Theories of Deliberation

Posted on September 21, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

While deliberative theorists generally agree that, as John Dryzek writes, “democratic legitimacy resides in the right, ability, and opportunity of those subject to a collective decision to participate in deliberation about the content of that decision,” there continues to be much disagreement around exactly what constitutes ideal deliberation.

The word “deliberation” itself has multiple interpretations: Joshua Cohen argues that deliberation “focuses on debate on the common good.” Jane Mansbridge defines it as “mutual communication that involves weighing and reflecting on preferences, values and interests regarding matters of common concern.”

Regardless of the precise definition used, perhaps the more fruitful discussion is around what standards deliberation should be held to. That is, if we are to judge the health of a democracy by the quality of its deliberation, it begs the question: what constitutes high quality deliberation?

Earlier theorists such as Jürgen Habermas and John Rawls held what Mansbridge considers the “classical” model of deliberation, with an ideal of “deliberation to consensus on the common good.” This model, Mansbridge argues, “implied a relatively unitary conception of the common good, contested but discoverable through reason.”

Mansbridge sees modern theories of deliberation – “evolved” theories as she calls them – as better embracing pluralism of our diverse world. While she considers the classical ideal to rely on a collective discovery of the “common good,” she sees modern deliberation as still having value “when interests or values conflict irreconcilably.” In these cases “deliberation ideally ends not in consensus but in a clarification of conflict and a structuring of disagreement, which sets the stage for a decision by nondeliberative methods, such as aggregation through the vote.”

It’s not clear, though, that other deliberative scholars accept Mansbridge’s delineation between classical and evolved theories. Mansbridge considers Cohen, a student of Rawls, as a classical theorist though he himself might dispute the term.

While Cohen does continually consider deliberation as an exploration of the common good, he also plainly embraces pluralism, arguing: “A deliberative democracy is a pluralistic association. The members have diverse preferences, convictions and ideals concerning the conduct of their own lives. While sharing a commitment to the deliberative resolution of problems and of collective choices, they also have divergent aims, and do not think that some particular set of preferences, convictions or ideals is mandatory.”

Regardless of which theorists are “classical,” though, this divide raises important practical and theoretical questions about the nature of civil society and the ideal outcomes of deliberation.

While Cohen sees deliberation as a critical tool for shaping “the identity and interests of citizens in ways that contribute to the formation of a public conception of the common good,” theorists such as Mansbridge question whether a “common good” is attainable or even desirable.

This theoretical dispute, then, raises the more practical question – should deliberation culminate in a decision?

In what she sees as a break from “the definitions given by various other theorists,” Mansbridge intentionally leaves decision making out of her own definition, highlighting that “communities concerned with the quality of citizen participation seem to find deliberation an increasingly helpful concept in contexts unconnected with binding decisions.”

In contrast, Dryzek names “decisiveness” as one of the core elements of good deliberation, insisting that deliberation ought to be “consequential in influencing the content of collective decisions.” He does give a nod to non-decisive deliberation, pointing to worthwhile discussions in South Africa and Northern Ireland, and commenting that “deliberation also can play a part in healing.”

Here to, though, Dryzek sees a certain type of decisiveness at play. “These exercises yield not consensus interpreted as universal agreement on a course of action and the reasons for it but rather an agreement to which all sides can reflectively assent—if for different reasons (including fear of what might otherwise happen),” he writes.

While not explicitly restricting his definition to include decision making, Dennis Thompson, on the other hand, does take a particular interest in “deliberation that leads directly to binding decisions.”

Thompson thoughtfully articulates why decision-making deliberation is special: “Structuring a discussion that in effect asks participants, ‘What do you, as an individual, prefer?’ begins to resemble the aggregative democracy (adding up the well-informed preferences of individuals) that deliberative democrats criticize. Discussions framed by asking participants, ‘What action should we, as a group, take?’ come closer to the deliberative democracy (creating a genuinely public opinion) that they favor.”

Cohen has a similar approach, defining deliberation in terms of its role within a democracy. He contrasts two approaches to democracy: the aggregative and deliberative. The aggregative conception requires “equal consideration for the interests of each member…along with a ‘presumption of personal autonomy’—the understanding that adult members are the best judges and most vigilant defenders of their own interests.”

Cohen, though, prefers the deliberative approach which has at its core “the idea that decisions about the exercise of state power are collective.” He goes on to add that the virtues of the deliberative view “are allied closely with its conception of binding collective choice.”

