the historical trend for discretionary federal spending

Until today, I had not understood the trends shown in the graph above (from Aherne, Labonte, & Lynch 2024).

As a proportion of the economy, total federal spending has been fairly constant since 1962. Entitlements (Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid) and defense keep the whole cost pretty stable. The cost has risen during recessions because bad times increase eligibility for entitlements. This means that the early Reagan years saw a temporary peak in total federal spending (notwithstanding Reagan’s anti-government rhetoric), and the Great Recession and COVID caused big temporary increases.

Meanwhile, federal discretionary spending quite steadily declined from 1965 and 2000. It has fluctuated since then from a lower baseline.

That means that the basket that includes highways and air traffic control, prisons and border control, diplomacy and foreign aid, agricultural subsidies, Food Stamps, etc. represents a smaller percentage of the economy than it did in the 1960s.

Looking more closely at components, we can often find anomalous patterns. For example, total federal spending on education (k12 and college, including financial aid and research) was 1 percent of GDP in 1975 and 1.1 percent in 2024, with spikes during recessions.

Since the economy has grown each decade, a shrinking proportion of GDP could still purchase more goods and services. But that has not really happened during the 21st century. Another telling graph from the same report (below) shows discretionary spending in billions of dollars, adjusted for inflation. It separates defense from non-defense spending. Until COVID hit, neither component had risen (or fallen) in real terms compared to 2005. The Obama stimulus did cause a temporary boost, but that went away. Then COVID spending and the Biden stimulus boosted non-defense spending, which has come down but remains about 25 percent higher than it was in 2019.

These graphs explain why the kinds of public goods that we expect from the national government in the United States often seem to have shrunk or deteriorated, even while the total cost and size of the federal government has remained at least constant.

These data challenge certain assumptions popular among conservatives–that federal spending has risen and that Republican presidents have cut government while in office. (By the way, Elon Musk’s recent rampage will hardly be visible on these graphs when the lines are extended into 2025. Total federal spending rose during the first quarter of 2025.)

These graphs also challenge progressives’ assumptions that government has been shrinking in the era of neoliberalism. Indeed, even discretionary domestic spending is quite a bit higher than it was in 2005 or 2012-19, when adjusted for inflation. What progressives observe is not a shrinking government but a decline in non-defense discretionary spending (as a proportion of the economy) between 1965 and 2000, which has left many national government functions weaker than they were in the mid-1900s.


Source: Aherne, Drew C., Labonte, Marc & Lynch, Megan S., “Discretionary Spending in 10 Graphs” (2024), Congressional Research Service https://www.congress.gov/crs-product/R48164. See also taxing and spending are more compatible with democratic values than regulation is; how public opinion on social spending has changed: a generational approach

Educating for American Democracy: the work continues

Educating for American Democracy sent the following message yesterday:


We write with the good news that the work of EAD very much continues, even in these rapidly changing times.

As of June 1, the Educating for American Democracy Consortium will transition from being housed at iCivics to the Adams Presidential Center, based in Quincy, MA. The Adams Presidential Center works to share the history of a great American family, to promote their ideals of citizenship and selfless public service, and to inspire future generations to serve their communities and our nation. Hosting the EAD Consortium aligns with the Adams Presidential Center’s goal to foster lifelong civic learning.

EAD will continue to be guided by a Steering Committee, currently chaired by Peter Levine of Tufts University. Adams Presidential Center President, Kurt Graham has joined the Steering Committee. EAD is also proud to recognize Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello as a founding partner in the work. Monticello’s President Jane Kamensky also continues to serve on the EAD Steering Committee.

This move to APC comes after six years that iCivics has hosted EAD. We offer our great appreciation to iCivics for playing that role and for the organization’s partnership in creating and stewarding EAD. Louise Dube, CEO of iCivics, will continue to serve on the Steering Committee and fully supports the transition to APC. The Steering Committee’s members unanimously agreed that the transition is important for EAD to continue to thrive. The work will benefit from more focused attention and resources independent of any one provider in the civic education field.

Also, thanks to private philanthropy, the EAD Consortium is now able to search for an Executive Director, and the process is underway. In the meanwhile, questions about EAD can be directed to the EAD Consortium Steering Committee at EAD@adamspc.org.

