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Should You Bully a Nazi?

close up photograph of couch cushions

People don’t like JD Vance. His memoir overstated his Appalachian identity and negatively stereotyped the region. He went from being a “Never Trump guy” and calling Trump “America’s Hitler” to joining the Trump ticket. He insulted his opponents as being “childless cat ladies” and disparaged Harris for having no biological children of her own.

Each of these complaints has made the rounds on the meme machine circuit, but none has gone nearly as viral as the claim that JD Vance admitted to having an intimate encounter with a couch. Tim Walz and others have even referenced it obliquely in speeches.

Not only is the allegation false, but it’s also not the reason why people don’t like Vance. Instead, it’s become this overall aesthetic descriptor that seems to capture the vibes of all the critiques combined. Most meme sharers seem to know it’s not true and have still chosen to pass it along. This appears like a form of bullying.

Even if the power dynamics are different and insulate Vance from many real-world consequences, the basic structure of this situation is that the outrageous couch insult is being used to demoralize, denigrate, and beat down Vance as a political candidate. It’s personal.

Grant the following things for the sake of argument: 1) It’s plausible to call Vance and Trump fascists; Vance himself has made similar allegations about Trump. 2) Sharing the couch memes does amount to bullying.

Is this morally permissible? It feels sus.

Like the “punch a Nazi” strategy popular at the beginning of Trump’s first term, the tactic seems to be effective on several counts:

-It makes Vance look weak and weird, which is antithetical to his core brand. By making Vance look less threatening, it shifts the narrative away from framing him as scary, dangerous, and powerful, which directly denies him social power and damages his reputation among both supporters and opponents.

-It replaces the serious conversations about the real critiques of Vance (which Vance himself does not seem to care about) with an unserious insult (that Vance does care about). This reverses a common bad faith dynamic and closes off an endless debate about Vance’s moral character.

-It targets Vance specifically instead of Vance supporters, which avoids alienating broad swaths of the population. But it also reflects negatively on Trump, who likely picked Vance to mirror his strong man aesthetic.

If we’re just reasoning based on consequences, and those consequences are that fascists lose power and social clout, then the couch memes are likely morally permissible (if not obligatory). And that seems true even considering the sizeable group of people being misled by the memes into thinking the the event actually took place.

If we’re thinking about moral rules that should hold the same for everyone, then a principle like “you should never bully” or “you should never lie” would forbid spreading this false meme. There is likely some real harm done to JD Vance’s psyche and to others who fear being similarly falsely maligned.

But the approach I would like to take to the question is more holistic: What is this strategy trying to accomplish? Does it require dehumanizing Vance? Does it feed conspiratorial thinking and a reductive “own the repubs” mentality? (That, I’ll admit, doesn’t sound nearly as compelling as its opposite.)

Here’s the thing about tools and tactics: they’re often great to use in some situations, and not in others. If the couch memes are narrowly deployed to only target Vance, don’t displace the possibility of serious, good faith conversation, and represent only one of a number of tactics to shut down fascist behavior and talking points, then they may be distasteful but not emblematic of some larger pathology.

But if the couch memes are instead part of a general disregard for Vance’s life and a desire to seek revenge on MAGA conservatives at every opportunity, with the hope of completely excluding all of them from public life and with no regard for truth, then we have a real problem.

I suspect that both general approaches (and a number of other approaches around and between) are at play. No one common psychology informs the meme’s spread. They also likely caught on because they are so distasteful and eye-catching, much more so than the similar “weird” insult thrown out earlier in the election. Much of the current strategy of the DNC, official and unofficial, seems to be to try to convince Conservative voters that their leaders aren’t worthy. Some of these efforts are, I think, morally permissible, such as the musical remixes of Vance’s anti-Trump comments.

The couch meme, by contrast, is morally wrong. It is a proxy response to legitimate critiques of Vance, but it is false and defamatory. It does not directly respond to those critiques but instead uses unrelated shaming tactics to beat Vance into submission. It mirrors Trump’s bullying campaigns against other politicians such as Ron DeSantis (who, like Vance, is not especially sympathetic as a character).

