protecting each other when the system fails them. The Handmaid’s Tale is not fiction—it’s a warning. Episodes like “Offred” and “June” show us how authoritarianism, patriarchy, and religious extremism can turn human beings into property and strip away the most basic rights. And in 2025, we’re seeing chilling parallels: from the dismantling of abortion rights to the criminalization of trans care, from book bans to bills that punish doctors and teachers.

And yet June’s story is also one of hope. Her fight to reclaim control of her name, her body, and her voice reminds us that resistance is possible. We must be vigilant for warning signs all around us. We must speak up. We must vote. And most of all, we must believe that a different future is not only possible—but worth fighting for.

By: Ryan Casey

College sports have always been more than just games. They bring in billions of dollars each year, fill up massive stadiums, and are broadcast on national television. Yet for most of history, the athletes at the center of it all haven’t seen a dime. They have been called “student athletes,” which the NCAA uses as a way to say scholarships and an education are enough compensation. But now, all of that might finally be coming to an end, and it is about time this change took place.

A major legal case, House v. NCAA, might finally bring an end to the NCAA’s long-standing model of amateurism. If a proposed settlement comes through, colleges soon will be able to pay athletes directly, starting in the 2025-26 school year. They’ll also be paying $2.8 billion in back pay to athletes who missed out on making money off their name, image, and likeness (NIL) over the past few years. This is a pretty big deal, and it shows just how outdated and unfair the system is right now. College athletes should be paid, not just through NIL deals, but by the schools themselves that they generate so much money for. 

Since the very first college athletics event in 1852, when a railroad sponsored a rowing match between Harvard and Yale, money has been involved. For a while now, schools have acted as if college sports were merely an extension of campus life, like drama club or student government, only more competitive. That idea may have held true a century ago, but not anymore.

Today, college sports are a massive business. The NCAA made more than $1.3 billion in revenue alone in 2023. The Big Ten and SEC conferences have agreed to billion dollar deals with FOX and ESPN. College head coaches make millions of dollars per year, and some colleges even waste more money simply to fire their losing coaches. Meanwhile, the athletes, the individuals who actually compete, perform, and earn that money by working hard everyday, besides NIL still do not get paid. That’s not only unfair, it is exploitation.

When the NCAA finally allowed players to earn money on NIL deals in 2021, it felt like a breakthrough, and in a way it was. Players were finally able to earn money on endorsements, social media, and other sponsorships. NIL deals are not guaranteed, they depend on a player’s skill, marketability, social media following, and/or their ability to attract outside sponsors. That leaves a lot of players out.

What makes the House settlement different is that it would permit schools themselves to pay players directly, out of funds those players help generate and gain for the team or organization. That would benefit more athletes, not just the stars who can get special deals. SEC schools are already preparing to break up $20.5 million for athlete compensation, most of which will go to football and men’s basketball players, according to The Athletic. For the first time in history, players potentially could be earning actual salaries, not just relying on third-party companies. Personally I really don’t think it’s some crazy idea, it’s simply just fair.

Some people worry that paying college athletes will mess up college athletics, or schools won’t be able to support smaller programs if they have to pay players, but to be honest the current system is already unfair.

Colleges have been treating sports like a business for a long time. They build huge stadiums, hire huge coaching staffs, and chase TV deals. There’s nothing amateur about that. The only “amateur” part is that the players aren’t getting paid.

Still, the idea of paying college athletes isn’t without challenges. One of the strongest pushbacks comes from those who believe paying players will destroy the “spirit” of college sports. They argue that the appeal of college sports is that the athletes play for their pride, not for money. That might sound all good in theory, but in reality, the pride has always been mixed with profits, just not profits for the players. Fans fill stadiums, buy jerseys of their favorite players, and watch games on TV not just because of school loyalty but because of the talent on the field. The excitement and enthusiasm won’t suddenly disappear just because athletes get fairly paid for their hard work.

A second concern is whether or not schools can afford this. People worry that paying athletes means cutting sports that don’t bring in revenue, like gymnastics, cross country, or swimming. Yes, this could happen in some places if schools do not plan ahead. Although most schools already spend enormous amounts of money on facilities and coach salaries, for example, Alabama’s football team has a waterfall in its locker room. Clemson built a $55 million dollar football facility with a bowling alley and mini golf. If there’s money for all that, there is definitely money to compensate the people actually playing the game, as much as how cool it is to have all that, it’s about priorities.

