the West and the rest

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It seems impossible to distinguish between the West and other civilizations or regions of the globe, because anything we might call “the West” is so internally diverse and vaguely bordered. It’s easy to make up a list of famous Western people who have vanishingly little in common: Saint Teresa of Ávila, Oscar Wilde, Daniel Boone, Lenin, William Penn, Cole Porter, Thomas Edison, Heidegger, Andy Warhol, Donald Trump, Emily Dickinson, and Hernán Cortés.

Or consider two people who are famous for being (in very different ways) anti-Western: the Ayatollah Khomeini and Gandhi. The former studied and admired Plato, the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament, and the French Revolution. The latter spoke English, practiced English law, and read the works of Thoreau and his friend Tolstoy. If these two were not “Western,” why should we count all the others listed above?

But here is a suggestion for an actual difference. One thousand years ago, Europe (from Greenland to Sicily) was actually quite homogeneous. It was all agrarian and Catholic, and it had a warrior caste, monks, and peasants. The languages varied but they all contained a large dose of Latin, which was spoken by the educated class. Across the continent, villages were dominated by their churches, manor houses, and castles. That world vanished or was destroyed–unevenly, so that little pieces of it still linger today. It was replaced by technology, urbanization, mass communications, bureaucratic states and businesses, secularization, and markets.

Roughly the same pattern (“modernization”) occurred in most parts of the globe, provoking the same enormous range of reactions that we observe in Europe. But in Europe–and in countries like the United States that view themselves as inheritors of Europe–most of the changes were perceived as internal. Steam engines, bureaucratic files, securities markets, and all the other hallmarks of modernity did not seem to come from some alien civilization but to be choices of the society itself. For example, when the first train puffed through the German countryside, some people might have disliked or even feared it, but they saw it as a German train. In contrast, the same changes came to other places as the direct consequence of conquest, military pressure, purchase, or persuasion by people regarded as complete outsiders.

I don’t know if this is correct. Perhaps Portuguese or Icelandic or Serbian peasants felt the same way as people in China and Africa when the first steam engines and ID cards arrived. But I think not, if only because so many human beings have defined “the other” in terms of skin color and religion. This is not to say that the definition of the West is whiteness or Christianity. My hypothesis is more subtle: when innovations come from a place perceived as fundamentally like one’s own, they feel one way. They feel a different way when they come from people perceived as foreigners. In both cases, a whole range of reactions is possible, from delirious enthusiasm to horror. But “the West” is where modernization is perceived as an internal process.

(In a somewhat similar post, I tried to explore why modernization feels different in Istanbul and Baltimore.)

schools’ role in enhancing liberty

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I’m going down to New York and back today for a public discussion at the CUNY Graduate Center. My fellow panelists and I have been asked to address the following questions (among others):

  • What are the goals of civic education?
  • What are current competing interests and debates around the role of public education in children’s civic development?
  • How do claims by parents and political interest groups conflict with children’s rights to school-based conversations about civic engagement?

I may put the following views on the table. One view is that parents should instill ideological (or religious) commitments in their children, while schools should only teach “civility and civic duty in conventional participation.” (Quoting Michael McDevitt and Ally Ostrowski, who are critical of this view.) The reason for this division of labor could be deference to parents and families and fear of the state.

A second view (more classically liberal) assumes that parents will try to instill ideological beliefs, but their influence is problematic, because they can limit their children’s freedom to understand and choose among diverse values and ideals. Schools should increase freedom by exposing kids to a range of values and supportive arguments, including those held in other families. In this theory, as in the first one, schools are committed to “civility and conventional participation,” but now that means civil discussions among diverse people about controversial issues.

McDevitt and Ostrowski show that the empirical reality is a lot more complicated. Many parents do not instill political beliefs in their kids. Sometimes, robust political discussions in schools cause students to bring ideas home that influence parents. For some students, exposure to ideas not espoused at home strengthens their own identity as members of their families. Children react in diverse ways to influences from parents, peers, teachers, and schools–sometimes experimenting with opposite views.