At the same time, there are decidedly much worse forms of internet bullying and much more egregious campaign tactics that are fully outside of the bounds of democratic  process. We shouldn’t get so caught up on the morality of the couch memes that we forget the bigger picture.

I hope that this unserious and absurd meme will eventually bring us back to being able to have serious, respectful policy discussions about where we want the country to go in the future. Maybe we can finally talk about how to solve affordable housing. If we can prevent Trump and Vance from taking power and abusing the recent Supreme Court decision, then maybe we can get back to a more stable form of democratic exchange, with civil presidential debates and thoughtful consideration for our neighbors.

There is probably no perfect tactic to push back against a candidate who is dramatically trying to undermine the American Constitution. While the couch memes are certainly morally mixed, they are likely preferable to other more violent exchanges, and a less aggressive tactic like the “weird” insults might be less successful.

Let’s collectively take the imperfections of this moment to move towards a better future, without forgetting the humanity of our fellow Americans.

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When Does a Democracy Die?

photograph of statue of liberty silhouette

The Democratic party refrain of 2024 has been that democracy is on the ballot. Certainly, Trump’s actions have raised concerns from the events of January 6th to his continued denial of the results of the 2020 election (and refusal to commit to accepting future election results), to a recent controversial quote: “In four years, you don’t have to vote again. We’ll have it fixed so good, you’re not going to have to vote.” (Trump later provided some clarification.)

And yet the Democrats have hardly been maximalist about democracy this election. When Biden was his most stubborn during the nomination process, he asserted that the voters had spoken, despite the lack of a competitive primary. Later, when he stepped aside, Harris was advanced to the top of the ticket without a public referendum.

Of course, the spirit of Democrats’ rallying cry is not that this or that behavior is undemocratic, but rather that the former president represents an existential threat to American democracy. This raises a surprisingly challenging question: When does a democracy end? And how do we know?

We tend to speak of democracy in generalities: rule by the people, majoritarian rule, etc. Yet most modern democracies are a complex jumble of elements subject to varying levels of impact from the voting public. In the United States for example, senators and representatives are elected by the people (more democratic), whereas the president is selected through the electoral college (less democratic), and the Supreme Court is appointed (less democratic). It is worth noting that “democratic” is not always the same as good. Some notionally “less democratic” elements, such as courts, may be important safeguards for the protection of minority rights, as both Benjamin Rossi and I have previously discussed. The complexity of modern democracies hinders the ability to make simple, clear-cut distinctions and comparisons.

When evaluating failures of democracy, one strategy is to start with a minimal definition. The idea being that when these core features go, so does democracy. The conservative political theorist Joseph Schumpeter famously argued that democracy requires nothing more than competitive elections. Others have longer lists. For example, the theorist Robert Dahl enumerates six: elected officials; free, fair and frequent elections; freedom of expression; alternative sources of information; associational autonomy; and inclusive citizenship. According to Dahl these are the minimal political institutions required to achieve a functioning democracy. Even minimal approaches do not allow for a crisp delineation between democracy and non-democracy, for each criterion is complicated on its own. How should elected officials be elected? What is required for a fair election? Nonetheless, minimal accounts highlight common important features of democracies and we may be able to identify democratic failures even without a black and white distinction or single authoritative definition.

Alternatively, rather than looking for defining features, we can instead focus on what democracy is supposed to do. America is rather proud of its democratic history, but what makes democracy so great in the first place? Among numerous defenses, a classic approach is “instrumental defenses” of democracy. The idea is that democracy is good because it delivers good results, such as effective policy, economic growth, peaceful international relations with other democracies, and a civically engaged populace. From an instrumental perspective we can worry about the health of democracy – that is, the results it’s delivering – even if we think our democratic procedures are solid. We may think that there has been a democratic failure if a country elects to drastically limit civil rights, even if a majority of voters supported it. Less radically, we might also identify democratic failure with elected officials no longer being responsive to voters after they take office. Popular conceptions of democracy often incorporate features beyond political process, such as rights and liberties, but there can still be disagreement about what exactly a democracy is supposed to do. Nonetheless, considering what we want democracy to do can highlight key elements. For example, it may make sense to limit campaign spending, if we believe it accomplishes an important goal of democracy, like giving citizens with vastly differing personal wealth and power an equal stake in government. An implication of a result-oriented approach is that people may lose faith in democracy if it fails to deliver certain political outcomes.