The House case also discusses tricky legal questions. If athletes start getting paid regularly from schools, are they then considered employees? That would mean schools might have to offer benefits, like medical coverage, and even union rights. Some administrators are already stressing over this possibility. Yet again, if athletes are working 40+ hours a week, why can’t they have privileges like any other employee? It might make things more complicated, but it would also in a way make things more fair.

This shift in the system could change how NIL deals are handled. As of right now, top players can sign deals worth hundreds of thousands or even millions of dollars, but if schools start paying athletes, there’s a chance that the NCAA or schools might try to regulate how much more money players can make. That could lead to salary/NIL caps or even new restrictions. That may sound like a way of keeping things even, but it might also limit athletes freedom to fully take advantage of their market value. It’s something to watch out for because NIL was originally about giving athletes control over their own name and image, not to give that power back to the schools.

Even with those concerns, the potential benefits of this new model are clear. For one thing,                   it helps more than just the star players. For example, offensive lineman are crucial to the success of a football team, but they don’t get NIL opportunities very often. Or think about players in mid tier conferences who are solid contributors but don’t get much media attention. A school-based payment system makes sure those athletes are not left out just because they don’t have big Instagram or Twitter or overall social media followings. Everyone who contributes should get rewarded in some way.

However, not every athlete will get the same level of benefit. Athletes in sports that don’t bring in revenue, such as fencing or rowing, might still see little or no compensation beyond scholarship. The athletes in those sports would still be able to seek NIL deals or benefit from general revenue sharing, even if it’s a smaller sport. It’s also possible that this new attention on athlete compensation might push schools and sponsors to invest more in a bigger variety of sports over time. 

Ultimately, this is not just about money. It is about fairness and catching up to reality. College athletes have been generating value for decades without proper pay. The House case, NIL reforms, and direct school pay are all moves in the direction of a larger change, a change toward treating athletes with the dignity and respect they deserve. It will not be perfect right away, but it is certainly a step that is long overdue.

By: Riley Johnson

Justice Literacy Narrative

I was raised in a world where every question seemed to have a scriptural answer, and challenging those answers was seen as a lack of faith. My understanding of justice was deeply intertwined with the religious and political values that shaped my household–a framework where tradition dictated morality and conservatism defined fairness. Yet, as I began to reconcile my own identity with the world around me, I realized that justice could not be confined to the narrow boundaries of those beliefs I had been born into. Similar to that of Martin Luther King Jr., what I once viewed as an absolute truth began to feel like a rigid structure designed to maintain order rather than foster understanding. This realization marked the beginning of my journey toward developing my own sense of justice–one shaped by equality compared to inherited doctrine. 

Growing up in a deeply Christian and politically conservative household, I was taught that justice was obedience to religious teachings and traditional values. From a young age, my life revolved around the church. Every Sunday was strictly reserved for worship, a non-negotiable routine that framed my childhood. My involvement however, extended beyond the congregation– I volunteered frequently at church events and eventually began working in the nursery, finding solace in the quieter moments away from the main sanctuary. These experiences instilled in me a sense of duty and belonging, reinforcing the idea that justice as I had known it to be, was rooted in obedience to religious faith and service to the community. At the time, I viewed these roles as fulfilling not only my obligations to the church itself, but also to a higher moral standard that seemed to promise fairness and righteousness. The beliefs imbued in me were not merely personal convictions but systematic reinforcements of a worldview that left little room for any deviation. Questioning them felt like an act of defiance, even when done in silence. However, as I matured, cracks began to surface within this carefully constructed worldview. I started questioning the exclusion and so-called ‘rebellion’ of different sexualities, as well as the confusion I had felt about how other branches of Christianity interpreted different aspects of God, often in ways that seemed to contradict the teachings I had been raised to believe. The rigid doctrines that had once seemed like pillars of truth and trust began to feel suffocating. I silently observed how others around me would act and spoke about issues of identity and inclusion, all while confronting my own growing awareness of my sexuality. I kept these feelings to myself, unsure how to align them with the set framework I had abided by all my life. 

