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WHO’S AFRAID OF DEMOCRACY?  
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Steve Fraser
October 8, 2024
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_ Democracy Where Art Thou? Year after year polls register those same
healthy majorities in favor of everything from universal health care
to tuition free college, from serious climate change mitigation to
paid maternity leave. Little happens... _

Crumbling US democracy, Liu Rui/GT

 

“We have eight months to save our Republic,” so warned Elizabeth
Cheney, noted renegade Republican. Noteworthy indeed! Chaney is the
loyal daughter of perhaps the least likely vice president in American
history to be singled out as a champion of democracy this side of
Andrew Johnson (and that’s not being entirely fair to Johnson). And
until she was ousted as chair of the House Republican Conference (the
third highest position in the Party’s House leadership), Cheney,
like her father, would have been no one’s pick to die on her sword
warding off an “existential threat to our democracy.”   

 

Yet there she was and is. Nor was she then, nor is she now, alone.
Long before Cheney rang the alarm, an astonishingly wide spectrum of
public opinion had formed a consensus.  Cognoscenti from liberal
publications like the New York Times, The New York Review of Books,
and New Republic to more left-leaning ones like the Nation and Jacobin
all identified the same “existential threat.” So too, of course,
did the whole Democratic Party, everyone from Joe Biden to Bernie
Sanders from Barak Obama to Nancy Pelosi. The highest officials of the
national security establishment, people not ordinarily seen as
defenders of democracy - indeed more regularly associated with
clandestine efforts to undermine it around the world - suddenly
proclaimed that the “threat to democracy” shall not pass. 
Electronic media, both social and old-style, joined the chorus.  Book
titles offered to explain How Democracy Dies, or asked, Did It Happen
Here? Imminent civil war was made into a movie.   

 Belief that an “existential threat to democracy” exists has
become conventional wisdom (albeit outside the world of MAGA,
admittedly a rather large world, but more on that later).  It’s
unclear whether that threat will go away if Trump is defeated; first
things first, but I suspect most would agree that the threat will
linger or do more than linger and likely shadow the future of American
politics. 

 Robust assumptions lend heft to this specter:  That now the nation
is a democracy, if imperfectly so, but may cease to be if Trump is
elected;  That the Constitution is democracy’s most precious
xxxxxx but is under assault; That democracy and liberalism are joined
at the hip; That the name of the “existential threat” is fascism
or some hybrid of authoritarian fascism or fascist authoritarianism
(or in President Biden’s words, “semi-fascism”); That it is
imperative  for all those who want to extinguish the threat before it
does mortal damage to form the broadest possible anti-fascist united
front.   

 

                                    
Democracy Where Art Thou? 

 

Elections happen. Everybody can vote (although that right is
increasingly in jeopardy). Electoral politics is what passes for
democracy. However, it does so in the passive tense, demobilizes other
forms of mass participation, and practices the art of the possible to
the exclusion of more challenging alternatives. Internally, the system
is flawed by gerrymandering, the recurring need for super-majorities,
the filibuster, first-past-the-post winner-take-all results, and other
features that disable democracy. Still, it is what we have. And
notwithstanding groundless accusations of election fraud, it is good
we have it. 

 Few, however, seriously believe that the people rule in any
meaningful sense. Money does, both directly and by lubricating the
networks of elite power brokers and legislators. This is the commonly
held sense of how the system works; the vox populi counterpoint to the
punditocracy’s huzzahs for democracy.  It accounts for why a
healthy majority consider the government corrupt (a number which rose
from 59% in 2006 to 79% in 2013 – roughly the Obama years - and
remains not far below that level today). 

 Year after year polls register those same healthy majorities in
favor of everything from universal health care to tuition free
college, from serious climate change mitigation to paid maternity
leave. Little or, more often, nothing happens. Of course, if you’re
among the fortunate few, stuff happens for you speedily, but
glacially, if at all, should you belong to the disfavored majority;
it’s as if patricians and plebs lived in different dimensions of
time.      

 Why is that?  More is at work here than Citizens United and the
sheer throw-weight of the corporate behemoth. A society anchored in
individualism, that treats its citizens as self-interested micro
entrepreneurs of self-exploitation, one whose return on such
investments leaves multitudes of “losers” in its wake, is not the
most ecologically habitable zone for democracy. After all, democracy
assumes some communing together. Instincts for community die away in a
world where “human capital is both a descriptive of what we are and
normative of what we should be,” according to political philosopher
Wendy Brown. 