Assuredly, some democratic failures are especially decisive: a party staging a coup with the help of the military, a president refusing to leave office after losing an election, officials banning a specific demographic from voting. In such cases, we can expect citizens to recognize that a major democratic failure has occurred. But consider the following two scenarios. In case one, an incumbent politician loses an election 48% to 52%, but nonetheless refuses to step down and pressures the judiciary to declare them victorious. In case two, through limiting the number of polling stations and controlling their location in unfavorable neighborhoods, an incumbent party wins an election 52% to 48%. Absent this manipulation of polling stations, they would have lost the election 48% to 52%. The democratic failure is more obvious in case one, but the effect is similar.

The worry is that if people expect certain signals for major democratic failures, they may fail to appreciate the less dramatic ones. Votes can be rigged, voters can be disenfranchised, voting power can be unfairly distributed, and real decision-making power can rest with unelected officials. The public quickly acclimates to less democratic approaches. The United States gladly considered itself democratic for much of its history, even while systematically denying voting rights to Black Americans, women, and the poor. It turns out that democratic lip service and actually democratic political practices come apart quite easily.

Today, Americans are extremely cynical about the state of their democracy. 72% say the U.S. is no longer a good example to follow. But we should not expect the death of democracy to look like just one thing. Voter suppression, gerrymandering, moneyed influence, or an overzealous Supreme Court can undermine democracy as assuredly as a coup. Guided or managed democracies, which maintain the superficial appearance of democracy, even while being largely beholden to an entrenched minority, may be as much of a threat as some extravagant collapse into totalitarianism. If anything, focusing on Trump as a singular threat to democracy interferes with a broader conversation about democratic failures and the ideal that American democracy should aspire towards.

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Putin and the Friend-Enemy Distinction

photograph of Putin walking with security detail

Each May 9th, Russia, alongside several former Soviet Union territories, celebrates Victory Day. This annual holiday, first held in 1945 in the Soviet Union’s then 16 republics, commemorates Nazi Germany’s defeat in WWII. Traditionally, the holiday has acted as a day to remember and give thanks to the 27 million people of the Soviet Union who lost their lives during the conflict.

Since Vladimir Putin’s rise to power, however, the holiday has morphed from a day of remembrance to a day devoted to projecting political, ideological, and military strength. Unsurprisingly for a strongman dictator, Putin takes center stage in the festivities. Since 2000, he has given a speech in Moscow’s Red Square which, while the specifics change each time, the core remains eternal – patriotic duty requires that Russians remember their historical traditions and that they must continuously fight for their way of life.

These themes of tradition, strength, and duty were boosted in 2014 after Russia illegally annexed Ukraine’s Crimean Peninsula in a supposed attempt to free it from Nazi control. Indeed, during that year’s celebrations, Sergei Aksyonov, the Kremlin-appointed leader of the annexed region, appeared alongside Putin, discussing rescuing the peninsula from Ukrainian fascists. Of course, rescuing people requires weapons, and in recent years, in scenes reflecting those in North Korea, China, or the U.S., Victory Day has come with displays of military might. During the celebrations, an endless parade of soldiers, tanks, missiles, and other military hardware rolls down the streets of Moscow, Saint Petersburg, Yekaterinburg, and multiple other cities.

One might wonder why all this is necessary. Why has Putin sought to isolate Russia from the West, invade its neighbors, and act as if it’s constantly under ideological, and recently literal, attack? It is unlikely that a single answer exists to this question as multiple economic, political, and personal factors have a causal impact. Nevertheless, through German jurist and political theorist Carl Schmitt’s work, we can likely uncover at least one answer – Putin needs an enemy.

Before getting to Schmitt’s work, we need to acknowledge his background. Schmitt was a member of Germany’s Nazi party, something for which he remained unrepentant. Despite this (perhaps because of it), however, Schmitt’s work has significantly influenced legal and political philosophy. Indeed, his theories are often seen as one of the most substantial and robust criticisms of liberalism as embodied in the West today. Moreover, as Western liberalism is something against which Putin claims to be rallying, even calling it obsolete during a 2019 interview, it makes Schmitt’s work the ideal tool to interpret the dictator’s actions.