While reflecting deeper discussions about the nature of the common good in a pluralist society, this debate about decision-making surfaces another normative theory implicit in the deliberative literature: good deliberation has a positive effect not only on a community, but on individual participants.

This positive impact on the individual is inextricably linked to deliberation’s benefit to the community, and is often overshadowed by that broader narrative.

Both Thompson and Cohen articulate deliberation as a process of creating a shared understanding of the common good. People may enter deliberation with various beliefs, but they leave transformed, having co-created a shared understanding which had not existed prior to deliberation.

As Cohen says, “the relevant conceptions of the common good are not comprised simply of interests and preferences that are antecedent to deliberation. Instead, the interests, aims and ideals that comprise the common good are those that survive deliberation.”

Even Mansbridge seems to agree on these points, adding “epistemic value, or better knowledge” as the newest standard for good deliberation.

She sees communal epistemic value as being canonical to deliberation – which must, by her definition be “mutual” – but she leaves room for deliberation to be of directly value to the individual participants. “Although any mutual deliberation will include deliberation within the minds of the individuals involved,” she write, “the word mutual requires some two-way communication.”

Furthermore, Mansbridge has argued strongly for the inclusion of self-interest in deliberation – two elements which are classically considered to be in opposition. In a paper co-authored with some of today’s leading deliberative theorists (James Bohman, Simone Chambers, David Estlund, Andreas Føllesdal, Archon Fung, Cristina Lafont, Bernard Manin and José luis Martí), Mansbridge argues, “even in a deliberation aimed at consensus on the common good, the exploration and clarification of self-interests must play a role.”

Yet, the impact of deliberation on an individual is a vastly underexplored topic, as scholarship to date has focused largely on deliberation as a democratic process for collective decision-making.

Arguments Against Deliberation

Posted on September 18, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

I spent much of the day yesterday reading about how deliberation is critical for democracy.

John Dryzek, for example, argues that fundamentally, it is the presence of deliberation which determines whether a state is truly a democracy. “…Democratic legitimacy,” he writes, “resides in the right, ability, and opportunity of those subject to a collective decision to participate in deliberation about the content of that decision.”

But while there seems to be much agreement that deliberation is a nice ideal, it is far from clear that such a theoretical ideal is attainable.

To be fair, most advocates of deliberation don’t argue that it is the only mode of democracy. Whether imperfect or inefficient for some tasks, a democracy must reasonably use other tools as well.

“Certain non-deliberative forms and mechanisms that intrinsically employ coercive power are legitimate and necessary procedures of democracy more broadly conceived,” Jane Mansbridge argued in a 2010 paper, adding that these additional forms are only acceptable “to the degree that they and their procedures emerge from and withstand deliberative, mutually-justificatory, scrutiny.”

But what if deliberation is actually bad for democracy? What if deliberation served to reinforce power dynamics rather than over come them?

That’s essentially the argument Lynn Sanders makes in Against Deliberation.

She begins with a jab at the deliberation community: “To begin, one might be suspicious of the near consensus among democratic theorists on its behalf. It isn’t clear, after all, that this wide endorsement has itself emerged through a genuinely deliberative process: democratic theorists are a select group who cannot and do not claim in any way to represent the perspectives of ordinary citizens.”

In my experience, the deliberative community is largely white – a point that comes up often as proponents of deliberative democracy actively work to address this shortcoming by recruiting speakers of color and seeking to engage diverse groups in conversation.

Deliberation as democracy doesn’t work if only some views are in the room.

But Sanders doesn’t end her critique there. A diverse group of participants may not be enough to ensure the ideal dialogue of deliberation.

“If we assume that deliberation cannot proceed without the realization of mutual respect, and deliberation appears to be proceeding, we may even mistakenly decide that conditions of mutual respect have been achieved by deliberators,” she writes.

I imagine the room where “the boss” asks for feedback and nobody speaks. Where power dynamics have led to a culture of silence and quiescence – so whoever’s in charge can say the right things and do the right things, while all those without power have internalized the unmistakeable subtext: your view doesn’t matter.

John Gaventa compellingly captures this dynamic in Power and Powerlessness: Quiescence and Rebellion in an Appalachian Valley, as he tracks the history of power dynamics in poor Appalachian communities. In democratic elections, people would vote against their interests for “the company man.” They didn’t have to be threatened – they knew what happened to people who didn’t.

