IN THIS BOOK I’ve discussed many changes. Some we can each start doing individually, like spending more time in nature with our children, and others, businesses can make, like choosing to pay a living wage. But most of the changes proposed in this book are things that will have to come from government—even where the change means government doing less or giving its power away. It still needs government to act. That’s not surprising: much of my thinking on the issues in this book has taken place either in or preparing for government. It’s also how it should be: in a democracy our political system is the only institution that truly represents us—our wishes, our rights, our aspirations. All governments make rules, limit excess, lock up wrongdoers, preserve what should be protected, and forge ahead where progress is needed. Democracies are different, though, in that their legitimacy stems not from force or birthright but from the authority of our votes. That is democracy’s promise—and why democracy must be the solution.
But because of people’s almost total lack of confidence these days that our political system in America can really change much of anything, I understand that the arguments in the book could seem out of reach. How are we supposed to transform all of these things? Where do we even start? Well . . .
THE FIRST STEP IS FIXING OUR DEMOCRACY
Americans have long taken great pride in their civic participation. Alexis de Tocqueville, the Frenchman who famously chronicled his travels in the early years of the United States, wrote approvingly of the American commitment to local politics: “The cares of political life engross a most prominent place in the occupation of a citizen in the United States, and almost the only pleasure of which an American has any idea is to take a part in the Government, and to discuss the part he has taken.”1 Indeed, it was that spirit of public-mindedness that inspired Americans to come together in the first place to rebel against British rule in the American Revolution. Although they would debate the nature of their republic for decades after the Revolution, eventually Americans concluded that civil society and participatory democracy were the ultimate manifestation of a proper republic.2 From the early nineteenth century onward it was citizens gathering together who brought about reforms like universal education, the abolition of slavery, and the emancipation of women.
Although democracy is not uniquely American, its development is. In many countries people have the right to vote or speak their mind, but in America validation and vigorous defense of these principles form an intrinsic part of the national identity, a ‘civic religion’ of freedom, pluralism, and elected government that ties the nation together. Implicit in the American ethos is that regardless of ethnicity, race, religion, or even history, anyone can be American if they uphold and protect these values.
As befits a people whose revolution represented a grand experiment of popular government, Americans have always had a greater definition of what it means to be a citizen in a democracy. Democracy is voting, yes, but it is much more than that. For a democracy to truly function, the citizenry must be informed, must be represented, and must be involved.
Between partisan gridlock and the power of money in politics, American democracy has in some respects fallen behind compared to its peers. But it also has the opportunity to forge a new path in defining democracy for the twenty-first century, to unleash the promise of a new tradition of civic engagement that echoes the one of which de Tocqueville wrote two centuries ago.
ONE WAY IS to broaden our definition of what it means to be active in our communities.
The Park Slope Food Co-Op is a neighborhood grocery store in Brooklyn, New York. My friend Chloe Wasserman, who lives nearby with her family, first took me there around fifteen years ago, and I fell in love with it instantly. Each of its sixteen thousand members contributes to the community by working in the shop once every four weeks for a total of two hours and forty-five minutes in a squad that almost always works together as a close team. Every member must contribute equally in time but can participate in a variety of tasks. All co-op members are entitled to play a role in the store’s governance. Not only is it a close-knit community, but by saving on labor costs, the co-op can provide its members with high-quality organic, local food at a 20 to 40 percent discount.
What can a grocery store teach us about civic participation? It shows us that if you humanize the process, members of a community are happy to give their time to the common good, working alongside others in all sorts of areas of life, especially if they get something concrete out of it, like lower grocery costs. But when it comes to community engagement through the political system, it’s a completely dehumanized process: an anonymous trip to the polling station once every few years and the payment of local taxes. That’s it. No wonder people feel alienated from politics.
WE COULD CHANGE that. We could strengthen a neighborhood’s social fabric by actively bringing residents into the civic sphere through the concept of ‘civic service’. This would be a little like jury duty, except more predictable and regular. Let’s identify useful roles in communities that could be provided by local residents, and then invite—or even require—them to give two or three hours of service a month, just like the members of the Park Slope Food Co-Op. It would help people connect with their neighbors and increase their sense of belonging and social responsibility.