According to Schmitt, Liberalism emerged in response to the historical “threat” of unconstrained power as wielded by heads of state unencumbered by systems of checks and balances. In other words, liberal democracies have predesigned norms and rules (in things like constitutions) to prevent the politically powerful – kings, dictators, emperors – from wielding unlimited power. In such states, if a president or prime minister oversteps their authority, the people can wave the constitution in their face and tell them “no.” We saw an example of this in 2019 when then-Prime Minister Boris Johnson attempted to prorogue the U.K. parliament, only to be told by the supreme court that his actions were “null and of no legal effect.” Essentially, Johnson tried to exercise power beyond his station, and the U.K.’s system of checks and balances prevented him from doing so.

For Schmitt, however, this system of enforceable restraint of a sovereign’s power is ineffectual because those in political control can declare states of emergencies – what Schmitt terms “states of exceptions” – in which rulers can suspend constitutional rules and reclaim their power. The COVID pandemic provides a useful example, where multiple nations curtailed seemingly uncurtailable freedoms, like the freedom of movement and assembly. While in “normal” times, such restrictions would go against the foundations of what so many liberal nations purportedly hold dear, during the pandemic, those in power reclaimed such all-encompassing controls. This is not to say that doing so was unnecessary or wrong. Instead, it is simply to note that liberalism’s foundational rules and norms are easily discarded when things become challenging, and those policies may not be reinstatable afterwards. For Schmitt, constitutions only prevent sovereigns from acting as they want in non-emergency situations when they wouldn’t behave like that anyway.

According to Schmitt, however, liberalism isn’t bad just because it hides the ruling class’ power under the guise of procedures and rules. Instead, it’s bad because the commonly held goal of liberalism – welcoming differences to the political sphere – runs counter to politics’ very nature. As Schmitt summarizes in his book The Concept of the Political, “the specific political distinction to which political actions and motives can be reduced is that between friend and enemy.” Schmitt argues that every aspect of politics is, at its core, about being with those you relate to and defending against those who are different. This confrontational philosophy even gets down to one’s sense of identity as we define ourselves not by who we are or what we do or believe, but in opposition to the actions and beliefs of others. Or, as Schmitt writes, “tell me who your enemy is and I will tell you who you are.” As such, liberalism, with its envisioned goal of debating political differences and living alongside those you may vehemently disagree, will ultimately fail because it is politically ignorant.

We can see a similar ideology play out in Putin’s Russia. Those things deemed different or non-Russian are being systematically erased from mainstream Russian culture. A prime example of this has been the growing efforts to wipe out the LGBTQ+ community within the nation’s boundary. Since coming to power, Putin has reversed much of Russia’s progress on LGBTQ+ rights since the Soviet Union’s fall. In Putin’s Russia, if you don’t conform to the stereotypical gender roles of masculinity and femininity, you are not a friend but an enemy. And this mentality of conformity applies beyond one’s sexuality.

Ultimately, those that embrace diversity and difference are, according to Schmitt, weak. He argues that these societies lack the cohesion to form established collective identities. Without this collective identity, the nation has no sense of self and cannot effectively manage its internal or external affairs; it’s like trying to herd cats, dogs, dolphins, ants, oak trees, and sparrows simultaneously. This ineffectualness means that liberal states, according to Schmitt, are sitting ducks, just waiting for those who can enforce a collective identity to do so; through military power or ideological inception. His answer is to reject liberalism and embrace the friend-enemy distinction. It is to unify the populace over which one rules by giving them an enemy against which they can collectively define themselves, strengthening the state and cementing one’s position of power.

In the case of Putin’s invasion of Ukraine, it is to position his nation as the saviors of the Donbas and its associated regions. The Russian military is not invading another country to expand its territory but to fight an enemy against which the whole nation can get behind – Ukranian Nazis. It is to rescue those people living in eastern Ukraine who are, according to Putin, truly Russian and bring them back into the fold of others like them. Indeed, the more one explores the actions of Putin and his government over the past two decades, the more one sees an embodiment of the political and legal philosophy Carl Schmitt thought made for a strong nation.

