There's a lot to think about today. There is the revolutionary birth of our country. There is the apex of a a second revolution which birthed us anew. And in the world around us, there are still more revolutions in the offing. At such a time, it really is a pleasure for me to bring you this short essay by historian W. Caleb McDaniel, derived from his book -- The Problem of Democracy in the Age of Slavery. I think we are all familiar with Lincoln's words at Gettysburg. But McDaniel reminds us that there was a time in America when the possibility that democracy would "perish from the earth" was very real. This is the strength of the McDaniel piece -- the Confederate rebellion was not incidentally pro-slavery and anti-democratic (it was both), but anti-democratic because it was pro-slavery.
On July 4, 1854, at a grove in Framingham, Massachusetts, William Lloyd Garrison held up a copy of the Constitution, labeled it a compromise with tyranny, and burned it to ash. He then invited the abolitionist audience to join him by shouting "Amen."
Ever since that Fourth of July, Garrison has been remembered primarily for his rejection of the Constitution, a document he once said was dripping with human blood. Look more closely however, and you'll find more complicated, even patriotic, Garrison.
In fact, before he started setting paper on fire, Garrison delivered a less well-known speech that praised the Declaration of Independence and the American Revolution as models for the world. He even began the day by declaring that the first Fourth of July was "the greatest political event in the annals of time." It had created a charter of inalienable rights that, if enforced, would mean the "eternal dethronement" of all tyrants everywhere and the "redemption of the world."
In an 1824 speech he described the American Revolution as "the splendid, immaculate guide,---to all other nations, in their career after freedom." Around the same time, Garrison advised recent revolutionaries in South America to use the United States as their "model."
Garrison never really stopped believing that the United States should be a "guide" to other nations--but a proslavery Constitution compromised such guidance. As Garrison said at Framingham in 1854, "we have proved recreant to our own faith, false to our own standard, treacherous to the trust committed to our hands." The result was that "instead of helping to extend the blessings of freedom" abroad, Americans had hindered the spread of their democratic ideals.
Abraham Lincoln would not have applauded Garrison's actions, but he often echoed him. Because of slavery, Lincoln said, "our republican robe is soiled, and trailed in the dust," leaving the world without an untarnished example of "spirit of '76." To prove the danger, Lincoln quoted from a recent London newspaper which expressed "apprehension" that slavery was "fatally violating the noblest political system the world ever saw" and thus undermining "the liberal party throughout the world."
The idea that American slavery was a threat to American democracy, and thus democracy the world-over, was not an exaggeration in 1854. The future of political liberalism was far from clear, and many in the "liberal party throughout the world" looked to the United States, flawed though it was, as one of the only bastions of democratic politics.
Nothing made democratization in the early America inevitable. It proceeded slowly, with great struggle, at different paces in different states. But by 1855, most states had either minimized or eliminated the property qualifications that previously kept even white adult men from voting. Universal white manhood suffrage had become the reality.
Pure democracy, this was not. Women, slaves, and most free blacks remained disfranchised. Immigrants and industrial wage-workers faced renewed challenges to their voting rights even as universal white manhood suffrage took hold. In particular locales and states, even legally enfranchised voters grew accustomed to serious attacks on their rights. But the extent of voting rights in the United States made the nation seem like a radical democratic experiment, especially in comparison to the political arrangements that prevailed elsewhere in the nineteenth century.
In South America and Haiti, for example, early nineteenth-century revolutions had created undemocratic governments that managed to beat back any calls for the radical expansion of the right to vote. Parts of Europe had inched towards more popular rule, but a few telling numbers show how little progress had been made. In the United Kingdom, which reformed its Parliament in 1832, only around twenty percent of the adult male population could vote. In 1830, the French elevated a new monarch to the throne who promised to be the "People's King." But even then, as historian Mike Rapport notes, "the electorate swelled to include only 170,000 of France's richest men: this was a mere 0.5 per cent of the French population, a sixth of those who enjoyed the vote in Britain after 1832." And even such small electorates did not yet exist to check the rule of monarchs in Europe's other great powers---Prussia, Austria, and Russia.
The most serious challenge to Europe's crowned heads and landed classes came in a series of revolutions that swept the continent in 1848. Democratic European revolutionaries like Mazzini in Italy and Lamartine in France capitalized on the unrest of that year by establishing new republics in Rome and Paris. The tide seemed, for a moment, to be turning towards popular government. But by 1854 Europe's conservative forces had regained their balance, and republican experiments in Italy and France had ended. By the time Garrison rose at Framingham and Lincoln stood at Peoria, the fate of democracy worldwide seemed more fragile than ever, and even more dependent on the survival of the "spirit of '76."
