In 2019, the U.S. Supreme Court handed down one of the most consequential — and controversial — decisions on the structure of American democracy: Rucho v. Common Cause. At its heart lay a simple but profound question: can politicians draw election maps so distorted that they predetermine who wins ?
The Court’s answer, effectively, was yes.
After the 2010 census, North Carolina’s Republican-controlled legislature embarked on one of the most aggressive redistricting efforts in modern U.S. history. Armed with sophisticated data analytics, partisan operatives used software to draw congressional maps that virtually guaranteed a Republican advantage, even if Democrats won the majority of votes statewide. The numbers were staggering: In 2016, Republicans won 10 of North Carolina’s 13 congressional seats, despite receiving only about 53% of the statewide vote. Emails and testimony revealed the intent behind this: one of the map’s architects openly boasted that he aimed for a 10–3 GOP split because he didn’t “think it’s possible to draw a map with 11 Republicans and 2 Democrats.” Civil rights groups and voters challenged the maps, arguing that they violated, among other clauses, the First Amendment and the Equal Protection Clause by discriminating against voters based on their political affiliation. The lower federal courts agreed. They found the map was a textbook case of partisan gerrymandering — and unconstitutional. But when the case reached the Supreme Court, the story changed.
In a 5–4 ruling, Chief Justice John Roberts wrote for the majority that partisan gerrymandering claims present “political questions” beyond the reach of federal courts. The Court didn’t deny that the maps were grotesquely partisan. In fact, Roberts admitted that ‘excessive partisanship in districting leads to results that reasonably seem unjust.’ Yet, he concluded that the Constitution provides no judicially manageable standard for deciding when gerrymandering goes too far. In other words: we agree it’s bad — but it’s not our job to fix it. Justice Elena Kagan’s dissent was blistering. She accused the majority of abandoning the Court’s duty to declare the law and warned that the decision would encourage a politics that is cynical, divisive, and even anti-democratic.
Gerrymandering — the drawing of electoral districts to favor one political party — is not new. But in the era of big data and polarization, it has become a tool of political self-entrenchment. With modern technology, parties can create “unlosable” districts, insulating incumbents from electoral accountability and effectively predetermining electoral outcomes before a single vote is cast. In a functioning democracy, voters should choose their representatives. Gerrymandering flips that logic: representatives choose their voters. By refusing to police this practice, Rucho gave politicians the green light to manipulate democracy itself.
The Rucho decision left a vacuum that has been filled by hyper-partisan state legislatures. Across the country, after each census, states have drawn maps that all but guarantee one-party dominance — often suppressing minority voices and deepening polarization. While a few states have established independent redistricting commissions, others have doubled down on partisan control. Recently, we had the example of Texas, and such a process is ongoing in California.
The danger is clear: when elections become less competitive, the most capable and representative candidates are less likely to reach Congress. As a result, Congress itself becomes less competitive and, more importantly, less responsive to the evolving needs and will of the people. The worst part is that the people lose trust in the rotation of power as incumbents can use gerrymandering techniques to obstruct change.
In an ideal world, voters would hold gerrymanderers accountable, and the self-correcting mechanisms of democracy would function as intended, proving the Supreme Court right in Rucho v. Common Cause. Whether that hope will be realized remains to be seen.
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