None of this is to say that Schmitt or Putin are in the right. On the contrary, both seem just terrible people with truly uncomfortable capacities for inflicting harm upon others. Nevertheless, the ideas of the former seemingly describe the latter’s actions rather well. And understanding Putin’s actions is essential to making sense of the world in which he operates.

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The Totalitarianism of the Borg

image of Enterprise spaceship and Borg Queen

WARNING: The following article contains minor spoilers for Picard seasons 1 & 2 on Paramount+.

Sir Patrick Stewart has once again returned to our screens as the iconic explorer, archaeologist, writer, historian, diplomat, and Earl Grey drinking machine that is Jean-Luc Picard. The first season of Picard saw Starfleet’s greatest officer come out of retirement to save the life of Soji, a woman with a mysterious past. As a result, we saw him make new friends and enemies, tackle a nefarious cabal, and attempt to come to terms with his failing health. Permeating the thoughtful narrative were philosophical issues galore, including what makes us worthy of moral consideration, how we find or create meaning in the face of death, and whether the ends can justify the means.

While only a few episodes in, Picard’s second season is shaping up to be equally thought-provoking, challenging our perceptions of personal identity and what we are willing to sacrifice or destroy to secure our survival. It also reintroduces us to several familiar faces, one of which featured heavily in the show’s promotional material, the Borg Queen. So, in honor of the return of one of Star Trek’s great villains, I wanted to explore the Borg’s totalitarian tendencies.

The Borg are a group of cyborgs that search the galaxy for assimilatable people, technology, and cultures. They are not made up of a single species but consist of countless ‘drones’ whom they have forcibly assimilated into their group. There are no individuals within the Borg as each drone is linked together via a hive mind called “The Collective.” Once connected, individuality is absorbed and subsumed. The individual becomes a techno-zombie, possessed by the vast hive mind.

The Borg’s ultimate goal is biological and technological “perfection.” They seek this by harvesting anything distinctive from other races. Because of this unrelenting process of assimilation and incorporation, the Borg are one of Star trek’s most formidable entities. A single drone can assimilate an entire starship, and a single borg vessel can destroy entire fleets or raze a city to the ground.

In their debut, Q describes the Borg as:

the ultimate user. They’re unlike any threat your Federation has ever faced. They’re not interested in political conquest, wealth, or power as you know it. They’re simply interested in your ship, its technology. They’ve identified it as something they can consume.

In their pursuit of perfection, the Borg leave no room for freedom of choice, equality, or compassion. On the contrary, the collective sees these traits as inefficiencies; obstacles on the path to perfection. As Seven of Nine – a Borg drone later freed from the collective – observes while aboard a Starfleet vessel, “you’re erratic, conflicted, disorganized. With every individual giving their own small opinion, you lack harmony, cohesion, greatness.” The disdain Seven of Nine expresses for the individual’s worth, and specifically for the value afforded to the expression of that will, is in direct opposition to Jean-Luc’s philosophy. As he states, in no uncertain terms, when the Borg captures him:

Capt. Picard: I have nothing to say to you; and I will resist you with my last ounce of strength.

The Borg: Strength is irrelevant. Resistance is futile. We wish to improve ourselves. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service ours.

Capt. Picard: Impossible. My culture is based on freedom and self-determination.

The Borg: Freedom is irrelevant. Self-determination is irrelevant. You must comply.

Capt. Picard: We would rather die.

The Borg: Death is irrelevant.

Indoctrination into the collective erases all prior relationships with friends, family, religious affiliations, political memberships, and even one’s species status; the Borg consume them all. Even death lacks meaning for the Borg as death is merely the loss of the individual.

The portrait of the Borg painted here – a horrifying force assimilating everything into its structure, to the exclusion of all independent thought and actions, for the propagation of its survival and goal satisfaction – is terrifying. However, the Borg are more than tyrannous; they’re totalitarian.

