National https://www.notus.org/national National en-US Wed, 22 Jul 2026 09:00:00 GMT Suspicion and Doubt at the National Civics Contest https://www.notus.org/national/america250-civics-competition Sam Fortier America’s finest young scholars competed to mark their country's birthday. It led to a disputed finish in the age of mistrust. Wed, 22 Jul 2026 09:00:00 GMT https://www.notus.org/national/america250-civics-competition Aangad Singh
Aangad Singh, 15, competes in the Presidential 1776 Award competition. Jalani Morgan for NOTUS
The morning after the competition, Aangad Singh's family was trying to figure out what went wrong. They were walking through the National Museum of Natural History, going over answers, doing the math.

“It doesn’t make sense,” said his mother, Ramandeep.

Ramandeep was good at numbers. But she couldn’t make them explain how her 15-year-old son had missed the top three in the Presidential 1776 Award competition, the civics contest for high schoolers that President Donald Trump’s party planners had created to celebrate America’s 250th birthday. She had watched the first round, when the field was whittled from 20 to eight, and the second round, when it went from eight to three. There was celebrity host Mario Lopez, an exclusive broadcast deal with CBS and a Kennedy Center stage that mixed game show spectacle with civic pageantry. The only thing missing was a scoreboard.

She told herself not to complain. She didn’t want to be that mom, a sore loser whose kid could never fail. On their way out, though, other parents kept stopping them.

“Shocked,” said more than one.

Later, a boy stopped her and said a group of contestants had kept score themselves.

“We thought he won,” the boy said.

She approached an official from the Department of Education, which had helped run the contest, and asked for the final scores.

“Proprietary,” the official said.

In the museum, Ramandeep furrowed her brow.

“How did they count the numbers?” she said. “That’s something we need to understand.”

“We can only find out when they telecast it,” said her husband, Bhalindar.

Ramandeep pursed her lips. The broadcast was three weeks away.
0173-S3410642-260609- ©Doug Coulter (1).jpg (4200x2362, AR: 1.78)It wasn’t like them to feel skeptical. She and Bhalindar were Indian immigrants whose trust in the American system had led to degrees, careers and citizenship. They bought a four-bedroom Colonial in a quiet Connecticut city and sent their kids to public school. They passed their faith in the United States down to Aangad, who won awards for his speeches about the country’s founding ideals. But now they, like so many others, were wondering whether the game was rigged.

It was a reluctant half-step into the age of suspicion. The U.S. was just one of many democratic nations riding the same wave of paranoia, with polls showing trust in major institutions at or near all-time lows. In America, the president questioned whether the elections were free and fair as citizens sank deeper into the embrace of their tribes. The world’s leading deepfake expert told The New York Times that he no longer trusted his own eyes, that our whole visual system was on the verge of collapse. And just as the Singhs were walking the halls of the museum, senators and Trump judicial appointees on Capitol Hill were sparring over the results of a presidential election that happened six years ago.

Aangad’s parents didn’t want to accuse anyone of fixing the competition. But they felt compelled to ask questions because their son never would. When his mother had dropped him off for his first day of kindergarten, he did not cry, even though she could tell he wanted to. For years the story served as a tidy summation of her son, a rule follower who hid his emotions, an intellectual who didn’t mind having more books than friends. But at some point she had figured out how to tell he was upset: He would take little sips of water over and over again.

Shortly after noon, the Singhs left the museum and went to a café. When Aangad opened the door, he ran into the blond girl from Wyoming, Miriam Washut, who he was pretty sure had won the whole thing. She must be headed to the White House for the special tour of the Oval Office, he thought.

Her father, wearing a black cowboy hat, stuck out his hand.

“You did extremely well,” he said.

“Thank you,” Aangad said.
P20260610MR-0333 (1) copy.jpg (3000x1688, AR: 1.78)Aangad turned to Miriam, whose eyes dropped to the floor. Her voice pitched up. She waved her hands at her sides.

“That was insane,” she said. “You clearly knew everything.”

