Millions March Boston

On Saturday, I went into Boston. A rare occurrence for someone who rarely leaves the four square miles of my home city.

But I went into Boston for Millions March Boston.

A day of anger and sadness. A day of action. A day of reflection.

I went into Boston because black lives matter.

Media reports say one thousand people were there.  Twenty three people got arrested. But it was hard for me to tell. I was lost in the throng of the crowd.

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There were more police officers than I knew what to do with.

I have been to many protests. I have been to many rallies. I’ve seen men with assault rifles guard the streets during the Boston DNC. I have never seen so many police officers.

I was surprised.

I didn’t feel that threatening.

The officers were dressed to make a statement. They were dressed for battle. In full riot gear with long, threatening batons and bright green vests. They stood still. Unmoving. Some revolutionary version of the British Royal Guard.

I know people who are police officers, but these police officers didn’t feel like people.

I wondered what they were like in real life.

We marched to the Nashua Street County Jail. A jail which houses 700 pretrial detainees.

We stood chanting in the street while inmates beat on the windows.

I wondered who was in there. I wondered what they were accused of. I wondered if they’d ever seen something like this.

And I wondered what they were like in real life.IMG_6590

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Colleges as Agents of Change — The Public Work Approach

We may be in a "new wave of activism" for social change among young people, as Charles Blow argued in the New York Times. But many see colleges as irrelevant to change, at best. There needs to be much wider knowledge about the "democracy's college" tradition, its public work approach to creating change, and its differences with the politics of protest.

Higher education often communicates a narrow view of its role which contributes to amnesia about this tradition. Colleges market themselves as tickets to individual gain. And as I described in my recent blog, "Democracy and the Rankings," the variables used by US News and World Report disadvantage college engagement with local communities. Rankings also reward exclusivity -- the higher number of students colleges reject, the higher their rankings.

Meanwhile, many social change activists see education and higher education as bulwarks of the status quo. The model used to think about education and social transformation, developed by the late Brazilian educator- activist Paulo Freire, illustrates.

In Pedagogy of the Oppressed, published in 1968, Freire argues that education uses a "banking" approach, assuming students are like empty bank accounts where teachers deposit knowledge. Such education dehumanizes all involved. It also reinforces oppression throughout society. In contrast, he calls for students to be "co-creators" of education, with liberation from oppression the goal. This requires that the oppressed reflect upon their oppression and fight against it."Freedom is acquired by conquest, not by gift (p. 47)," he says.

There are important insights in Freire, such as the idea that students should be active agents of their learning, not passive recipients. And Freire's approach has gained world-wide fame among change activists, including many in the US. A study in 2003 by David Steiner and Susan Rozen, examining curricula at leading schools of education found that Pedagogy of the Oppressed is a major text.

But Freire's popularity also shows weaknesses both in higher education and in conventional theories of change.

In the first instance, Freire's model rests on the assumption that consciousness raising is the wellspring of change. This feeds into faculty research cultures, which have become increasingly detached from public life and the lives of students. In such cultures, critique substitutes for cultivating capacities for action. In both my undergraduate and graduate courses, I have heard students say, again and again, that they hear far more about what's wrong than how to change it.

The stance of critique is reinforced by the dominant theory of power, the idea that power is zero-sum. Some have it and others don't. Change involves "overthrowing the powers," rather than democratizing power systems. In a forthcoming interview on higher education change in the Imagining American journal Public, Erica Kohl-Arenas, a teacher at the New School in New York describes strong anti-institutional attitudes among her students, grounded in skepticism about the possibility of making change. They love the idea of creating countercultural institutions, she says, because existing institutions "feel too big and massive to change."

The democracy college tradition is informed by approaches to popular education, change, and power, what can be called a public work approach, different than protest or the Freirian model. Public work has moments of struggle against clearly oppressive structures. But public work involves sustained work by a mix of people with different interests and views to solve problems, create common resources, and build a way of life together. It requires understanding power as the capacity to act, not simply the ability to impose one's will.

The difference between an oppression model and the public work approach is like the difference between the Exodus narrative and the Wilderness narrative in the Bible, which Marie-Louise Strӧm and I described in an earlier blog on climate change. The Exodus narrative involved a one-dimensional struggle against oppression.

