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Reaffirming faith in democracy as old paradigms shatter

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Losing my religion

Since 2016, the dual shocks of Trumpism on the right and (what for lack of a better term I’ll call) wokeism on the left shattered my faith in the progressive liberal paradigm I’d always believed in. This was a shocking, confusing, and dislocating experience, more like an identity crisis than a simple shift of political perspective.

Consequently, I started asking myself: Why had these recent political changes come as such an unexpected blow to my psyche? True, they were obviously important. But that didn’t explain the wrenching feeling I had that the world as I thought I knew it was breaking irreparably to pieces, like Humpty Dumpty falling off the proverbial wall.

With the benefit of disillusioned hindsight, I realized that I used to have such a deep-rooted faith in the progressive liberalism of my late Boomer cohort (a.k.a. “Generation Jones”) that I’d unwittingly assumed I was part of some collective “we” that had the metaphorical winds of (capital “H”) History in our sails. Of course, I never would have put it so baldly before. Stated thusly, it sounds embarrassingly self-aggrandizing and naive.

But it’s true. And I was far from alone in such thinking. The fact that Presidents Clinton and Obama both regularly invoked being on the “right side of history” is emblematic. Born toward the beginning and end of the Boomer generation (1946 and 1961, respectively), each man, in his own way and for his own time, channeled the same overarching progressive liberal vision that shaped me. (I’m one year younger than Obama.) It’s not that I agreed with everything their Administrations did – most definitely, I did not.

But, more than I realized at the time, I took their tenures as a reassuring indicator that the bigger project of building a more democratic America was “on track.” This made whatever particular issues I had with their politics relatively easy to rationalize. The teleology of progressive liberalism encouraged me to believe that even if something looked bad at the moment, in the bigger picture it was just a bump on the immanent road toward a better tomorrow.

Today, I’ve lost that deep sense of assurance. What once felt like Historical Promise now seems like cultural relic. The progressive liberal mythos of mid-to-late 20th century America is ever more evanescent. Rather than looking ahead to a shimmering future vision, I’m looking back at an evaporating time-bound mirage.

In concrete terms, this means that I’ve lost my former sense of loyalty to the Democratic party, elite liberal media, prestigious foundations, well-funded nonprofits, and others who share, promote, and increasingly attempt to enforce a stock set of ostensibly progressive pieties. The #Resistance no longer resonates and woke politics never did.

More profoundly, I no longer believe in (capital “P”) Progress. Again, if you’d previously asked me point-blank if I believed that “we” progressives were tapped into some sort of transcendent historical force that was moving America (and, by extension, the world) inexorably toward an ever-better realization of liberal democracy, I would have said “no.” Because stated so bluntly, it sounds absurd.

But as Joni Mitchell once sang, “you don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone.” I didn’t realize just how much I’d internalized the postwar liberal faith in Progress until I lost it.

Liberal apostate, (small-”d”) democratic believer

The twin shocks of Trumpism and wokeism forced me to reassess my political priors and take the problems of progressive liberalism – as it actually exists, not as I had imagined it to be – much more seriously. It’s not that I was incapable of criticizing my own politics before. But having particular critiques is quite different from believing that there are foundational problems. And I’ve shifted from the former to the latter.

Yet if I’ve become a progressive liberal apostate, I still hold more or less the same set of (small-“d”) democratic values I always have. My core political commitments haven’t fundamentally changed. I’ve simply lost faith in the leaders, institutions, and narratives that I used to believe represented them.

Consequently, my political identification has not only shifted from Democrat to Independent, and from progressive liberal to democratic pluralist. I still believe that there’s enormous value to be found in both the liberal and progressive traditions. But I now see deep problems and even pathologies there as well.

That said, I don’t think a compelling alternative paradigm exists. Instead, I feel that those of us who still care about democracy need to draw from a variety of political traditions – not only liberalism and progressivism, but also pro-worker conservatism, democratic socialism, global feminism, and Black political thought – to develop a new vision capable of addressing our unprecedented 21st-century conditions.

Of course, such an ecumenical democratic project is difficult to discuss, let alone accomplish today. A confluence of powerful forces, including but not limited to corporate media propaganda and big tech algorithms, pressures us to remain unquestioningly loyal to our assigned side of the purportedly monolithic Red versus Blue divide. This setup pushes the false sense that our only political alternatives are cult-of-personality Trumpism, woke authoritarianism, or “back to normalcy” neoliberalism.

This rotten set of pseudo-choices maintains itself by slicing and dicing Americans into artificially defined camps that are taught to hate and fear one another. The result is an anti-democratic downward spiral that will almost certainly devolve into something much worse unless it’s somehow interrupted.

Happily, plenty of Americans despise this situation. Some are actively challenging it. Many more would like to do so, but lack the time, resources, or know-how. Unfortunately, the concerns and criticisms of this substantial proportion of the American population, who reject the artificially narrow range of political alternatives being foisted upon them, are being systematically marginalized.

Toward democratic pluralism

The resultant cultural climate is pervasively hostile to democratic aspirations, commitments, and values. Logically, it makes no sense to say that you believe in democracy if you’re also certain at least half of your fellow citizens are irredeemably evil.

Yet, our dominant political parties, media outlets, and influencer activists push precisely this sort of incoherent “we’re-saving-democracy-by-fighting-against-x-dangerous-and-despicable-half-of-the-population” relentlessly nonetheless. It’s easy to see why: Sadly, this miserably destructive formula has quite the track record when it comes to making money, gaining influence, and leveraging power.

That doesn’t change the fact that in truth, having faith in the possibilities of democratic governance requires having faith in the capacities of ordinary people to listen to, learn from, and cooperate with each other. Or that turning this possibility into reality requires being committed to developing norms, relationships, policies, laws, and institutions that encourage, support, and maximize this latent democratic potential.

You can’t make progress toward a more democratic society by fearing, hating, and scapegoating millions of your fellow citizens. You have to take a leap of faith and believe that with sufficient support and encouragement, most of us are capable of doing much better.

It’s difficult to hold the faith that democracy requires in the current cultural climate. Doing so requires projecting beyond where we are now, imagining a better future, strategizing how to get there, and taking action to move that vision forward. Mustering the energy to try something so idealistic without feeling utterly foolish requires connecting with others who also believe it’s worthwhile.

Ideally, such interpersonal connection fosters mutual learning and growth, and eventually, solidarity and political efficacy. But even if efforts to co-create a more truly democratic society never come to fruition, they can nonetheless provide a valuable sense of meaning, purpose, and perhaps even love (agape). And that makes committing to democracy worthwhile — despite the disillusionment, despite the odds, despite everything.