But after 1848 American slavery also seemed---more than ever---like a hindrance to the further spread of that spirit. Revolution and reform in Europe had not brought radical democracy to the continent, but they had, by 1848, abolished colonial slavery in the British and French Caribbean empires. Meanwhile, as the electorate grew in the United States, the American slave population had surged to nearly 4 million. These facts were a source of embarrassment for American abolitionists, of course, but increasingly they were embarrassments for overseas democrats as well, who often heard conservative aristocrats cite American racism and slavery as reasons enough to doubt that majority rule was a good idea.
Many transatlantic liberals expressed their apprehensions about this directly to American abolitionists. As I show in my new book, the "liberal party throughout the world" was not just an abstraction for Garrison; it was a network of antislavery sympathizers and democrats who communicated directly with abolitionists in the United States. In Illinois, Lincoln gathered his perceptions of overseas liberals from the newspapers; Garrison and his allies got theirs directly, and sometimes in person, from Europeans like Mazzini, Victor Hugo, and leading British Chartists who fought for universal manhood suffrage. By the time he burned the Constitution, many of these allies had warned Garrison explicitly that slavery in the United States was materially damaging their causes overseas.
In 1852, for example, the French abolitionist and republican Victor Schoelcher wrote in a Garrisonian publication that it was "an incalculable danger to the democratic idea, both now and hereafter, that the most democratic people existing should be holders of Slaves!" And in 1853, Garrison had shared with another abolitionist audience an address from "the Democrats of England to the Democrats of America" which declared that the abolition of slavery would give the United States "double moral power to reanimate the swooning liberties of Europe." Mazzini, the Italian revolutionary whom Garrison had met personally in 1847, also wrote to his friend that same summer that abolitionism in America and the struggle for the People in Europe were "one single cause."
A long history of such statements set the stage for Garrison's address at Framingham the following year, and before setting the Constitution ablaze, Garrison made sure his audience remembered the situation confronting their faraway friends. Garrison's speech first carefully reviewed the current, depressing state of "the freedom of continental Europe" since 1848. He noted "the perfidious and high-handed usurpation" of Louis Napoleon, who had by then dissolved the Second Republic and declared himself Emperor. And in Austria and Russia, Garrison continued, the people still suffered under "bloody despotism" and "iron autocracy." In the Europe of 1854, it seemed once again that "the reign of tyranny is as absolute as fate, and the extinction of the people complete."
Then, drawing on what he had heard from the "liberal party throughout the world," Garrison declared that Americans had contributed to this sorry situation by trumpeting their own example while brutalizing millions of human beings. The Declaration of Independence should have inspired the overthrow of tyrannies everywhere, Garrison affirmed. But "our flag is red with the blood of our slaves, and marked by their stripes," and those stains had prevented the nation's signature document from doing its work. After surveying European politics, he concluded that "this tells the story of American influence upon the liberties of the world." If Americans' democratic ideals suffered abroad, it was because of imperfections at home.
Here Garrison underlined that being a radical critic of the United States, even one who reproached the Constitution and the flag, did not require giving up on the hope of positive American influence on the world. Garrison did disavow the sort of exceptionalism which led many Americans to believe that the United States could never fall from grace. As early as 1829, he ridiculed the idea that "the republic is immortal; that its flight, like a strong angel's, has been perpetually upward, till it has soared above the impurities of earth ... and, having attained perfection, is forever out of the reach of circumstance and change." But Garrison did believe, like Lincoln, that this corruptible and imperfect republic could be improved and could, eventually, fulfill its high calling as an example to other nations of government of, by, and for the people.
To borrow a term used in slightly different ways by historians Timothy Mason Roberts and H. W. Brands, the views of Lincoln and Garrison represented variations on the idea of "American exemplarism," instead of the idea of "American exceptionalism." And while subtle, the difference between "exemplarism" and "exceptionalism" had significant implications. For one thing, it meant that Lincoln and Garrison refused to immunize their countrymen from critique. On the contrary, the nation's flaws as a model required thoughtful Americans to begin their improvement of the world at home, to prefer humility to hubris, to balance patriotism with cosmopolitan concern, and to focus less on making the world safe for democracy and more on making democracy safe for the world.
This was not, then or now, an easy position to maintain. Burning the Constitution without spurning the Declaration was a difficult balancing act, and it often left abolitionists struggling to make the same, complex assessments of the American experiment familiar to readers of this blog. If, as an earlier post here put it, "the challenge for someone trying to assess America, at this moment, is properly calibrating how far we've gone with how far we have to go," this was the challenge for Garrison and Lincoln in their moment, too. Peer past the fire and smoke of Garrison's most iconic gesture and it's possible to glimpse a figure whose dilemmas are still relevant today, on another sweltering and polarized Fourth of July.
Boosting your ego won’t make you feel better. Instead, try talking to yourself like you would your best friend.
