A variety of activists and special interests — collectively known as “The Groups” — can basically persuade Democratic staffers and politicians of their ideas in the proverbial smoke-filled rooms, well out of the public eye. Democrats’ focus on identitarianism allows the Groups to falsely present themselves as representatives of various “communities” — the Latino “community”, or the trans “community”, etc. And Democrats’ legacy of urban machine politics causes them to think that these “communities” can basically be bought off with targeted benefits, much as they would be in urban politics. Incidentally, this is probably a big part of why progressive cities are governed so badly. Anyway, when all of this finally has to make contact with the actual voting public on election day, it turns out that The Groups weren’t really representative of easily buy-able “communities”, and voters reject the Dems at the polls. That’s a very simplified model, of course. But it looks like in the aftermath of the 2024 election, a lot of people are zeroing in on a model like this to explain Democrats’ weakness.
When I say the work of politics has become diminished, part of how that happened is that talking about this creates this counterargument: Well, even to discuss it is to abandon.
In 2008, as you and I both know, Barack Obama ran as a public opponent of gay marriage.
He ran opposed to it. At a time when not only — I won’t speak for you — was I not opposed to it, but most of us did not think he was opposed to it. Like, at his heart, we did not think he was opposed to it.
But he was playing politics. That playing of politics allowed him to name Supreme Court justices, and that led to the decision that created a constitutional right to same-sex marriage.
And I am saying that kind of playing politics is needed.
For a party that spends billions of dollars trying to find the perfect language to connect to voters, Democrats and their allies use an awful lot of words and phrases no ordinary person would ever dream of saying. The intent of this language is to include, broaden, empathize, accept, and embrace. The effect of this language is to sound like the extreme, divisive, elitist, and obfuscatory, enforcers of wokeness. To please the few, we have alienated the many—especially on culture issues, where our language sounds superior, haughty and arrogant.
Public safety must be a priority—in Memphis, DC, and the rest of the country—but sending militarized police to serve as additional local law enforcement is not the answer. As five mayors wrote in the Hill earlier this month, instead of weaponizing the National Guard, the federal government could help by bolstering the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives to investigate firearms trafficking, support ballistics testing, and work in coordination with local law enforcement—not supplant them. “Real progress happens when Washington partners with local leaders,” they wrote, “not when it sidelines them.”
We explore ways to enhance these democratic innovations by:
Integrating multiple minipublics to address inclusion failures.
Leveraging emerging technologies, like AI-supported mediation, to scale deliberation.
Shifting the focus of legitimacy from unattainable claims of representativeness to fostering inclusion and preventing domination by organized minorities.
By reframing these approaches, we hope to contribute to ongoing efforts to make citizens’ assemblies more inclusive, effective, and impactful for democratic governance.
Printed copies of this inaugural issue are available free upon request here.
Good afternoon friends. Next week is Civic Learning Week, and we wanted to take a few minutes and share with you some resources to support student civic learning and engagement.
Teachers Advacing Civic Learning
First of all, here at the Lou Frey Institute and our Florida Joint Center for Citizenship, we believe in the power of elevating the voices of educators in advocating for civic learning policy at the local, state, and federal levels. A new initiative, Teachers Advancing Civic Learning, has launched and it is a great opportunity to grow as a civics advocate and educator! You can learn more about the TACL initiative (Teachers Advancing Civic Learning) at its newly launched website.
Webinar With Congressman Dennis Ross
We would also like to remind you of our upcoming webinar featuring former Florida Congressman Dennis Ross! We will discuss student civic enagement, civil discourse, and other issues important to civic learning and life! You can sign up here, as registration is required. Please feel free to share the link and the flyer!
This is a great opportunity, and we encourage you to attend in person if you can and virtually if you cannot! U.S. Supreme Court Justices Sonia Sotomayor and Amy Coney Barrett will join the Civic Learning Week National Forum on March 12, 2024, livestreamed from Washington, D.C. Showcasing the Justices’ shared commitment to high-quality civic education, the featured conversation will be moderated by Eric Liu, Co-Founder and CEO of Citizen University, and address student questions about the judicial system and civic engagement, as well as the Justices’ legal career paths. The discussion will highlight the civic knowledge, skills, and dispositions gained through civic education, and why civics is essential to sustaining and strengthening constitutional democracy in the United States.
There will also be some other fantastic events during the forum, including talks on information literacy and bridging the divide brought about by political polarization, among others. Hope to ‘see’ you there! You can register for the livestream here! If you can get to DC, you can register to attend in person here!