My eventual decision to reject the church wasn’t an act of bitterness—it was a quiet acknowledgment that I could no longer pretend to find truth in something that excluded people like me. I vividly remember the first time I chose not to attend Sunday service without an excuse. It felt like I had done something wrong, even though all I did was stay home. The silence that followed from my family spoke volumes. There were no direct confrontations, only a growing distance that made it clear I was stepping outside the lines. This break from the church was not just spiritual—it marked the moment I started seeking justice on my own terms.  

In the silence that followed, I found space to confront the questions I had long buried about my own identity. As I slowly navigated my identity as a member of the LGBTQ+ community and aligned with more progressive ideologies, I came to see justice as the freedom to live authentically and an ongoing fight for equity. Wrestling with this shift in my beliefs, I reached the realization that justice is not a fixed ideal, but something that evolves in response to the needs of those who are marginalized. My understanding of justice itself has now become a continuous journey, one that questions established structures and seeks greater inclusivity. This transformation mirrors Martin Luther King Jr.’s distinction between just and unjust systems, as I learned to challenge the rigid concepts and structures of my upbringing to not only shape my personal views, but also drive the way I advocate for justice today. 

Stepping away from the religious and conservative framework of my upbringing gave me the freedom to explore new political ideologies without constraint. This exploration led towards more democratic and liberal values, particularly a deep belief in equality, as I have experienced firsthand what life looks like without it. However, this shift has created a tension within my family, often leaving me with the anxiety that no one fully understands or supports my perspectives. That anxiety became even more intense when I turned eighteen and cast my first vote. While I was excited to finally have a say in our democracy, I couldn’t ignore the fear that lingered in the back of my mind—fear of the political arguments it might spark at home. I can still feel the tightness in my chest after informing my dad who I voted for, only to be met with silence and a tense smile. Voting should’ve felt like empowerment, but instead, it felt like I had crossed another invisible line. 

In recent months, my reflections on justice have been shaped not only by personal identity and belief, but by the political climate that continues to fracture the country. Watching events unfold–from anti-trans legislation sweeping through states, to book bans in schools targeting queer and BIPOC voices–has made me acutely aware of how justice is often distorted in the name of morality or tradition. These aren’t just policies; they’re calculated attempts to erase people such as myself. I read news articles where politicians call queerness a phase or claim that it is a danger to children, and it feels like deja vu–like echoes of the teachings I was once told were absolute truths. But justice, as I’ve come to understand it, isn’t about protecting tradition. It’s about protecting people. And if that makes others uncomfortable, then maybe discomfort is the first step towards progress. I’ve had to sit in that discomfort myself, learning and unlearning, admitting when I’m wrong, and being open to change. That process has helped me realize that justice must remain flexible. It must meet the moment. 

One particular experience that challenged my evolving beliefs was witnessing the quiet fear some of my coworkers live with each day–the fear of deportation. I vividly remember one of them pausing mid-shift when a police car idled outside the building, just after the election when ICE had begun to start cracking down. These weren’t people doing anything wrong; they were showing up, working hard, and contributing like everyone else. But the looming fear of being torn away from their lives here, just because of where they were born, cast a constant shadow over their daily existence. Seeing that fear first hand made me question how a system that claims to value justice could allow such vulnerability to persist. Justice, I realized, cannot truly exist in a society where some people are forced to hide in the margins just to survive. That event reminded me that justice isn’t only about identity, but also about citizenship, labor, and humanity. It’s about how we treat the most vulnerable when nobody’s watching. My personal story may center on religion, my sexuality, and political evolution, but it also intersects with immigration, racism, and economic inequality. These struggles are not isolated, they inform one another, and understanding that web of injustice has been crucial to shaping my beliefs. I’ve learned that allyship isn’t just posting infographics or voting once every four years, it’s about active engagement, listening, and standing up when it counts. It’s choosing to speak when silence is more comfortable. And that’s what I try to do, especially now, as voices like mine and others are being stifled. This is where I return to the power of speech. We live in a country that, despite its flaws, allows us to voice dissent, and that freedom is more vital than ever. The ability to speak truth to power, to challenge the status quo, is perhaps the clearest expression of justice in action. When I talk to younger queer people, I feel a deep sense of responsibility. I want them to know it’s okay to ask hard questions. I want them to know justice doesn’t always start out loud, it can start in quiet refusal, in a vote cast with a trembling hand, in a story shared in a classroom discussion. 

