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While
philosophers debate the nature of democratic citizenship,
the practice of citizenship is disintegrating
before our eyes. Vietnam killed the citizen army.
Television killed the political party as a popular
institution. The citizen jury is on the fringe
of everyday life -- while jury duty has not yet
completely disintegrated in manner of service
in the citizen militia, it is nothing more than
a momentary nuisance. The only significant institution
that still invites involvement by ordinary people
is the public school, and it too is under attack.
The
rituals of citizenship have been stripped down
to a precious few -- besides the formal act of
voting, perhaps the most significant ordinary
act of citizenship is to show one's passport at
the border, and thereby gain admission to this
land of peace and plenty. But it is quite possible
to live life in America today without ever dealing
with others as fellow citizens - fellow workers
or professionals, yes; fellow religionists or
union members, yes; but fellow citizens, focusing
on our common predicament as Americans, no --
that's for TV pundits.
Within
this setting, the disagreements between so-called
communitarians like Mike Walzer and so-called
liberals like myself pale into insignificance.
For both of us, the foundation of legitimate politics
is an ongoing conversation among citizens; and
such a conversation presupposes that people recognize
each other as the sorts of creatures who meaningfully
engage in such conversations. This recognition
does not emerge magically from a state of nature.
While it might have evolved spontaneously under
the conditions of the Greek polis or the Italian
city-state, this is definitely not true today.
It is perfectly possible for us to live in mass
market society without ever taking citizenship
seriously.
As Benedict Anderson has taught us, the nation
state is a form of imagined community -- allowing
hundreds of millions to create a political bond.
But if these imagined communities are to survive
as genuine conversational communities, they require
something more than the New York Times and Saturday
Night Live, or even Saul Bellow and Toni Morrison.
They require on-going social contexts within which
ordinary Americans enact and reenact their national
citizenship in ways that seem meaningful to them.
I
emphasize "meaningful to them, not to some
philosopher harkening back to the imagined glories
of classical Greece or Rome or even earlier phases
of the American Republic. To be sure, I have nothing
against inspired efforts to defend or rejuvenate
one or another aspect of our liberal republican
tradition -- especially the public school, but
also the distinctive practices of American constitutionalism.
But I do not think such rearguard actions will
be enough without more affirmative exercises of
the political imagination. We must invent new
contexts within which Americans can recognize
themselves as citizens, contexts that resonate
meaningfully within the larger structures of life
as we know it. This is at least the animating
thought that motivates my proposal for a new liberal
agenda.
It is, of course, a difficult, maybe daunting,
thought: Is it even possible to invent meaningful
contexts of citizenship? Aren't they stuff that
simply grow organically out of the dynamics of
a Tocquevillean society like our own? And if Tocquevillean
society is dying, and can no longer generate contexts
of citizenship through the "invisible hand",
is it really possible for more self-conscious
forms of political artifice to save the day? Anyway,
even if it is possible, do we have the knowledge
required to engage in meaningful acts of invention?
Rather
than engaging in meta-speculation about the foundations
of such a project, I will summarize three initiatives
of mine which exemplify it. Each is a book I am
writing in collaboration with a different co-author,
and each gets on with the business of making a
practical proposal which, if adopted, would create
a new and meaningful context in which ordinary
Americans would think of themselves as citizens,
as opposed to mothers and fathers, workers or
bosses, Catholics or Jews.
All
three books adopt a stance that I will playfully
call realistic utopian. Beginning with the realistic
side of this oxymoron, each works out its particular
proposal with all the tools of modern public policy
analysis and aspires to the (undoubtedly unattainable)
ideals of rigorous empirical demonstration prized
in the Kennedy School and like institutions throughout
the land. The task, in short, is to establish
-- as well as such things can be established--
that the proposal will actually operate effectively
as a functioning part of contemporary American
society. But unlike most policy work, my focus
is not on relatively minor modifications of the
status quo, as defined by existing political forces
and understandings. Instead, my aim is unabashedly
driven by philosophical concerns: How might we
change the world so as to create meaningful contexts
for liberal citizenship? If something is doable,
and pushes us in the right direction, then it
should be added to the next liberal agenda. For
God knows, we need a new liberal agenda, one more
inspiring than subsidized prescriptions for the
elderly and the elimination of the national debt
by 2012.
I
will end by taking a step back to the meta-level
: suppose, heroically, that my three proposals
seem both practical and desirable, what does that
teach us about the daunting question I left dangling
about the art of political invention: Is there
anything generalizable to be learned from these
three particular exercises in citizenship construction?
Copyright
© 2001,
Bruce
Ackerman
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