Aangad nodded, face blank, and Miriam’s family went on their way.

Aangad walked over to his parents’ table.

“What did she say?” his father asked.

“That I should have won,” Aangad said.

No one said anything for a long time.

Aangad took a small sip of water.

* * *

Three weeks later, Aangad’s family took positions in the living room. His dad was on one couch, laptop open to a spreadsheet titled “1776_Broadcast_Audit.” His mother was on the edge of the other couch, drumming her right foot like a kick pedal. Aangad was between them, lying on a recliner with his feet up, talking quietly to his little sister. On the side table was a black metal water bottle. He had just filled it.

They were at his uncle’s house in suburban Toronto, where they vacationed every year. Ramandeep and her brother had grown up on a farm in India. They didn't go back much; they liked how little their kids knew about homesteading. Now, the siblings were competing to see who could own the biggest house in North America, and her brother, a hardware engineer, was winning. Ramandeep had done everything to help her kids get ahead, too, including giving them names that started with two As in part so they'd always be first in alphabetical lists at school.
SINGH_FAMILY_NOTUS_JM017 copy.jpg (8192x5464, AR: 1.50)SINGH_FAMILY_NOTUS_JM055 copy.jpg (7545x5030, AR: 1.50)“It began online with the Impossible Civics Test,” Mario Lopez said on TV, and everyone in the room stopped talking.

CBS didn’t show the round of 20. And it cut the opening speech from Education Secretary Linda McMahon.

“There is hope for the next 50 years that the flame of liberty still burns bright in the next generation,” she had said. "The great American story is still being written by you.”

They’d hoped the broadcast would include a live scoreboard, so they could see where things went wrong. But the first segment sped by without one.

“Why aren’t they showing scores?” his uncle asked.

Then the second segment sped by too.

“What’s the score?” Aangad said, looking at his dad.

“I don’t know,” his dad said. The show was going too fast and the commentary in the living room was too loud for him to keep up.

Aangad knew he’d been behind at this point. He’d won the buzzer race only once in eight questions. But the final two segments were far more valuable, and he knew he’d done well.

On TV, Mario Lopez introduced the third segment: Each contestant would stand alone at the lectern to answer a multipart question about the U.S. Constitution. Then each of the five judges would grade it.
SINGH_FAMILY_NOTUS_JM086 copy.jpg (7065x4710, AR: 1.50)Aangad watched the contestants.

The boy from Michigan got a full 20 points.

The girl from Washington did too.

So did the girl from Wyoming.

“According to Article 3 of the U.S. Constitution, in which cases do the federal courts have jurisdiction?” the proctor said to Aangad on TV. “List at least four for full credit.”

As he answered, little summary boxes popped up on screen.

“Maritime jurisdiction.” Green.

“Parties of state and citizens of another state.” Red.

“What?” Aangad said on the couch, his voice sharp.

He got two more green boxes, then another red: “Case with state and foreign nation.”

“What?” he said again. He handed his dad his phone. He’d pulled up the Constitution and highlighted a paragraph with the phrases “between a State and Citizens of another State” and “between a State, or the Citizens thereof, and foreign States, Citizens or Subjects.”

“Read this, read this, read this, read this right now,” Aangad said.

His dad read it. “It’s within the Constitution,” he said.
SINGH_FAMILY_NOTUS_JM038 copy.jpg (6000x2968, AR: 2.02)At the end of the segment, a scoreboard flashed onscreen.

Michigan was first with 23 points.

Aangad was sixth with 16.

He took a sip from his water bottle.

“They just made this whole thing for show,” his uncle said. “They know who they want to win.”

The final challenge was a lightning round. Each contestant had 30 seconds to answer as many questions as possible, and each correct answer was worth two points.

Michigan got 10 right.

Washington, 10.

Wyoming, 10.

Then Aangad came to the stage.

The first question flashed on the monitor: “Which amendment ended slavery?”

Aangad answered. Incorrect.

“Thirteenth!” Aangad cried on the couch. “I said Thirteenth!”