Totalitarian governments attempt to control every aspect of their citizens’ lives through coercion and repression. As Alan Haworth highlights in his book, Totalitarianism and Philosophy, totalitarianism attempts to achieve total control via (i) the constriction of space and/or (ii) the conflict of wills.

The constriction-of-space model eliminates areas, be they conceptual or physical, where citizens can act autonomously. But, this is difficult to achieve as there are always ways for citizens to rebel and ways for states to exert more control. So, as Haworth argues, this avenue is more aspirational than anything else. A totalitarian state aims towards the total restriction of autonomous space even though such a state is unattainable. Or, in his own words:

This is, thus, a model of the relationship between control and liberty from which it follows that there is an inverse ratio between increase in control by the rulers and decrease in the area within which the ruled are free to act, in which case we must be forced to the conclusion that total control is a practical impossibility since – as the argument presupposes – rulers only have total control when their subjects cannot, as it were, ‘move’ at all, and that is something that could only happen – or so I take it – when the rulers are in a position to direct every single action and thought of those they rule.

The conflict-of-wills model envisions totalitarianism coming into full fruition when the oppressive government enforces its will upon its citizens, dominating their desires. This form of totalitarianism is more subtle than the overt constriction-of-space model. As Hannah Arendt remarks in The Origins of Totalitarianism, “[t]otalitarian terror achieved its most terrible triumph when it succeeded in cutting the moral person off from the individualist escape and in making the decisions of conscience absolutely questionable and equivocal.” This mode of totalitarianism subverts autonomy’s foundations and makes the previously unimaginable possible.

The Borg, however, do both of these. They invade the body and mind of the assimilated so entirely that they effectively enact both formulations of totalitarianism at once. The collective is housed just as much in the ships it commands as in the drones at its disposal. It maintains an all-pervasive watch on those who make up its quasi-species; there is no room for deviation from the collective’s will. More troubling, however, is their capacity to dominate the will of the individuals it assimilates. Even if room for deviation existed, the drones don’t have the capacity to take advantage of it. The Borg hive utterly dominates their will.

The portrayal of the Borg in the Star Trek franchise illustrates something important about totalitarianism’s nature. Namely, that as a political system, it demands unflinching obedience to the goals of those in power and cannot stand, nor survive, a populace that rebels against it. Indeed, when drones have regained their independence, the collective sees this as an imminent threat. The power of the Borg and the totalitarian state comes from their ability to dominate the wills of those they hold in their power. Thus, it is paramount to reject the urge to comply or be consumed by their pursuit of perfection or security. Neither the Borg nor the totalitarian state is invincible. Resistance isn’t futile.

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“Stand Back and Stand By”: The Demands of Loyal Opposition

photograph of miniature US flag with blurred background

An incendiary essay is currently making the rounds. Glenn Ellmers’s “‘Conservatism’ is no Longer Enough” is a call to arms: “The United States has become two nations occupying the same country.” The essay details a kind of foreign occupation:

most people living in the United States today—certainly more than half—are not Americans in any meaningful sense of the term. […] They do not believe in, live by, or even like the principles, traditions, and ideals that until recently defined America as a nation and as a people. It is not obvious what we should call these citizen-aliens, these non-American Americans; but they are something else.

Given this dire situation where there is “almost nothing left to conserve,” “counter-revolution” represents “the only road forward.” Those brave enough to grasp this grave truth also possess the clarity of vision to see that “America, as an identity or political movement, might need to carry on without the United States.” For if true patriots fail to find the courage to mobilize and take action, “the victory of progressive tyranny will be assured. See you in the gulag.”

While it may seem irresponsible to grant such obvious propaganda additional attention, Ellmers’s essay is worthy of consideration for two reasons. First, this is not your run-of-the-mill internet debris. It bears the seal of a prominent conservative think tank. Published by The American Mind with direct ties to the Claremont Institute (where Ellmers graduated and serves as fellow), the essay is endorsed by a body with not insignificant cachet. The various fellows and graduates, for instance, have ties to major universities. It would be a mistake to see this as obscure preaching to a small flock; this narrative is emblematic. It’s an intellectualized hard-right manifesto serving as mission statement for the Claremont Institute for the Study of Statesmanship and Political Philosophy whose name Ellmers invokes.

