President Trump announces US withdrawal from the Iran nuclear agreement, May 8, 2018. CNP/Press Association. All rights reserved.
These are
dangerous times for democracy. Russia,
Turkey, Hungary, Poland, and other places that once offered democratic hope are
now, in varying degrees, falling into authoritarianism. Democracy is also in trouble in sturdier
places.
In the United
States, Donald Trump poses the greatest threat to the American constitutional
order since Richard Nixon. And yet,
despite the floundering first year and a half of Trump’s presidency, the opposition
has yet to find its voice.
One might think
that Trump’s inflammatory tweets, erratic behavior, and persistent disregard
for democratic norms would offer the opposition an easy target. But it has not worked out this way. For those who would mount a politics of
resistance, the outrage Trump provokes has been less energizing than
paralyzing.
There are two
reasons for the opposition’s paralysis. One is the investigation by special counsel Robert Mueller into the
Trump campaign’s possible collusion with Russia. The hope that Mueller’s findings will lead to
the impeachment of Trump is wishful thinking that distracts Democrats from
asking hard questions about why voters have rejected them at both the federal
and state level. The hope that Mueller’s findings
will lead to the impeachment of Trump… distracts Democrats from asking hard
questions about why voters have rejected them at both the federal and state
level.
A second source of
paralysis lies in the chaos Trump creates. His steady stream of provocations
has a disorienting effect on critics, who struggle to discriminate between the
more consequential affronts to democracy and passing distractions.
The Italian writer
Italo Calvino once wrote, “I spent the first twenty years of my life with
Mussolini’s face always in view.” Trump
too is always in view, thanks partly to his tweets and partly to the insatiable
appetite of television news to cover his every outrageous antic.
An economy of outrage
Moral outrage can
be politically energizing, but only if it is channeled and guided by political
judgment. What the opposition to Trump needs now is an economy of outrage, disciplined by the priorities of an affirmative
political project.
What might such a
project look like? To answer this
question, we must begin by facing up to the complacencies of establishment
political thinking that opened the way to Trump in the US and to right-wing
populism in Britain and Europe.
The hard reality
is that Donald Trump was elected by tapping a wellspring of anxieties,
frustrations, and legitimate grievances to which the mainstream parties have no
compelling answer.
This means that,
for those worried about Trump, and about populism, it is not enough to mobilize
a politics of protest and resistance; it is also necessary to engage in a
politics of persuasion. Such a politics must begin by understanding the
discontent that is roiling politics in the US and in democracies around the
world. It is not enough to mobilize a politics of
protest and resistance; it is also necessary to engage in a politics of
persuasion.
The failure of technocratic liberalism
Like the triumph
of Brexit in the UK, the election of Trump was an angry verdict on decades of
rising inequality and a version of globalization that benefits those at the top
but leaves ordinary people feeling disempowered. It was also a rebuke for a technocratic
approach to politics that is tone deaf to the resentments of people who feel
the economy and the culture have left them behind.
Some denounce the
upsurge of populism as little more than a racist, xenophobic reaction against
immigrants and multiculturalism. Others
see it mainly in economic terms, as a protest against the job losses brought
about by global trade and new technologies.
But it is a
mistake to see only the bigotry in populist protest, or to view it only as an
economic complaint. To do so misses the fact that the upheavals we are
witnessing are a political response to a political failure of historic
proportions. The upheavals we are witnessing are a
political response to a political failure of historic proportions.
The right wing
populism ascendant today is a symptom of the failure of progressive politics. The
Democratic Party has become a party of a technocratic liberalism more congenial
to the professional classes than to the blue collar and middle class voters who
once constituted its base. A similar predicament afflicted Britain’s Labour
Party and led, following its defeat in the last general election, to the
surprising election of anti-establishment figure Jeremy Corbyn as party leader.
The roots of the
predicament go back to the 1980s. Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher had
argued that government was the problem and that markets were the solution. When
they passed from the political scene, the center-left politicians who succeeded
them – Bill Clinton in the US, Tony Blair in Britain, Gerhard Schroeder in
Germany – moderated but consolidated the market faith. They softened the harsh
edges of unfettered markets, but did not challenge the central premise of the
Reagan-Thatcher era – that market mechanisms are the primary instruments for
achieving the public good. In line with this faith, they embraced a
market-driven version of globalization and welcomed the growing
financialization of the economy.