Justice, for me, has become a mosaic of lived experience, reflection, and action. It is something I carry with me, shape through every choice I make, and define through the people I fight for. I now realize that the justice I seek is not only personal, it’s collective. It’s about building bridges across differences, advocating for those whose voices are dismissed, and remaining vigilant in the face of injustice, no matter how common it becomes. As I continue to navigate a world that is often divided, I hold onto that evolving definition. I know it will continue to shift as I grow, but I also know it will remain rooted in one core belief: that every person deserves to live in truth, dignity, and safety. That, to me, is justice. And that is what I will keep fighting for. 

Martin Luther King Jr.’s distinction between just and unjust laws; as articulated in Letter from Birmingham Jail, resonates deeply with my own journey of ongoing questioning and ultimately rejecting the rigid moral and political structures of my childhood. King argues that just laws uplift human dignity, while unjust laws suppress and marginalize them. Similarly, I came to realize that the exclusionary teachings I was raised with–whether regarding LGBTQ+ rights, religious conformity, or political ideology–did not serve justice but rather maintained systems of oppression and inequality. My decisions to step away from these set frameworks and embrace a more inclusive perspective mirrors King’s assertion that moral responsibility lies in challenging injustice rather than passively accepting it. Like MLK, I believe that justice is not merely about obeying established rules but about advocating for fairness and equity, even when it comes at a personal cost. His fight against racial injustice parallels my struggle to assert my own identity and beliefs within a conservative, religious household that did not acknowledge them. While my own experiences do not compare to the systematic oppression MLK fought against, the core principle remains the same: justice requires the courage to confront and dismantle exclusionary ideologies. My journey has reinforced my belief that justice is not static, but an evolving and continuous pursuit of fairness, authenticity, and inclusion.

Today, I define justice as the right to exist freely, speak boldly, and question power—especially when that power is used to exclude or oppress. I’ve come to understand that justice is deeply personal, and often misunderstood. It’s not a rigid rulebook, but a living, breathing dialogue that adapts as we grow. Even when it is distorted by political agendas or misused in public discourse, our ability to speak truth and challenge injustice gives the concept its strength. Our freedom of speech is not just a right, it’s a tool for redefining justice, one conversation at a time. 

Looking back at this journey, from silence in the pews to voicing dissent at the ballot box, I see a full-circle evolution. Reflecting on it all now allows me to step back and view my own growth in clarity. It’s quite easy to feel lost in the noise of modern world politics, but this narrative helps me to refocus on what matters most: living with integrity, staying informed, and fighting for a world that recognizes everyone’s right to belong. My understanding of justice is still evolving—and I hope it always will be because justice, at its best, is a reflection of how deeply we’re willing to care. 

Justice is a complicated term in my opinion.  The definition it holds is based on one’s personal beliefs as to what makes something ‘just’. My beliefs on justice are different from what I believe American society today defines it as, which is an ever changing American ‘ideal’. I think the most basic way to understand justice, especially as an American, is to look to this country’s founding documents and how they defined and fought for justice. The basis of my thoughts on justice stem from the country I was born in and the education system I went through. The founding of America was based on an idea of justice, something King George was not providing to the subjects in the American colonies. The late eighteenth century was spent by the colonies preparing their independence and how they wanted to govern themselves, more fairly than the British Crown. I believe the American Constitution is a strong basis of understanding of the American concept of justice. I understand the room for interpretation within the document, the most controversial amendment I believe being the right to bear arms, however, the general rights provided are essential for American democracy. 

The preamble of the United States constitution states that “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice”. It is shortly into this founding document that it is stated all black people are considered three-fifths of a person in regard to state representation. The constitution, written in 1878, was ratified that year to exclude this part. Through the last two or so centuries the document has grown from its original ten amendments of the Bill of Rights to twenty-seven different amendments, all additions to better uphold this idea of justice. One of my personal favorite additions is the nineteenth amendment, America waiting as long as 1920 to give women the right to vote. 

