By: Hisham Jabi, Founder & CEO
This morning, I took the metro to a meeting on Capitol Hill. I often choose the metro over driving—it gives me time to read, listen to music, and observe the quiet choreography of life in Washington, DC. As the train moved through the city, I watched the calm flow of people: some lost in a book, others scrolling their phones, some simply still and thoughtful. No chaos, no noise—just an unspoken social contract in motion.
It reminded me of my first ride on the DC metro nearly 20 years ago, not long after I immigrated to the U.S. from the Middle East. I stood on the left side of the escalator, unaware that this was reserved for people who choose to walk. I received confused looks, but didn’t understand why until a friend later explained: in DC, you stand on the right so others can pass on the left. It’s a small thing. But it stuck with me—not because of the escalator, but because of what it represents.
Even informal norms, when collectively respected, create order. That, to me, is the essence of the rule of law. Not just laws written in statutes or constitutions, but the everyday practices, institutions, and mindsets that make society function with predictability, accountability, and fairness.
Later that day, I saw the headlines: the stock market dropped sharply in reaction to a new trade proposal from former President Trump. There was political outrage, investor anxiety, and public frustration. But what stood out was what didn’t happen. No riots. No destruction. No attacks on government buildings. Discontent played out in newsrooms, on trading floors, in interviews, and policy debates—not in the streets.
This moment reminded me of scenes from my region of origin. I recall being in a major Arab capital where overnight protests erupted after fuel and food subsidies were cut. I woke to shattered sidewalks, burned vehicles, and angry chants. People weren’t just protesting—they were expressing hopelessness in a system that neither hears nor serves them. There was no meaningful outlet for dissent. Institutions were hollow. The rule of law, where it existed, was often used to protect the powerful—not the public.
What makes the difference? It’s not education. Many of these countries have brilliant legal minds and well-drafted constitutions. It’s not culture. It’s trust in institutions, and the belief that change can happen through lawful, peaceful, democratic means.
In the United States, the rule of law is imperfect—but it is alive. It’s not about perfection; it’s about process. It’s about citizens knowing they have rights—and recourse. It’s about media that can investigate. Courts that can challenge. Legislators who can be voted out. Civil servants who can be held accountable. And yes, it’s also about people standing on the right side of the escalator so others can move freely on the left.
I have been critical of many U.S. policies, as any engaged citizen should be. But I remain committed to the American experiment. I still believe in the promise of a country that—despite its divisions—chooses institutions over anarchy, ballots over bullets, and debate over destruction.
We are living in a time of global instability, rising authoritarianism, and increasing polarization. In such a moment, we should not take for granted the quiet strength of systems that work. The rule of law is not abstract. It is what enables a peaceful transfer of power, the functioning of economies, and the protection of rights. It is what allows a country to fall, reflect, and rise again.
America has its flaws—many of them. But it also has something rare: the ability to self-correct, to reinvent itself, to bring people from around the world into a shared civic space where, despite disagreement, the structure holds. That’s not just governance. That’s resilience. And that’s why the rule of law matters.