These are difficult times for all civic educators in and beyond the classroom. Across this great country, countless teachers and civic leaders continue to bring the nation’s K–12 students and its lifelong learners rich lessons in the pluralistic narratives of American history and in the reflective patriotism needed for informed, engaged, and responsible citizenship. We are so proud of the work that you are all doing, and we look forward to celebrating it in March 2026 in Philadelphia at the National Forum of Civic Learning Week, co-hosted by iCivics and the Democratic Knowledge Project. Please save March 9–10, 2026, to join us in the nation’s birthplace.

With appreciation, 

Peter Levine, on behalf of the EAD Steering Committee

what is the basis of a political judgment?

I believe that Donald Trump is an example of a right-wing populist authoritarian, akin to Orban, Modi, and even Putin. I see looser affinities with 1930’s fascists–not Hitler, but Vichy France or Hungary after 1931. I believe that Trump and leaders like him threaten democratic and (classical) liberal values.

This post is not about those claims but about how we should justify and assess any judgments of this type. My view of Trump is certainly contestable. Some of his defenders emphasize his democratic legitimacy. Some of his critics observe prominent continuities with previous US presidencies, which have also extended executive power and mistreated migrants and people overseas. On the other hand, some people are even more alarmed than I am and equate the current administration with an actual fascist regime.

I found a great letter from Hannah Arendt to Karl Jaspers in which she suggested that McCarthyism, which was then in full swing, resembled fascism. Her letter is on the website of The Brooklyn Rail, which comments on the “astonishing similarities between the McCarthy era and the present.” I agree–if the present is 2025. But The Brooklyn Rail posted this letter in March 2006. I would not have described the final quarter of the George W. Bush administration as a time when legality was breaking down “disastrously.” I am not even sure that Arendt was right in May 1953, because the McCarthy era would peak the next year, and the Civil Rights Movement and Free Speech Movement were on the horizon.

The question is how we should make and assess any such judgments. I perceive that I am doing the following things when I make a judgment of Donald Trump:

  1. I am describing and interpreting the particular phenomenon. This is not deductive reasoning (applying a known definition to a case) nor inductive reasoning (generalizing across many cases). Both are relevant to a degree, but the key question is how to characterize the particular case, which is unique in many respects. The reasoning is “particularist.”
  2. I am thinking about the whole case and how Trump’s various actions, appointments, and statements fit together. When ICE abducted our beloved student at Tufts, that action was cruel and wrong but not, per se, right-wing authoritarianism. What made it politically alarming was the intention behind it and how it fit with other assaults on political dissent. Because I am connecting concrete things into one larger structure, my reasoning is “holistic.”
  3. I am considering Trump in the context of previous US presidents and similar leaders around the world. He is both similar and different from other cases, and the analogies and differences are relevant. They display family-resemblances rather than belonging to sharply defined sets. Thus my reasoning is “contextual.”
  4. I consider other people’s impressions of Trump. I am not mainly interested in a statistically representative sample of opinions (although I do follow polls), but rather in selected views that I judge to be insightful. They tilt strongly against Trump but encompass some diversity. If I alone thought that Trump posed an existential threat to democracy, I would have a reason to doubt my eccentric view. I find reinforcement in sober, well-informed commentary by others, but also occasional challenges. My reasoning is “social.”
  5. I am drawing on experience. For instance, since institutions like universities and medical systems have treated me well, I am prone to trust them and to oppose attacks on them. I am one of many for whom the abduction of Rümeysa Öztürk triggers deeply ingrained images of secret police and concentration camps, which are not personal memories for me but transmitted lore. I realize that I would react differently if my experiences had been different–for instance, if I had always been excluded from universities or if the US government had already mistreated my community before Trump. I try to treat my accumulated experiences as valid yet incomplete. Judgment is inevitably and helpfully “experiential.”
  6. I am concerned with this case because I want to know what I should do as a US citizen and what I should think about others’ behavior. The question is what is right for me and us to do. Judgment involves moral concerns and motivates action. Even my concepts have normative bases. For instance, it is from a liberal value framework that I present Trump as illiberal. If I were less committed to liberalism, I would describe him differently. In these ways, my reasoning is “ethical.”

So I would propose that political judgments should be Particularistic, Holistic, Contextual, Social, Experiential, and Ethical. (PHEESC, if you like pronounceable acronyms.)

My judgment is not subjective in the sense that I just happen to have certain opinions. I am accountable to others for my judgments–for whether they are wise and whether my actions match them. In a debate about my judgments, I would have many things to say, although I am also obliged to listen.

