I’ve covered political speeches for two decades now, and I’ll be honest—most follow a predictable script. Politicians show up, say what their base wants to hear, then leave. But Mike Pence’s recent appearance at the University of Tennessee struck me differently. Maybe it’s because we’re drowning in partisan warfare right now. Or maybe it’s because his words carried weight that only comes from someone who’s actually paid a price for their convictions.
The former vice president stood before roughly 200 students and community members on March 21 at the Baker School of Public Policy and Public Affairs’ American Patriotism at 250 Undergraduate Civics Symposium. He didn’t pull punches about what’s broken in Washington. Our national debt has ballooned to $39 trillion—a number so astronomical it almost loses meaning. Pence made clear this disaster can’t be fixed without something that’s become nearly extinct in our nation’s capital: genuine bipartisan collaboration.
“I came to learn in the course of my life, democracy depends on heavy doses of civility,” Pence told the audience. “I think the American people long for us to restore a threshold of civility in public life. I think it’s coming back.”
I’ve heard similar sentiments before. But coming from someone who stood against intense pressure from his own president—and had his life threatened for it—those words carry different gravity. Pence certified Joe Biden’s election on January 6, 2021, while insurrectionists literally hunted him through the Capitol. That wasn’t political theater. That was constitutional duty overriding personal safety.
The event featured Yale University Professor Dr. Steven Smith alongside Pence, and the questions raised felt urgent rather than academic. Where exactly is the line between obligations to fellow citizens and broader humanity? How do Americans support institutions while fundamentally disagreeing with their current operations? These aren’t dinner party debates anymore. They’re defining our political survival.
Former U.S. Senator Lamar Alexander and former U.S. Representative Jimmy Duncan attended—both Tennessee political fixtures. Their presence signaled something I’ve noticed lately. Retired politicians seem more willing to acknowledge what active ones won’t: our system is fracturing.
Pence returned repeatedly to respect as foundational to democracy. “What I learned is the importance of treating others the way you want to be treated, showing respect for one another,” he explained. “Nobody ever begrudged me standing for what I believe in. It’s when things become personal—negative personal attacks have no place in public life.”
That sounds simple. Almost naive. But I’ve watched Congress devolve from policy disagreements into personal destruction campaigns. The shift happened gradually, then suddenly. Now we accept behavior that would’ve ended careers twenty years ago.
Baker School student John Knighton interviewed Pence, asking about values that guided decades of service. Pence’s response centered on the oath of office—whether you’re a police officer, soldier, or president, you make that promise to the American people. “Through thick and thin, in my years in Congress, as a governor and as vice president, even through some tumultuous days, I remembered that,” Pence said.
The January 6 elephant occupied considerable space in that room. Pence faced tremendous pressure from Donald Trump to reject electoral votes. His refusal wasn’t complicated legal reasoning. It was following the law when breaking it would’ve been personally advantageous. “You make it to the American people,” he emphasized about the oath.
I’ve reported on constitutional crises that turned out to be political tantrums. January 6 wasn’t that. Pence’s choice that day—and his willingness to discuss it—matters for understanding whether constitutional guardrails still function.
On American identity, Pence offered something I found genuinely compelling. “You can go to France and it won’t make you French,” he noted. “But you come to America and embrace the principles enshrined in the Constitution of the United States and the Declaration of Independence, you’re American.”
That’s not particularly original political philosophy. But it counters rising nationalism that defines citizenship through blood and soil rather than shared ideals. In our current climate, restating foundational principles isn’t redundant. It’s necessary.
Pence’s discussion of civil disobedience surprised me. He served in Congress alongside the late Representative John Lewis, the civil rights icon beaten nearly to death by Alabama state troopers during the 1965 Selma march. Pence argued that patriotism sometimes requires calculated civil disobedience when laws are clearly unjust. Lewis stood for founding ideals—equality—even when the law opposed him.
“It’s an expression of patriotism when you’re standing for the ideals of the American founding, even if it’s not consistent with the law,” Pence said. Lewis invited him to Selma for the 45th anniversary of Bloody Sunday. Pence thanked him for helping America “become a more perfect union, to live more up to the ideals of our founders.”
That acknowledgment from a conservative Republican about progressive civil disobedience represents exactly the kind of cross-ideological recognition that’s vanished from public discourse. We’ve lost the ability to honor opponents’ principled stands.
When Knighton mentioned young people’s pessimism about pursuing happiness, Pence pushed back. He recalled walking through tornado-ravaged Indiana communities and watching strangers rush in to help. That’s what Americans do, he insisted. “I am convinced, the American people are the most generous, hardest-working, resilient, patriotic, faithful people the world has ever known,” Pence declared. “We just need government as good as our people.”
That last line resonated. The gap between citizen competence and governmental dysfunction has become a chasm. Americans routinely accomplish remarkable things in communities, businesses, and families while Washington produces mostly gridlock and spectacle.
Pence advised students to “speak your dreams” and explained his own political journey. He started as a Democrat in college, later switching parties. When he marched into Indianapolis Republican headquarters declaring his readiness to join, the official barely noticed. “I actually thought it was,” Pence laughed. He encouraged young people to volunteer for campaigns, promising they’d be startled how eager people are to provide opportunities.
Before becoming the 48th vice president, Pence represented east-central Indiana in Congress for six years starting in 2000. He led the House Republican Study Committee and House Republican Conference before becoming Indiana governor in 2013. There he enacted the state’s largest income tax cut and invested over $800 million in infrastructure. Trump selected him as running mate in 2016. They served one term, losing reelection in 2020.
That biography matters because Pence isn’t a political theorist. He’s someone who climbed from talk radio host to vice president through electoral politics. His civility plea comes from someone who succeeded in the system as it was and watched it deteriorate.
I left that event thinking about something I rarely consider anymore: whether Mike Pence bipartisanship 2025 represents genuine possibility or wishful nostalgia. The former vice president believes civility is returning to politics. I’m not convinced. But I’ve been wrong before, and I desperately hope I’m wrong now.
The debt crisis he highlighted won’t solve itself. Climate change won’t negotiate. Infrastructure won’t rebuild through press releases. These problems require exactly the collaboration Pence described—and that current politics makes nearly impossible.
Whether his optimism proves justified depends largely on people currently sitting in that Tennessee auditorium. Gen Z will inherit this mess. If they choose performance over policy, if they weaponize institutions rather than reform them, if they abandon respect as quaint nostalgia, then Pence’s civility plea becomes just another failed speech.
But if they take seriously the idea that democracy requires heavy doses of civility, if they remember oaths mean something even under pressure, if they honor principled opponents while fighting for their own vision—then maybe we avoid the worst outcomes.
I’m skeptical by profession and experience. But I’m not cynical yet. There’s a difference.