In 1986, California state assemblyman John Vasconcellos came up with what he believed could be “a vaccine for major social ills” like teen pregnancy and drug abuse: a special task-force to promote self-esteem among Californians. The effort folded three years later, and was widely considered not to have accomplished much.
To Kristin Neff, a psychology professor at the University of Texas, that’s not surprising. Though self-esteem continues to reverberate as a pop-psych cure-all, the quest for inflated egos, in her view, is misguided and largely pointless.
There’s nothing wrong with being confident, to answer Demi Lovato’s question. The trouble is how we try to achieve high self-regard. Often, it’s by undermining others or comparing our achievements to those around us. That’s not just unsustainable, Neff argues, it can also lead to narcissism or depressive bouts during hard times.
Now that the entertainer seems to have wrapped up the Republican nomination, who will he choose as his running mate?
For decades, a few antiquated bon mots about the vice presidency have held sway in discussions about running mates. For example, there’s Teddy Roosevelt’s declaration, “I would a great deal rather be anything, say professor of history, than vice president.” Even better was John Nance Garner’s verdict that the office he held under FDR was “not worth a bucket of warm piss.” Those quips really hardly apply anymore; they’re as archaic as their authors. These days the Naval Observatory is a nice place to land. You could end up amassing unprecedented power and a man-sized safe, like Dick Cheney. You could end up with impressive power andbecome an aviator-clad folk hero, like Joe Biden.
Or maybe not. Will anyone want to be the running mate to presumptive Republican nominee Donald Trump? There are the character risks in cozying up to a man who’s liable to make a racist comment or accuse a rival’s father of being involved in the Kennedy assassination. There are the career risks of becoming associated with a man who much of the Republican Party still doesn’t like. And there are the organizational risks to signing on as No. 2 to a man who’s famously a go-it-alone maverick.
Who has jumped on the bandwagon? Who’s sticking with #NeverTrump? And who hasn’t made up their mind yet? A continually updated inventory
How do you solve a problem like The Donald? For Republicans and conservatives, the time for hoping Trump would simply burn himself out, collapse, and go away is over. With the exits of Ted Cruz and John Kasich, the entertainer is now the presumptive GOP nominee.
That poses a dilemma for the Republican official or conservative opinionmaker who doesn’t like Trump, disagrees with his policies, and/or thinks he will harm GOP and the conservative movement. Swallow hard and back Trump? Try to coalesce around a third-party candidate? Sit out the election and risk allowing Hillary Clinton to win the presidency, or even back her rather than risk letting Trump win?
As the chaotic and failed attempts to stop Trump over the 10 months have shown, there’s no obviously right choice. But which choice are people making? Here’s a list of some major figures and where they stand on Trump—right now. We’ll keep it updated as other important people take stances, or as these ones change their views about Trump.
With Donald Trump its presumptive nominee after his win in the Indiana primary, the GOP will never be the same.
NEW YORK—Where were you the night Donald Trump killed the Republican Party as we knew it? Trump was right where he belonged: in the gilt-draped skyscraper with his name on it, Trump Tower in Manhattan, basking in the glory of his final, definitive victory.
“I have to tell you, I’ve competed all my life,” Trump said, his golden face somber, his gravity-defying pouf of hair seeming to hover above his brow. “All my life I’ve been in different competitions—in sports, or in business, or now, for 10 months, in politics. I have met some of the most incredible competitors that I’ve ever competed against right here in the Republican Party.”
The combined might of the Republican Party’s best and brightest—16 of them at the outset—proved, in the end, helpless against Trump’s unorthodox, muscular appeal to the party’s voting base. With his sweeping, 16-point victory in Tuesday’s Indiana primary, and the surrender of his major remaining rival, Ted Cruz, Trump was pronounced the presumptive nominee by the chair of the Republican National Committee. The primary was over—but for the GOP, the reckoning was only beginning.
The candidate has exposed the tension between democracy and liberal values—just like the Arab Spring did.
When I was living in the Middle East, politics always felt existential, in a way that I suppose I could never fully understand. After all, I could always leave (as my relatives in Egypt were fond of reminding me). But it was easy enough to sense it. Here, in the era of Arab revolt, elections really had consequences. Politics wasn’t about policy; it was about a battle over the very meaning and purpose of the nation-state. These were the things that mattered more than anything else, in part because they were impossible to measure or quantify.
The primary divide in most Arab countries was between Islamists and non-Islamists. The latter, especially those of a more secular bent, feared that Islamist rule, however “democratic” it might be, would alter the nature of their countries beyond recognition. It wouldn’t just affect their governments or their laws, but how they lived, what they wore, and how they raised their sons and daughters.
Nearly half of Americans would have trouble finding $400 to pay for an emergency. I’m one of them.