This is not science, in the sense of deductive and inductive reasoning or the testing of falsifiable empirical hypotheses. Empirical evidence is relevant but is only one aspect of judgment. Indeed, I think that a narrow understanding of rationality as science is one impediment to developing wise judgments. In a later letter to Jaspers (Dec. 29, 1963), Arendt wrote, “Even good and, at bottom, worthy people have, in our time, the most extraordinary fear about making judgments.” This is partly because they equate judgment with mere opinion.

The wisdom of judgments becomes clearer after history unfolds. For example, I think that events after 2006 challenged The Brooklyn Rail’s suggestion that the US was then sliding into fascism. Of course, they couldn’t know what would happen next.

Unfortunately, we must make judgments in the stream of history. In turn, history will judge us for what we thought and, more importantly, for what we did or failed to do.


See also: don’t confuse bias and judgment; explaining a past election versus deciding what to do next; notes on Hannah Arendt’s On Revolution; Reading Arendt in Palo Alto; why ambitious ethical theories don’t serve applied ethics etc.

primer on free speech and academic freedom

In US law and in Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, free speech means rights of individuals and associations against their governments. If you have a right to a given form of speech, then your government may not block, ban, or punish that speech.

Free speech is very extensive in the USA. In 1969, in Brandenburg v. Ohio, the Supreme Court found that a KKK leader had the right to advocate publicly for “revengeance” against “black peoples” and “Jews.” This decision clearly protected hate speech and remains the law.

One important exception has involved non-US citizens. Periodically throughout US history, the federal government has barred people from entry or deported them on the basis of their speech. This is an unsettled area of constitutional law that is before courts right now.

Notwithstanding their constitutional free speech rights, Americans generally lack the right to speak as they wish at work. An employer can usually fire you for what you say, or even for speaking at all.

There are some exceptions. Many employees have a right to advocate unionization under the National Labor Rights Act, although that right is poorly enforced. Some public employees have free speech rights because their employer is also the government, but they are not protected when they are speaking in their governmental role. For instance, a state attorney does not have a constitutional right to dissent publicly about a case being handled by his office (Garcetti v. Ceballos, 2006).

Since the late 1800s, some have argued that students and faculty need freedom of speech to advance the mission of an educational institution. An early statement was by the University of Wisconsin in 1894: “Whatever may be the limitations which trammel inquiry elsewhere, we believe that the great state University of Wisconsin should ever encourage that continual and fearless sifting and winnowing by which alone the truth can be found.”

This is academic freedom in the form of rights for individuals and groups of students and faculty in relation to their own educational institutions. Today, it is encoded in the form of policies adopted by specific schools and colleges, employment contracts, student disciplinary codes, prevalent norms and expectations, and some state laws that afford rights to students or faculty in state schools and colleges.

For the most part, academic freedom is not a constitutional right derived from the First Amendment. A college or a state system can choose not to offer it. When individuals sue for academic freedom, it is usually for breach of a contract that was voluntarily adopted by their employer.

It is tempting to envision academic freedom as just like freedom of speech, except that an educational institution is like the government: prevented from censoring or punishing individuals’ speech. But this model quickly falls apart, because educational institutions are fundamentally and intrinsically involved in choosing, evaluating, rewarding, and penalizing speech. For example, a department will select the prospective instructor who offers the best writing and oral presentation among all the applicants. That person is hired to teach courses in the approved curriculum. Professors award grades based on the quality and relevance of the students’ writing and speaking.

Thus the idea of neutrality or non-interference, which applies to governments, simply cannot govern schools or colleges.

Instead, academic freedom is a patchwork of provisions that vary by institution. Many universities have adopted explicit policies of not restricting faculty or student speech based on its point-of-view or position, usually within limits. (For example, the right to express opinions on political issues does not allow a faculty member to take extensive time in the classroom to discuss issues unrelated to the course content.) Colleges generally adopt procedures for faculty hiring, promotion, and tenure that are meant to enhance freedom along with quality. We talk about a “tenure case” because it has the feel of a legal process, with rights afforded to the applicant. Receiving tenure then prevents professors from being fired for the content of their speech.

Further, universities assign many decisions to groups of students or faculty instead of the central administration. For example, student groups often have broad rights to invite speakers of their choice. Departments are influential in choosing faculty and determining curricula. The whole body of faculty of a college votes on key curricular matters. These are examples of academic freedom as a kind of freedom of association for specific categories of people within the institution. The Supreme Court has also sometimes acknowledged a free speech right for each university to determine its own programming (Justice Powell in Regents of the University of California v. Bakke, 1978).