 Democracy was under threat long before Donald Trump became a
politician. A sense of powerlessness abides. Political parties, which
once gave voice to popular sentiment, no matter how limited and
distorted, are now hollowed out remnants. Mass movements, especially
the labor movement, are likewise weak, sickly or dead, or else, as is
the case with Black Lives Matter or other identity-based movements, do
not threaten the core structures of economic and political power
(whether recent signs of revival have staying power remains to be
seen).  

 Matters of war and peace, of how the country’s resources are to be
deployed, whether concentrated wealth subverts the commonwealth, and
other questions vital to the national well-being are formulated and
resolved with scarcely a scintilla of popular deliberation (or left
unformulated and so left unresolved). Most fiscal, spending, social
security and social policies elude popular choice.  Ruling elites
prefer, in the words of a German central banker, “the permanent
plebiscite of global markets.” Democratically elected and
re-elected, German chancellor Angela Merkel agreed, calling for “a
democracy that conforms to the markets.” This is democracy without
the demos, politics without the polis.   

 Instead, politics has become an exercise in management science by
those with the right credentials. Elites long ago abandoned their own
humanist ideological convictions. Instead, they pursue an instrumental
logic that privileges expert management and technical adjustments to
keep the machine humming or at least from breaking down entirely.
Upper levels of the professional-managerial class supervise,
administer, and do thought work. Everyone else is supposed to consent,
too uninformed to form a substantive opinion. An element of the
theatrical has always been part of political life. But now it’s
become pure spectator sport, a spectacle, or what Peter Mair has
characterized as “the transformation of party democracy into
audience democracy,” or “video politics.” The recent descent of
the Democratic Party Convention into pure bathos is indicative.  

 Homelands of democracy have surrendered their democratic heritage.
Much of Europe, for example, is now run by a troika consisting of the
IMF, the European Central Bank, and the “Eurogroup”, an informal
body of finance ministers, what one writer has described as a
“neo-liberal Leviathan.” Meritocracy has become a pernicious form
of anti-democracy under the guise of democracy.    

 Nor is this a secret. Political and intellectual elites, unfailingly
liberal, are hardy shy in acknowledging that what keeps them up at
night is as much the threat posed by democracy as it is the threat to
democracy. The authors of When Democracy Dies lament the vanishing
away of “buffers” to excessive democracy.  They mean all those
mechanisms – party machines, backroom wheeling and dealing by power
brokers, deference to political wise men, and so on - which once
weeded out “extremists” like Trump (and, by the way, precisely the
kind of deft, behind-the-scenes maneuvering which selected Kamala
Harris as perhaps the next president).  

 Elites are charged, in this view, with the responsibility of dealing
with the threat of populist demagogues who recklessly target the
Establishment, and who go so far as to accuse those in power of
transgressions against democracy. What’s called for is a praetorian
guard to shield democracy or what the authors characterize as
“democracy’s gatekeepers.” Fareed Zakaria, famous, among other
things, for setting off alarm bells in the night about the advent of
what he calls “illiberal democracy,” put things bluntly: “What
we need in politics today is not more democracy but less.”   

 Flawed as it might be, however, American democracy is still well
worth protecting. It guarantees the elementary rights and liberties of
its citizenry. All enjoy, or are supposed to, equal treatment under
the law. Over its lifetime, democracy in America has extended those
rights to wider and wider segments of the population. This has been
true, no matter how imperfectly so.  And for those anxious about the
“threat to democracy,” it is the United States Constitution above
all that is the sacred guardian of these precious rights, “our
national creed of freedom and equality.” But is that so? 

 

                                  Is
Democracy Unconstitutional? 

 

Thanks to January 6th, the reputation of the Constitution as the
capstone of democratic achievement has reached new heights. And that
is extraordinary given the reverential state in which it was held
before that fateful day. For many there is no more convincing evidence
of the imminent “threat to democracy” than the opera bouffe-like
attempt to obstruct the peaceful transfer of power nearly four years
ago.  