Second, the essay provides a compelling framework by which to understand the motivations behind a number of recent events — the various efforts to overturn the results of the presidential election, the January 6th Capitol riot, as well as voting legislation in Georgia (and elsewhere) attempting to restrict the franchise to “real” Americans. Like Michael Anton’s “The Flight 93 Election” (another Claremont fellow whose work was published by the same body), Ellmers’s essay paints the current political moment as a desperate choice: fight or face extinction, rush the cockpit or die.

Ellmers’s essay has received attention in no small part due to its eerie similarity to Weimar-era German political writings. Echoing the kind of language used by Carl Schmitt – the constitutional scholar and jurist who embraced National Socialism – Ellmers emphasizes the need to declare a state of emergency and purge those who have infiltrated the state and subjected American politics, all in an act of restoration and purification. “What is needed, of course,” Ellmers claims, “is a statesman who understands both the disease afflicting the nation, and the revolutionary medicine required for the cure” — a pronouncement which seems strikingly similar to Schmitt’s explanation of the role of the sovereign to normalize the situation by embracing the responsibility to deliver the miracle of the decision – that is, the extra-legal authority to say whether everyday legal norms should apply.

Likewise, Ellmers’s essay seconds Schmitt’s conviction that the basis of politics rests on distinguishing friend from foe and treating them accordingly. For any state to continue to be, it must be willing and able to forcibly expel those who might undermine its fundamental homogeneity in order to save itself from corruption from within. Again, following Schmitt, Ellmers issues a dire warning on the supposed political virtue of tolerance and questions our blind faith in democracy’s ability to assimilate conflicting and antagonistic viewpoints and house them under the same roof.

Lost in all the fascist rhetoric is an important philosophical problem. The challenge is familiar to students of political obligation: how can citizens feel any tie to the law when it isn’t their team who’s making the rules? It is what David Estlund has called the “puzzle of the minority democrat”: how can those in the minority consider themselves self-governing if they are subject to laws they have not explicitly endorsed?

This is no small thing; resolving this tension is the key to the bloodless transition of power. Ensuring citizens can adequately identify with the law and see themselves sufficiently reflected in their government is a necessary component of the exercise of legitimate political authority. We need a compelling answer for how citizens might still see themselves as having had a hand in authoring these constraints even when their private preferences have failed to win the day. Why should those in the minority sacrifice their own sense of what is right simply because they lack numbers on their side on any particular occasion?

Our answers to this puzzle often begin by emphasizing that democratic decision-making is essentially about compromise. Majority rule acknowledges our basic equality by publicly affirming the worth of each citizen’s viewpoint. It privileges no single individual’s claim to knowledge or expertise. It grants each citizen the greatest share of political power possible that remains compatible with people’s basic parity. From there, explanations begin to diverge.

Some accounts emphasize the duty to live by the result of the game in which we’ve been a willing participant. Others highlight the opportunity to impact the decision, voice concerns, and engage in reason-giving. A few maintain faith in the majority’s ability to come to the “correct” decision.

Regardless of the particulars, each of these accounts makes a virtue of reciprocity; individual freedom must be balanced against the equally legitimate claims to liberty by one’s fellows. When we refuse to acknowledge this, we usurp others’ right to equal discretion in shaping our shared world and thus violate our moral commitment to the fundamental equality of people.

These considerations about how best to accommodate deep, and potentially incompatible, disagreement have important implications for our politics today. For example, the ongoing debate over reforming the filibuster is a conversation about, among other things, the appropriate portion of power those in the minority should wield. Different people articulate different visions of the part the opposition party needs to play. But we seemingly all agree that this role must be more robust than one wherein those in the minority simply bide their time until they can rewrite the law and install their own private political vision. Instead, we must continue to articulate the significant demands the concept of loyal opposition makes on all of us. Responsible statesmanship is not solely the burden of those who wear the crown.

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Is It Wrong to Be a Nationalist?

photograph of Trump hugging flag on stage

When President Trump declared himself a “nationalist” last autumn, some wondered if that was good or bad for the country. One writer pointed out that “for many Americans, mention of the word summons up visions of Hitler and Nazism.” Michael McFaul, the ambassador to Russia during the Obama administration, tweeted: “Does Trump know the historical baggage associated with this word, or is he ignorant?” Shortly after Trump’s declaration, President Macron of France warned against “chaos and death,” calling nationalism “the betrayal of patriotism.” 