A few months ago, Paolo Spada and I published a blog post about sortition and the representativeness of citizens’ assemblies. We were pleasantly surprised by the response to our post and the ensuing discussions.
In this new exchange at the Deliberative Democracy Digest, Kyle Redman, Paolo Spada, and I try to delve deeper, exploring further the challenges of achieving representativeness in deliberative mini-publics. We extend our gratitude to Nicole Curato and Lucy J. Parry from the Centre for Deliberative Democracy and Global Governance for suggesting and facilitating this discussion.
A few years ago, Tom Steinberg and I discussed the potential risks posed by AI bots in influencing citizen engagement processes and manipulating public consultations. With the rapid advancement of AI technology, these risks have only intensified. This escalating concern has even elicited an official response from the White House.
A recent executive order has tasked the Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs (OIRA) at the White House with considering the implementation of guidance or tools to address mass comments, computer-generated remarks, and falsely attributed comments. This directive comes in response to growing concerns about the impact of AI on the regulatory process, including the potential for generative chatbots to lead mass campaigns or flood the federal agency rule-making process with spam comments.
The threat of manipulation becomes even more pronounced when content generated by bots is viewed by policymakers as being on par with human-created content. There’s evidence to suggest that this may be already occurring in certain scenarios. For example, a recent experiment was designed to measure the impact of language models on effective communication with members of Congress. The goal was to determine if these models could divert legislative attention by generating a constant stream of unique emails directed at congressional members. Both human writers and GPT-3 were employed in the study. Emails were randomly sent to over 7,000 state representatives throughout the country, after which response rates were compared. The results showed a mere 2% difference in response rates, and for some of the policy topics studied, the response rates remained consistent.
Now, the real trouble begins when governments jump on the bot bandwagon and start using their own bots to respond, and we, the humans, are left out of the conversation entirely. It’s like being the third wheel on a digital date that we didn’t even know was happening. That’s a gloomy scenario.
2023 Commonwealth Ethics Lecture at Bellarmine University in Louisville, KY
If you can’t see this video in your RSS reader or email, then click here.
In the spring of 2023, the Ethics and Social Justice Center at Bellarmine University issued a call for proposals for their yearly Commonwealth Ethics Lecture. They invited scholars from around the state to propose a talk to be delivered for their 2023 lecture, considering approaches from all disciplines and with special interest in interdisciplinary dialogue and topics, encouraging “critical reflection, dialogue, and constructive action on contemporary ethical issues in society.” They also welcomed proposals “related to politics, societal well-being, and individual happiness,” as well as that “intersect these themes with regional issues.”
I pitched my proposal in relation to the fact that Kentucky is a state that continues to permit and make use of corporal punishment in public schools. I have long thought about corporal punishment especially as an example of a practice long outmoded and for which evidence has become increasingly clear that better alternatives are available and that long-term effects of the practice are psychologically and medically discouraged. Given this opportunity, it was a great chance for me to focus on corporal punishment directly, so I jumped at the chance finally to focus extensively on this topic.
Kentucky has decreased the use of the form of discipline in public schools to nearly negligible levels, with 17 recorded instances of corporal punishment in the 2020-2021 school year, which suggests that the practice would not be difficult to end at the state level. Given that, Kentucky could serve as a leader among states that presently permit and engage in the practice, to show how others can follow the lead of the Commonwealth state of Kentucky, to end the practice around the country. The video here above is 1hr and 1 min long, concluding at the end of my talk, not including the question and answer session, though that was fun and rewarding for me also.
I am especially grateful to Dr. Kate Johnson for being a welcoming and great host at Bellarmine University for the talk. The attendance and recording of the talk were great and much appreciated.
For proponents of deliberative democracy, the last couple of years could not have been better. Propelled by the recent diffusion of citizens’ assemblies, deliberative democracy has definitely gained popularity beyond small circles of scholars and advocates. From CNN to the New York Times, the Hindustan Times (India), Folha de São Paulo (Brazil), and Expresso (Portugal), it is now almost difficult to keep up with all the interest in democratic models that promote the random selection of participants who engage in informed deliberation. A new “deliberative wave” is definitely here.
But with popularity comes scrutiny. And whether the deliberative wave will power new energy or crash onto the beach, is an open question. As is the case with any democratic innovation (institutions designed to improve or deepen our existing democratic systems), critically examining assumptions is what allows for management of expectations and, most importantly, gradual improvements.
