On Saturday, October 12, I attended a lecture by Doris Kearns Goodwin at the Ford Museum downtown. Killer way to spend my Saturday night, I know. Goodwin is an internationally acclaimed historian, documentary producer and public figure. She helped Lyndon B. Johnson write his memoir and had a sleepover with First Lady Hillary Clinton — in the White House. Goodwin was the first woman to ever enter the Boston Red Sox locker room. She also authored one of my assigned readings for A.P. United States History back in the day, and so, of course, I sent a picture to my high school history teacher.

The Saturday event was sponsored by Democracy First, an organization committed to restoring faith in our electoral systems, protecting the right to vote and stopping the spread of misinformation. When Goodwin walked out on stage, I remember thinking: “I like her fashion.” The 81-year-old wore Chuck Taylors and a patchwork jacket over her sensible work pants. I was impressed by her eloquence, her vast array of knowledge, her passion for American history and the preservation of democracy.

And yet — I felt like a fish out of water.

         For one, I was virtually alone in a sea of gray and white hair and glasses and canes, a demographic outlier. For another, I remained silent as a chorus of hums and assents and awed “wows” rose around me. And applause. So much applause. Like, applause after every single answer Goodwin gave. To be honest, I was getting a little annoyed.

         Goodwin’s career has focused on presidential history, and her theme for the evening was what the leadership styles of her four “guys” — Abraham Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, Franklin Roosevelt and Lyndon Johnson — can teach us about the needs of American democracy today. As she spun stories and reached back into the caverns of time, her narrative was one of inspirational history. That frustrated me. As she lauded the “great men” who rose to the unique challenges of their times, it seemed that every person in the room agreed with everything that was said. The four presidents’ failures were avoided, their accomplishments lauded, their flaws skated over and brushed past. I wanted to scream and stop the canonization of these presidential saints, halt the hero rhetoric and take the stage with my revisionist, see-them-as-they-were-history guns blazing. Didn’t these people know about the impure intentions, the blindness to civil rights, the womanizing, the coercion behind the scenes?

         The elderly woman behind me exclaimed to her friend that Goodwin’s message brought tears to her eyes. What was wrong with me? Why was I numb to the inspirational, aspirational rhetoric? After all, I’m young. Part of my heart insisted that I should be idealistic, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and optimistic about the future of my country. Instead, I felt like the most cynical person there.

         I don’t doubt that Goodwin and I want very similar things for American democracy. I’m also certain that the older members of the audience experienced complex developments in their own political worldviews that I don’t understand. But maybe our generation’s version of facing our current political challenges is different from our predecessors’. Perhaps we can be wise enough to examine how presidents both helped democracy and hurt it, took steps forward and leaps back. Maybe our generation has seen enough, felt enough, experienced enough to be willing to do the hard work of avoiding idolization and proceeding with humility, curiosity and grounded perspective.

         The other thing that bothered me about Goodwin’s arguments was when she said that it’s on the young people of today to rise up and start a movement to protect and preserve American democracy. She claimed that we are the future, and that the best change in America has always come from the ground up. This is empowering to us young folks, perhaps, but it’s terrifying in equal measure. I think the older generations sometimes can’t see a way out of the maze they’ve built, and just expect the non-specified, magically ingenious “youth” to cut a path through.

Yes, our generation must absolutely fight and work and dream and sacrifice to make America’s political system work. But we’ve got baggage, too — so much of it. We’re entering the political arena stumbling, with one hand tied behind our backs. Accordingly, neither should the older generations get to just throw up their hands, kick up their feet and enjoy their retirement while the young are expected to fix the mess their parents made.

To survive this political moment, America doesn’t need a “greatest generation” moment or even a “great leader” character to be enshrined in the presidential libraries. Rather, we all must put our hands to the workbench and noses to the grindstone. What we need is a multigenerational, multiethnic, multiclass, multiparty coalition of commitment to strive for God’s justice and love made manifest in every corner of life, including politics. No one is allowed to throw up their hands or declare that their work is done.

As this is a college newspaper, I know I’m mainly speaking to my own generation. I get it, friends. Politics sucks. I fight every day against depression, apathy and cynicism — and I deliberately chose to study politics. I struggle to find ways to actually dig in and participate. A lot of the time, what’s going on in the American political experiment doesn’t feel like it affects me. But it does. Our lives and expectations of “political community” have been shaped by generations of people who believed that they could make the world a little better through the vehicle of the American system. America is not an end in and of itself. But it is worth fighting for more justice, more understanding and more opportunity to build loving and upright communities. The next few weeks, before and after the election, is the space to have hard conversations, get excited about initiatives and think about how you see your faith shaping your approach to political community. Get up and get going, and push others to do the same. Maybe it’ll be a new way of spending your Saturday night.