“Power relationships, once established, are self-sustaining,” he wrote. That is, a stranger dropped into a situation might see people autonomously choosing to act in a given way, but a historian of local power dynamics would see that there was something much more insidious at work.

Sanders takes a similar line of argument in warning against deliberation:

Even if democratic theorists notice the inequities associated with class and race and gender, and, for example, recommend equalizing income and education to redistribute the resources needed for deliberation – even if everyone can deliberate and learn how to give reasons – some people’s ideas may still count more than others. Insidious prejudice may be unrecognized by those citizens whose views are disregarded as well as by other citizens.

Prejudice and privilege do not emerge in deliberative settings as bad reasons, and they are not countered by good arguments. They are too sneaky, invisible, and pernicious for that reasonable process.

That’s a challenge that hasn’t been sufficiently addressed by deliberation advocates. I think it’s a challenge most advocates are aware of, and no doubt its the sort of concern that keeps them up at night.

To be fair, the problem isn’t just one for deliberation. Given such pernicious prejudice, other democratic tools might find themselves equally unmatched. Deliberation may even be one of the most potent tool in combating that prejudice.

For example, pointing to successful truth and reconciliation activities around the world, Dryzek argues that “deliberation also can play a part in healing division.” Perhaps deliberation, while flawed in a flawed world, is a critical tool to slowly chipping away at those divisions and prejudices. Perhaps deliberation, while ideally requiring equalization, is ultimately a path to equalization itself.

Sanders concerns aren’t a reason to throw out deliberation – merely a reason to be continually, productively critical of how it is realized. Perhaps less than the ideal is still enough.

The question this raises for me is one of measurement. How can you tell the difference between a truly good deliberation and one that merely looks good on paper while masking the deeper quiescence of oppression?

Critical Elements of Deliberation

Posted on September 17, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

Many democratic theorists take deliberation to be a critical piece of democracy.

Indeed, in his 1989 piece Deliberation and Democratic Legitimacy, Joshua Cohen builds off Rawls to define “public deliberation” in the very context of democracy:

When properly conducted, then, democratic politics involves public deliberation focused on the common good, requires some form of manifest equality among citizens, and shapes the identity and interests of citizens in ways that contribute to the formation of a public conception of the common good.

Echoing this sentiment, Centenary Professor at the Centre for Deliberative Democracy and Global Governance John Dryzek argues that “the more authentic, inclusive, and consequential political deliberation is, the more democratic a political system is.”

But what exactly is public or political deliberation?

Cohen writes that “the aim of ideal deliberation is to secure agreement among all who are committed to free deliberation among equals.” That is, deliberation is more than just compromise:

Deliberation, then, focuses on debate on the common good. And the relevant conceptions of the common good are not comprised simply of interests and preferences that are antecedent to deliberation. Instead, the interests, aims and ideals that comprise the common good are those that survive deliberation, making claims on social resources.

People may enter deliberation with their own self-interest in mind, but through the process of deliberation they will reflect on their own interests, listen genuinely to the interests of others, and collective come to recognize the common good.

This process of reflecting on your own self-interest may be critical to democracy: Dryzek goes so far as to argue that “political systems are deliberatively undemocratic to the extent that they minimize opportunities for individuals to reflect freely on their political preferences.”

A 2010 paper by Jane Mansbridge with an all-star list of co-authors James Bohman, Simone Chambers, David Estlund, Andreas Føllesdal, Archon Fung, Cristina Lafont, Bernard Manin and José luis Martí actively accepts the reality of self-interest and conflicts of interest, and seeks to update the “classic model” of the deliberative ideal to incorporate these realities.

Data-ism

Posted on September 16, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

I had the opportunity today to hear a talk by Steve Lohr, New York Times technology reporter and author of the recent book, Data-ism: The Revolution Transforming Decision Making, Consumer Behavior, and Almost Everything Else.

Lohr said that “big data” is more than just a large collection of digital information, it’s a philosophical framework – a way of approaching the world. Big data, he said, allows people to see patterns in the world and to make better sense of the world around them.

Ultimately, he argued, big data is a revolution in decision-making.

This revolution can have many positive implications, making our lives simpler, faster, and better.