Philosophically, I endorse the liberal position that schools should widen students’ intellectual options, even if doing so undermines the influence of parents. In fact, I think a serious critique of libertarianism begins with the recognition that parents have potentially tyrannical influence over their offspring, and liberty requires state education. Of course, no politician could get away with espousing this position: “We will take your children away from you during the daytime for 13 years so that they are free to choose different values from yours.”

The classical liberal position suggests that teachers should be neutral. Political neutrality is a bit of a chimera, because institutions always have strong implicit or explicit ideologies. Nevertheless, teachers can choose either to indoctrinate their students or to organize vibrant, unpredictable, unconstrained discussions. The latter is the classical liberal approach.

It is, however, an empirical question which pedagogy maximizes students’ real freedom to choose their own values and goals. Jim Youniss and Miranda Yates wrote a book about a particular Catholic school in which the teachers are openly religious, Democratic, and liberal. Most of the students are African American Protestants of varied ideologies. The authors find that the teachers’ strong and explicit value-commitments do not cause students to convert but rather stimulate them to serious and lasting reflection and engagement. So the question is whether value-neutrality or explicit commitment is a better strategy for teaching young people to think critically. I do not think we have a clear and universally applicable answer to that question.

critical thinking, from a youth perspective

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Cathy Davidson has a great report from the recent “Designing Learning Futures” conference in LA, sponsored by the Digital Media and Learning Initiative of the MacArthur Foundation. Here is a sample to encourage you to read her whole piece:

    There were thirty or thirty five students, from Renaissance Academy in East Los Angeles, and they were part of the Out the Window project. …. I kept hearing … “critical thinking” over and over, so I asked one of the young artists, “What do you mean by ‘critical thinking’?” She didn’t even pause, “It means being able to see where I am standing and also where you are. It means having enough knowledge and research and discipline not to over-react if you disagree with me or if you dislike me or disrespect me but to pause, and think about who you are, and then help bridge the gap between us.”

Here is a video about the Out of the Window project.

If You Want Citizens to Trust Government, Empower Them to Govern

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In lieu of a post today, here is a link to my article on The Democratic Strategist, number six in a symposium on distrust in government, organized by Demos. The previous five contributions have been helpfully diverse, but all have shared the premises that: 1) deep distrust is an obstacle to progressive politics; 2) distrust is not simply a result of anti-government rhetoric and hostile media but also flows from people’s authentic experiences of government; and 3) progressives can reduce distrust by governing differently. My prescription is unique in its emphasis on enlisting the people in governance.

a good government primer

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(This post is meant to resemble my “primers” on community economic development and relational community organizing–each an element of the civic renewal network or movement.)

At the national level, there are at least a dozen organizations devoted to “good government” in ways that Progressive Era reformers like Robert M. La Follette and Teddy Roosevelt would immediately recognize and endorse. They have a handful of consistent political allies, notably former Senator Russ Feingold (D-WI). Another set of organizations has a libertarian definition of reform: small government is good government. These two networks are largely opposed, but they make strange bedfellows on certain issues.

The main elements of the Progressive “good government” reform agenda are: (1) opposition to money in politics; (2) transparency in government, and (3) an accessible, equitable voting system that yields consequential decisions. Thus today’s priorities for concrete, practical reforms include such measures as public funding for elections, a public right to information, and easier voting. (The last could be accomplished, for example, by allowing people to register at the same time and place that they vote.)

Over the past century, the “good government” agenda has shifted somewhat in response to arguments, experiences, and crises. The direct election of Senators and the right of voters to recall elected officials were high priorities early in the last century; open meeting acts and disclosure of campaign contributions were victories of the 1970s; and opposition to filibuster abuse has risen on the agenda in the past decade. Referenda were objectives of good government reformers circa 1900; now they appear highly problematic in states like California where they are used for routine lawmaking. Deregulation of such industries as long-distance trucking was a good government priority in the 1970s. Re-regulation of the financial industry is a priority now.