 Yet the Constitution was conceived as a way of policing, defanging,
and even suppressing what its creators worried had become an excess of
democracy; or what many of the founding fathers referred to as
“mobocracy.” Under the Articles of Confederation, the country was
overrun with these kinds of democratic impulses, even now and then
insurrectionary ones: tax revolts, debt moratoria and cancellations,
inflationary paper currencies to ease the burden of the indebted,
blocked land repossessions by banks, annually elected unicameral
legislatures made up of the hoi polloi, even armed uprisings among
farmers, as in the case of Shay’s Rebellion (not the only one of its
kind). 

 All of this was deeply disturbing to the economic, social, and
political elites of post-Revolutionary America. Something drastic
seemed called for. The fifty-five men who assembled in Philadelphia,
who conducted their deliberations in secret, locking the doors and
windows of the East Room of the Pennsylvania State House, despite the
sweltering July heat, so that no one could eavesdrop on their
proceedings, were, after all, pondering a kind of coup d’etat. They
had not been sent to Philadelphia to draft a new constitution but to
amend the Articles of Confederation. However, they were, by and large,
men of some social pedigree, education and property who expected their
property rights to be respected, and that their social inferiors would
defer to their right to rule as people of breeding and disinterested
judgment. That wasn’t happening.  So, something more decisive than
amending a failing governing mechanism seemed called for to reign in
the “democratical” spirit.   

 Taming democracy was by no means the only reason the Constitution
was conceived. Nor did its many provisions deal exclusively or at all
with that dilemma.  Plenty of them did, however, working to open up
space between the governing classes and the masses. The most
efficacious include: The electoral college, the Senate as a body that
affords grossly disproportionate power to underpopulated regions, and
that was originally conceived and instituted as an aristocratic one,
not subject to direct election, the life-time Supreme Court which was
expressly seen by people like Madison as a check against democratic
legislative excess, the veto power to frustrate the popular will, the
enormous obstacles placed in the way of amending the Constitution,
among others. Nor does this take into account the Constitution’s
taboos against interfering with private property; nor, for that
matter, its tolerance for private property in human beings.  

 Under some circumstances democracy is an incendiary.  It may
subvert existing law in an exceptional exercise of the popular will.
It may do more, even intrude beyond the political realm into a
society’s social relations, its economic structure. The Constitution
was designed in part as a prophylactic against that dangerous
willfulness. 

 Arguably, the Constitution is not a blueprint for democracy. Rather,
it is a piece of architectural genius whose purpose was to establish a
liberal political order. It managed that only with some reluctance,
appending, after the fact, the Bill of Rights which inscribed those
civil and political rights which are indeed essential, but not
sufficient, for democracy. 

 Over time however, and especially more recently, the distinction
between liberalism and democracy has faded. The United States
describes itself as a liberal democracy, implying that a liberal
society and a democratic one is virtually the same animal.  The
government, regardless of who’s running it, purports to support
liberal democracy around the world, even though for generations it has
systematically undermined democracy whenever and wherever it concluded
its material and strategic interests were at stake. Nonetheless, in
treating the Constitution as the summa of democracy, in singling it
out as the principal target of those threatening democracy, the
conflation of liberalism and democracy is sustained.  

 

                                             
This Far and No Farther  

 

Liberalism and democracy, however, have only now and then aligned and
were often enough at odds. Not only in the New World, but in Europe as
well during the Age of Revolution, bourgeois and plebian classes both
collaborated and faced off against each other in contesting against
the ancient regime. It would be wildly mistaken to equate the secret
deliberations in Philadelphia with the massacre of the Parisian
workers by the second Republic during the June Days of 1848. But the
point remains: liberal reform – the end of monarchy, a constitution,
suffrage, and so on – has often been driven forward by the lower
orders, and has elicited the anxiety, and sometimes the belligerent
opposition of their social superiors. Democratic revolution, from the
standpoint of liberal reformers, may be allowed to go only so far and
no farther. Upheavals aimed at winning liberty, political rights,
parliamentary democracy, and equality before the law, are often hemmed
in by second thoughts and exemptions, say regarding Jews, women,
ex-slaves, the propertyless and poor generally.  