The largely negative reaction to President Trump’s self-identification as a nationalist presents an opportunity to examine timely ethical questions: What does it mean to be a nationalist in 2019? Is being a nationalist morally wrong? Is nationalism inherently noxious and inevitably violent or is it merely warped and twisted to justify noxious and violent acts?  The distinction is important in uncovering whether the political force should be condemned outright or tolerated and even supported. 

Examples of nationalism’s marriage with racism, ethnic cleansing, and genocide punctuated the last century. Ethnonationalism, and its entanglement with religion, plagued the Balkans, most recently in the 90s when Yugoslavia splintered under the pressure of civil war. A desire for Hutu ethnic supremacy in Rwanda led to the mass murder of hundreds of thousands of Tutsi Rwandans. The extreme, racialized fascism espoused by the Nazis resulted in the Holocaust. Sensitivity to the ‘nationalist’ label is understandable. 

Opponents of President Trump’s hugging embrace of nationalism may be nobly motivated to prevent those moral evils from recurring. But to conclude that the mere expression of nationalism entails the tolerance of or advocacy for such evils is wrongfully anticipatory. To automatically conflate nationalism with the acts it has dubiously been used to justify neglects the intellectual complexity of the concept. The fundamental question is: Can nationalism exist without the violence with which it is so often associated? Or does the prioritization of a nation’s interests at the expense of all others represent incitement?

To answer this question, one must define nationalism and parse through its different varieties. The “nation” has been called “an imagined community” of strangers because most individuals will never know the majority of their fellow compatriots. When using this definition of nation, it is clear that a strong force is required to bind these strangers and foster a sense of shared community. 

Ethnicity is often used as this binding force. Ethnic nationalism is based on promoting a singular culture, religion, and language and securing its dominance in defining national identity. The potential for violence is obvious: preferring one culture over all others leads to the relegation or exclusion of others and can sour into the aforementioned evils of the 20th-century. It points to homogeneity, and establishes clear in-groups and out-groups.

Civic nationalism, on the other hand, avoids cultural preferences–and the potential of violence–and bases national identity on shared liberal, democratic values. One example of this form of nationalism is Scottish Nationalist Party, whose raison d’etre is independence for Scotland, defines the country’s national identity not by race or ethnicity but rather democracy and self-determination. The United States of America, lacking any formal endorsement of a national religion or language, is another prominent example of civic nationalism, even if some may endeavor to define the country’s identity through a racial or cultural lens. Merely the existence of these different forms of nationalism suggests that it can indeed exist without violence. 

But even if the concerns about the historical baggage associated with the term “nationalist” are assuaged, there remains other reasons to be critical of it. Placing the question of nationalism within the context of globalization and an increasingly interconnected world reveals as much. President Macron, who has called for strengthening the powers of the EU, characterized nationalism as “our interests first, who cares about others.” While his condemnation appears unconditional, he demonstrates the threat it poses specifically to a globalized world. 

Rising nationalism and populism in Europe has been reflected in the elections of anti-establishment parties, support for Eurosceptic leaders, and, most notably, Brexit. And it is perhaps the erosion of commercial borders caused by globalization and the cessation of governance to more distant political bodies that has led to this resurgence of nationalism; a resurgence driven by a fear of “losing” one’s country.

If the goal is to further the interdependence of countries, to strengthen international bodies, and to encourage the free movement of people and goods, and with them, culture, nationalism is certainly an obstacle. But if the goal is to support localized governance and ensure nations retain their sovereignty, nationalism is inevitable.

It is important to recognize then that to criticize nationalists is to criticize the concept of the nation, too. For those who oppose nationalism, the only possible implication of their opposition is that the nation is not worth supporting with such fervor or pride, a lost cause running counter to the progress of a globalized world. But for as long as the nation exists and is the predominant base upon which the modern state is structured, promotion and prioritization of one’s nation should strike no one as inherently wrong.