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Dissent is not incidental to democracy--a
nuisance to be tolerated--but vital to it.
To enable dissent, democracy must reject the
current course toward a disengaged,
trivialized, procedural conception of public life in
which new or substantially differing
perspectives--particularly those that call into question
entrenched economic/philosophic/political orthodoxies--go unheard and,
ultimately, unexpressed. This erasure of debate can only produce a
false consensus, a passive "affirmation" that is capable
merely of confirming and reproducing the status quo.
Instead, we need to affirm a more vigorous democratic process,
one which draws a fuller range of
voices into the civic discourse
and which, in so doing, makes more genuinely
reciprocal the central negotiation of democratic life: how best to
balance individual (private) interests and collective (public)
responsibilities.
To an equal extent, our public conversations
should not hesitate to be about something essential. As Justice Robert Jackson
observed,
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"The freedom to differ is not
limited to things that do not matter much. That would be a
mere shadow of freedom. The test of its substance is the right
to differ as to things that touch the heart of the
existing order."
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The freedom to differ, or dissent, is precisely
the theme that unites each of the First Amendment's six protections (or
five, if the Establishment Clause is read, rightly, as consonant with
free exercise--as its logical and necessary precondition):
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"Congress shall make no law respecting an
establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or
abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press, or the right of the
people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a
redress of grievances."
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At root, what the First Amendment
prohibits is any effort by government to answer for its citizens
questions of identity: of who people are, and of
what they (should) believe.
One of our most pressing socioeconomic
predicaments--that
10
percent of us in the U.S. possess 71 percent of the nation's
wealth, and thus a disproportionate voice in public affairs--is
inherently undemocratic. So, likewise, is the
political/economic right's justification of this
status quo, its defense of
the conservation of wealth and privilege.
A better world
is possible. It's trite to say. But with
the right's aggressive, long-running, and largely successful campaign
to make conservative ideology appear the "natural"
or presumable order of things, it still
seems worth emphatically saying.
Our understandings always are partial,
in both senses of that: incomplete, and inclined to that with which
we're familiar. We can see the world more clearly when our
thinking, and our knowledge, consist commensurately of
revisions.
So, partly in sum:
- Democracy
is the dialectic, i.e., the
process of reasoned argumentation and persuasion. Emptying public life
of this logical tension empties it of content.
- When we bring new voices
and new perspectives into our public conversations, we can
better recognize that, in the words of legal scholar
Martha Minow, “the status quo [is not] natural
and
inevitable," but is instead "a reflection of choices made and choices
that can be remade." Here especially, history matters: The past
(literally) is in front of us.
- True
learning, and thus true progressive change, are premised on
habits of mind--in particular, on the adoption of an attitude
of critical openness that admits ambiguity and the capacity to
rethink old or inherited understandings.
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