 So, for example, universal suffrage was declared by the French
Revolution in 1793, but soon thereafter was withdrawn. That dynamic
was repeated in France and Germany in the wake of the 1848 revolutions
and again after similar upheavals in Italy and Great Britain.  Even
that paragon of liberal philosophy, John Stuart Mill, worried about
the incompatibility of capitalism and democracy, recommending a plural
suffrage – more votes for merchants, entrepreneurs, bankers, and
professionals – to thwart plebian appetites. And the last nation in
the West to install this benchmark of democracy, was of course the
United States.  

 When these insurgencies ventured beyond the political arena, when
they raised what for a long time was known as the “social
question” or the “labor question,” when they interrogated the
economic and social hierarchies that defined these societies – which
they inevitably did – liberal elites declared, with arms in hand,
these matters to be out of bounds, verboten. Here democracy had to
come to a full stop; this is when democracy became in the eyes of
liberalism “mobocracy.” Edmund Burke had a point in noting that,
“…when they are not on their guard, the [“democratists”] treat
the humbler part of the community with the greatest contempt, whilst
at the same time, they pretend to make them the depositories of their
power.”  

 How different matters looked from the other shore.  When the army
of the liberal Third Republic slaughtered the Paris Commune, a
survivor of the bloodbath looked back to say, “The republic of our
dreams was surely not the one we have. We wanted it democratic,
social, and universal and not plutocratic.” Perhaps even more
telling, when considering who is threatening whom, is another
recollection by a Communard: “The proletariat will never be truly
emancipated unless it gets rid of the Republic – the last form and
not the least malevolent of authoritarian governments.” Analogous
instances showed up again and again during America’s hyper-violent
Gilded Age when liberalism felt compelled to show its dark side. 

 But this was all so long ago. Since then, so the rationale goes,
liberal democracy got civilized; the reference here is to the New
Deal. Let’s return to that time, the refrain continues, forgetting
the profound limitations on democracy that accompanied the New Deal
order (and, ironically, contradicting the Democratic Party’s
ballyhooed vow not to look back, suggesting, on the contrary, that
Progress is really a matter of back to the future).  

 Nagging underlying questions persist. If there is a “threat to
democracy” today, can democracy be defended without going after
capitalism?  If the united front against this threat is led by
liberal elites, as it most certainly is today, what is likely to be
the fate of democracy, or at least that kind of democracy that so
alarmed James Madison and John Stuart Mill and was dreamed of by those
who died in the Commune?  If there is a “threat to democracy,”
should those liberal elites be held accountable?  And finally, just
what is the nature of that threat? Is it fascist? Is anti-fascism the
common denominator of our political salvation?   

 

Fascism and Anti-Fascism 

 

Liberalism lost its grip years before Trump arrived on the scene. The
near collapse of the world financial system in 2008 punctuated a
longer- term secular decline, one which continued after the bail-out
of the banks. Deindustrialization can feel abstract, although it
eviscerated families, communities and whole regions. Some metrics are
earthier. Life expectancy for the poorest one quarter of the
population of the rust belt fell by 1.5 years, living less than the
bottom quarter of all other states; there is no more basal measure of
regress than that.  The region has the highest death rate from
overdoses of opioids by a considerable margin. More generally, the
bottom half of the population suffered a 7.5% decline in its share of
national income from roughly 1980 to 2016. 

 NAFTA was a disaster for millions of working-class people. Further
abroad, studies report that “labor markets exposed to import
competition from China experienced more plant closures and declines in
manufacturing employment” (about a million jobs in a decade,
1999-2011) and another two million or more due to ancillary business
failures, from the Rust Belt to Appalachia to the Deep South. There
were large drops in per capita income. Employment to population ratios
declined. Earnings for low wage workers sank. This vast region was
overwhelmed by out of reach housing prices and large increases in
childhood and adult poverty. There was no sign of recovery. And only
after all that came the Great Recession.  

 Upward mobility, that most holy of liberal shibboleths, went missing
for millions. As the comedian George Carlin once observed, “They
call it the American Dream because you have to be asleep to believe
it.” Management guru Peter Drucker summed it up: “No class in
history has ever risen as fast as the blue-collar worker, and no class
has fallen as fast. All this within less than a century.” One
percenters, on the other hand, have done exceedingly well all over the
world; the American branch has achieved virtual caste-like status.  

