By Kevin D. Williamson
Wednesday, March 02, 2016
If you want to annoy a conservative pedant, describe the
United States as a “democracy.” Tut-tut: Not a democracy, a republic.
The distinction is important, not least because the best
features of the American system of government — the Bill of Rights, the Supreme
Court, the pre–17th Amendment Senate, the filibuster, the congressional
committee system — are not only undemocratic
but, to varying degrees, antidemocratic.
It does not matter a whit whether 1 percent of the voting public or 99.9
percent of the voting public supports freedom of the press or due-process
requirements: These protections are built into the Constitution because they are unpopular, not in spite
of it.
The antidemocratic features of the American order are
linked to the Founding Fathers’ belief that the fundamental rights of men come
not from states — even representative states — but from God, and hence are
unalienable. And unalienable means unalienable: by one man, by a dozen men, by
a million, by a majority, by a supermajority, by a unanimous vote. This
arrangement constituted, at the time, a rather extreme expression of
ideological liberalism, which was foisted upon the people by — oh, pardon me
for noticing! — the elites. Mr. Jefferson’s hifalutin francophilia and Mr.
Madison’s Princeton-cultivated dread of popular passions shaped our founding
documents, not the earthy wisdom of the Pennsylvania farmer, however hard-won.
Madison’s favored adjective for destructive democratic enthusiasms
was “spiteful,” and it was with political spite in mind that he sought to limit
the opportunities for mob-ocracy. This was why he sought to give the federal
government “compleat authority” in inherently national questions, such as trade
and immigration, lest the states “harrass each other with rival and spiteful
measures dictated by mistaken views of interest.” But the states are not the
only entities that seek to harass and disadvantage one another through fights
over trade policy and immigration, which of course brings us to our current
political moment.
Political parties are mentioned nowhere in the
Constitution, but for most of our history they played an essential role in
moderating those spiteful popular passions that so worried Madison and other
founders, including John Adams, who described “democracy” as a system that soon
“murders itself.” In our modern political discourse, we hear a great deal of
lamentation about deals made in “smoke-filled rooms,” but in fact that
horse-trading led to some pretty good outcomes. Vicious demagogues such as
Donald Trump and loopy fanatics such as Bernie Sanders were kept from the
levers of power with a surprisingly high degree of success. Sure, you got the
Corrupt Bargain and Teapot Dome, but you didn’t have unfunded welfare
liabilities equal to the value of literally (literally, Mr. Vice President!)
all the money in the world.
The difference between the American system and European
parliamentary systems, it has been remarked, is that we form our coalitions
before elections, while the Europeans form their coalitions after elections.
The parties — and the dreaded “establishments” that ran them — helped make that
happen. There is, after all, no deep reason why the gay-marriage voters and the
Teamsters ought to be in the same party, but the Democrats found ways to make
them work together. Likewise the free-trade voters and the immigration
reformers on the right.
It is a little ironic that at the very moment when
railing against the “establishment” of either party is so very fashionable, the
parties are in fact shells of what they once were. To the extent that there is
a Republican-party establishment, it plainly does not have the power to, e.g.,
call down anathema upon a potential Republican-party presidential nominee. The
day before yesterday, Marco Rubio was the anti-establishment, tea-party
insurgent; today he is the establishment, if the doggie-treat salesmen on the
radio are to be believed. If that leads you to believe that the word
“establishment” does not actually mean anything, you are correct.
It was democracy that did the parties in, of course. One
of the harebrained progressive reforms foisted upon our republic is the
so-called open primary, which amounts to something close to the abolition of
political parties as such. If anybody can vote in the Republican primary —
Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Green, independent, etc. — then membership
in the party does not mean very much, and, hence, the party itself does not
mean very much. Instead of two main political parties, we have two available
channels for the communication of populist spite; the parties themselves are
mere conveniences for political entrepreneurs and demagogues. Trump might as
easily have run as a Democrat — he is a longtime supporter of Hillary Clinton
and Charles Schumer, and he raves about the wonderful things the butchers at
Planned Parenthood do — but the opening was more attractive on the R side.
The Progressives weren’t monsters, and they did not
intend to unleash demagoguery on the republic. But they did. They believed that
a stronger central state could be tamed by making it more democratic, and hence
more accountable. The same line of thinking was applied to the parties: Not
only would open primaries make the parties more accountable, but they would
make them more moderate, too, as though moderation for its own sake were
worthwhile. There’s a bit of irony in that: The open-primary system was pushed
by, among others, the Republican-party establishment in the Northeast, as a way
of bringing in more voters to dilute the influence of ascendant conservatives.
Changes in the media, new communication technology, the rise of the
ever-more-imperial presidency, and the increasing subjugation of the states to
Mr. Madison’s beloved central power have combined to make our national
institutions much more democratic, in the worst sense of that word, and hence
more vulnerable to demagoguery, with the results that we see before us.
The political parties are not public agencies. We have
constitutional guarantees of freedom of association, and the parties ought to
be able to simply reject a candidate. They might not be able to simply select a
nominee, but they could exercise, with complete propriety, a veto power. Under
such a system, Trump would be free to run for president in any manner he saw
fit, but not under the Republican banner, unless the Republican party itself
consented. As it stands, the parties supply enormous quantities of
infrastructure that can be hijacked by practically anybody, including a batty
real-estate heir with a seven-word vocabulary who doesn’t know how a bill becomes
a law.
If the alternative to vicious demagoguery is back-room
deals negotiated by party insiders, then bring on the back-room deals.
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