Fall/Winter 2006 On Principle

Posts: Readers Write about Democracy

A Reflection on Cultural Mythology

Individual freedom, equality, economic opportunity, justice, and civic engagement--these five principles not only form a core around which American democracy may coalesce, but are at the heart of the American mythology. I use the term "mythology" in this context advisedly. A myth is not a falsehood or an illusion; it is a preferred way of understanding the reality within which one lives. Insofar as we are Americans, we live within an understanding limned by these principles. Indeed, for a nation like ours, a nation of immigrants having no pre existing affiliation with the land through bloodline or religion or tradition, it is precisely these principles that define what it means to be an American, and which continue to allow peoples from all over the world to become Americans.

Myth, of course, always stands in an uneasy tension with the facts of the case. Living within myth often requires a constant apologetic discourse that obscures, omits, trivializes, or distorts whatever empirically undermines the mythic vision. In the case of these principles, it requires little effort to demonstrate how limited their application has been in fact. For instance, even in domains that are non-controversial, we accept myriads of limitations on them. Let me take individual freedom as an example.

However much we may praise individual freedom in theory, one still can't spit on a New York subway or walk naked through the streets of Eugene or even leave a front lawn unmowed through a long, hot summer without civil authorities intervening. How many more are the restrictions on individual freedom that are accepted as a matter of course in more charged domains--for instance, the safety of children, national security, public health.

The case is that much worse when freedom is restricted without the consent of the individual. But for the mythology, our national championing of individual freedom would appear as the rankest hypocrisy. The histories of slavery, of genocidal wars against the indigenous population, of the systematic disenfranchisement at various times of immigrants, of gays, of women, of Roman Catholics and Jews, all attest to the protracted disjunctions between the principle of individual freedom and its manifestations in fact.

And upon closer inspection, even the "victories" where freedom was presumably secured seem oddly unsatisfying, both partial and highly politicized. To take only one example, the preeminent documents abolishing slavery and enfranchising former slaves, the Emancipation Proclamation and the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments to the Constitution, established far less than they promised. The Emancipation Proclamation abolished slavery only in the states of the Confederacy, not in the Union; the Fourteenth Amendment was reinterpreted by the Supreme Court as a tool to further the interests of industrial capitalism rather than those of former slaves; the Fifteenth Amendment, however straightforward its assertion that "The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude," has a remarkably checkered history, from Jim Crow laws and poll taxes straight through to disturbing voter disenfranchisements in national elections, including Florida in 2000 and Ohio in 2004.

The core principles of democracy, in other words, are ennobling ideals that nonetheless stand in marked tension with historical reality. Yes, freedom and equality and justice have been made available, but only for some, only under certain conditions, even though the mythology suggests that they are universal. And that is the problem with mythology: it is partial, it obscures, omits, obfuscates. In the hands of the thoughtless and the unscrupulous, mythology may trump reality; in our national experience, it often has.

--Philip Michael Lewin, Grand Rapids, Michigan

Freedom to Choose

In 1982 a young Mayan schoolteacher came to visit me in the States for the publication of his book, El Q'anil: Man of Lightning. He had chosen to write this legend of the Cuchumatanes and I had agreed to translate it for two reasons: so that he might earn a little income, and so that public recognition might help protect him from the repression and murder regularly inflicted on rural Mayans by both Marxist guerrillas and government troops. We had worked on the book during several visits I made to Guatemala. We met at night in bars and cafes, changing venue every fifteen or twenty minutes so "the ears" would not suspect us of plotting.

Shortly after my friend's arrival in the States and the book's publication as a limited, hand-bound private edition paid for by enthusiastic subscribers, my friend's wife called and warned him not to come home. His name had appeared on a death list posted by the paramilitary. He spoke little English and knew no one in the States but me. One evening I invited several friends for supper. After eating we relaxed on my small deck and the subject turned to, "What did you want to be when you were a kid?" We had the usual answers--fireman, president, pilot, doctor, cowboy. My friend sat brooding in the darkness, thinking about his life, his wife and three children. I translated for him and asked him in Spanish, "What did you want to be?"

