In the American imagination, the phrase “diversity is our strength” has become a kind of civic mantra, a shorthand for the belief that our differences—racial, cultural, religious—make us not just vibrant but resilient. It’s a sentiment etched into the national psyche, from corporate boardrooms to elementary school assemblies. Yet, in recent years, a counterargument has gained traction, one that challenges this orthodoxy with a provocative question: What if diversity, far from being a unifying force, is a source of fracture?

This critique finds a sharp voice in Michael Anton, whose recent essay for the Heritage Foundation argues that diversity, rather than strengthening societies, often undermines them. Anton points to historical examples—empires like Austria-Hungary, fractured by ethnic rivalries, or modern nation-states like Iraq, torn by sectarian strife—to suggest that cultural and ethnic pluralism can erode social cohesion. He contends that the United States, with its increasing diversity, risks a similar fate unless it prioritizes assimilation over multiculturalism. His argument is not subtle: diversity, left unchecked, invites conflict, weakens trust, and frays the civic bonds that hold a nation together.

Anton’s thesis lands like a thunderclap in a culture accustomed to celebrating difference. It forces us to confront uncomfortable questions about the limits of pluralism and the conditions under which diversity thrives—or falters. But as I read his words, I couldn’t help but feel a familiar tension, one that has defined America’s experiment from its founding: the push and pull between our individual identities and our shared aspirations. Is diversity truly a liability, as Anton suggests, or is there a deeper story, one that neither romanticizes nor demonizes our differences?

Let’s start with Anton’s strongest point: the fragility of social trust in diverse societies. He cites studies, like those by sociologist Robert Putnam, showing that communities with high ethnic diversity often exhibit lower levels of trust, civic engagement, and social capital. Neighbors in such places, Putnam found, are less likely to know one another, join clubs, or even trust their local government. It’s a sobering finding, one that resonates with anyone who’s felt the awkward silences or unspoken tensions in a mixed setting. Human beings, tribal by nature, gravitate toward the familiar, and diversity can strain those instincts, at least initially.

But here’s where Anton’s argument begins to wobble. He treats diversity as a monolith, a force that inevitably sows division unless suppressed by a dominant culture. Yet diversity is not a single phenomenon; it’s a spectrum of experiences, shaped by context, history, and human agency. The diversity of, say, a military unit—where shared purpose and rigorous training forge bonds across racial and cultural lines—is not the same as the diversity of a sprawling urban neighborhood, where economic inequality and segregation can deepen mistrust. Anton’s historical examples, while vivid, overlook cases where diversity has been a catalyst for creativity and resilience. Think of the Roman Empire at its height, blending cultures into a cosmopolitan whole, or modern Canada, which has navigated multiculturalism with relative success through deliberate policies and a shared civic identity.

What Anton misses, I suspect, is the role of intentionality. Diversity doesn’t automatically yield strength, nor does it inevitably lead to chaos. It’s a raw material, like clay, that requires careful shaping. This is where America’s unique genius comes in—or at least, where it could. Our history is a messy tapestry of conflict and cooperation, from the melting pot of the early 20th century to the civil rights struggles that reshaped our moral landscape. We’ve never been a nation of easy unity, but we’ve often found ways to make our differences work—not by erasing them, but by grounding them in a shared story.

That story, of course, is imperfectly told. The American creed—liberty, opportunity, equality—has always been more aspiration than reality for many. Anton argues that multiculturalism dilutes this creed, replacing it with a fragmented mosaic of competing narratives. He’s not entirely wrong; the pendulum can swing too far toward identity politics, where group loyalties trump common purpose. But the solution isn’t to double down on a singular cultural identity, as he suggests, which risks alienating millions who feel excluded from that vision. Instead, we need a renewed commitment to what philosopher John Rawls called an “overlapping consensus”—a set of shared principles that don’t erase our differences but give us a common language to navigate them.

This brings me to a personal memory. Growing up in a small Midwestern town, I recall the arrival of a Vietnamese family, refugees from the war. They were different—their language, their food, their quiet resilience. At first, there was curiosity tinged with suspicion. But over time, through shared spaces—school plays, church potlucks, Little League games—those differences became part of the town’s fabric. The family didn’t assimilate in the sense of abandoning their heritage; they brought their traditions to the table, and the table grew larger. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked because people chose to make it work.

Anton’s essay, for all its intellectual firepower, underestimates this capacity for choice. He sees diversity as a force that acts upon us, rather than something we can shape. But societies are not doomed by demographics; they are shaped by the stories we tell, the institutions we build, and the small, daily acts of connection we undertake. Diversity can strain those efforts, no question. It demands more of us—more patience, more humility, more willingness to listen across divides. But that demand is also its gift. In wrestling with our differences, we learn what it means to be a community, not just a collection of individuals.

So, is diversity our strength? Not automatically, and not always. But it can be, when we approach it with clear eyes and open hearts, when we refuse to let our differences define us but instead let them deepen our understanding of what we share. America has never been a nation that thrives on sameness. Our strength lies in our ability to forge something new from the many, not in spite of our diversity, but because of it.