activism and deliberation

Along with Rose Marie Nierras of LogoLink, I’m applying for a small grant to interview political activists and people who promote public deliberation, to get some sense of the differences between these approaches.

On a simple definition, “deliberation” means convening a diverse group of citizens and asking them to talk, without any expectation or hope that they will reach one conclusion rather than another. The population that is convened, the format, and the informational materials are all supposed to be neutral or balanced. There is an ethic of deference to whatever views may emerge from democratic discussion. Efforts are made to insulate the process from deliberate attempts to manipulate it. In contrast, the simple view of “advocacy” implies an effort to enlist or mobilize citizens toward some end. At their best, advocates are candid about their goals and open to critical suggestions. But they are advocating for something.

To be sure, there are versions of advocacy that incorporate genuine deliberation, just as there are deliberative exercises aimed at policy goals. Nevertheless, there is at least a potential tension between the two approaches. Many advocates for disadvantaged populations explicitly say that deliberation is a waste of their limited resources. And some proponents of deliberation see organized advocacy as a threat to fair and unbiased discussion; hence their efforts to protect deliberative forums from being “manipulated” by groups with an agenda.

Our full proposal is available online, and comments are welcome on a dedicated website.

“bold, persistent experimentation”

I spent today at a meeting, which I had organized, on how to mobilize young voters. Almost half of the participants were nonpartisan practitioners who are trying to increase youth voting in 2004. Another large group were researchers who do “field experiments” on various methods of getting out the vote. In other words, they randomly assign some registered voters to get a “treatment” (such as a phone call), and leave the rest untreated. They then measure the actual difference in voting between the two groups–not using polls, but consulting official voting records. Overall, this highly rigorous method finds that young voters can be mobilized cost-effectively by means of phone banks and door-to-door visits.

We have reported many of these results in the past and will summarize them again shortly. Meanwhile, for me, some of the most interesting results emerged from the work of a Yale graduate student, Andra Gillespie. She said that civil rights organizations are often resistant to testing their voter outreach efforts. They are confident about what they’ve been doing for generations (even though there’s some evidence that it has no effects). It struck me that our society badly needs organizations that are both experimental and also authentically rooted in communities. Such organizations are needed not only in the youth voting area, but more generally.

We have institutions, such as universities and foundations, that are willing and able to test programs, but they have little accountability or credibility. They fly in, test a new program or approach, bless it or condemn it on the basis of their research, and then leave. Because they lack street-level credibility, they have trouble mobilizing people, so they often don?t get great results. Meanwhile, there are organizations that really do represent and serve communities over the long term, but they refuse to subject their methods to tough testing. I can think of very few (if any) organizations that combine credibility and accountability with true experimentalism. I love FDR’s New Deal slogan: “bold, persistent experimentation,” but we lack the institutions to make this happen.

dangers of fame

Here are three risks created by the pursuit of fame:

1. Fame tends to accumulate in unjustifiable and unhelpful ways. Just as the rich get richer, so the famous get “famouser.” For example, media outlets want to interview the famous; colleges want to hire them or invite them to visit; organizers want them to speak at their meetings. Each time someone agrees to one of these gigs, he or she gets more famous–pretty much regardless of merit. I know of famous academics who are hired simply because they will bring attention to colleges; and colleges that provide professional p.r. services to promote these same scholars even more. (A disclosure: I personally benefit from money spent to promote CIRCLE–which worries me.) In a society with efficient communications media, everyone can get access to the famous, and that’s what they demand. It then becomes increasingly difficult for others to get attention. Fame is actually worse than money in this respect. There is a limited supply of public attention, so the struggle for fame can be zero-sum, rather than win-win (as economic markets often are).

2. Those who want to be famous think too much about their potential audience. I am all for being sensitive to one’s readers or listeners–patiently giving them the information they need, trying not to bore them, trying to be relevant to their problems, etc. Also, if you have something important to say, I think you should try to find ways to communicate it to the people who need to know it. But desire for fame causes some people to put the cart before the horse. Instead of thinking, “I have something important to say; how can I find an audience?” they think, “I want an audience; what will a large group of people want to hear?” Note that this logic doesn’t always cause people to say (or write) popular things. Instead, it may encourage them to promote controversial views, so that they can be the only ones holding particular opinions. But unfortunately, the truth is often unoriginal and complicated, rather than simple and new.

3. People who are famous are asked to comment on all manner of topics. If they agree, they thus lose the intellectual discipline that comes from having to get published (or interviewed) on the merits of one’s research. A few extremely famous academics continue to work hard at developing evidence and arguments; they also concentrate on expressing views that they can defend on the basis of their own work. But more frequently, scholars are corrupted by fame; they spend most of their time opining on subjects far afield from their own competence, and thereby set bad examples for students and younger faculty.

I recognize that this blog is full of my own unprofessional, unsubstantiated opinions, which I nevertheless want people to read. I suppose in my defense I would say that this form is more like a conversation with a smallish group of voluntary visitors than a public address. Still, I do sometimes desire fame, and that is precisely why I worry about it.

the moral value of literary themes

For several years, I’ve been developing a moderate version of moral particularism, which says that the appropriate things to judge are situations, choices, or events, not concepts or categories (such as lying, happiness, or justice). I am therefore skeptical about the more ambitious forms of moral philosophy, which do focus on concepts. Lately, I’ve become interested in literary themes as an alternative.

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finally, campaign coverage with substance

During a campaign, our job as citizens is to decide whom to vote for. Two questions are relevant: What do the candidates propose? And what kind of people are they? The job of the press is to help us answer these two questions. As James Madison wrote, the purpose of the press is “canvassing the merits and measures of public men.”

Instead, we mainly see (even in the best newspapers, and even after 15 years of criticism) a steady stream of stories about campaign tactics, voters’ opinions, the electoral process, and comments that candidates make about one another. I suppose politicians’ tactics and remarks can shed some light on their personal “merits,” but not much. (Even a great potential president could campaign badly or say something inappropriate on the campaign trail). Worse than irrelevant, these stories are harmful, because they suggest that we should not vote for those candidates who currently appear to be doing badly in the horse race. This makes political news a self-fulfilling prophesy; it denies voters the power to choose for themselves. Witness, for example, Elizabeth Rosenthal’s recent front-page story on Senator John Edwards, which is all about how poor his chances are. Rosenthal says nothing that helps us assess Edwards’ “merits” or his “measures.”

Today, at last, the Times runs an article succinctly comparing the economic plans of the nine Democratic presidential contenders.

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