Proponents of citizens’ assemblies put representativeness at the core of their definition. In fact, it is one of their main selling points. For example, a comprehensive report highlights that an advantage of citizens’ assemblies, compared to other mechanisms of participatory democracy, is their typical combination of random selection and stratification to form a public body that is “representative of the public.” This general argument resonates with the media and the wider public. A recent illustration is an article by The Guardian, which depicts citizens’ assemblies as “a group of people who are randomly selected and reflect the demographics of the population as a whole”
It should be noted that claims of representativeness vary in their assertiveness. For instance, some may refer to citizens’ assemblies as “representative deliberative democracy,” while others may use more cautious language, referring to assemblies’ participants as being “broadly representative” of the population (e.g. by gender, age, education, attitudes). This variation in terms used to describe representativeness should prompt an attentive observer to ask basic questions such as: “Are existing practices of deliberative democracy representative?” “If they are ‘broadly’ representative, how representative are they?” “What criteria, if any, are used to assess whether a deliberative democracy practice is more or less representative of the population?” “Can their representativeness be improved, and if so, how?” These are basic questions that, surprisingly, have been given little attention in recent debates surrounding deliberative democracy. The purpose of this article is to bring attention to these basic questions and to provide initial answers and potential avenues for future research and practice.
Citizens Assemblies and three challenges of random sampling
Before discussing the subject of representativeness, it is important to provide some conceptual clarity. From an academic perspective, citizens’ assemblies are a variant of what political scientists normally refer to as “mini-publics.” These are processes in which participants: 1) are randomly selected (often combined with some form of stratification), 2) participate in informed deliberation on a specific topic, and 3) reach a public judgment and provide recommendations on that topic. Thus, in this text, mini-publics serves as a general term for a variety of practices such as consensus conferences, citizens’ juries, planning cells, and citizens’ assemblies themselves.
In this discussion, we will focus on what we consider to be the three main challenges of random sampling. First, we will examine the issue of sample size and the limitations of stratification in addressing this challenge. Second, we will focus on sampling error, which is the error that occurs when observing a sample rather than the entire population. Third, we will examine the issue of non-response, and how the typically small sample size of citizens’ assemblies exacerbates this problem. We conclude by offering alternatives to approach the trade-offs associated with mini-publics’ representativeness dilemma.
Minimal sample size, and why stratification does not help reducing sample size requirements in complex populations
Most mini-publics that we know of have a sample size of around 70 participants or less, with a few cases having more than 200 participants. However, even with a sample size of 200 people, representing a population accurately is quite difficult. This may be the reason why political scientist Robert Dahl, who first proposed the use of mini-publics over three decades ago, suggested a sample size of 1000 participants. This is also the reason why most surveys that attempt to represent a complex national population have a sample size of over 1000 people.
To understand why representing a population accurately is difficult, consider that a sample size of approximately 370 individuals is enough to estimate a parameter of a population of 20,000 with a 5% error margin and 95% confidence level (for example, estimating the proportion of the population that answers “yes” to a question). However, if the desired error margin is reduced to 2%, the sample size increases to over 2,000, and for a more realistic population of over 1 million, a sample size of over 16,000 is required to achieve a 1% error margin with 99% confidence. Although the size of the sample required to estimate simple parameters in surveys does not increase significantly with the size of the population, it still increases beyond the sample sizes currently used in most mini-publics. Sample size calculators are available online to demonstrate these examples without requiring any statistical knowledge.
Stratification is a strategy that can help reduce the error margin and achieve better precision with a fixed sample size. However, stratification alone cannot justify the very small sample sizes that are currently used in most mini-publics (70 or less).
To understand why, let’s consider that we want to create a sample that represents the five important strata of the population and includes all their intersections, such as ethnicity, age, income, geographical location, and gender. For simplicity, let’s assume that the first four categories have five equal groups in society, and gender is composed of two equal groups. The minimal sample required to include the intersections of all the strata and represent this population is equal to 5^4×2=1250. Note that we have maintained the somewhat unlikely assumption that all categories have equal size. If one stratum, such as ethnicity, includes a minority that is 1/10 of the population, then our multiplier would be 10 instead of 5, requiring a sample size of 5^3x10x2=2500.
The latter is independent of the number of categories within the strata, so even if the strata have only two categories, one comprising 90% (9/10) of the population and one comprising 10% (1/10) of the population, the multiplier would still be 10. When we want to represent a minority of 1% (1/100) of the population, the multiplier becomes 100. Note that this minimal sample size would include the intersection of all the strata in such a population, but such a small sample will not be representative of each stratum. To achieve stratum-level representation, we need to increase the number of people for each stratum following the same mathematical rules we used for simple sampling, as described at the beginning of this section, generating a required sample size in the order of hundreds of thousand of people (in our example above 370×2500=925000).