The wilderness narrative is the story of the Jews' effort over 40 years to build a way of life in institutions, governance structures, and culture. It was productive, difficult, and messy. It included accepting the responsibility of one's agency, not looking to others for salvation, a hard task -- the Israelites often wanted to go back into Egypt.

A later biblical story in the same vein is the Nehemiah story of rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem. The people rebuilt themselves as they reconstructed the commonwealth.

There are many tributaries of popular education and change making with a public work character. Jane Addams, founder of the Hull House settlement for new immigrants and a major influence on John Dewey, argued that education needs to "free the powers" in each student, drawing on their cultural backgrounds and lived experiences.

Scandinavian folk school traditions, shaped by the Danish philosopher and theologian N.F.S. Gruntvig, had a similar approach. Folk schools, sometimes taking shape in colleges, were integral to farmer, labor, and free church movements among common people in Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Germany, France, and elsewhere. They contributed immensely to the creation of more democratic societies.

Folk school traditions also inspired popular education in America such as the Highlander Folk School in Tennessee, which played a crucial role in the civil rights movement. Highlander was original home to the citizenship education program of the movement which shaped me as a young man.

Older land grant colleges and historically black colleges and universities drew on folk school and settlement house traditions and had strong public work elements, as Scott Peters and Tim Eatman describe in the forthcoming volume, Democracy's Education: Public Work, Citizenship, and the Future of Colleges and Universities.

So did liberal arts schools such as Augsburg College, our new institutional home, where the Center for Democracy and Citizenship is now part of the Sabo Center for Democracy and Citizenship.

Like land grants, HBCUs, and Highlander, Augsburg had a down-to-earth quality wedding liberal arts education to career training grounded in practical experience. Augsburg grew from the Norwegian Free Church movement, congregations independent of the state committed to autonomy and a concept of vocation contributing social improvement. "Keeping the vision of the democratic college, Georg Sverdrup, Augsburg's second president (1876-1907), required students to get pre-ministerial experience in city congregations," recounts the Augsburg website.

Public work is messy, hard, often slow and painstaking. But if our role in education is not simply to name problems but to help our students address them, it is vital to revive the public work approach, both to meet our challenges and to build a more democratic society.

Bernard Williams on truth as a virtue of the humanities

Bernard Williams (1929-2003) published Truth and Truthfulness in 2002, when the humanities were still processing criticisms of truth, objectivity, science, the Enlightenment, and related ideals that had arisen with postmodernism. Williams held his own complex epistemology; he certainly wasn’t interested in defending naive positivism or scientism. But he saw that unless the humanities stood for truth as some kind of virtue, there wouldn’t be much of a case for those disciplines.

He recognized that the postmodern critique of truth might be waning. Epistemological radicalism had been more of an issue in 1990 (when I was at the same institution as Williams) than when he published Truth and Truthfulness. But he was prescient about the decade to come:

There is a danger that the decline of the more dramatic confrontations [about postmodernism] may do no more than register an inert cynicism, the kind of calm that in personal relations can follow a series of hysterical rows. If the passion for truthfulness is merely controlled and stilled without being satisfied, it will kill the activities it is supposed to support. This may be one of the reasons why, at the present time, the study of the humanities runs the risk of sliding from professional seriousness, through professionalization, to a finally disenchanted careerism.

(Anyone recognize evidence of the last three words today?)

Williams’ book is not really about truth but about “the ‘virtues’ of truth, qualities of people that are displayed in wanting to know the truth, in finding it out, and in telling it to other people.” Those virtues turn out to be two: Accuracy and Sincerity. Accuracy means trying to figure out what is true about the world and other people, as opposed to what one wishes, assumes, or is told to be true. It means making an “investment” in efforts to distinguish realities from wishes, for example. Sincerity means sharing what one believes with other people. The two virtues are distinct but related. It is, for example, not much good to be sincere about one’s beliefs if they are childish fantasies, nor to struggle to understand reality but keep what you find to yourself.

A third candidate for a virtue of truthfulness would be Authenticity–being true to who you really are. Williams criticizes the strong, Rousseauian version of this candidate virtue on interesting grounds. We don’t know who we really are. The self is not a unitary thing but a mix of values and other mental states that change rapidly, shift with context, and arise in relation to other people. Becoming someone is a “project” undertaken with other people. So the expectation of Authenticity is frustrating in ways that are worse than the quests for Accuracy and Sincerity.