After that, TV Aangad started flying. All the nights he and his dad had practiced the lightning round were paying off. He processed questions nearly instantly and answered almost without thinking. The screen said +2, +2, +2.
SINGH_FAMILY_NOTUS_JM097 copy.jpg (4100x2733, AR: 1.50)Aangad got one more wrong. But watching from the couch, he didn’t protest. He saw now the judges had wanted a more technical answer.

In the end, the judges marked 12 answers correct. Aangad concluded they must have thought he pronounced thirteenth like fourteenth. “I say that THirteenth like an ‘F’ sound.” Later, he’d feel validated when he realized the auto-generated subtitles said “thirteenth.”

Before Mario Lopez revealed the top three, he walked around the stage and interviewed every contestant. Aangad gave a polished answer about being proud to share his knowledge of the nation’s founding principles. The girl from Washington was brought to tears again. A boy from Arizona said winning would mean everything: “I’ve always wanted to meet the man, the myth, the legend — Donald Trump!”

After the finalists were announced, Aangad watched Michigan, Washington and Wyoming take center stage.

On TV, he calmly applauded. On the couch, he picked up his water bottle and took a big gulp.
SINGH_FAMILY_NOTUS_JM068 copy.jpg (7914x5276, AR: 1.50)
* * *

Aangad’s family watched the rest of the program in relative quiet. Miriam from Wyoming won, just as Aangad had suspected, and then the finalists took a trip to the White House.

They stood by the Resolute Desk, a snapshot of Trump’s education agenda. Miriam was homeschooled. The boy from Michigan attended a private Catholic school. The girl from Washington, who went to public school, had told CNN that she supported Trump and believed the most important thing was “everyone walking away from the competition knowing this is the greatest country of the world.”

In the Oval Office, she told the president she wanted to go to Hillsdale College.

“Hillsdale?” Aangad’s father said.

“Republican college,” Aangad reminded him. They’d been on campus in Michigan last month for the American Legion’s National Oratorical Contest. The school had donated $10 million to the president’s Freedom 250 committee and helped develop its history programs.

“I can give you a recommendation,” the president said to the girl. “I think we should get you in.”
SINGH_FAMILY_NOTUS_JM104 (1) copy.jpg (4510x4510, AR: 1.00)The finalists left with two commemorative coins, one of which said “THE FINAL MISSION,” a reference to the education secretary’s promise to “sunset a 46-year-old, $3 trillion failed federal education bureaucracy in Washington, D.C.”

Then the broadcast ended.

“You could have been there,” Aangad’s father said.

Everyone let his words hang in the air.

* * *

Over a late dinner of curry chicken, two factions began to form. Aangad and his father thought the judges must just be incompetent or mistaken. Aangad’s mother and uncle suspected a conspiracy: Someone had not wanted the brown kid in the turban to represent the youth of America in the Oval Office. His uncle advised them to go directly to the Education Department.

“The whole point is to initiate the investigation,” he said.

“They may have some kind of intention that these people shouldn’t be there,” his mother said.

“You don’t know that,” Aangad replied. “You’re just assuming.”

Aangad spooned out more chicken and rice.

“I personally think that they just had faulty sources,” he said. Discussion turned to the five judges. They were all teachers from across the country who were past recipients of the prestigious James Madison Memorial Fellowship to study the Constitution. At least three of them must have mistakenly graded the constitutional answers as incorrect, Aangad said, and it seemed likely to him that they hadn’t memorized Article 3 as well as he had. Or maybe his answers didn’t match the phrasing on their rubrics.

“That shows ineptness,” he said.

After tiramisu, Ramandeep made an impassioned case for justice. She didn’t care about the share of $250,000 in scholarship money, she said. She wanted recognition for Aangad’s hard work. And if the system really was biased, they had to fight on behalf of every kid who could be hurt by it.
SINGH_FAMILY_NOTUS_JM107 copy.jpg (7237x4825, AR: 1.50)“But we don’t know if it’s systemic,” Bhalindar replied. He defended trusting the system, trusting the nation’s founding documents, which he had devoted hours to helping their son study. A few bad judges don’t undermine an entire system.