This is without even entering into the discussion of what should be the ideal set of strata to be used in order to achieve legitimacy. Should we also include attitudes such as liberal vs conservative? Opinions on the topic of the assembly? Metrics of type of personality? Education? Income? Previous level of engagement in politics? In sum, the more complex the population is, the larger the sample required to represent it.
Sampling error due to a lack of a clear population list
When evaluating sampling methods, it is important to consider that creating a random sample of a population requires a starting population to draw from. In some fields, the total population is well-defined and data is readily available (e.g. students in a school, members of parliament), but in other cases such as a city or country, it becomes more complicated.
The literature on surveys contains multiple publications on sampling issues, but for our purposes, it is sufficient to note that without a police state or similar means of collecting an unprecedented amount of information on citizens, creating a complete list of people in a country to draw our sample from is impossible. All existing lists (e.g. electoral lists, telephone lists, addresses, social security numbers) are incomplete and biased.
This is why survey companies charge significant amounts of money to allow customers to use their model of the population, which is a combination of multiple subsamples that have been optimized over time to answer specific questions. For example, a survey company that specializes in election forecasting will have a sampling model optimized to minimize errors in estimating parameters of the population that might be relevant for electoral studies, while a company that specializes in retail marketing will have a model optimized to minimize forecasting errors in predicting sales of different types of goods. Each model will draw from different samples, applying different weights according to complex algorithms that are optimized against past performance. However, each model will still be an imperfect representation of the population.
Therefore, even the best possible sampling method will have an inherent error. It is difficult, if not impossible, to perfectly capture the entire population, so our samples will be drawn from a subpopulation that carries biases. This problem is further accentuated for low-cost mini-publics that cannot afford expensive survey companies or do not have access to large public lists like electoral or census lists. These mini-publics may have a very narrow and biased initial subpopulation, such as only targeting members of an online community, which brings its own set of biases.
Non-response
A third factor, well-known among practitioners and community organizers, is the fact that receiving an invitation to participate does not mean a person will take part in the process. Thus, any invitation procedure has issues of non-participation. This is probably the most obvious factor that prevents one from creating representative samples of the population. In mini-publics with large samples of participants, such as Citizens’ Assemblies, the conversion rate is often quite low, sometimes less than 10%. By conversion rate, we mean the percentage of the people contacted that say that they are willing to participate and enter the recruitment pool. Simpler mini-publics of shorter duration (e.g. one weekend) often achieve higher engagement. A dataset on conversion rates of mini-publics does not exist, but our own experience in organizing Citizens Assemblies, Deliberative Polls, and clones tell us that it is possible to achieve more than 20% conversion when the topic is very controversial. For example, in the UK’s Citizens’ Assembly on Brexit in 2017, 1,155 people agreed to enter the recruitment pool out of the 5,000 contacted, generating a conversion rate of 23.1%, as illustrated below.[1]
Figure 1: Contact and recruitment numbers UK’s Citizens Assembly on Brexit (Renwick et al. 2017)
We do not pretend to know all the existing cases, and so this data should be taken with caution. Maybe there have been cases with 80% conversion, given it is possible to achieve such rates in surveys. But even in such hypothetical best practices, we would have failed to engage 20% of the population. More realistically, with 10 to 30% engagement, we are just engaging a very narrow subset of the population.
Frequent asked questions, and why we should not abandon sortition
It is clear from the points above that the assertion that the current generation of relatively small mini-publics is representative of the population from which it is drawn is questionable. Not surprisingly, the fact that participants of mini-publics differ from the population they are supposed to represent has already been documented over a decade ago.[2] However, in our experience, when confronted with these facts, practitioners and advocates of mini-publics often raise various questions. Below, we address five frequently asked questions and provide answers for them.
“But people use random sampling for surveys and then claim that the results are representative, what is the difference for mini-publics?”
The first difference we already discussed between surveys and mini-publics is that surveys that aim to represent a large population use larger samples.
The second difference, less obvious, is that a mini-public is not a system that aggregates fixed opinions. Rather, one of the core principles of mini-publics is that participants deliberate and their opinions may change as a result of the group process and composition. Our sampling procedures, however, are based on the task of estimating population parameters, not generating input for legitimate decision making. While a 5% error margin with 95% confidence level may be acceptable in a survey investigating the proportion of people who prefer one policy over another, this same measure cannot be applied to a mini-public because participants may change their opinions through the deliberation process. A mini-public is not an estimate derived from a simple mathematical formula, but rather a complex process of group deliberation that may transform input preferences into output preferences and potentially lead to important decisions. Christina Lafont has used a similar argument to criticize even an ideal sample that achieves perfect input representativeness.[3]
“But we use random assignment for experiments and then claim that the results are representative, what is the difference for mini-publics?”