Williams makes the case that any society needs Accuracy and Sincerity. But, as he argued more generally in Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy, the fact that a society needs X does not give an individual an adequate reason to supply X. One can free-ride instead. Also, there can be morally legitimate reasons to make exceptions. Kant was wrong to conclude that, because language and society depend on a general expectation of truthfulness, you may never lie. It only follows that most people should be truthful most of the time.

Instead of trying to derive grounds for principles of Accuracy and Sincerity, it is better to analyze and positively depict truthfulness as a virtue that gives credit to the person who displays it. We can also connect virtues together. Thus, for example, it takes courage to be Accurate, and compassion to be Sincere. (“Error is cowardice,” as Nietzsche wrote in a passage that Williams quotes.) Accuracy is also linked to freedom, because the struggle to understand nature is governed by one’s own will, in contrast to a struggle against other people’s wills, which limits freedom. I think Williams’ project is to defend truthfulness by linking several virtues into one attractive picture.

Note that virtues are not like Kantian principles; they can be exhibited to various degrees and even to excess. One can, for instance, make too much of an investment in determining the accuracy of a statement whose implications are not sufficiently important. (That is a sign of an obsession.) Or one can rightly withhold information that ought to be private.

Sincerity is a disposition, and it cannot be understood just as the disposition to follow a rule. Of course, there have to be some general considerations to which Sincerity attends, or the disposition would have no content. … But they do not add up to a rule, in the traditional sense of a requirement which is relatively simple and does not leave most of the work to judgement.

I read Truth and Truthfulness to explore a hypothesis that there are three different sets of virtues that are important to a good life, but they do not fit neatly together. One is truth, which Williams parses as Accuracy and Sincerity. A second concerns our relations to other people, which must be just, fair, compassionate, or some relative of those terms. (I deliberately mean this three-part model to allow for much debate about each part). And the third concerns our inner self, for we are entitled to worry about our own peace, equanimity, and/or happiness.

I found Williams helpful in two ways. First, he substantiates the premise that truthfulness is one set of virtues, honorable in themselves and generally useful to society, but sometimes in conflict with other worthy virtues. Again he quotes Nietzsche: “Fundamental Insight: There is no pre-established harmony between the furthering of truth and the well-being of humanity.” Second, Williams offers an impressive model for how to argue on behalf of a large abstract virtue, of which truthfulness is an example. He parses it closely. He shows by means of hypothetical cases that the virtue benefits a society. He shows by means of real history that the virtue has evolved in certain ways to take its current form. He shows that in the course of this history, certain efforts to change the virtue (e.g., Romantic proposals to turn it into Authenticity) have failed. And he links it to other virtues in ways that make it seem appealing.

The result is not the kind of knock-down argument that would convince a cheerful liar to start being Accurate and Sincere. It is, rather, an excavation of the kinds of reasons that lead reasonable people to try to be fairly truthful, even when inaccuracy and insincerity would be easier. I agree with Williams that unless the humanities exemplify that effort, they do not have much of a future.

See also: are we entering a post-truth era?; why we wish that goodness brought happiness, and why that is not so; unhappiness and injustice are different problems; all that matters is equanimity, community, and truth; does naturalism make room for the humanities? and building alternative intellectual establishments.

The post Bernard Williams on truth as a virtue of the humanities appeared first on Peter Levine.

LiquidFriesland

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LiquidFriesland ist der erste Versuch, die Software LiquidFeedback, die bis dahin nur von Unternehmen und Parteien genutzt worden ist, für Bürgerbeteiligung einzusetzen. Kommunalwahlberechtigte Bürger Frieslands können über die Software Initiativen starten, diskutieren und darüber abstimmen. Der friesische Kreistag hat sich freiwillig verpflichtet, jeden Vorschlag zu diskutieren, der die notwendigen Quoren...

No Enemies

Years ago I ran across a poem by Charles Mackay. Finding it was entirely incidental – I was in grade school, I think, and it happened to be photocopied from the same page as Invicitus; the poem we were actually studying.

Nonetheless, the poem stuck with me:

You have no enemies, you say?
Alas! my friend, the boast is poor;
He who has mingled in the fray
Of duty, that the brave endure,
Must have made foes! If you have none,
Small is the work that you have done.
You’ve hit no traitor on the hip,
You’ve dashed no cup from perjured lip,
You’ve never turned the wrong to right,
You’ve been a coward in the fight.

