Civics Lesson

Last weekend, we saw evidence—preliminary and tentative, to be sure—that the massive public participation generated by Obama’s Presidential campaign may prove more durable than most of us imagined. Spontaneous demonstrations protesting the November 4th passage of California’s Proposition 8 erupted across the country. (Prop8, for the unaware, amended the California constitution and repealed the right to same-sex marriage).

Large crowds of protestors turned out across California. No surprise there. There were equally spirited turnouts in the nation’s largest cities—New York, Boston, Chicago, Washington D.C. Again, not surprising. But how do we explain demonstrations in places like Peoria, Illinois; Missoula, Montana; Greenville, South Carolina; Grand Forks, North Dakota; Lubbock, Texas; or Little Rock, Arkansas, to list just a few of the more unlikely venues? Even in Indianapolis, approximately three hundred people gathered on a rainy Saturday in front of the City-County Building sporting homemade signs and rainbow umbrellas.

The protestors were not all gay, as evidenced by signs saying things like “Straight but not Narrow” and “If everyone doesn’t have rights, no one does.”  All across America, citizens got off their couches and rallied for equal civil rights for their neighbors, their families and their friends.

With so much opposition, why did Proposition 8 pass?

The New York Times reported on the “11th hour effort that saved the ban,” which ultimately garnered 52% of the vote. According to the Times, “Interviews with the main forces behind the ballot measure show how close its backers believe it came to defeat—and the extraordinary role Mormons played in helping to pass it with money, institutional support and dedicated volunteers.”

Now, religious people have every right to contribute to causes they believe in, and to make their positions known in the public square. Religious crusaders helped end slavery. Churches and religiously-motivated opponents of segregation worked tirelessly in the 1960s to put an end to Jim Crow laws. The more legitimate issue raised by the Times concerned the shady tactics employed  in the guise of religion and morality.

When the campaign began, a clear majority of California voters opposed Proposition 8. When polls in mid-October showed voters continuing to reject the ban, supporters raised enormous amounts of money for advertisements claiming that churches would lose their tax exemptions if they refused to perform same-sex ceremonies, and that elementary schools would be forced to “teach homosexuality” to young children. Both of these claims were demonstrably false. Worse, proponents clearly knew their ads were dishonest. But they were effective.

California is a huge state, and advertising is costly. Opponents of Prop 8 simply didn’t have the resources to effectively counter the distortions, even though Governor Schwarzenegger, Senator Feinstein and the California teacher’s association all cut ads rebutting the charges. In the end, money talked. It was politics as usual.

But then a strange thing happened. Citizens all across America decided to flex the civic muscles they had just discovered they had.

I don’t know what comes next, but it promises to be very interesting.

 

   

 

 

 

                                               

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Review of Public Freedom

Review of Public Freedom by Dana Villa

Princeton University Press (2008)

 

Sheila Suess Kennedy

Professor, Law & Public Policy

School of Public & Environmental Affairs

Indiana University Purdue University Indianapolis

 

Some scholars stake out an area of inquiry that is tightly focused and contained, scholarly real estate small enough to be examined and parsed so completely as to be effectively “owned”—an academic phenomenon sometimes described as knowing everything there is to know about not very much.  Dana Villa is obviously not one of these scholars. To the contrary; in this book, he has shared with his readers an ambitious, intellectually rich and often provocative effort to engage with one of the most persistent questions of political philosophy, and to make a cogent (and I believe persuasive) argument for a particular conception of civic life and the public good.

In Public Freedom, Villa addresses what may be the thorniest issue of governance in a free society—the persistent tension and proper balance between the individualism nurtured in and privileged by liberal democratic regimes and a civic republican tradition that he admits has “often displayed a deep-seated resistance to pluralism and anything resembling open-ended argument.” (3)  Villa’s willingness to confront the dangers of a too-enthusiastic embrace of a poorly-conceived public realm informs his careful, nuanced argument for a reinvigorated and reconfigured public square and a more robust conception of citizenship and the public good. The intellectual rigor and honesty that characterize this book serve to distinguish Villa’s arguments from those offered by advocates for a vague and idealized communitarianism.