Mini-publics can be thought of as experiments, similar to clinical trials testing the impact of a vaccine. This approach allows us to evaluate the impact of a mini-public on a subset of the population, providing insight into what would happen if a similar subset of the population were to deliberate. Continuing this metaphor, if the mini-public participants co-design a new policy solution and support its implementation, any similar subsets of the population going through an identical mini-public process should generate a similar output.
However, clinical trials require that the vaccine and a placebo be randomly assigned to treatment and control groups. This approach is only valid if the participants are drawn from a representative sample and cannot self-select into each experimental arm.
Unfortunately, few mini-publics compare the decisions made by members to those who were not selected, and this is not considered a key element for claiming representativeness or legitimacy. Furthermore, while random assignment of treatment and control is crucial for internal validity, it does not guarantee external validity. That is, the results may not be representative of the larger population, and the estimate of the treatment effect only applies to the specific sample used in the experiment.
While the metaphor of the experiment as a model to interpret mini-publics is preferable to the metaphor of the survey, it does not solve the issue of working with non-representative samples in practice. Therefore, we must continue to explore ways to improve the representativeness of mini-publics and take into account the limitations of the experimental metaphor when designing and interpreting their results.
“Ok, mini-publics may not be perfect, but are they not clearly better than other mechanisms?”
Thus far, we have provided evidence that the claim of mini-publics as representative of the population is problematic. But what about more cautious claims, such as mini-publics being more inclusive than other participatory processes (e.g., participatory budgeting, e-petitions) that do not employ randomization? Many would agree that traditional forms of consultation tend to attract “usual suspects” – citizens who have a higher interest in politics, more spare time, higher education, enjoy talking in public, and sometimes enjoy any opportunity to criticize. In the US, for instance, these citizens are often older white males, or as put by a practitioner once, “the male, pale and stale.” A typical mini-public instead manages to engage a more diverse set of participants than traditional consultations. While this is an obvious reality, the engagement strategies of mini-publics compared to traditional consultations based on self-selection have very different levels of sophistication and costs. Mini-publics tend to invest more resources in engagement, sometimes tens of thousands of dollars, and thus we cannot exclude that existing results in terms of inclusion are purely due to better outreach techniques, such as mass recruitment campaigns and stipends for the participants.
Therefore, it is not fair to compare traditional consultations to mini-publics. As it is not fair to compare mini-publics that are not specifically designed to include marginalized populations to open-to-all processes that are specifically designed for this purpose. The classic critique of feminist, intersectional and social movement scholars that mini-publics design does not consider existing inequalities, and thus is inferior to dedicated processes of minority engagement is valid in that case. This is because the amount dedicated to engagement is positively correlated with inclusion. For instance, processes specifically designed for immigrants and native populations will have more inclusive results than a general random selection strategy that does not have specific quotas for these groups and engagement strategies for them.
We talk past one another when we try to rank processes with respect to their supposed inclusion performance without considering the impact of the resources dedicated to engagement or their intended effects (e.g. redistribution, collective action).
It is also difficult to determine which approach is more inclusive without a significant amount of research comparing different participatory methods with similar outreach and resources. As far as we know, the only study that compares two similar processes – one using random engagement and the other using an open-to-all invitation – found little difference in inclusiveness.[4] It also highlighted the importance of other factors such as the design of the process, potential political impact, and the topic of discussion. Many practitioners do not take these factors into account, and instead focus solely on recruitment strategies. While one study is not enough to make a conclusive judgment, it does suggest that the assumption that mini-publics using randomly selected participants are automatically more inclusive than open-to-all processes is problematic.
“But what about the ergonomics of the process and deliberative quality? Small mini-publics are undeniably superior to large open-to-all meetings.”
One of the frequently advertised advantages of small mini-publics is their capacity to support high-quality deliberation and include all members of the sample in the discussion. This is a very clear advantage; however, it has nothing to do with random sampling. It is not difficult to imagine a system in which an open-to-all meeting is called and then such a meeting selects a smaller number of representatives that will proceed to discuss using high-quality deliberative procedures. The selection rule could include quotas so that the selected members respect criteria of diversity of interest (even though, as we argued before, that would not be representative of the entire group). The ergonomics and inclusion advantages are purely linked with the size of the assembly and the process used to support deliberation.
“So, are you saying we should abandon sortition?”