The norm not to interfere with speech on the basis of viewpoint or content is quite strong in higher education (much less so in K12), yet the prevalent rules leave many gaps. In particular:

  1. Only students and “instructors” are typically protected. At my university, just under 30% of the employees are faculty, broadly defined. In general, if you cut the grass at a college, you have no more free speech than if you cut the grass at a condominium. And if you are a dean or vice-provost, a laboratory technician, a clinical physician, or a counselor, you may not be covered by academic freedom.
  2. Academic freedom is quite strong in a setting like a philosophy seminar, where the participants probably enrolled by choice, the professor had a lot of scope to choose the curriculum, and everyone can choose their own positions. But switch your example to a laboratory in the medical or engineering school. This is a highly capitalized enterprise with expensive equipment and many at-will employees. It probably exists thanks to government grants and private philanthropy. These two go together because private donations are what allow universities to hire the faculty, attract the graduate students, and build facilities that make them competitive for federal funds. Harvard wins $8 billion in federal grants annually because it has $53 billion in private money. In the lab sciences, key decision-makers include donors (often members of the board of trustees) and government officials. Now switch back to the philosophy class and bear in mind that overhead from STEM research may subsidize the professor’s salary. From this perspective, a university is not a community of citizens in a republic of letters who each decide what to say. It is an expensive, top-down enterprise whose research agenda is negotiated with outsiders.
  3. Title VI of the Civil Rights Act prevents discrimination on the basis of race, color, religion, sex, and national origin. For decades, it has been interpreted to mean that schools and colleges have a legal obligation to prevent speech by their own students and employees that causes discrimination. This principle is in tension with academic freedom as the right to choose and express one’s own view.

I do not regard this tension as simply unfortunate. In an educational institution, which is an employer, a gatekeeper to professions, and usually a landlord as well as a venue for “continual and fearless sifting,” both academic freedom and anti-discrimination are important. But I have long worried that penalizing speech and treating it as a disciplinary concern violates valid speech rights, hampers debate, and creates opportunities for bad actors to suppress valuable speech.* The Biden Administration investigated at least a dozen universities for potentially failing to protect Jewish students’ civil rights by stopping anti-Israel protests. I strongly disagreed with those actions, but far worse are the Trump Administration’s arbitrary and vindictive attacks on specific universities, which use Title VI as a weapon. (Interestingly, the latest letter from the Trump Administration to Harvard drops the pretext that the issue was ever antisemitism.)

  1. Alex Gourevitch makes an important point that the whole framework of preventing harm to students especially threatens the right to protest, because protests involve “public expressions of hostility toward political views and often the people who hold them.” I would add that protests are collective actions, during which individual participants can say a range of things. If a whole protest is shut down or punished because of what some people say, then all the other people’s right to protest has been curtailed.
  2. There is a live debate about whether educational institutions, as opposed to individual faculty and students, may or should speak. Proponents of the Kalven Report argue that speech by university leaders may chill individuals’ dissenting speech and purport to represent employees and students who cannot determine what the college says in their name. Critics of the Kalven Report argue that universities should be able to speak freely in the public sphere and doubt that these institutions could or should be neutral. I served on Tufts’ committee that considered these issues, and I am proud of our report, but I can’t describe it yet because it hasn’t been released. I would only say that this is a complex topic because institutions communicate in so many ways. Statements by university presidents are just one example.

*See also: freedom of speech for universities (2003), free speech and school discipline (2006), a theory of free speech on campus (2009), free speech at a university (2014), science, law, and microagressions (2017), podcast on free Speech, democracy, and campus discourse (2024), etc.

Philosophy Learning and Teaching Organization (PLATO) conference

We are hosting the biannual PLATO conference this June 27-28 at Tufts University’s Tisch College of Civic Life. PLATO is mostly devoted to teaching philosophy in K12 schools.

Philosophy is not a priority in the USA, unlike in many European countries where it is taught (by that name) to large numbers of students in standardized or even mandatory courses. Nevertheless, the PLATO network is robust, attracting many educators (including some from overseas) who incorporate ethics and other aspects of philosophy in their courses and in extracurricular programs, such as ethics bowls.

From my point of view, philosophy is an aspect of civic education, which is my main professional cause.

The program is online and early registration is still open.