Since 2013,the Federal Reserve Board has conducted a survey to “monitor the financial and economic status of American consumers.” Most of the data in the latest survey, frankly, are less than earth-shattering: 49 percent of part-time workers would prefer to work more hours at their current wage; 29 percent of Americans expect to earn a higher income in the coming year; 43 percent of homeowners who have owned their home for at least a year believe its value has increased. But the answer to one question was astonishing. The Fed asked respondents how they would pay for a $400 emergency. The answer: 47 percent of respondents said that either they would cover the expense by borrowing or selling something, or they would not be able to come up with the $400 at all. Four hundred dollars! Who knew?
The Good Wife, which ends its seven-season run on Sunday, made use of its costumes in a way few shows have—giving them things to say about feminism and class and the complex interplay between the two.
The Good Wife begins with a pair of suits. Two people, a man and a woman, walk down a long hallway, each clad in that classic costume of conformity. The woman’s suit is gray-and-black wool houndstooth, slightly boxy in cut, clasped with mother-of-pearl buttons; the man’s is black, with just a hint of white sleeve peeking out from under the arm. The faces in that first scene remain just out of frame; the suits’ fabrics swish and bunch, their folds and shadows exaggerated by the harsh lighting of a cavernous hall.
Quickly, we learn that the faceless couple is Alicia and Peter Florrick, and that they’re on their way to the press conference in which he will announce his resignation as Cook County’s State’s Attorney, confess his repeated infidelity to his wife, and otherwise engage in the time-honored yet quintessentially modern ritual of the performative political apology. Alicia will stand beside him while he does all that, stoic and sad and exhausted, the rigidity of her pencil skirt and woolen jacket seeming to help her stay upright as the callous cameras flash. And then, abruptly, in the next scene—six months after the first one, the show informs us—we see her again. She is no longer pale. She is wearing a pantsuit instead of a skirt, and a jacket that is, unlike the first, perfectly tailored to her form. She is wearing stilettos. Actually, she is running in them.
All week long, raging wildfires have swept across neighborhoods and forests of the city of Fort McMurray in Alberta, Canada.
All week long, raging wildfires have swept across neighborhoods and forests of the city of Fort McMurray in Alberta, Canada, forcing more than 80,000 people to flee. The fire, driven by strong winds and hot, dry weather, is estimated to have burned more than 250,000 acres so far, destroying nearly 2,000 buildings, and will likely be one of Canada’s most expensive disasters, with insurance claims estimated to top $9 billion. Fortunately, there have been no casualties reported from the fire so far.
Some of Hillary Clinton’s top aides have been interviewed by the FBI, and so far there’s reportedly no evidence she broke the law—but she hasn’t spoken to investigators yet.
Back in early March, The New York Times reported that the FBI would be interviewing Hillary Clinton and her top aides about her private email server within the coming weeks. A source told the paper the investigation would probably conclude by early May, at which point the Justice Department would be left to decide whether to file charges against Clinton or anyone else, and what charges to file. The final decision rests with Attorney General Loretta Lynch.
Then things went quiet for a while. On Monday—fully two months after the Times report—Clinton even told Andrea Mitchell that the FBI hadn’t contacted her for an interview about the server. What gives?
The email-server story seems to move in waves: silence for a while, then an onslaught of news. Late Thursday, it emerged that while Clinton hasn’t spoken to the FBI yet, several of her top aides have. (She has repeatedly said that she will cooperate if asked to speak.) One of the aides to speak is Huma Abedin, one of Clinton’s closest and longest-serving confidants. It’s not clear what other staffers have been interviewed.
The Nebraska senator wrote a widely discussed open letter condemning Clinton and Trump. The spirit is right, but the substance is thin.
Kudos to Nebraska Senator Ben Sasse for reaffirming in a widely discussed “open letter” that he won’t support Donald Trump. I just wish the letter weren’t so self-righteously dumb.
Sasse, often mentioned as a potential third-party candidate, addresses his missive to the “majority of America” that believes that “both leading presidential candidates are dishonest.” He goes onto declare that neither Trump nor Hillary are “honorable people” nor “healthy leader[s],” whatever that means.
That’s an ironic way to begin a letter that later denounces “character attacks.” It’s true that many voters doubt Clinton’s trustworthiness. But Sasse offers no evidence that Clinton has been particularly dishonest in this campaign and the nonpartisan institutions that evaluate politicians’ veracity suggest the opposite. The fact-checking website Politifact rates 49 percent of Clinton’s statements “true” and 29 percent “false.” That’s substantially better than Marco Rubio (36 percent true, 42 percent false) and Ted Cruz (25 percent true, 64 percent false), neither of whom Sasse would call dishonest, let alone dishonorable or unhealthy. And it’s in a different solar system from Donald Trump, whose ratio as judged by Politifact is a mind-boggling 9 percent true to 76 percent false.