For example, according to Lohr, in 1880 the U.S. census took eight years to conduct. While the population swelled in 1890, this census took only a few weeks to complete. The difference was due to a technological innovation: the creation of a machine-readable punch card by a company that later became IBM.

Of course there are also possible pitfalls – one can imagine using big data to determine who gets a loan going terribly wrong. And, yes, this is something that “data science lenders” do, claiming that their methodology is more accurate than more traditional approaches.

Lohr was somewhat weary of these big data, automated, decision making processes, arguing that when data is used to make decisions affecting people’s lives, that process needs to be transparent.

But, he was more casual about the change than I might have thought. Perhaps it’s because he has covered technology’s evolution for nearly a decade, but – he was somewhat skeptical of concerns about privacy and the de-humanization of our lives.

Technology evolves and our mores will evolve with it, he seemed to say.

Lohr commented that when the handheld Kodak camera was originally introduced, it was seen as a invasion of privacy. Banned from beaches and the Washington monument, it was seen as a danger, a possible corrupting force.

Until privacy expectations evolved to meet the new technology.

Perhaps it is just nostalgia that makes us fear this brave new world.

It’s an interesting argument, and I think it’s good to be skeptical of our instinctual reactions to things. But pointing to the mistakes of our past fears seems insufficient – perhaps we should be more concerned with privacy, but have simply become slowly accustomed to not having it.

That could be a natural evolution, or it could be a slow degradation – with serious and lasting consequences.

Community and Family

Posted on September 15, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

My mother, an avid genealogist, was recently telling me just how homogeneous people used to be in many US cities.

I’d had a general sense that European-settled communities used to be more the same, with occasional waves of immigrants slowly being integrated into the society, but my mother pointed out a detail I’d previously overlooked.

Many small towns were also small families.

Especially as the United States was being settled, many communities were large enough to have a diverse gene pool, but small enough that marrying a cousin was common. In some communities, people weren’t even always aware of how closely they and their spouse were actually related.

Before you think about this too much – just reflect on the consequences: a dispute in the community became a dispute in the family; a fracture in the family became a fracture in the community.

These identities of family and community were far more intimately linked then I’d previously thought of — and probably more intimately linked than I’d like to think!

Possible Research Questions

Posted on September 14, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

One of my current tasks is to sharpen the theoretical questions I am interested in exploring through my doctoral work.

While I am thankfully still some time away from having to select a dissertation topic, the process of thinking through and refining my interests will help me identify possible research projects and help guide me as I select from a seeming infinite array of classes, readings, and activities.

So what are the theoretical questions I am interested in exploring? Well, since “ALL OF THEM” doesn’t seem to be a productive answer in this regard, I will attempt to articulate a somewhat more narrow scope.

Broadly, I am interested in civil society – and I am convinced that network approaches can bring value to our understanding. To be perfectly clear, I’m not referring solely to the understanding of academics, but of all of us individual, people who are living in communities.

That is, while network science can certainly be used to help political scientists better model the societies they study, I am more deeply interested in the civic studies question: what should we do?

There are many ways I can envision network science contributing to our collective attempts to answer this question.

First, on a broad scale, I think network analysis can help us more accurately conceive of the communities of which we are a part. I live in a very engaged community with a robust level of social capital, and yet I am also very close friends with some people who I barely see in person. Is one these settings more accurately a “community”? How should I make sense of my place in each of them?

I am particularly interested in trying to capture “layers” of community. If I were to do a power analysis in my local, geographic community I would find many individuals and institutions I could have direct interaction with. I could imagine multiple ways for my own voice and agency to have a real impact on policy or the culture of my community.

But if I were to do a similar analysis at a national or perhaps international scale, I would quickly find myself feeling powerless. Can I change international law? Perhaps some individuals are positioned to do so, but I most certainly am not.

In such a setting, then, I am left little but a foolish choice between inaction and the vain hope that my representatives will represent me, that my voice among thousands will carry some weight.

I’d previously seen this as an argument for more local engagement. Why shout in the wind of national politics when real work can be done at the local level?

But I wonder now if this is simply a false dichotomy. We envision local work and national work, and perhaps other scales of regional work or international work as well. We treat our communities as tiers – scaled up versus hyperlocal.

But what if there’s a better way to think of it? A better way to conceive of our multiple communities, overlapping, intersecting, complex and ever changing. What might that look like?