The structure and strategies of the good government groups have also evolved. The League of Women Voters was founded in 1920 and still uses the model that was typical in civil society then: active local chapters with face-to-face meetings and events, state organizations and conferences, and a professional national staff guided by the members. Common Cause, Public Citizen, and the Public Interest Research Groups were founded around 1970 with an innovative model: mass mailings to raise small donations to support professional staffs who litigate, lobby, and “expose” corruption to motivate more support. The models of the 1920 and 1970s are suffering due to declines in civic engagement, and the newcomers mostly rely on digital technologies, loose networks of volunteers, and/or foundation grants. They include the Sunlight Foundation (founded in 2006), Fix Congress First! (2008), and the Coffee Party (2010).

Beneath the specific policy agenda at any moment lies a distinctive and durable political philosophy that ought to be taken seriously–but also assessed critically. At its heart is a distinction between “citizens” or “the people” (on one hand) and “special interests” and “politicians” (on the other). The people should rule; politicians should be responsible and accountable to them; and special interests should be curtailed. Citizens are not necessarily virtuous and wise, nor are organized political groups and elected leaders inevitably corrupt. Rather, when people act through the channels organized for them as citizens, the odds are high that they will act well. As citizens, we talk with diverse others about common issues without coercion or bribes. As citizens, we vote, and that is basically a public-spirited act because the cost of voting isn’t worthwhile if one thinks of the payoff in narrowly selfish terms. As citizens, we promote our values and interests, which, even if foolish or selfish, are at least checked by the rival interests and values of millions of peers. Frederic Howe, the Progressive Era reformer and writer, launched his own political career with a characteristic speech against machine politicians, “men who have substituted corruption for discussion, and ours is a government of discussion.”

In contrast to citizens, special interests expend resources to get favorable policies, and they sometimes obtain lucrative returns on their investments. (For example, $15 million of lobbying on last year’s financial reform bill bought a provision worth $10 billion.) In contrast to citizens, firms and coalitions of firms are required to maximize returns for their own shareholders are are thus blocked from deliberating about what is just or best. La Follette thundered against the special interests of his day: “Their resources are inexhaustible. Their efforts never relax. Their political methods are insidious.” But, he thought, “the united power of the people expressed directly through the ballot can overthrow the enemy.”

In sum, the “public interest” is what the people would want if they talked, listened, learned, and voted freely. Corruption is the undue influence of special interests, whether inside or outside the government, especially if their influence can be traced to money or to special powers that they can wield. If the people show demonstrable weaknesses as citizens (such as low knowledge or weak motivation), the solution is education, broadly defined. Thomas Jefferson’s words apply: “I know of no safe depository of the ultimate powers of the society but the people themselves; and if we think them not enlightened enough to exercise their control with wholesome discretion, the remedy is not to take it from them, but to inform their discretion by education.”

One alternative philosophy is embodied in the Supreme Court’s recent Citizens United decision, which treats lobbying and campaign contributions as free speech, and businesses as voluntary associations responsible to their citizen-owners. It legitimizes and renders fully respectable the combination of money and politics.

A different alternative holds that corporations basically run modern market economies, not just by deliberately lobbying and funding politicians, but also by making discretionary (and completely legal) decisions about their own investments. Thus democracy is basically a sham without economic reform of a type that is too radical for our actual citizens today. Charles A. Beard criticized Progressives from this perspective in 1916. He was challenging any “good government” strategy that puts political reform ahead of economic reform.

My own views would require a longer essay to defend, but I can summarize my conclusions as follows. I am enthusiastic about the policy agenda of the good government groups, especially their opposition to private money in campaigns. I agree with their philosophical distinctions between citizens and special interests; the public interest and corruption; political reform and economic reform. Even though no specific legislation will keep money completely out of politics, it seems important to pass laws that not only restrain the practical impact of money but also reinforce the norm that using cash to influence the government is basically disreputable.

Of all the objectives of the field today, I think transparency is the least important because information does not translate easily into power; and transparency in the public sector can simply weaken the government unless it is matched by transparency in private business. Meanwhile, one item on the 1970s agenda has since been forgotten and should be revived: the struggle against delegating legislative powers to unelected bureaucrats. Finally, I agree with the implicit definition of citizens as deliberators and voters, but I believe that we all learn best from experience and action. Thus citizens will not be able to do their job of talking, listening, monitoring, and voting until we all have opportunities to do public work as well. That is why such fields of practice as relational organizing and community economic development (mentioned at the very top of this post) are important complements to good government reform.