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Wir wollen deinen Kopf! – Reintroduction of the “Verfasste Studierendenschaft” in Baden-Wuerttemberg, Germany

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The federal state of Baden-Wuerttemberg (BaWü (Germany)) wants to reintroduce the "Verfasste Studierendenschaft". With this the students in southwest Germany recieve an organised way to participate in regional politics, especially in those concerning universities. The federal state started a co-governance project online at www.wir-wollen-deinen-kopf.de from 24th of January till 3rd...

questions for the social movement post Ferguson

(Washington, DC) The social ferment following the Ferguson verdict looks bigger to me than Occupy, and bigger than the other nascent US social movements that I can recall from personal experience, going back to the 1980s.

That is a subjective impression based on my social networks, personal interests, and preferred news sources, but I have talked to reporters who feel the same way. [link added later.] The unrest taps much deeper and broader concerns than the recent shootings and legal decisions themselves. It is a response to trends as large as the incarceration crisis and the fraught condition of America’s poor communities of color. As my colleague Peniel Joseph writes, “Multiracial, multi-ethnic, multi-class, and multi-generational Americans have swarmed the streets in vast numbers to not only protest against racial injustice but to expose systemic oppression that has been an open secret since the heyday of the late 1960s and early 1970s.” They are developing the “WUNC” elements of a successful social movement that Charles Tilly identified:

  • Worthiness: moral standing in the eyes of the country;
  • Unity: Despite  demographic, ideological, and regional diversity, a sense that participants stand together;
  • Numbers: Marches, die-ins, etc., signify that many people stand together;
  • Commitment: Getting arrested, standing up to speak—these and other actions demonstrate commitment.

Many of my friends are involved in this nascent movement, in body and/or soul, and I see a lot of potential myself. But what I can offer at this moment are some relatively abstract thoughts about the challenges that face such movements in general. (By the way, we should not expect a uniform response to any of these challenges. Internal debates will yield a variety of approaches, and that is healthy.)

1. Participants must decide on their level of diagnosis. Confronted with the Ferguson verdict, some people think the problem is the control that prosecutors exercise over grand juries. Then a solution might involve special prosecutors. A totally different kind of diagnosis says that the problem is racism, as a relatively invariant underlying force in American life. When de jure segregation ended, racism was like a pool of water that needed a new outlet, and mass incarceration followed. In that case, the only solution would be some direct, frontal attack on racism. Many other theories are available, and they are not all mutually exclusive, but they suggest very different strategies. My own view is that social problems can rarely be divided into foundational causes and superficial effects. They are usually complex systems of reciprocal causes. That is an argument against treating the largest available abstraction, such as racism, as the main target. But this is debatable, and it will be debated.

2. Participants must choose a target. Occupy chose Wall Street: that was the original name of the movement. But Occupy never found a way to press Wall Street itself. The institutions that Occupy most effectively challenged were public universities, like UC-Davis, and big cities, like Oakland, where conflicts with the police made the institutions look bad. This was a case, in my opinion, in which one target was chosen but a different one was hit. After Ferguson, the question is again where to direct confrontation and how to make sure that the intended target receives the pressure.

3. Related to the question of diagnoses and targets is the matter of demands. What will the movement call for, and what will it accept?

4. Participants will have to figure out their relationship to formal institutions, such as governments, parties, the mass media, and universities. I have been asked whether I expect the movement to start running candidates or rather to eschew electoral politics because it looks so corrupt and unresponsive. I think it is far too early to say. Social movements often begin in their own spaces, apart from institutions that they perceive as hostile and unreformable. Especially during that phase, it is appropriate for some participants to say that they stand apart from the system. Such statements do not rule out later engagement with formal processes.

5. Participants must demand attention in a competitive space. Social movements typically say that business as usual must stop because their issue is too important to allow regular activities to continue. That is often a valid claim, actually. But it competes against many other such claims. Right now, for instance, a serious case can be made that all Americans must demand criminal prosecution of the torture authorizers during the Bush Administration. Inaction makes us complicit in felonious torture. Not to mention climate change and campaign finance, which just got worse yesterday. Social movements must  claim attention while somehow navigating rival claims.

6. The movement will have to address the usual tensions between prominent leadership and decentralized activism; honoring the heritage of past work while demanding new directions and giving space to young leaders; and staying relatively small and pure versus broadening and potentially losing focus.

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