Villa believes that the abandonment of active participation in the public sphere (as he defines both participation and the public) is transforming Americans from citizens to subjects, changing them from empowered participants in public life to relatively powerless, passive observers of governing elites. He draws upon Tocqueville, Hegel, Mill and Arendt, among others, to argue for a new balance between the universal and the particular, the common good and enlightened self-interest. At the heart of his argument is an echo of an admonition that has been attributed to both Thomas Jefferson and Patrick Henry to the effect that “eternal vigilance is the price of liberty;”[1] here, that sentiment is expressed as the notion that “citizens must be given something to do for the public if they [are] to become capable of exercising the ‘active and constant surveillance’ of governmental authorities that a representative system demands.” (17)

The main focus of the book is an extended consideration of what genuine democratic participation might look like—an effort to define what Villa calls “the generalization of interests,” the relationship between our individual interests and those of the society within which we inevitably pursue those interests. What, he asks, is the nature of the public spaces our particular governing decisions have created?  How do individuals exercise power within those spaces, and how might we strengthen their ability to do so? How do we prevent both the market and the state from dominating and ultimately extinguishing the public sphere? How do we retain the capacity to exercise genuine and meaningful citizenship and how do we protect the rule of law?

In order to answer these questions, and to flesh out his conception of the public sphere, Villa traces the Tocquevillian notions of civil society and local and political associations, reminding readers that the distinctions between our governing institutions on the one hand and religion, the marketplace, and public opinion on the other are relatively modern phenomena. Tocqueville’s signal contribution, according to Villa, was to identify civil society as a mediating realm between and among these newly separated social institutions, a realm where citizens acquire and hone associational and political skills.

Villa proceeds to build upon Tocqueville’s conception of civil society and the public sphere by examining the contributions and arguments of other philosophers, primarily but not exclusively the philosophies of Hegel, Arendt, Mill, Foucalt and Heidegger. In each of these discussions, he offers penetrating insights and displays a sometimes dazzling scholarship. While the language of the book is accessible, the analysis is demanding and closely reasoned (this is not a book to be blithely assigned as undergraduate background reading). I found his analysis of Arendt particularly insightful—especially his interpretation of what Arendt means by the “Social Question” and what she suggests about the differences between the American and French Revolutions.  

            In his concluding chapter, Villa draws heavily on Arendt as he returns to the question of the proper balance between positive and negative freedom—or, as he frames it, “the freedom to be a ‘participator’ in government” on the one hand (positive freedom), and the “emphasis on civil rights and ‘negative’ freedom” on the other. “We move,” he says “from a civic republican understanding to a liberal (and increasingly economic) one.” (343). In a particularly penetrating paragraph summing up what he believes to be the proper conception of the public realm, he writes that

“The idea of community that haunts the Western tradition, then, is one that repeatedly sacrifices the fact of human plurality on the altar of unity, wholeness or oneness. It is an idea of political community that is not, in Arendt’s view, political at all. A political community is precisely a ‘community without unity.’ It is an association of diverse equals whose shared care for the public world takes the form of intense and open-ended debate, deliberation and decision. What is at stake in these political discussions and decisions is the best way to ‘preserve and augment’ the space of public freedom these citizens have either constructed or inherited.” (352)

This description, it seems to me, is exactly right; it captures the reality—both the promise and the challenge—of the public realm and the American community in ways that more idealized versions do not.

Throughout the book, it is clear that Villa’s concerns about the viability of the American public realm have been exacerbated by the actions of the Bush Administration. He notes with disapproval the Administration’s use of fear (notably its ‘War on Terror’) to facilitate the accretion of executive power during the Bush Administration, and he links that phenomenon with the corresponding atrophy of the robust citizenship he is arguing for.  As he concludes,

“At a time when our public world is under attack by an array of economic, technological and ideological forces (to say nothing of the cabal of unwitting Schmittians currently occupying the executive branch), it is important to realize that ‘care for the public world’ is the furthest thing from a ‘leisure-time sport for aristocrats.’ It is, it turns out, a responsibility we all share; a responsibility that grows heavier each day as the boundaries of our public world—and the attention span of many of our fellow citizens—perpetually contracts.”