Aangad’s uncle had gone to bed. Aangad was on the couch, eyes closed.

If they made a strong case, Bhalindar said, maybe the Education Department would admit its mistake. Ramandeep doubted they’d even get a response.

She was equally pessimistic that they could get anywhere by filing a lawsuit.

“We will not be able to afford to fight against the system.”

On that point, Bhalindar had to agree.

The best strategy, Ramandeep said, was media attention. They could present their findings and let the public decide.

"That's your power," she said, turning to me.

This was uncomfortable. Weeks earlier, as I looked for a way to write about America’s 250th, the Education Department had recommended I reach out to the Singhs. I then followed Aangad through the competition, not knowing if he would even advance.

Now, their predicament felt like a window into something bigger: If the government or the courts couldn’t bring them justice, then maybe, they thought, the media could. All I could do was write what happened. But the Fourth Estate was another institution at low ebbs in trust and influence, and Bhalindar knew it. He doubted the government would bow to media pressure.

“At least our story is in front of the public,” Ramandeep said. “That’s our closure.”

“‘Closure’ is the right word,” Bhalindar said, and just before midnight, all out of words, he reassured his wife that they would figure this out together. She gave him a tired smile and went upstairs.

Bhalindar sat on the couch for a while and looked at the dark TV.

* * *

The only way to know whether the system was fair was to test it.

So, back home in Connecticut, Bhalindar used a chatbot to find lawyers with experience in federal education, federal agencies and administrative law.

“Dear Counsel,” he wrote to them, “I am seeking a confidential initial consultation regarding a potential dispute.”

He attached a packet of evidence that included their calculation of the final scores.

Michigan, 43.

Wyoming, 42.

Washington, 41.

Aangad, 40.

If either of Aangad’s “incorrect” answers had been scored correctly, his father argued, he would’ve finished in the top three.

“I am looking for counsel who can objectively evaluate the facts, advise on preservation of evidence and procedure, and determine whether there is a viable legal or administrative path forward,” Bhalindar wrote.

Aangad moved on. He followed the U.S. in the World Cup and enjoyed fireworks on the Fourth of July. He didn’t see Miriam, the girl from Wyoming, tell her local newspaper that she was surprised by who made the top three. He didn’t see the Education Department use Miriam’s homeschooling as a cudgel in the culture war.

His dad would email the Department of Education to ask for a review, and then ask again, and hear nothing back. His belief in the system would remain steadfast, though he’d wish someone would acknowledge his requests. The Education Department would tell NOTUS that the competition questions were “developed, judged, and scored independently by the James Madison Memorial Fellowship Foundation.” The foundation would not respond to a detailed list of questions.

Meanwhile, Aangad focused on the future. He made videos about public speaking and wrote a speech about Sikhism and looked into the U.S. Senate Youth Program. He geared up for junior year and tried to figure out what to study in college. Law, maybe? Anything but medicine, for sure; blood made him queasy. But first, he would accept an award from the Connecticut American Legion. His winning speech had focused on the dangers of civic ignorance.

As long as people have the power to make choices, he said, democracies are a series of infinite crossroads. The Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Federalist Papers — they embody these crossroads. And on the nation's 250th anniversary, Aangad urged his fellow Americans to choose to learn their history before a tyrant defined their rights for them.

He stood in a suit at a lectern at the front of a ballroom. The audience was mostly old, white men, but the traditional American Legion caps they wore were shaped like Aangad’s red turban.
20260517_Connecticut_Aangad Singh_JAB3324 copy.jpg (5001x3334, AR: 1.50)Aangad told the crowd his favorite article in the Constitution was Article 3, Section 3, which in three sentences established a high bar for what could be considered treason against the United States.

“It truly is extraordinary how our founders had incredible foresight, and the various methods to which our Constitution attempts to integrate its people into government,” he said.

The people applauded. Aangad stepped back and nodded. He hadn’t brought any water with him. He didn’t need it now.
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