In the 1990s, the
Clinton administration joined with Republicans in promoting global trade
agreements and deregulating the financial industry. The benefits of these policies flowed mostly
to those at the top, but Democrats did little to address the deepening
inequality and the growing power of money in politics. Having strayed from its
traditional mission of taming capitalism and holding economic power to
democratic account, liberalism lost its capacity to inspire. Having strayed from its traditional mission of taming
capitalism and holding economic power to democratic account, liberalism lost
its capacity to inspire.
All that seemed to
change when Barack Obama appeared on the political scene. In his 2008
presidential campaign, he offered a stirring alternative to the managerial,
technocratic language that had come to characterize liberal public discourse. He
showed that progressive politics could speak a language of moral and spiritual
purpose.
But the moral
energy and civic idealism he inspired as a candidate did not carry over into
his presidency. Assuming office in the midst of the financial crisis, he
appointed economic advisors who had promoted financial deregulation during the
Clinton years. With their encouragement, he bailed out the banks on terms that
did not hold them to account for the behavior that led to the crisis and
offered little help for ordinary citizens who had lost their homes.
His moral voice
muted, Obama placated rather than articulated the seething public anger toward
Wall Street. Lingering anger over the bailout cast a shadow over the Obama
presidency and would ultimately fuel a mood of populist protest that reached
across the political spectrum – on the left, the Occupy movement and the
candidacy of Bernie Sanders, on the right, the Tea Party movement and the
election of Trump. His moral voice muted, Obama
placated rather than articulated the seething public anger toward Wall Street.
The populist
uprising in the US, Britain, and Europe is a backlash against elites of the
mainstream parties, but its most conspicuous causalities have been liberal and
center-left political parties – the Democratic Party in the US, the Labour
Party in Britain, the Social Democratic Party (SPD) in Germany, whose share of
the vote reached a historic low in the last Federal election, Italy’s
Democratic Party, whose vote share dropped to less than 20 per cent, and the
Socialist Party in France, whose presidential nominee won only six per cent of
the vote in the first round of last year’s election.
Rethinking progressive politics
Before they can
hope to win back public support, progressive parties must rethink their mission
and purpose. To do so, they should learn from the populist protest that has
displaced them – not by replicating its xenophobia and strident nationalism,
but by taking seriously the legitimate grievances with which these ugly
sentiments are entangled. Such rethinking should begin with the recognition
that these grievances are not only economic but also moral and cultural; they
are not only about wages and jobs but also about social esteem.
Here are four
themes that progressive parties need to grapple with if they hope to address
the anger and resentments that roil politics today: income inequality;
meritocratic hubris; the dignity of work; patriotism and national community:
Income inequality:
The standard response to inequality is to call for greater equality of
opportunity – retraining workers whose jobs have disappeared due to
globalization and technology; improving access to higher education; removing
barriers of race, ethnicity, and gender. It is summed up in the slogan that
those who work hard and play by the rules should be able to rise as far as
their talents will take them.
But this slogan
now rings hollow. In today’s economy, it is not easy to rise. This is a special problem for the US, which
prides itself on upward mobility.
Americans have traditionally worried less than Europeans about
inequality, believing that, whatever one’s starting point in life, it is
possible, with hard work, to rise from rags to riches. But today, this belief
is in doubt. Americans born to poor
parents tend to stay poor as adults. Of those born in the bottom fifth of the
income scale, 43 per cent will remain there, and only four per cent will make
it to the top fifth. It is easier to rise from poverty in Canada, Germany,
Sweden, and other European countries than it is in the US.
This may explain
why the rhetoric of opportunity fails to inspire as it once did. Progressives
should reconsider the assumption that mobility can compensate for inequality.
They should reckon directly with inequalities of power and wealth, rather than
rest content with the project of helping people scramble up a ladder whose
rungs grow further and further apart.