            In his introduction, Villa tells us that this book was written over several years. It was published in 2008, meaning (academic publishing being what it is) that it was completed well before the recent national elections.  The obvious question that arises is what Villa would think about the ability of the Obama campaign (aided by the disaster that has been the Bush Presidency) to generate massive participation in the political process.  The campaign had in excess of three million discrete donors; even more astonishing, it enlisted millions of volunteers who canvassed their neighborhoods, called their friends, wrote letters to the editors of local papers, delivered absentee ballots and drove people to the polls. Is this increased political activity an anomaly, or could it be the harbinger of a return to the sort of participatory civic life that Villa believes essential?

            For obvious reasons, that is a question this book cannot answer. However, in his argument for a more vital and robust public square and a more capacious conception of freedom, Villa makes a substantial contribution, both to the political theory literature and to a more textured understanding of the nature of a genuinely free society.

              

 

  


[1] WENDELL PHILLIPS, speech in Boston, Massachusetts, January 28, 1852.—Speeches Before the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, p. 13 (1853).

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Penny Wise, Pound Foolish

Recently, a lunchtime discussion turned to the extent to which Indiana lags in mass transit. Wouldn’t it be great, someone said, if we had high-speed rail to Chicago?

That question recalled one of our state’s multiple “missed opportunities.” I’m told that when I65 was being built, the question arose whether overpasses should be built with a single support pillar, or with two. Two supports would make it far cheaper and easier to lay track for a train at a later time; there would be no need for added land acquisition, and the train could be run between the two pillars.

Anyone who has driven to Chicago knows that immediate gratification—in the form of lower front-end costs—won out. Now, in order to use the right-of-way, we would have to replace all the existing single supports with doubles, at far greater cost than would have been incurred by doing two pillars at the time.

Penny wise, pound foolish.

On November 4th, Indianapolis voters living within the IPS boundaries will face a similar choice, in the form of a vote on the bond issue for the third phase of IPS building renovations. (The need for the bonds is yet another example of our “penny-wise” politics; had improvements been made in a timely fashion, rather than constantly postponed, the upgrades would have been far less expensive.) These bonds will improve learning environments at 32 schools, housing 15,000 children.

The timing is hardly auspicious—but of course, it seldom is. In recognition of the economic climate, IPS has dramatically reduced the scope of work to include improvements needed for health, safety and academic achievement. The original cost estimate was 475 million; that has been reduced to 278 million. And IPS points out that payment on the bonds will not kick in until 2010—after property tax controls have taken effect. Thus, even with the increase from Phase 3, property taxes will be lower than they currently are.

Proponents of a “yes” vote make a number of arguments: every year of delay increases the cost of needed renovations by between 16-20 million dollars; 25,000 IPS children and teachers are working in aging and inadequate buildings; even after the contemplated improvements are made, IPS buildings will not be comparable to suburban ones. There are no fancy athletic facilities, computers, or other “frills” in this budget—only basic needs.

The question we will answer on November 4th is really more basic than whether we will vote to give our children an adequate learning environment, important as that is. It is whether—for once!—we will choose our long-term best interests over short-term gratification. We know that failing to invest in children today will cost us all much more in the long run. An educated workforce attracts the employers who provide jobs and pay taxes. Educated citizens are less likely to need welfare services, or engage in crime. Investing now will save dollars later.

Can we be “pound wise” for once? We’ll see on November 4th.

 

 

 

 

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Making Lemonade

One of my all-time favorite editorial cartoons appeared a couple of days after the 2004 Presidential election; it showed a dejected John Kerry standing next to a barn, gazing at what appeared to be a large pile of manure. The caption read: “This could all have been mine!”

As I write this, four years later, Americans are trying decide who to trust with a pile that has grown much, much bigger.