We hope that it is now clearer why we contend that it is conceptually erroneous to defend the application of sortition in mini-publics based on their statistical representation of the population. So, should sortition be abandoned? Our position is that it should not, and for one less obvious and counterintuitive argument in favor of random sampling: it offers a fair way to exclude certain groups from the mini-public. This is particularly so because, in certain cases, participatory mechanisms based on self-selection may be captured by organized minorities to the detriment of disengaged majorities.
Consider, for instance, one of President Obama’s first attempts to engage citizens at large-scale, the White House’s online town-hall. Through a platform named “open for questions,” citizens were able to submit questions to Obama and vote for which questions they would like to be answered by him. Over 92,000 people posted questions, and about 3.6 million votes were cast for and against those questions. Under the section “budget” of the questions, seven of the ten most popular queries were about legalizing marijuana, many of which were about taxing it. The popularity of this issue was attributed to a campaign led by NORML, an organization advocating for pot legalization. While the cause and ideas may be laudable, it is fair to assume that this was hardly the biggest budgetary concern of Americans in the aftermath of an economic downturn.
(Picture by Pete Souza, Wikimedia Commons)
In a case like the White House’s town-hall, the randomization of people to participate would be a fair and effective way to avoid the capture of the dialogue by organized groups. Randomization does not completely exclude the possibility of capture of a deliberative space, but it does increase the costs of doing so. The probability that members of an organized minority are randomly sampled to participate in a mini-public is minor, therefore the odds of their presence in the mini-public will be minor. Thus, even if we had a technological solution capable of organizing large-scale deliberation in the millions, a randomization strategy could still be an effective means to protect deliberation from the capture by organized minorities. A legitimate method of exclusion will remain an asset – at least until we have another legitimate way to mitigate the ability of small, organized minorities to bias deliberation.
The way forward for mini-publics: go big or go home?
There is clearly a case for increasing the size of mini-publics to improve their ability to represent the population. But there is also a trade-off between the size of the assembly and the cost required to sustain high-quality deliberation. With sizes approaching 1000 people, hundreds of moderators will be required and much of the exchange of information will occur not through synchronous exchanges in small groups, but through asynchronous transmission mechanisms across the groups. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it will have the typical limitations of any type of aggregation mechanism that requires participant attention and effort. For example, in an ideation process with 100 groups of 10 people each, where each group proposes one idea and then discusses all other ideas, each group would have to discuss 100 ideas. This is a very intense task. However, there could be filtering mechanisms that require subgroups to eliminate non-interesting ideas, and other solutions designed to reduce the amount of effort required by participants.
All else being equal, as the size of the assembly grows, the logistical complexity and associated costs increases. At the same time, the ability to analyze and integrate all the information generated by participants diminishes. The question of whether established technologies like argument mapping, or even emerging artificial intelligence could help overcome the challenges associated with mass deliberation is an empirical one – but it’s certainly an avenue worth exploring through experiments and research. Recent designs of permanent mini-publics such as the one adopted in Belgium (Ostbelgien, Brussels) and Italy (Milan) that resample a small new group of participants every year could attempt to include over time a sufficiently large sample of the population to achieve a good level of representation, at least for some strata of the population, and as long as systematic sampling errors are corrected, and obvious caveats in terms of representativeness are clearly communicated.
Another approach is to abandon the idea of achieving representativeness and instead target specific problems of inclusion. This is a small change in the current approach to mini-publics, but in our opinion, it will generate significant returns in terms of long-term legitimacy. Instead of justifying a mini-public through a blanket claim of representation, the justification in this model would emerge from a specific failure in inclusion. For example, imagine that neighborhood-level urban planning meetings in a city consistently fail to involve renters and disproportionately engage developers and business owners. In such a scenario, a stratified random sample approach that reserves quotas for renters and includes specific incentives to attract them, and not the other types of participants, would be a fair strategy to prevent domination. However, note that this approach is only feasible after a clear inclusion failure has been detected.
In conclusion, from a democratic innovations’ perspective, there seems to be two productive directions for mini-publics: increasing their size or focusing on addressing failures of inclusiveness. Expanding the size of assemblies involves technical challenges and increased costs, but in certain cases it might be worth the effort. Addressing specific cases of exclusion, such as domination by organized minorities, may be a more practical and scalable approach. This second approach might not seem very appealing at first. But one should not be discouraged by our unglamorous example of fixing urban planning meetings. In fact, this approach is particularly attractive given that inclusion failures can be found across multiple spaces meant to be democratic – from neighborhood meetings to parliaments around the globe.