Meritocratic hubris:
But the problem runs deeper. The relentless emphasis on creating a fair
meritocracy, in which social positions reflect effort and talent, has a
corrosive effect on the way we interpret our success (or the lack of it). The
notion that the system rewards talent and hard work encourages the winners to
consider their success their own doing, a measure of their virtue – and to
look down upon those less fortunate than themselves.
Those who lose out
may complain that the system is rigged, that the winners have cheated and manipulated
their way to the top. Or they may harbor the demoralizing thought that their
failure is their own doing, that they simply lack the talent and drive to
succeed.
When these
sentiments coexist, as invariably they do, they make for a volatile brew of
anger and resentment against elites that fuels populist protest. Though himself
a billionaire, Donald Trump understands and exploits this resentment. Unlike
Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, who spoke constantly of “opportunity,” Trump scarcely
mentions the word. Instead, he offers
blunt talk of winners and losers.
Liberals and
progressives have so valorized a college degree – both as an avenue for
advancement and as the basis for social esteem – that they have difficulty
understanding the hubris a meritocracy can generate, and the harsh judgment it
imposes on those who have not gone to college.
Such attitudes are at the heart of the populist backlash and Trump’s
victory.
One of the deepest
political divides in American politics today is between those with and those
without a college degree. To heal this divide, Democrats need to understand the
attitudes toward merit and work it reflects.
The dignity of work:
The loss of jobs to technology and outsourcing has coincided with a
sense that society accords less respect to the kind of work the working class
does. As economic activity has shifted from making things to managing money, as
society has lavished outsized rewards on hedge fund managers and Wall Street
bankers, the esteem accorded work in the traditional sense has become fragile
and uncertain.
New technologies
may further erode the dignity of work. Some Silicon Valley visionaries
anticipate a time when robots and artificial intelligence will render many of
today’s jobs obsolete. To ease the way for such a future, they propose paying
everyone a basic income. What was once justified as a safety net for all
citizens is now offered as a way to soften the transition to a world without
work. Whether such a world is a prospect to welcome or to resist is a question
that will be central to politics in the coming years. To think it through,
political parties will have to grapple with the meaning of work and its place
in a good life.
Patriotism and national
community: Free trade agreements and immigration are the
most potent flashpoints of populist fury. On one level, these are economic
issues. Opponents argue that free trade agreements and immigration threaten
local jobs and wages, while proponents reply that they help the economy in the long
run. But the passion these issues evoke suggests something more is at stake.
Workers who
believe their country cares more for cheap goods and cheap labor than for the
job prospects of its own people feel betrayed. This sense of betrayal often finds
ugly, intolerant expression – a hatred of immigrants, a strident nationalism
that vilifies Muslims and other “outsiders,” a rhetoric of “taking back our
country.”
Liberals reply by
condemning the hateful rhetoric and insisting on the virtues of mutual respect
and multicultural understanding. But this principled response, valid though it
is, fails to address an important set of questions implicit in the populist
complaint. What is the moral significance, if any, of national borders? Do we
owe more to our fellow citizens than we owe citizens of other countries? In a
global age, should we cultivate national identities or aspire to a cosmopolitan
ethic of universal human concern?
These questions
may seem daunting, a far cry from the small things we discuss in politics these
days. But the populist uprising
highlights the need to rejuvenate democratic public discourse, to address the
big questions people care about, including moral and cultural questions.
Revitalizing public discourse
Any attempt to
address such questions, to reimagine the terms of democratic public discourse,
faces a powerful obstacle. It requires
that we rethink a central premise of contemporary liberalism. It requires that we question the idea that
the way to a tolerant society is to avoid engaging in substantive moral argument
in politics.
This principle of
avoidance – this insistence that citizens leave their moral and spiritual
convictions outside when they enter the public square – is a powerful temptation.
It seems to avoid the danger that the
majority may impose its values on the minority. It seems to prevent the
possibility that a morally overheated politics will lead to wars of
religion. It seems to offer a secure basis for mutual respect.
But this strategy
of avoidance, this insistence on liberal neutrality, is a mistake. It
ill-equips us to address the moral and cultural issues that animate the
populist revolt. For how is it possible to discuss the meaning of work and its
role in a good life without debating competing conceptions of the good life? How
is it possible to think through the proper relation of national and global
identities without asking about the virtues such identities express, and the
claims they make upon us?