He looked at me and said, "I don't understand." I explained the conversation. I repeated the roles others had wished for. I asked him again what he had wanted to be. Again he looked at me oddly and said he didn't have an answer.

"Teacher," I suggested.

"No," he said. "I did not wish to be anything. I always knew what I would be. I would be a campesino and grow beans and corn like my father and grandfather."

Of course, even as he said that, he was on his way to becoming a writer. Nevertheless, it had been only by chance that I had met his brother on a crowded bus, and when his brother was murdered, I met him and our work began. My friend stayed in the US. His family escaped to join him. He went on to take his master's in anthropology, then his Ph.D. We published another book of Mayan fables, and he wrote a book about being kidnapped by the army and a comic novella. He went on to teach in Montana, then the University of California, while my work took me to Siberia and Central Asia, the old killing fields of Stalin's Soviet Union from which few escaped.

A few weeks ago, I picked up a book about Guatemala in a bookstore and looked for my friend in the index. There he was: Victor Dionicio Montejo, Minister of Peace. America's freedoms and its tolerance for outsiders had allowed him to become something he never dreamed of. Today he does not hesitate to say what he hopes Guatemala will become.

--Wallace Kaufman, Harrisburg

Principled Democracy?

As an American of African descent it is difficult to ponder or discuss democracy ahistorically or aracially. Personally, the legacy of slavery, legalized segregation, and my post-civil rights reality make it difficult for me to hear America or Americans brag about this country's belief in shared direction of the activities of the state.

Not even the Declaration of Independence was a truly "shared direction," for it was crafted by wealthy, privileged, white men, with their interests in mind. The document's primary drafter, Thomas Jefferson, a noted slaveholder with less than positive beliefs about enslaved Africans, makes such a discussion all the more distasteful to me.

Why else would York, the enslaved personal servant of William Clark, who led the expedition westward to the Pacific Ocean along with Meriwether Lewis, be ignored credit for his duty or payment for his service? Each man received $500 and 320 acres of land. If not for York's great swimming, hiking, and hunting skills, to say little of his dark skin, which allayed Native American skepticism, the expedition would not have been successful.

The very fact that in post-civil rights America, in July 2006, in fact, the House approved a twenty-five-year renewal of the 1965 Voting Rights Act (390 to 33), disturbs me greatly. None of my "inalienable" rights should be up for approval now or in 2031. If I had more space I would attack the Constitution and notions of democracy in the manner of David Walker's appeal before he was killed.

Like Walker, I too challenge the notion of democracy in American society, but post-slavery and beyond race. I am most concerned because the interests of business, investment, free trade, and tax credits exceed the needs of the public or citizens. As scholar Noreena Hertz describes in her book The Silent Takeover, the gap between rich and poor is cavernous, and too many laws favor the interest of big business over the interests of citizens. There is nothing democratic about politicians who are subordinate to the huge economic power of big business. How effective is democracy when the distribution of wealth is not egalitarian?

The answer is "not very" when so many millions of Americans are underemployed and one in five American children lives in poverty; in this reality economic opportunity, civic engagement, and equality are difficult to claim. Moreover, what sort of democracy makes having millions of dollars a contingency for running for public office? In modern America, a legitimate bid for political office requires millions of dollars instead of principled ideas.

And what about the People, those who represent the lower class? One need only investigate unemployment rolls, health care, lives lost in war, and prison populations to see how well democracy works. Meanwhile, check the status of the wealthy, who receive tax breaks, excuses from war, and military contracts from the government without bidding.

How meaningful is democracy when people have lost faith in politicians who jump to the commands of corporations rather than those of their own fellow citizens?

--Thabiti Lewis, Salem

Justice and Existentialism

Justice is the core value of democracy. Only in the presence of justice, can one experience individual freedom, equality, economic opportunity, and civic engagement. Justice must be a collective value--it must be valued by all in a society (or the substantial majority)--to operate successfully.