A second area of interest is around interactions within a given community. While the first set of questions struggles with how we might define the borders of a single community, the second explores what we do once we know what “we” means.

More explicitly, this area centers around questions of dialogue and deliberation. What does “good” dialogue look like? How are ideas exchanged and opinions altered? Using strategies of epistemic network analysis one might even ask questions such as, what does a “good” deliberator look like? What does a good moderator look like? Is there a way of thinking that can categorized as “good” deliberative thinking?

Finally, I’m very interested in applying network science to better understanding the network of ideas and morals held by an individual. This line of thinking can be closely tied to questions of deliberation – asking what idea structure a person ought to have in order to be a “good” deliberator.

But there are other ways to take this question as well – are there features of an individual’s moral network which are better or worse than others? If so, what ought a good person’s moral network look like? What network characteristic should we each seek to cultivate?

These are not entirely disparate questions, but they do each take the confluence of civics and networks in different ways. I’m not sure where the next five years will lead me, but I look forward to delving in!

Modeling Networks of Individuals and Institutions

Posted on September 10, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

One of the topics that I’m interested in as I delve into my Ph.D. program involves using networks to model a community’s interactions. A critical first question in this process is simply: what is a community network a network of?

Social network analysis and it’s face-to-face equivalent focus on networks of individuals. Each person is a node in the network, linked to the individuals they know or communicate with. This is a robust and helpful way of looking at communities.

It allows for mapping information flows and exploring community dynamics. Do most people know most other people? Are there segments of the community that are isolated from each other, like cliques in the high school cafeteria? How diverse is the average person’s network?

These are valuable ways of looking at a community, but this approach doesn’t tell the full story.

There is also great work being done looking at the network of institutions within a community. Can the characters of a community’s institutional network predict how well that community will fare during an economic crisis?

This approach is often not devoid of interest in the individual – asking, too, questions of how strong institutional networks can build social capital, benefiting the community as a whole as well as the individuals who comprise it.

Again, this is a valuable approach that can yield many interesting and helpful results.

But somehow, I find myself unsatisfied with either approach.

Communities are complex systems of individuals and institutions. An institution may be comprised of individuals, but it’s ultimate character is more than the sum of its parts: individuals can change institutions and institutions can change individuals.

And there may be yet more factors that influence how communities function: policies, norms, historical sensibilities, regional or even international networks.

So for now, the question I’m pondering is this: what would a detailed, robust, network model of a community look like? What are its nodes and connections, and is there some fundamental unit which could be used to model all these complex layers together?

The Midnight Drink of Paul Revere

Posted on September 9, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

I recently went on a walking tour of Boston’s North End. The dense, historically Italian community is on some of the oldest land in Boston.

Like many coastal cities in the U.S., the Boston we now know is mostly landfill. It used to be practically an island, connected to the mainland only by a narrow peninsula.

Silversmith and agitator Paul Revere was one of many notable residents of the North End, and it was from here he took is famous “midnight ride” – first taking a boat to Charlestown, then riding up the Mystic through Somerville, Medford, and on to Lexington.

But on this walking tour I was told a detail of that ride I hadn’t heard before. Revere and his companion, William Dawes Jr., were arrested before they made it to Concord because they stopped to have a beer.

Now, of course I had to look into a salacious comment like that.

I’m afraid I haven’t found as much clarity on the subject as I would like, but this is what I know:

On the night of April 18, 1775, British troops set out to arrest patriots Samuel Adams and John Hancock, who were staying in Lexington at the home of Reverend Jonas Clarke. Revere and Dawes set out to warn them and raise an alarm, Revere taking the now-famous northern route and Dawes taking a southern route through the “Boston Neck” (now Roxbury).

After arriving in Lexington, Revere and Dawes were joined by a third rider, Dr. Samuel Prescott, and the three decided to carry on to Concord where arms and munitions were stored.

This is where things get particularly fuzzy.

On the road to Concord, the three were confronted by British soldiers. Prescott either evaded capture or very quickly escaped. Dawes also seems to have escaped after Prescott, leaving only Revere captured. He seems to have been released sometime the next day.

But what was that about a beer?

According to some accounts, before heading on to Concord Revere and friends stopped at a tavern to “refreshid” himself. This “refreshid” can indeed be found in a letter from Revere recounting the experience.

While I was originally told, though, that he was arrested while having a beer – it does seem that the arrest came slightly thereafter.

