Many Americans feel we are in a moment of darkness. The vast majority of citizens no longer trust that hard work pays off and belief in the American dream has hit a record low. But if you live long enough, you learn that history moves in cycles.
Some seasons are bright, others are dark. Some leaders inspire, others disappoint. In the moment, the hard seasons feel endless. But time shows us something different: even the longest nights eventually give way to morning.
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History offers us endless reminders of this truth. Across centuries, rulers who built their power on fear or oppression seemed immovable in their day. Yet their grip was never permanent. Their empires cracked, their shadows receded, and their names faded into cautionary tales.
I do not reflect on this as an abstract lesson. My own second great-grandparents were enslaved in Mississippi. My grandfather was a sharecropper in Alabama. My family lived through the long night of slavery, segregation, and oppression in the American South—and yet here I stand. Their resilience is proof that darkness does not last forever.
Despots can seem permanent in their day. But their power is brittle. They fall because they stand against the dignity of humanity, against the drive of people to be free.
That is the lesson history whispers to us, if we listen: darkness is not permanent. Bad leaders may dominate for a season, but they never endure.
Some systems, built on closed power, can prolong their survival. In nations such as North Korea, Russia, and China, where dissent is silenced and control is absolute, authoritarians can linger for decades. But even then, their strength is brittle. It is borrowed time. History has shown us again and again that regimes built on oppression eventually collapse.
America is different. America is too porous, too open, too restless for permanent darkness. Our democracy is noisy, imperfect, often frustrating. But it is resilient. Our capitalism, for all its flaws, remains dynamic and connects us to the world. Our culture prizes individual dignity, personal freedom, and the right to dream. These are not fragile beliefs. They are part of our DNA and woven into the fabric of our society. They are what keeps the foundation of this country from crumbling, even when the cracks are visible.
That truth should humble us, and it should also give us hope. Because as dark as a moment may feel, it is never the whole story. A night can feel endless when you are inside of it, but the sun always rises in the morning. That is not just a fact of nature—it is a law of spirit.
But even the phrase “the sun rises” is not quite accurate. The sun does not move—we do. Our planet is spinning through space at roughly 67,000 miles an hour, traveling 18.5 miles every second, circling the sun in constant motion. Astronauts aboard the space station see sixteen sunrises every single day. To us, it feels like we are standing still, but in truth, we are always moving—ever revolving, ever evolving. Each sunrise marks not only the start of a new day, but the completion of another journey. An accomplishment. A reminder that change is the one constant we can count on, and renewal is always possible.
Today, in America, many feel like we are stuck in a long night. We see political division. We see violence and hate. We see cynicism replacing trust, and fear replacing faith.
And let us be honest: it is not just one side to blame. But History reminds us: America has always found its best answers not from one side alone, but from both. From Republicans and Democrats, from conservatives and progressives, from pragmatists willing to meet in the middle. Even today, I can find reasons to support policy moves from both schools of thought. Because at the end of the day, America is not just a country—it is an idea.
And ideas matter. Sentiment matters. What we believe about ourselves shapes what we become. The true American idea has always been fueled by hope, by optimism, by inclusion, by freedom. When we forget that, we stumble. When we remember it, we rise.
America has been through worse before. We endured slavery, the Civil War, and segregation. We lived through depressions, assassinations, wars, and riots. Each of those moments felt endless too. Each time, people wondered if America could survive. And yet, here we are. Not because we are flawless, but because we have the capacity to reinvent, to repair, to redeem.
This is the real genius of America. Not perfection, but resilience. Not purity, but striving. Ours is not a story of being unbroken. It is a story of being bent and cracked—and finding a way to mend, to rise, to move forward still.
We remain, as Lincoln said, the “last best hope of earth.” Not because we are better than other nations, but because we are uniquely designed to renew ourselves. Our democracy bends but does not break. Our economy wobbles but returns to growth. Our people fight and divide, but in the end, they reach for the light.
I still believe America is that shining city on a hill. I believe its light is meant not only for us, but for the world. And while that light may dim at times, it has never gone out.
That is why I refuse despair. I will not let cynicism write the future. I choose hope, because history tells me it is the only choice that makes sense.
My friend, the late Dr. Dorothy I. Height, once described me as a dreamer with a shovel in my hands. That is the American story. We dream big dreams, but we also roll up our sleeves. We build. We plant. We rise.
History is clear: those who bet against freedom, against democracy, against the human spirit, always lose. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But always.
That is why I believe our best days are not behind us, but before us. Not because it is easy, but because we refuse to give up.
The sun always rises in the morning. The only question is whether we will rise with it.