It might be surprising that this idea of societal justice was most eloquently expounded by the existentialist writer, Albert Camus. Existentialism is a philosophy of individualism, a belief that all we know is our own perception of the world. Although Camus rejected the label "existentialist" as intensely as his compatriot Sartre embraced it, Camus' writings articulate critical existentialist principles. He is especially relevant in his assessment of the individual's relationship to society.

In The Rebel, Camus argues that individuals' struggles against society have taken three principal forms, which he calls historical, metaphysical, and artistic rebellion. The first two are the "traditional" rebellions that we have all studied in history and philosophy classes: the succession of wars, uprisings, and differing theories about the ideal human society that has progressed through recorded time.

Historical rebellion leads to the tragedy of warfare, the senseless destruction of people by people in the interest of some government (empire, nation-state) or other corporate entity. Metaphysical rebellion leads to the tragedy of purges and concentration camps, the senseless destruction of unbelievers or backsliders by "true believers" (in Eric Hoffer's words) struggling to achieve a perfect society. Metaphysical rebels believe that only by ridding the population of people not ideologically acceptable to some imagined philosophy can the perfect human society be realized. The twentieth century is overpopulated with the death squads, death camps, and other sordid death-dealings that are the inevitable products of metaphysical rebellion.

Artistic rebellion, Camus concludes, is the only valid form of individual rebellion. Through artistic rebellion, the individual rages against the machine of injustice, calling the attention of fellow humans to the plight of others in the world. Artistic rebellion is an act of individuality, yet it is simultaneously a collective act of social justice, because it is an individual artistic expression made within a community. Every publicly expressed idea validates an individual's existence while rebelling against injustice.

Within a just society, individualism thrives because all individuals are respected. Within a just society, economic opportunity flourishes because everyone is equal before the law. And within a just society, civic engagement is not a right but a responsibility of the individual--it is a form of artistic rebellion that expresses the unique values of each person but curbs that expression within the parameters of a community that values all of its citizens.

Democratic government is inherently just, because it combines majority rule with protection of minority rights. To the extent that minority rights are reduced or suppressed--that is, to the extent that minorities receive less justice than the majority--any government is that much less democratic. Democracy is impossible without justice. Tyranny is impossible without injustice.

--Fred Reenstjerna, Corvallis

Sentient Code

When considering the topic of principle, or our own personal knowledge of such a matter, I find it is useful to start at the beginning.

My first encounter with a "principle" was unsettling at best, but then again many things can change and rattle a fifth-grader. My idea of "principle" was still in its infantile stage, represented as an older gentleman with hair protruding from his nose and ears, but nevertheless a ruling figure of an institution of knowledge.

Over the years, principle evolved beyond that limited form into something that helped guide decision and action: a rule or code of conduct designed to align with our moral fiber as well as our analytical rationale.

One might find it difficult to believe a convicted felon like myself could have grasped and sown the primal seed of principle, overcoming the tangled thistles of its nemesis, corruption. By being faced with the daily degeneration of moral structure in prison, seeing my own honor become decrepit, I have been driven to rebuild with the solid blocks of principle.

I have adopted a principle that is really quite simple, consisting of two elements: life and death. A principle that does not waver or yield, but harmonizes with the very fabric of our existence--and that is to participate in the nurturing of life. A principle not only to choose life, but also to make a conscious effort to promote it within my actions.

It is amusing the way our souls and intellect develop, the ways our silent wisdom matures into higher resolute codes. You could say that principles are by-products of our nature as sentient beings, and I have found that I nurture by nature. What are your principles, and why?

--Benjamin H. Kennedy, Eastern Oregon Correctional Institute, Pendleton

Freedom Facts

Individual freedom may be, as Ira Gershwin said about love, "a sometime thing." Even though we know the rules of voting, does that guarantee precinct legitimacy? Concerned, we skim newspapers and Internet sites for verifiable details about defects of voting machines, "lost" votes, and outdated electoral college numbers. We sense that our individual freedom, barring imprisonment or tsunamis, is actually a freedom of the mind. Along with a touch of original thinking, we need a storehouse of supportable facts and examples.