For mini-public practitioners and advocates like ourselves, this should come as a comfort: there’s no shortage of work to be done. But we might be more successful if, in the meantime, we shift the focus away from the representativeness claim.
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We would like to express our gratitude to Amy Chamberlain, Andrea Felicetti, Luke Jordan, Jon Mellon, Martina Patone, Thamy Pogrebinschi, Hollie Russon Gilman, Tom Steinberg, and Anthony Zacharewski for their valuable feedback on previous versions of this post.
[1] Renwick, A., Allan, S., Jennings, W., McKee, R., Russell, M. and Smith, G., 2017. A Considered Public Voice on Brexit: The Report of the Citizens’ Assembly on Brexit.
[2] Goidel, R., Freeman, C., Procopio, S., & Zewe, C. (2008). Who participates in the ‘public square’ and does it matter? Public Opinion Quarterly, 72, 792- 803. doi: 10.1093/poq/nfn043
[3] Lafont, C., 2015. Deliberation, participation, and democratic legitimacy: Should deliberative mini‐publics shape public policy?. Journal of political philosophy, 23(1), pp.40-63.
[4] Griffin J. & Abdel-Monem T. & Tomkins A. & Richardson A. & Jorgensen S., (2015) “Understanding Participant Representativeness in Deliberative Events: A Case Study Comparing Probability and Non-Probability Recruitment Strategies”, Journal of Public Deliberation 11(1). doi: https://doi.org/10.16997/jdd.221
“Civic tech” broadly refers to the use of digital technologies to support a range of citizen engagement processes. From allowing individuals to report problems to local government to enabling the crowdsourcing of national legislation, civic tech aims to promote better policies and services – while contributing to more inclusive democratic institutions. But could civic tech affect public issues in a way that benefits some and excludes others?
Over the decades, the question of who participates in and who is excluded from participation mediated by technology has been the focus of both civic tech critics and proponents. The latter tend to argue that, by enabling citizens to participate without constraints of time and distance, civic tech facilitates the participation of those who usually abstain from engaging with public issues, leading to more inclusive processes. Critics argue that, given the existing digital divide, unequal access to technology will tend to empower the already empowered, further deepening societal differences. Yet both critics and proponents do tend to share an intuitive assumption: the socio-economic profile of whoparticipates is the primary determinant of who benefits from digitally mediated civic participation. For instance, if more men participate, outcomes will favor male preferences, and if more young people participate, outcomes will be more aligned with the concerns of the youth.
In a new paper, we show that the link between the demographics of those participating through digital channels, and the beneficiaries of the participation process, is not necessarily as straightforward as commonly assumed. We review four civic tech cases where data allow us to trace the full participatory chain through:
the initial digital divide
the participant’s demographics
the demands made through the process
the policy outcomes
We examine online voting in the Brazilian state of Rio Grande do Sul’s participatory budgeting process, the local problem reporting platform Fix My Street (FMS) in the United Kingdom, Iceland’s online crowdsourced constitution process, and the global petitioning platform Change.org.
Counterintuitive findings
Change.org has been used by nearly half a billion people around the globe. Using a dataset of 3.9 million signers of online petitions in 132 countries, we examine the number of successful petitions and assess whether petitions created by women have more success than those submitted by men. Our analysis shows that, even if women create fewer online petitions than men, their petitions are more likely to be successful. All else equal, when online petitions have an impact on government policy, the agenda being implemented is much closer to the issues women choose to focus on.
In Rio Grande do Sul’s digital participatory budgeting (PB), we show that despite important demographic differences between online and offline voters, these inequalities do not affect which types of projects are selected for funding – a consequence of PB’s unique institutional design, which favors redistributive effects.
In fact, of all the cases analyzed, none reflect the standard assumption that inequalities in who participates translate directly into inequalities in who benefits from the policy outcomes. Our results suggest that the socio-economic profile of participants predicts only in part who benefits from civic tech. Just as important to policy outcomes is how the platform translates civic participation into policy demands, and how the government responds to those demands. While civic tech practitioners pay a lot of attention to design from a technological perspective, our findings highlight the importance of considering how civic tech platforms function as political institutions that encourage certain types of behavior while discouraging others.
Civic tech, it seems, is not inherently good nor bad for democratic institutions. Instead, its effect is a combination of who participates on digital platforms and the choices of platform designers and governments.
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Post co-authored with Jonathan Mellon and Fredrik M. Sjoberg. Cross-posted from the World Bank’s Let’s Talk Developmentblog.
