What
Churchill said about democracy (“Democracy is the worst form of government except for
all those others that have been tried.”) might apply as well to our two-party system in the United States. It
prevents the fragmentation we see in parliamentary systems that have to expend
so much energy cobbling together coalitions. But at this moment of the first
presidential debate, the Superbowl of American politics, it may be worth
reminding ourselves about the potential distortions in our thinking that arise
from the oversimplified twoness of Democrats versus Republicans.
First
and most obvious, the twoness of politics replicates the twoness of our
competitive athletics. The distortion here is to skew our thinking toward the
primary goal of football or baseball, winning, and away from the ultimate and
very different goal of democratic small-d politics, ideally a clarification of
policy that might strengthen our nation as a whole. So carefully must
candidates keep their distance from best practices that are not endorsed by their
supporters, that we have the spectacle of Mr. Romney having to disavow the
successful universal health care plan he himself instituted in Massachusetts.
Second,
our Great Seal does not say “Out of Two, One.” It says “Out of Many, One.” This
distinction affirms that our creative diversity allows for the likelihood that
there are more than two valid points of view and more than two solutions for
our many challenges. Twoness distills policy into contrasting alternatives, but
oversimplifies in so doing. It creates an artificial middle, one that is
stretched rightward and leftward—but not very far in either direction—as those
seeking power search for the Great Middle in order to pander to it. Suppose,
for example, that we find in another decade that global climate change has
accelerated far more rapidly than we could have imagined today. At the moment,
because the parties are still fighting about whether global warming even exists,
the prevention/mitigation discussion cannot be found at all at the supposed
“center” where the two parties might entertain some sort of agreement about something
that will be crucial to their childrens’ well being. Another artificial center has been created by our two-party class
war between rich and poor. The notion of interdependence between corporate
producers and a broad market to consume what they produce has apparently been
lost. Long gone is the model of Henry Ford, who doubled his workers’ salaries
with the understanding that they would have more money to buy his cars.
Everyone wins!
Third,
twoness encourages what is essentially a state of war between the two parties.
True, people of different persuasions are not literally killing each other. But
when someone like Senator McConnell remains so ruthlessly focused upon denying
Mr. Obama a second term, the net effect is almost as destructive as war,
because the nation’s important business is held hostage to a negative, self-limiting
model of “victory.” As is so often the case in war, everyone loses.
Imagine
a presidential debate built upon a set of premises and values opposite to
competitive athletics, artificial centrism, or war. For example, one candidate
could be asked to lay out a set of steps leading to progress in the
Israeli-Palestinian impasse. The other candidate would be required to build on that idea in order to improve it, and prohibited from tearing the initial
suggestion down. Then the first candidate would be required to build further on
the improvements suggested by his opponent. Candidates would be judged on how
skillfully they managed this creative process of actually dancing with each
other toward potential agreement about what might constitute a workable
policy—rather than trying to score debating points by mere opposition. If such
a process—though it is really only a mild variation on the familiar ritual of
brainstorming—sounds utterly bizarre, it is an indication of how far our politics
have dissolved into gamesmanship, where the goal is not the articulation of creative
ideas designed to benefit all, but the emptiness of exercising power for its
own sake.
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