Last November, Donald J Trump won the votes to be elected as the next President of the United States. His inauguration was January 20th, officially starting his four-year term as President. In the short time Trump has been in office, he has faced controversy after controversy, constant backlash for his proposed policies and social media rants. Among these observed and considered weaknesses and/or problems of the president, most are up for interpretation and receive an amount of support from his followers to combat the critics. One thing Trump is having a hard time shaking is his portrayed persona of an unjust leader. Trump has violated the constitution or has tried to, multiple times in the last three months. To be unconstitutional is by American definition to be unjust, as this country’s slogan is ‘the land of the free’ and built on ‘justice for all’.

The 14th amendment states that all persons born or naturalized in the United States are citizens and are subject to equal protection under the law. Trump has blatantly gone against the fourteenth amendment, his first day in office writing an official order to end birthright citizenship. He seeks the denial of citizenship to babies born in America that do not have at least one parent with U.S. citizenship. This completely undermines the key idea of this amendment; citizenship is guaranteed upon birth. Several states, including Arizona, Illinois, and Oregon, have filed lawsuits against the president for this violation, specifically against the Equal Protection Clause of this Amendment. This matter will be judged before the highest court in the land, the epitome of the US justice system, the supreme court having a hearing next month on Birthright Citizenship and Trump’s plans with it. Trump has constant initiatives to block, restrict, and deport immigrants from the country, and this plan to end birthright citizenship is just another one of those. 

Since Donald Trump has started his second term at the end of January, he has spent a large part of his time and resources regarding deportation of migrants in the country. This is a more indirect violation of the fourteenth amendment, going against the right to due process. This right is promised through the fifth and fourteenth amendment, ensuring fair treatment and protection of rights to all citizens. This is one of the key combats to discrimination in the country, supposedly refusing any grounds of sexism, racism, religious intolerance, etc. in the eyes of the law. The right ensures access to an attorney, fair trial and impartial jury. The newly elected President has already been responsible for the deportation of several thousand immigrants of this country. There has been lots of controversy facing this process, from the unethical deportation methods to the fact that the groups of people claimed to be the target of these mass deportations are not actually being the ones deported. Trump has publicly expressed his motivation for these mass deportations, claiming to be targeting illegal gang members and criminals to protect the legal citizens of the country. However, numerous reports reveal that this is in fact not the people Trump’s mass deportations are targeting. A few weeks ago, a legal citizen was a victim of the president’s unjust deportation implications. An El Salvadorian man and legal resident of Maryland was detained in an Ikea parking lot and within three days was deported to a high security prison in El Salvador. After claiming this was an “administrative error”, the Trump administration is now struggling to bring the man back. This man was wrongfully persecuted by the law and deported from his home, where he holds citizenship. He was refused trial, fair representation, and overall was treated as a foreign threat to the country despite his legal status. This is one well documented story of wrongful treatment and deportation that is similar and shared by hundreds of legal residents of the United States who have been victimized by Trump’s Deportation initiatives since starting his term three months ago. 

The 22nd amendment states that no person elected to presidential office shall run for more than two terms. At the turn of this month, Trump declared in an interview with NBC News that he plans to run for a third term, his words claiming, “[he’s] not joking”, rattling Americans across the country for the blatant disregard for the bill of rights. The bill was originally passed after World War II to prevent elected supreme authority. This idea wasn’t new to American politicians, as George Washington stepped down from the presidency to limit the power of that position. (I think scenes from the musical Hamilton perfectly explain the situation for those who don’t understand why total power is a threat to democracy. America fought for their independence from Great Britain to escape authoritarian rule and escape a total monarchy system in which power was not passed. It is with attempts by Donald Trump to hold onto his power in which he is violating the constitution and the ideas of which the country he has been elected to lead was built on. 

Donald Trump is an unjust president, repeatedly trying to violate and mend the constitution to his best interest. In an early nineteenth century poem, America was described as the ‘land of the brave, home of the free.’ This pays homage to the countless fighting and rebelling against King George’s regime and ruling of the American colonies. America is based on freedom, and since the establishment of our Independence in 1776, Americans have tried to better define and protect the rights we believe our forefathers fought for. Donald Trump does not respect freedom and does not believe in justice for all Americans.