The next President will take office at a time when our most basic institutions are broken. The litany is familiar to all of us: we are bogged down in two wars, one of which we had no business waging. Our enemies are reveling in our troubles; our allies are bewildered by our incompetence. The economy is tanking. We increasingly rely on China to buy our debt, which means that China now owns a substantial portion of America. Our infrastructure is crumbling. We haven’t rebuilt New Orleans, or other places devastated by natural disasters for which we were unprepared. Healthcare is increasingly unaffordable. The checks and balances we learned about in government class are a distant memory, and the U.S. Constitution—the document that has shaped our culture and made us the envy of people around the world—lies in tatters.

It is really hard to believe that so much damage could be done in just eight years. Other administrations have made poor policy choices, been fiscally irresponsible, and elevated people unequal to their tasks.  But none has wreaked this much havoc on the nation.

One result of this wholesale devastation is that Americans have lost confidence in the integrity of our common social and legal institutions—and partially as a result, have become increasingly distrustful of each other. Repairing that trust—in our institutions and our neighbors—may be the biggest challenge we face; in its absence, we can only go so far in solving our collective problems. (The recent bailout negotiations are a case in point.) 

The sobering question that confronts us is whether any President, any Administration, can stem the bleeding and put this nation back on the long and difficult path to competent governance, fiscal sanity and the rule of law.

The realist in me says the prospects are grim. The Pollyanna in me (yes, she’s still there!) says that every challenge is an opportunity, that when you make lemonade, you start with lemons.

With proper leadership, we could use this time as an opportunity to learn from our mistakes and remake our country. We could reach back into our national psyche, and rediscover the sources of our strength and productivity. We could recognize and act upon the truth that it will take all of us working together to reclaim our heritage and mend our broken institutions.

The “usual suspects”—campaign strategists, spin doctors, and talking heads—are busy shilling and selling. This year, we need to ignore them all and ask ourselves one simple question: which candidate is most likely to help Americans make lemonade?

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All or Nothing at All

We have just emerged from an election season during which, in addition to the usual (and bipartisan) charges, smears and indiscriminate insults, we were told that Barack Obama’s policies amounted to “socialism.”

Leaving aside the obvious—that most people engaging in these arguments on both sides used the terms “socialist” and “capitalist” very loosely, raising the question whether they really could define either system accurately—what struck me most about the debate was an unacknowledged premise, the assumption that America must choose between capitalism and socialism. The argument underscored the persistence of what I sometimes refer to as our bipolar political culture. Voters are either right or wrong, other countries are either friend or foe, policymakers and politicians are either sleaze-balls or valiant warriors for civic virtue.

Reality isn’t so neatly divided into “either-or” formulations. Sometimes we’re right, sometimes not. Our national interests may align on some measures with Country A, and diverge on others. Policymakers can be good people who are simply mistaken—or for that matter, they may be sleaze-balls who are on the right side of an argument. As I tell my students, reality is generally more complicated than we like to admit.

Which brings us back to that scary word, “socialism.” I happen to be a fairly rabid believer in markets and limited government. But markets only work when buyers and sellers operate in accordance with sound rules and with equal access to relevant information. Throughout our history, Republican and Democratic administrations alike have intervened when they believed particular markets weren’t working. Often that intervention was misguided. At other times, lack of intervention was the problem. Whether markets work in a particular economic area is—or should be—an empirical inquiry, not an ideological one.

There are different ways to “socialize” costs. Americans socialize risk using private markets when we purchase insurance.  We use government—through social security—to socialize the risks of poverty among the elderly. The real question is whether a particular endeavor should be left to the market, under fair but not excessive regulation, or whether there may be compelling reasons to have government handle it.

In fact, when you think about it, a decision to have government manage a particular task is a decision to “socialize” that task—to pool our resources in the form of taxes to provide a social good or service. Public safety is a good example—we have decided, as a society, that police protection should be “socialized” and available to all citizens, not just the ones who can afford private security.

Principled people can certainly disagree whether this or that service should be provided by government or by the market.  But it is unhelpful, to put it mildly, to substitute accusatory labels for thoughtful discussion of the pros and cons. It is worse than unhelpful to suggest that every government initiative is tantamount to turning the country socialist. America has been a mixed economy for a long time. The proper question is the appropriateness of the mix.  

 

 

 

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