"Hold on!" someone interrupts. "Facts can be twisted to fit a bias--or worded for emotion." Someone adds, "What if we can't agree on reliable sources: the Bill on Fox or the Bill on OPB?" Another voice says, "Give me a one-liner that hits the nail on the head!" Someone disagrees, "Can't. Things are too complex." One voice hopes, "I want to stay in the middle, bring radical edges together." Challengers protest: "There's no half-way on some things. How can you slice gun control, same-sex unions, separation of church and state?" The conversation sometimes tells us that, even though our comments about voting or other issues brings no unanimity, the process of examining the relevance of our viewpoints expresses freedom.

Do we all share some degree of freedom, even while standing on different hilltops? In youth we do, perhaps, share many "givens": school, part-time jobs, tetanus shots, driver's manuals. As we expand our world, however, we confront surprises: variable interest rates, black holes, avian flu, "free trade." We begin to feel a basic uncertainty. We notice, too, that in various un-familiar places as well as in pockets of our own nation, hunger, disease, and violence rule. This complication pushes us to analyze our own role in history. The dilemmas that we identify are not always from our own developing principles, but from explosions of science and technology, as well as from the gamut of interpretations in literature, the arts, philosophy, theology. We dream of a high-tech creation match- ing a "what if" from the humanities to see if it becomes world peace! A free search always lurks in the devices of our imagination.

--Joanna Klick, Damascus

We Are All the People

I am of terrorist descent: freeing slaves during slavery, and fighting to defend the land of your ancestors from foreign invaders is in some lights terrorism. My ancestors, who were both African slaves and indigenous, fought to free themselves from the yoke of the American State, because they were not counted among the "We the People" number. At the time, being American, being Christian, as well as being an Oregonian, was a whites-only proposition.

We often fought for the American-defined "common good," even when that good was not good for us. We acquired literacy when it was illegal and the penalty could have meant torture, mutilation, or death. We fought for citizenship; yet even when granted by statute, voting meant torture, mutilation, or death at the hands of law enforcement. Under these conditions we still fought in foreign wars to guarantee others freedoms that we were, and in some cases still are, effectively denied in America. While such remembrance is sometimes seen as treasonous, remembering past injustice is the key to realizing justice in the present.

In principles articulated by my foremothers and forefathers in ancient Alkebulan, (Africa to the Greeks), and by the principles of the White Roots of Peace laid down by the Clan Mothers of the Iroquois Confederacy several centuries before the Declaration of Independence, African and Iroquois justice flows from recognizing that every human being has a voice in the collective good, therefore every human being has the economic opportunity to improve him or herself and thereby contribute to the public good.

"We the People" did not include every human being, but replicated the Greco-Roman model of democracy, which largely recognized only wealthy white men as citizens. Pre-conquest Africa and pre-Columbian democracies assumed the equality of men and women and their active participation in the government of the people without regard to such discriminators as economic status, race, gender, disability, and age. In America, nonwealthy, nonmale, nonwhite human beings have had to fight continually for their own actual civic engagement, and for justice.

Economic opportunity is the ability, flowing from equality, to exchange valuable tangible (goods and services) and intangible (history, culture, wisdom) things in order to enhance life. Civic engagement can only be possible if one is valued, and one's contributions are valued, as well as engaged. Indeed, in our society civic engagement only comes if one has the leisure, i.e., one's food and shelter security is not endangered by participation in the polity. So any meaningful expression of individual freedom, is predicated on the agency allowed one from the amount and type of distributive justice one is culturally embedded in. Slave owners felt slavery was just, that their individual rights as property owners superseded any human rights their property might aspire to. The Founding Fathers found the Clan Mothers worthy of superficial emulation in word only, not in the deep spirit of inclusion that was the tradition on this continent before 1492.

--Mark Harris, Eugene

A Different Generation?

Every year on July fourth, Mom, Dad, and I used to hand out coffee, doughnuts, and soda to the hundreds of people preparing to participate in our small town's annual parade. Officially, our little hospitality wagon was sponsored by the local chamber of commerce, but I always thought of it as our thing and, even in my teen years, I enjoyed passing out free food to all those happy people.