 No need to belabor what has become a familiar refrain about decline,
dispossession, and abandonment. The point is that all of this occurred
on liberalism’s watch; this too is liberal democracy. And, more
importantly, it prepared the ground for the MAGA movement.  

 Liberalism’s decay became the lush soil nourishing a politics of
resentment. Trump was hardly the first to seize the moment, but he did
it with special gusto. Say what you will about his transparent
hypocrisy, his fraudulent claims to be a populist warrior for the
dispossessed, he got the music right. During his 2016 campaign he
attacked NAFTA and Obama’s abortive Trans-Pacific Partnership, went
after Jeff Bezos – “Amazon is getting away with murder tax-wise”
– and fired away at Nabisco, Ford, Toyota, Nordstrom, and Lockheed
Martin for moving divisions to Mexico. His last ad of the 2016
campaign was about the interlocking of the Fed, Goldman Sachs and Wall
Street to form “a global power structure that is responsible for the
economic decisions that have robbed our working class, stripped our
country of its wealth, and put money into the pockets of a handful of
large corporate and political entities.” Pointing out that this
rhetoric lay dormant during Trump’s actual tenure in office
(although not all of it), is like the kettle calling the pot black,
since the same can be said of decades of empty promises by the
Democratic Party. 

 Resistance to liberal democracy – not liberal democracy as a
cluster of consoling bromides, but as a concrete form of life and
death - may take different roads. Bernie Sanders opened up one
(blocked off now by the deference shown to the liberal elites
commanding the united front  against the “threat to democracy”).
No one would question the democratic bona fides of the Sanders
phenomenon. But what about MAGA?   MAGA (and its ancestors in the
Tea Party and elsewhere) opened up another road. It too is an outcome
of a liberal democracy that had become hostile to democracy, that
denounces any insurgency happening out of bounds as “illiberal
democracy,” sees it as a kind of noxious populism. 

 If democracy is intended to signal an efficacious expression of
popular sentiment that can’t find a voice through the confining
strait jacket of liberal democracy, then Sanders and MAGA both
qualify. That is why so many voters oscillated between Trump and
Bernie in the years leading up to the latter’s defeat in the 2020
presidential primaries. 

 MAGA, however is a democratic grotesque. Its disfigurement is so
profound as to leave it practically unrecognizable as a form of
democratic insurgency. Toxins run through its bloodstream: racial and
nativist animosities, macho preening and misogynist impulses,
religious bigotry, patriarchal atavisms, a soured nostalgia for a
sentimentalized,  past that never was, jingoist breast-beating and
worse. Can the communal desires that democracy gives rise to survive
in that environment?  No.   

 Some call this fascism. And there’s more than enough threatening,
rancid rhetoric coming out of the MAGA movement to make this
plausible. Indeed, arguments are made that the vast depositories of
racism, reaction, and repression that make up the underbelly of
America have accumulated over the centuries until reaching critical
mass; as if the country had always existed in a latent pre-fascist
state - fascism avant la lettre - until now when it may finally go all
the way.  

 As an epithet, fascism is explosive. But dissolving it into an
amorphous, all-encompassing category of racism, reaction, and
repression - in a word, pure evil - robs it of its historical
specificity. That is more than a scholastic matter. Reduced to an
expletive, the social phenomenon becomes opaque, beyond the pale, to
be deplored but otherwise unreachable by those who ostensibly might
finds its multiple grievances and existential discontent grounds for
action. It exempts the powers-that-be from any responsibility for what
they have wrought. The united front those same powers lead becomes a
zone of pure self-righteousness. Uncomfortable questions about the
limitations, failures, and crimes of liberal democracy get tabled; and
that includes enabling genocide in Gaza. 

 Still, isn’t Trump and MAGA fascist? Granted fascism is an elusive
subject. No one can be sure of what’s ahead. And Trump clearly hails
from what Phillip Roth once called “the indigenous American
berserk.” But the critical differences between historical fascism
and MAGA are noteworthy. 

 The originators of fascism were men (and some women) from nowhere,
“little people,” even some renegade leftists. They were not heirs
to real estate empires, nor did they have law degrees from the toniest
universities, manage corporations, or staff the upper echelons of
state bureaucracies as most of the authors of Project 2025 do.  