And it was almost certainly an ale that Revere “refreshid” himself with. After all, drinking was quite common in colonial times, with many believing ale could make you healthy while (contaminated) water had the effect of making you sick.

So all this leaves only one question: if Revere, Dawes, and Prescott were all participants in this midnight ride, why does Revere get all the glory?

Published in 1860, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “Paul Revere’s Ride,” is what made that rider famous than the others. The poem, you may know, is “less a poem about the Revolutionary War than about the impending Civil War — and about the conflict over slavery that caused it.”

With the goal of of support the Abolitionist cause, Longfellow choose Revere as the rider to highlight for one simple reason: his name rhymed better.

Reflections on Public Life and a Long Vacation

Posted on September 8, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

It’s been 25 days since my last blog post.

The break was intentional as I transitioned from my full time job of nearly eight years to becoming a full time student. In that three and half weeks I have lived un-publicly: I have said many goodbyes, relaxed on the Cape, read several books, done some significant cleaning, and explored the history of Boston’s North End.

It was remarkable to have so much time with so little responsibility. I got to truly relax and reset before beginning this next chapter of my life.

But I noticed something interesting as the end of my limbo neared: I was anxious about the prospect of regularly writing publicly again.

I kept finding myself wondering what topics I should write about, especially as I only half-followed the news. I kept finding myself wondering why I should even write publicly at all – an arguably presumptuous, egotistical move.

I started thinking that I wouldn’t blog on my promised restart date after all. Maybe I’d give myself another week to get settled into school. Then I could take the time to think of a worthwhile topic, I could find some commentary worthy of the public sphere.

But, of course, that’s the myth of public life: that it should be a place only for perfection, a space only for experts. That the rest of us, with our half-thoughts and individual perspectives should stick to the shadows, leaving our representatives to the public work.

When I started my vacation, my mind was exploding with possible blog post topics. Everything I read, every interaction I had – I looked for the public value in those private moments.

I left myself cryptic notes, “Voice – to broad public v. within institutions? Role of social media?” That idea seemed really important two weeks ago.

But as I got further and further away from public writing, I stopped thinking about public life all together. My private reflections remained private, and I thought less and less about their value to the public sphere.

I’ve no interest in leading a celebrity life – my private moments splashed all over the public domain. But at the same time I am a citizen, with an obligation to public participation , public deliberation, and, indeed, some measure of public life.

So I am back to blogging today, September 8, the day I said I would get back to it. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to write, and I’m far from certain that my perspective holds much value.

But I will continue to write publicly, I’ll continue to think publicly, and, of course, I’ll continue to work publicly, side by side with all of you.

Because if there’s one thing I know, it is this: there is much work to be done.

Farewell, Tisch College

Posted on August 13, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

This will be my last post as an employee of Tisch College. I still have another week of work, but as I wind down, I am starting my blogging vacation early. I won’t post again until September 8 – at which point I will be a full time PhD student at Northeastern.

It’s hard saying goodbye to a place where you’ve worked for almost eight years. I’ve seen so many others come and go, yet it seems odd to now be the one leaving. And, all loving hyperbole aside, I know they will get on with out me.

The work continues.

I am thrilled to be starting this new journey, and thrilled to be learning new ways to contribute to the work. The work of civic renewal, of improving our communities, of working together and collaboratively building the infrastructure to have everyone’s voice equally at the table.

It is important work, and the work continues.

I was more cynical eight years ago. I was skeptical of the value most people – including myself – could bring to the hard work of confronting society’s most pressing challenges. I couldn’t equally value every person’s voice and agency when I couldn’t even value my own.

Since I started at Tisch College, I have bought a house, finished a master’s degree, gotten married, seen a niece be born and watched my father die.

I have learned so much.

I have had the privilege of working with some of the smartest people I have ever met, learning not only from their work, but from their thoughtfulness in approaching the work.

I have had lunch with Elinor Ostrom, and attended lectures by the likes of Elizabeth Warren, John Gaventa, Robert Sampson, Tony Blair, Bill Clinton, Chris Matthews, Christiane Amanpour, and even – if you’re into that kind of thing – Antonin Scalia.

I’ve helped make some those events happen.

I have met and learned from the amazing scholars and practioners in the civic studies community – some of the most dedicated, passionate, and intelligent people I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.

I bring that community with me, even now as I enter my next adventure. My role may change, but the work –