What freedom and democracy feel like

Agency, confidence, and community are everything

Dear Friends,

I am loving the renaissance of online writing. “You don’t know someone until you say no to them,” goes one saying. Or until you travel with them. Or until you live with them. Well, I’d like to add another: You don’t really know someone until you read them. Why is writing so intimate? Why does it feel like I’m peering right into someone’s subconscious? My hunch is that we radically adjust what we say in conversation as we scan for approval, disagreement, and boredom. Writing to an invisible, faceless audience is less filtered. The writer is free from feedback staring us in the face — for better and worse. Well, that is my hunch. Whatever may be at play, I have loved recently peering into the minds of friends, including Chi’s account of her first time at Burning Man; Anna’s reflections on whether technology meant to support caregivers also corrodes human connection; and Alex’s vulnerable meditation on the role of envy in creativity.

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Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been to a number of conference sessions theorizing about democracy and its discontents. In poll after poll, support for democracy is at a low, while rates of depression, suicide, and drug overdoses have never been higher. Could there be a link between our dissatisfaction with democracy and our inner emotional turmoil? Or are both trends driven by other factors like information overload, social media, and/or fear of climate change? And whatever the magical formula of collective well-being, what does it feel like to live in a democracy, and how does that compare to what it feels like to live in an autocracy?

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When I first began as a manager, I assumed that everyone was wired like me — that we all want maximum autonomy, agency, and influence over the decisions that affect us. My weekly meetings were full of questions: “What do you think about this challenge we’re facing? How would you go about addressing this tradeoff?”

I would have loved to have had a manager who involved me in decision-making to the same degree, but quickly I discovered that not everyone wants to participate in every decision. Most people, I came to learn, prefer clear instructions and expectations.¹ I had to learn how to tell people what to do without always asking if they agreed.

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At the opening plenary of last week’s Open Government Partnerships Summit in Tallinn, there was a thought-provoking on-stage disagreement between Kaja Kallas, Estonia’s Prime Minister, and Kai Klandorf, the leader of a network of Estonian non-profits. The activist told the audience that Estonia’s technocratic government was still learning the value of inclusion and deliberation before rushing through decisions. The prime minister responded that voters ask not how the government can create more opportunities for debate, but rather why Estonia can’t build new infrastructure or offer new services as quickly as China. In California, where a high-speed railway has been in development since 1996, few voters want more public input; they just want the damn thing finished.

Derek Thompson and Ezra Klein are now finishing a book that argues that America Needs a Liberalism that Builds. They will have to contend with the good intentions and unintentional effects of policies like the American Disability Act, which ensures equal access to disabled Americans while driving out small business entrepreneurs. They will have to navigate the “Narrow Corridor” — the title of a book by Acemoglu and Robinson, which argues that we need a government that is strong enough to get things done and a civil society strong enough to keep the government in check from overreaching. Thompson and Klein argue that perhaps civil society has become too strong and that we need a stronger government to manage the green transition, rescue public schooling, and more.

It’s in my nature to err on the side of a stronger civil society than a stronger government. My worldview is that people are mostly good but power and money corrupt, so we need the gadflies and activists to hold the powerful to account.² It is thrilling and exhausting to use democratic means to hold the powerful to account — often through the law, but also through the media and elections. It is also liberating to not think about politics or government at all. To focus on one’s family and friends and private enterprise. I would never choose to live in China, Cuba, Iran, or Russia nor am I blind to the hardships of life under repression. And yet, I understand the growing dissatisfaction with democracy, the desire for someone to simply take control without the drama of consultation and debate.

The latest poll revealing more global democratic disappointment was carried out by Open Society Foundations, my former employer, and found that "42% of young people supported military rule compared to 20% of older respondents.” In one of those ill-advised, career-limiting tweets, I responded that it’s an ironic finding from Open Society Foundations, where a dynastic leadership transition has been anything but democratic or transparent.

Over the past 14 years, I’ve supported democratic reformers from the expensive real estate of unaccountable, plutocratic institutions. It’s been an uncomfortable contradiction and my own feeling of liberation this month comes from knowing that I am tantalizingly close to no longer representing the plutocracy, even if it’s for a good cause.

What comes next, I’m still not sure, but I was inspired by a podcast interview with Astra Taylor about why democracy is still worth saving. With little romanticism, she defends the practical value of democracy for society — and especially for how we participate in community. “I have this kinda romantic idea,” she confesses, “that what you say should connect with what you do and there should be a coincidence between your values and how you live.”

Reasons for optimism

The latest surveys may reveal pessimism toward democracy, but Luis and I found a few reasons to stay optimistic in our latest episode of the Twelve Inquiries podcast:

If you have a listen, I’d love to hear your thoughts. And I hope you have a great week!

David

1. I’m over-generalizing, of course. More accurately, we all want to participate in some decisions but not in others. I certainly would be fine not having a vote in California’s state board of equalization.

2. As I write this, I am surrounded by the best gadflies at the Global Investigative Journalism Conference. They are my people.