Every ten years, after the census, American state legislators sit down with sophisticated mapping software and draw districts that will determine who holds power for the next decade. Everyone knows the game is rigged. Voters don't choose their representatives; representatives choose their voters. Yet despite near-universal agreement that partisan gerrymandering corrodes democracy, the practice not only survives but thrives. The reason lies not in political will but in constitutional architecture—the courts have essentially declared themselves powerless to stop it.
The term itself dates to 1812, when Massachusetts Governor Elbridge Gerry approved a district so contorted it resembled a salamander. Two centuries later, the salamander has evolved into a hydra. Modern gerrymanders are drawn with precinct-level voting data, demographic projections, and algorithms that can predict electoral outcomes with disturbing accuracy. A skilled mapmaker can lock in a decade of legislative supermajorities with a few mouse clicks.
The racial loophole and its limits
Federal courts can and do strike down gerrymanders, but only when race is the predominant factor. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 prohibits drawing districts that dilute minority voting power, and the Supreme Court has repeatedly invalidated maps where racial considerations drove the line-drawing. North Carolina, Alabama, and Louisiana have all seen maps redrawn under this doctrine in recent years.
But here is the catch: partisanship and race are deeply correlated in American politics. Black voters overwhelmingly support Democrats; rural white voters overwhelmingly support Republicans. When a legislature packs Black voters into a single district, is it targeting them because of their race or because of their party? The answer is often both, and courts have struggled mightily to distinguish between the two. Mapmakers have learned to launder racial intent through partisan justification.
The partisan question the Court refused to answer
For decades, reformers hoped the Supreme Court would declare purely partisan gerrymanders unconstitutional. The Court flirted with the idea repeatedly, suggesting that extreme partisan manipulation might violate equal protection. But in Rucho v. Common Cause, decided in 2019, the conservative majority slammed the door shut. Chief Justice John Roberts, writing for the Court, acknowledged that partisan gerrymandering is "incompatible with democratic principles" but concluded that federal courts lack any manageable standard for deciding when partisanship crosses the constitutional line.
The decision was not a defense of gerrymandering but a declaration of judicial incompetence—the Court saying, in effect, that the problem is real but unsolvable by judges. Roberts pointed to state courts and independent redistricting commissions as potential remedies, but these vary wildly by state and remain vulnerable to legislative override.
Why independent commissions aren't a cure
Some states have adopted independent redistricting commissions, removing the process from legislative control. California, Arizona, and Michigan have all experimented with this model. The results are generally fairer maps, but the approach has severe limitations. Most states have not adopted commissions, and those that have face constant legal and political challenges. Arizona's commission survived a Supreme Court challenge in 2015 by a single vote. State legislators, unsurprisingly, resist surrendering the power to draw their own districts.
Moreover, "independent" is a slippery concept. Commission members must be appointed somehow, and the appointment process inevitably involves partisan actors. The question becomes not whether politics influences the maps but how much and how transparently.
Our take
The gerrymander persists because the American system has no institution both willing and able to stop it. Congress could pass national standards but lacks the votes. The Supreme Court could intervene but has disclaimed the authority. State courts occasionally act, but their reach is limited and their legitimacy contested. The result is a practice everyone deplores and no one can end—a fitting symbol for a democracy that often struggles to reform itself even when the diagnosis is obvious. The salamander, it turns out, is remarkably well adapted to its environment.