Civic service is a natural, human complement to neighborhood government. The aim should be to make local service a social norm, make it easier to do by specifying the time, place, and people to do it with, and offer some kind of tangible incentive, such as perhaps a small discount on local taxes. Even with a compulsory version of civic service, which might seem extreme, just as with the Park Slope Food Co-Op, if the benefits are clear and the social connections strong, people will love it; they will love being of service and love the engagement with their neighborhood and their community.
Of course, civic service is an idea that calls for experimentation. In his terrific book on civic innovation, Citizenville, Gavin Newsom writes about Manor, Texas, which used an innovative gaming and points system to encourage civic service. The authorities there created a mobile game app in which residents earn points for participation, like submitting ideas to improve the city. A suggestion gets one thousand ‘Innobucks,’ and its adoption and implementation earns one hundred thousand. These points weren’t a real currency, but they did allow residents to access perks within the city, like police ride-alongs or discounts at local retailers.3 Although Newsom concedes that gaming is a strange way to organize a voluntary service system, it is actually an expression of human-centered design. “We have to meet the people where they are,” writes Newsom. “And where they are right now is playing games and spending time on social-networking sites.”4 Rather than compete with faceless avatars, Manor’s residents competed with their neighbors—for bragging rights over who was the most active citizen.
Let’s shift that kind of thinking one step further—not just expressing an opinion about how things should be run but getting involved directly, a couple of hours a month. That’s what I mean by civic service. Even if it was compulsory, getting people physically—not just politically—engaged in local services would make them feel more committed. Civic service needn’t—and shouldn’t—feel like a chore. By meeting people where they are, letting people choose how they serve, and making it enjoyable, local governments can infuse duty with passion.
FOR A SYSTEM of government that has increasingly lost the trust of its own people, simple, human, practical involvement of this kind would be a small step toward rehabilitation. But there’s something else we can do. Something you can do.
It goes right back to the first chapter of this book: politics. Fixing our democracy is the first step in moving toward a more human world. We need to take power out of the hands of the big-money donors and the big unions and big businesses and put it back where it belongs—in the hands of the people. End the stranglehold of the political machines on the left and right. Make it easier for more independent and independent-minded candidates to run for office. Give people confidence that it’s worth getting involved. Make the representatives we have, actually represent us. As long as the same people control the conversation in city hall, the state house, or Washington, things will stay the same. So we need more grassroots, interactive, accountable politics. We need to make politics more human.
That’s where you come in. If you agree with the ideas in this book and want to see them happen, I can tell you exactly what you need to do. You won’t necessarily like the answer, but I’m going to tell you anyway.
Of course it means backing candidates for elected office—especially state and local—who are truly committed to change, to overthrowing the systems of governance that have helped precipitate the problems we face today. But the trouble is, there aren’t enough such candidates. So, you need to run for office. Run for your city council. Run for mayor. Run for the state legislature.
If that’s too scary, run for something more low key—school board or parks commission. But one way or another, get your hands on the levers of power. If enough of us do it, we can really change things. One independent-minded person who wants to see more human politics enacted, on their own, is not going to change anything. But a handful in a city council or state legislature? Now you’re talking. A couple of hundred in Congress? That’s a revolution.
We can do this. We really can. We can take back our democracy and make the world more human. But it will only happen if you—yes, you—take that first step and run for office. I know it’s daunting. I know it’s off-putting. I know you’ll be worried about the kind of people you’ll have to deal with, becoming a public figure, having actual responsibility for things. But that’s what democracy is. And the trouble is, we’ve allowed it to be captured by the insiders and the vested interests and the people with money and influence. They’re counting on you to be put off by it all, to be put off by the hassle, the complexity, the difficulty. That’s their bet—that you don’t actually care that much. That you don’t really want change.
Prove them wrong.
Take back our democracy.
Make the world more human.
The first step? Right now, go to crowdpac.com/runforoffice.