Mom and Dad were always volunteering time or money for a city cause. Dad, an electrician, hung all of the city's holiday banners with his ladder truck. Mom baked pies and cookies for the annual scholarship auction. Dad was on the city council and the county transit board. Mom was president of the chamber of commerce and active in soroptimist's. Now in a different town, she's still active in rotary, the local children's museum and a small business leadership group.

I can't imagine doing any of those things in my adult life. In my world, the only trace of my parents' civic generousity is my devotion to local independent businesses. Other than that, I'm like most thirty-something people I know. I read my e-mail before I read the newspaper each morning. I go to a yoga class once a week. I listen to NPR and watch independent documentaries and discuss them with friends when we gather once a week or so for drinks and dinner.

I'm not beating myself up over this. I hate meetings, and I don't long to serve on any boards. I'm just curious what happened. Would I be more active in local politics if I lived in a small town rather than a medium-sized city? Is it a generational thing or a class thing? Mom and Dad were baby boomers and blue-collar small business owners. I'm Gen-X and pretty solidly middle class, as are most of my friends. Are we slackers? Are we selfish? Probably.

My neighbor and I attended a neighborhood association meeting once because we were looking for ways to slow down traffic on our sometimes busy street. A speaker from Portland was scheduled to talk about a neighborhood project that used art to slow passing cars. On this particular night, the board members of our neighborhood association were locked in some kind of power struggle over an election, and they argued about procedure and Robert's Rules of Order for an excruciatingly long period of time. My neighbor and I didn't hang around for the speaker. Instead, we went to our neighborhood restaurant to drink beer and complain about the neighborhood association. We decided that we were happy with our informal association with our neighbors, made up of after-work beers and casual meetings in the street. This seems more natural than attending meetings governed by archaic rules. I still haven't done anything about the traffic situation. I just yell at the cars that speed by.

--Jamie Passaro, Eugene

The Goal of Community

History can be viewed as a constant shifting of balance between the individual and the collective. There are as many variations on this theme as there are, or have been, cultures. The poorest and most technologically primitive people, hunter-gatherers, are the most egalitarian and among the more collectively organized. They have to be to survive. From the beginning, we humans have always had to come together in some form of extended family--band, tribe, village, city, and upward--to make a living for ourselves.

The advent of agriculture, denser population, specialization, and hierarchies encouraged individualism. To people used to being subsumed in a band or tribe, the change must have been exhilarating.

But it wasn't until that notable Enlightenment document, our Constitution, was drafted that the rights of the individual were codified so extensively in the first ten amendments. For the past two hundred and thirty years we have increasingly apotheosized individual freedom to the extent that it distorts those other four core principles of democracy. What began as a noble effort to grant hitherto rare human liberties has devolved into a hyper individualistic, winner-take-all American ethos.

Ideologues have turned our love of liberty into a license to abandon the less fortunate. "Personal responsibility" means if you're lucky, go for it, if not, tough luck, pal. Equality, economic opportunity, civic engagement, and justice are all unequally distributed in this country because individual freedom has been so perverted. That historic balance between the individual and the collective has shifted to the point that well-off and well-positioned individuals benefit hugely at the expense of the community, the commons.

It has done repairable harm to our republic. Somehow we have lost touch with that which most enriches our lives: each other. Many things fill our lives: art, music, travel, sex, but our deepest satisfaction comes from friends, family, and loved ones--our harmonious relationships within the community. Recently published research has pointed to the isolation Americans feel. This is a direct result of the deification of the individual, the rebel, the tough guy who plays by his own rules. Besides keeping us from enjoying what truly makes us happy, and truncating those other democratic principles, it serves the powerful very well by making sure the less powerful are separated and struggling against each other.

It is no longer possible for those who value true community and the life-enhancing richness it can bring to simply try to carve out nice little lives for ourselves. Our nation is hurtling rapidly toward an oligarchy of privilege for the paltry few and misery for the many. Even those few won't be all that happy, isolated in their gated "communities," given the prevailing ethos of our times.

We must speak out about the need to be fair, inclusive, and egalitarian, to recognize how much we depend on each other. Individual freedom is a positive ideal; arrogant triumphalism is not.

--David Leo Kennedy, Ashland