Voices in the Code, by David G. Robinson, is finally out. I had the opportunity to read the book prior to its publication, and I could not recommend it enough. David shows how, between 2004 and 2014 in the US, experts and citizens came together to build a new kidney transplant matching algorithm. David’s work is a breath of fresh air for the debate surrounding the impact of algorithms on individuals and societies – a debate typically focused on the negative and sometimes disastrous effects of algorithms. While David conveys these risks at the outset of the book, focusing solely on these threats would add little to a public discourse already saturated with concerns.
One of the major missing pieces in the “algorithmic literature” is precisely how citizens, experts and decision-makers can make their interactions more successful, working towards algorithmic solutions that better serve societal goals. The book offers a detailed and compelling case where a long and participatory process leads to the crafting of an algorithm that delivers a public good. This, despite the technical complexities, moral dilemmas, and difficult trade-offs involved in decisions related to the allocation of kidneys to transplant patients. Such a feat would not be achieved without another contribution of the book, which is to offer a didactical demystification of what algorithms are, normally treated as a reserved domain of few experts.
As David conducts his analysis, one also finds an interesting reversal of the assumed relationship between technology and participatory democracy. This relationship has mostly been examined from a civic tech angle, focusing on how technologies can support democratic participation through practices such as e-petitions, online citizens’ assemblies, and digital participatory budgeting. Thus, another original contribution of this book is to look at this relationship from the opposite angle: how can participatory processes better support technological deployments. While technology for participation (civic tech) remains an important topic, we should probably start paying more attention to how participation can support technological solutions (civic for tech).
Continuing on through the book, other interesting insights emerge. For instance, technology and participatory democracy pundits normally subscribe to the virtues of decentralized systems, both from a technological and institutional perspective. Yet David depicts precisely the virtues of a decision-making system centralized at the national level. Should organ transplant issues be decided at the local level in the US, the results would probably not be as successful. Against intuition, David presents a clear case where centralized (although participatory) systems might offer better collective outcomes. Surfacing this counterintuitive finding is a welcome contribution to debates on the trade-offs between centralization and decentralization, both from a technological and institutional standpoint.
But a few paragraphs here cannot do the book justice. Voices in the Code is certainly a must-read for anybody working on issues ranging from institutional design and participatory democracy, all the way to algorithmic accountability and decision support systems.
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P.s. As an intro to the book, here’s a nice 10 min. conversation with David on the Marketplace podcast.
An Essay Addressing Philosophers, Parents, Teachers, and Educational Policymakers
It takes a village. Raising children takes all hands on deck, including parents or guardians, teachers, administrators, and educational policymakers. This paper examines common philosophical norms relevant to each of these groups. The norms include the idea of wanting a better future for our children than we had; the idea that human beings are rational animals; and that the unexamined life is not worth living. What does that mean for parents, teachers, administrators, and policymakers when our children are intellectually or communicatively impaired?
My daughter Helen in 2019.
WARNING: At least for me, rereading this paper inspired an emotional response. The stoicism called for in the paper is intended to help ease emotional reactions, but the fact of such a need for some readers (and others have let me know that they have shared such a reaction) is itself worth noting in advance.
Download the paper here.
We think of the norms I have mentioned as cultural. Philosopher John Dewey saw philosophy as the critique of culture, essentially as thinking about thinking. How we think plays a powerful role in how we treat people and how we educate ourselves and others. In this context, this paper examines one of the difficult contexts for education and the raising of children. And, I offer my own and my family’s experience for consideration, bringing philosophical ideas to bear on tough moments, decisions, and questions.
I first presented a draft of this essay at the annual meeting of the eastern division of the American Philosophical Association in January of 2019. It has just now been published in Disability and American Philosophies, edited by Nate Whelan-Jackson and Daniel J. Brunson in January of 2022 with Routledge Press of London.
It may be worth noting that in 2019 I was still married, something no longer true now, in 2022, when the essay has finally been released in print.
Last, but not least, I have generated a computer-created text-to-speech recording of the essay. If I had more time, I would record myself reading the essay. The following recording took me only a few minutes to generate, by contrast to over an hour or more of work to record it myself. For the sake of accessibility, and at a friend’s request, I generated this audio file, which can be listed to if that is preferred over reading the text. I did not include the notes or bibliography section in the audio file.
Citation: Weber, Eric Thomas, “Stoic Pragmatism for Parenting a Child with Disabilities: An Essay Addressing Philosophers, Parents, Teachers, and Educational Policymakers,” Chapter 11 in Disability and American Philosophies, Edited by Nate Whelan-Jackson and Daniel J. Brunson (London: Routledge, 2022), 182-198.