Liberal neutrality
flattens questions of meaning, identity, and purpose into questions of
fairness. It therefore misses the anger and resentment that animate the
populist revolt; it lacks the moral and rhetorical and sympathetic resources to
understand the cultural estrangement, even humiliation, that many working class
and middle class voters feel; and it ignores the meritocratic hubris of elites.
Donald Trump is keenly alive to the politics of
humiliation.
Donald Trump is
keenly alive to the politics of humiliation. From the standpoint of economic
fairness, his populism is fake, a kind of plutocratic populism. His health plan
would have cut health care for many of his working class supporters to fund massive
tax cuts for the wealthy. But to focus solely on this hypocrisy misses the
point.
When he withdrew
the US from the Paris climate change agreement, Trump argued, implausibly, that
he was doing so to protect American jobs.
But the real point of his decision, its political rationale, was
contained in this seemingly stray remark: “We don’t want other countries and other
leaders to laugh at us anymore.”
Liberating the US
from the supposed burdens of the climate change agreement was not really about
jobs or about global warming. It was, in Trump’s political imagination, about
averting humiliation. This resonates with Trump voters, even those who care
about climate change.
For those left
behind by three decades of market-driven globalization, the problem is not only
wage stagnation and the loss of jobs; it is also the loss of social esteem. It
is not only about unfairness; it is also about humiliation. It is not only about unfairness; it is also about
humiliation.
Mainstream liberal
and social democratic politicians miss this dimension of politics. They think the problem with globalization is
simply a matter of distributive justice; those who have gained from global
trade, new technologies, and the financialization of the economy have not
adequately compensated those who have lost out.
But this misunderstands
the populist complaint. It also reflects a defect in the public philosophy of
contemporary liberalism. Many liberals distinguish between neo-liberalism (or laissez-faire, free market thinking) and the
liberalism that finds expression in what philosophers call “liberal public
reason.” The first is an economic doctrine, whereas the second is a principle
of political morality that insists government should be neutral toward
competing conceptions of the good life.
Notwithstanding
this distinction, there is a philosophical affinity between the neo-liberal
faith in market reasoning and the principle of liberal neutrality. Market
reasoning is appealing because it seems to offer a way to resolve contested
public questions without engaging in contentious debates about how goods are
properly valued. When two people make a deal, they decide for themselves what
value to place on the goods they exchange.
Similarly, liberal
neutrality is appealing because it seems to offer a way of defining and
justifying rights without presupposing any particular conception of the good. But
the neutrality is spurious in both cases.
Markets are not morally neutral instruments for defining the common
good. And liberal public reason is not a morally neutral way of arriving at
principles of justice. Markets are not morally
neutral instruments for defining the common good. And liberal public reason is
not a morally neutral way of arriving at principles of justice.
Conducting our
public discourse as if it were possible to outsource moral judgment to markets,
or to procedures of liberal public reason, has created an empty, impoverished
public discourse, a vacuum of public meaning.
Such empty public spaces are invariably filled by narrow, intolerant,
authoritarian alternatives – whether in the form of religious fundamentalism or
strident nationalism.
That is what we
are witnessing today. Three decades of
market-driven globalization and technocratic liberalism have hollowed out
democratic public discourse, disempowered ordinary citizens, and prompted a
populist backlash that seeks to cloth the naked public square with an
intolerant, vengeful nationalism.
A vacuum of public meaning
To reinvigorate
democratic politics, we need to find our way to a morally more robust public
discourse, one that honors pluralism by engaging
with our moral disagreements, rather than avoiding
them.
Disentangling the
intolerant aspects of populist protest from its legitimate grievances is no
easy matter. But it is important to try. Understanding these grievances and
creating a politics that can respond to them is the most pressing political
challenge of our time.
This lecture draws
upon material from my articles “Lessons from the Populist Revolt,” Project
Syndicate and 'Populism, Liberalism, and Democracy,”' Philosophy
and Social Criticism (2018). It was given at the Institute for Human Sciences, Vienna last month.
See also What Money Can't Buy –
the new video series promoting public debate about the
moral and civic limits of market reasoning, from the Institute for New
Economic Thinking.