 More significantly, fascism conceived of itself as the party of the
future, determined to create the “New Man” and a new society.
While it invoked Teutonic myths and Roman imperial symbolism, and in
the German case summoned up a pastoral bygone, it was completely at
home with the most modern currents in technology and even in social
welfare. In the words of George Mosse, a foremost historian of
fascism, it was a revolution from the right that imagined “the
forceful reordering of society in the light of a projected utopia.”
MAGA, on the other hand, is all about the politics of restoration,
seeking a pass-way back to the future, a place roughly like a
romanticized 1950s suburbia (not unlike some on the Left who crave a
New Deal 2.0).  
 Fascism came into existence to ward off powerful working-class
movements (both socialist and communist); “a revolution against a
revolution” according to Mussolini. No such threat exists today.
Nor, for that matter, does MAGA begin to resemble the mass
organizations that lent fascism its robustness. As Anton Jager has
observed, January 6th has no membership lists, lives on blogs and
Facebook; the Proud Boys may be despicable, but hardly measure up
against the fascist Squadristi or the Freikorps. 

 Trump is wealthy, but ill-mannered so doesn’t get along well with
the Establishment. But even though he nonetheless defends their
interests, they have formed a united front against him. In Hitler’s
case, the German haute bourgeoisie became the Fuhrer’s supplicants,
precisely because they feared the on-rushing tide of bolshevism.  

 Although much is made of Trump’s belligerence and MAGA
muscle-flexing, as a foreign policy it is deeply defensive (pull the
plug on NATO, close the border, raise tariffs). Fascism was imperial
and aggressive from the get-go, seeking, in a word, lebensraum.
Ironically, the Biden administration’s martial posturing with regard
to China is more in keeping with the imperial presumptions of American
foreign policy that have persisted over a century of liberal
democracy. Meanwhile, Trump can inveigh against transnational capital,
claiming to protect capital in the homeland against the
“globalists.” His “anti-fascist” opponents cling to the
fanciful belief that NATO was created and exists to protect democracy
even though it was erected to extend American imperial suzerainty,
included Salazar’s fascist Portugal from the outset, welcomed the
juntas in Turkey and Greece (and unofficially Franco’s Spain),
plotted covertly to undermine left-wing mass movements and parties in
postwar western Europe, today embraces countries with the sketchiest
claims to liberal democracy, and carries on fraternal relations with
the settler colonial state of Israel.  

 While Nazism is inconceivable without its foundational commitment to
racial superiority, this was not true in fascist Italy where race and
ethnic hatred didn’t enter the picture until the 1930s with
Mussolini’s imperial venture into Ethiopia. Nor was racist ideology
a component of the Falange in Spain or its equivalent in Belgium.
Poisonous outpourings about “poisoning the blood of Americans” are
incendiary. They are, as well, in keeping with a long history of
racial gutter slang, which, unless you accept that the country has
always been in a state of late-term pregnancy with fascism, do not add
up to fascism.   

 MAGA hates the state. Fascism idealized it; in the words of Il Duce:
“Everything in the state, nothing outside state, nothing against the
state.” Fascism had an explicit ideology. Trump has none (unless
narcissism can be seen as the ideology of a distressed psyche). 

 Claims about the fascist nature of MAGA rest, to some substantial
extent, on Trump’s character traits. These traits exist, but fascism
cannot be reduced to a personality disorder. Moreover, there is a
difference between a deep rejection of neo-liberal elites and a
genuine fascist movement. The two may be related but are not
identical. 

 Whether the former devolves into the latter depends on the emergence
of a truly democratic movement that can address the legitimate
distress and existential dread that liberal democracy has left in its
wake. That movement can’t arise so long as those very same elites
responsible for that devastation command the leadership of an ersatz
united front against fascism. On the contrary, such a structure
renders that option null and void; instead, it rescues those ruling
circles from the obloquy and resistance they had to contend with from
the financial collapse of 2008 through the Sanders defeat in
2020.   

 Voting for Trump is a bad idea, obviously. Democratic liberties may
well endangered should he win. They must be defended. However, the
deeper threat to a true democracy, one that allows for the material
well-being, equality, and social solidarity of our society, comes from
a capitalism that can never make its peace with democracy. A united
front to be sure, but led, as it once was, by those beneath the ranks
of our putative ruling class whose first loyalty is to the
market.       

 ===

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