The Inner and Outer Work of Citizenship

From Subject to Consumer to Citizen—and the Choice That Shapes Our Democracy

Citizenship is often treated as something external: a legal status, a set of rights, a periodic obligation to vote. But that definition is far too thin to sustain a democracy—especially one under strain.

At its core, citizenship is both inner and outer work. The outer work is visible: voting, organizing, serving, showing up. The inner work is quieter but just as essential: how we understand our relationship to America and the role we believe we play within it.

To make sense of that inner work, it helps to name three different ways people relate to power and to their country: Subject, Consumer, and Citizen. This is a formulation created by Jon Alexender in his fine book, Citizens.

The Inner Work: Who Am I in Relation to Power?

A Subject experiences government as something done to them. Subjects may comply, resent, or fear authority, but they do not expect to influence it. When people feel chronically unheard or powerless, slipping into subject mode can feel like self-protection.

A Consumer relates to politics the way we relate to products and services. Politics becomes something to evaluate, complain about, or boycott. We ask, What am I getting? Am I satisfied? When dissatisfaction grows, consumers disengage—or shop for outrage instead. Much of today’s political culture trains us into this role, rewarding commentary over commitment and reaction over responsibility.

A Citizen, by contrast, understands democracy as something each of us is partly responsible for sustaining. Citizens do not confuse participation with perfection. They know institutions are flawed—but also know that withdrawal only concentrates power elsewhere. Citizenship begins with an inner shift: This imperfect country is still mine, and my participation matters.

For many Americans—especially those in the Exhausted Majority—the inner bond of citizenship has frayed. People feel worn down, alienated, or cynical. The inner work of citizenship starts by noticing whether we are relating to America primarily as subjects, consumers, or citizens—and deciding whether that role still serves us or our democracy.

The Outer Work: Acting Like Citizens, Not Spectators

If the inner work answers who I am, the outer work answers what I do.

Citizenship is not a feeling; it is a practice. Democracies do not survive because people hold the right opinions. They survive because enough people consistently show up.

The outer work of citizenship includes voting, but it extends far beyond Election Day: attending local meetings, serving on boards, volunteering, supporting community organizations, having difficult conversations, and resisting the pull to retreat entirely into private life.

Subjects withdraw because participation feels futile. Consumers disengage when politics no longer delivers satisfaction. Citizens persist—not because it is easy, but because they understand that democracy weakens without their presence.

Importantly, citizenship does not require heroism. It requires reliability. Small, sustained acts of participation matter far more than bursts of outrage or moments of performative engagement.

When citizens disengage, power does not disappear—it concentrates. When citizens act, even modestly, they interrupt the dynamics that allow organized minorities to dominate institutions.

Holding the Two Together

The danger comes when inner and outer work drift apart.

Inner reflection without action becomes introspection without consequence. Action without inner grounding becomes reactive, tribal, or quickly exhausted. The move from Subject or Consumer to Citizen requires both an internal reorientation and external follow-through.

This is not a one-time transformation. It is a choice we make repeatedly—about where we place our attention, whether we show up, and how we understand our responsibility to one another.

A Choice Still Available

In a time of anger, nationalism, and democratic strain, it is tempting to wait for better leaders or cleaner systems. Those matter. But they will not be enough without citizens willing to do the quieter work of reclaiming their role.

Citizenship is ultimately an act of faith—not in perfection, but in possibility. It is the belief that self-government remains possible because ordinary people are still willing to practice it.

America’s future will not be decided only by courts, elections, or movements. It will be shaped by how many people choose to stop living as subjects, resist being reduced to consumers, and step—again and again—into the demanding, imperfect, necessary role of citizen.

That choice remains open. And democracy depends on how many of us are willing to make it.

Democracy doesn’t ask us to be perfect. It asks us to be present.

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