The recent redistricting fights in Texas and California are the latest symptom of what’s broken in American politics: too often, we treat legality as if it were the same thing as ethics. Both states are legally redrawing congressional maps mid-decade. Both are open about the partisan advantage they hope to secure. And yet, if this all feels wrong to voters, that’s because it is. Just because politicians can do something doesn’t mean they should.
At the request of the Trump administration, Texas lawmakers pushed through a new congressional map this past month that could expand the GOP advantage in the state by up to five additional House seats. In response, Democrats in California are pursuing a special election to reset district lines in their own favor. Unsurprisingly, the arms race has escalated, and other states are now looking to join in.
To be clear, redistricting has always been political. The Constitution entrusts state legislatures with this power, and courts have generally allowed partisanship to shape the lines, so long as it doesn’t run afoul of the Voting Rights Act. But that legal reality shouldn’t excuse the behavior. The law sets a floor for acceptable conduct, not a ceiling. Voters deserve leaders who are guided by more than what they can get away with.
This confusion of law and ethics extends far beyond district maps. We’ve seen it play out in presidential impeachments, when partisans argued not about whether behavior was right, but whether it rose to the level of a legal “high crime or misdemeanor.” Bill Clinton’s relationship with an intern and Donald Trump’s pressure campaign on Ukraine were very different in nature, but in both cases, the defense boiled down to the same claim: it wasn’t criminal. Similarly, Sen. Bob Menendez remained in office for years despite repeated indictments because he never faced a definitive conviction until 2024. In each instance, political survival was secured not by appeals to ethics, but by appeals to legality.
The reliance on legality is no accident. Americans rightly prize the principle of “innocent until proven guilty,” and it has become a hallmark of our legal system. But when voters import that standard into politics, it creates a cheap rationale: unless an act is outright illegal, politicians and their supporters claim blamelessness or even victimhood. The result is a steady erosion of standards. Political leaders learn that so long as they clear the low bar of legality, voters will shrug off the ethical failures.
But we all know in our personal lives that the law is not the only guide for right and wrong. It is legal to cheat on a spouse, to spread gossip about a coworker, or to be an absentee parent. Yet no one would argue these actions are ethically sound. We hold one another to standards higher than bare legality in our families, our workplaces, and our communities. We should do the same for our elected officials.
Some might say this critique is naïve—that politics has always been messy and that we shouldn’t expect our politicians to be role models. But cynicism is exactly what unethical politicians count on. If voters throw up their hands and assume “everybody does it,” it becomes self-fulfilling.
Nor is this a partisan problem. Both Republicans and Democrats have drawn gerrymanders when given the chance. Both parties have defended their leaders against ethical charges with the same tired refrain: “It wasn’t illegal.” If we want better, the pressure must come from voters of all political stripes.
That brings us back to Texas and California. Both states may succeed in enacting their mid-decade maps. They will likely survive legal challenges, because what they are doing is within their powers. But voters should resist the easy excuse that “if it’s legal, it’s fine.” They should remember that the legitimacy of our government rests not only on the letter of the law, but on the spirit of justice.
Matt Germer is the policy director of the R Street Institute’s governance program.