University Press of Kansas

How unchecked capitalism and massive inequality made America a bully nation

The following is an excerpt from the new book Bully Nation by Charles Derber & Yale R. Magrass (University Press of Kansas, 2016):

The pickle gets even bigger because the incident took place during a nationwide organizing campaign for fast-food workers. D15 and the Fast Food Organizing Network were partly funded by the nation’s largest union, the Service Employees International Union (SEIU). The union was a leading supporter of the grassroots organizing spreading like a prairie fire among workers not only at Burger King but also at McDonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and other fast-food chains. As the workers organized for unions and a higher minimum wage, the big companies were striking back. The threats and retaliation aimed at workers such as Wilson and Frazier might be called “capital bullying”—a type of bullying that is built into the DNA of corporate capitalism and that occurs at workplaces everyday, much like the pervasive bullying happening daily in schoolyards.

Capital Bullying: Capitalism, Competition, and Winners versus Losers—How the Rich Bully the Poor

Though the bullying of vulnerable kids in schools gets a lot of attention, the bullying of vulnerable workers usually is ignored. If the mass media mention it at all, they typically parrot the corporate view that the agitating workers are troublemakers who deserve punishment. The failure of scholars in the “bullying field” to see even illegal (not to mention legal) corporate threats, intimidation, and retaliation as bullying is another profound failure of the psychological paradigm that views bullying only as a “kid thing” in schools. Such scholars are blind to the adult and institutionalized bullying that is endemic to our economic system.

We refer to the bullying against workers such as Wilson and Frazier, whether pertaining to something as small as Wilson’s pickle bullying or as big as being fired en masse, as capital bullying, meaning bullying inherent to Western and especially American capitalism. We must move from the micropsychological to the macrosocietal paradigm to discuss capitalism as a bullying system. Only a macroanalysis can analyze capital bullying and help create structural changes to reduce it, a deeply destructive type of bullying carried out mainly by corporations. The bullying problem at Burger King and all the big fast-food firms is not a result of the personal psychological problems of the managers; rather, it is something that is systemically dictated and enacted no matter what the psychology of management.

Any economic or social system based on power inequality creates potential or latent bullying that often translates into active bullying, by institutions and individuals. So this is not a problem exclusive to capitalism; bullying was brutally manifest in systems claiming to be socialist or communist, such as the Soviet Union, and it is also obviously a major problem in China today. But capitalism is the dominant system currently and has its own, less recognized, institutionalized bullying propensities. They are not discussed in the academic bullying literature, but they are directly or indirectly responsible for much of the bullying we see in American schoolyards and among both kids and adults.

In many cases, corporate institutional bullying should not be viewed as personal bullying because the managers involved, though they are threatening and harming workers, are being required to act as agents of the company. As individuals, they may not deliberately be seeking to humiliate or harm their workers. Such “decent” or “nice” managers may cut wages or fire workers, but in doing so, they are carrying out institutional imperatives and orders rather than fulfilling personal motives to dominate, intimidate, and humiliate.

The greatest early critic of capitalism, Karl Marx, firmly believed that unequal power is inherent in capitalist systems—and that this creates power hierarchies and market structures that require institutional bullying.

Capitalism puts ownership of capital into the hands of one small group—the “capitalist class,” often dubbed“ the 1%” today. Most of the rest of the population is part of a huge underpaid working class or a growing poverty-stricken and jobless group, with no or very little capital or power. Marx argued that this unequal class power is the essential capitalist ingredient for profit, enabling capitalists—and specifically their corporations—to bully workers into accepting the wages and working conditions dictated by the owners. Put another way, workers have to accept their inferior position, a hallmark of bullying on which the entire system depends.

Thomas Piketty, in his blockbuster best seller Capital in the Twenty-First Century, has spread public awareness of capitalism as an inequality machine. In his book, Piketty presents data about the distribution of capital ownership in more than twenty countries over the last three centuries. He finds that capitalism, with only one exception in the last 300 years, has created wide, sustained, and often extreme inequalities of both income and wealth. Piketty argues that this does not reflect markets gone wrong; rather, it is the way capitalist markets are designed to work.

Piketty is very explicit about this: “Specifically, it is important to note that [inequality] has nothing to do with any market imperfection. Quite the contrary: the more perfect the capital market (in the economist’s sense), the more likely” that inequality will be created and grow. There are no self-correcting market mechanisms to limit inequality, he argues, but only political interventions that are difficult to achieve. “It is possible,” he says,“to imagine public institutions and policies that would counter the effects of this implacable logic: for instance, a progressive global tax on capital. . . . It is unfortunately likely that actual responses to the problem—including various nationalist responses—will in practice be far more modest and less effective.”

Put simply, inequality in wealth and power is baked into capitalist systems, and it is fundamental to structural and institutional bullying. But why does this inequality lead capitalists to bully workers and the poor—and also other groups, such as consumers, and even other capitalists? The answer has less to do with the psychology of executives than with the structure of the capitalist marketplace.

Capitalism is a ruthlessly competitive system in which all capitalists— whether corporations or individual entrepreneurs—have no choice but to compete furiously. Karl Marx argued that capitalists who do not compete with the ferocity of sharks, going for the kill, will be destroyed by rivals who are committed to the economic battlefield and to winning at all costs. This is an economic version of militarism, and it also mirrors the ethic of the schoolyard bully—dominate or die.

This systemic competition incentivizes even so-called nice or “socially responsible” capitalists to bully workers, consumers, and fellow capitalists. Corporations that do not bully workers—by paying low wages, breaking unions, and constantly harassing those who seek to challenge the power of the companies—will typically be at a competitive disadvantage compared to those that do; this is because the bullying leads to high corporate profits, as in McDonald’s and other fast-food giants, and thus attracts more capital from the financial markets. Investors follow the money, just as sharks follow blood in the water. Corporations that do not bleed their workers by cutting wages and benefits—and intimidating those who challenge their degradation—will tend to see reduced profits and lose out to their competitors in the capital markets. A failure to bully workers into accepting low wages and the loss of other benefits also reduces profits, since increases in wages and benefits are drains on profit. This is a structural reality faced by all capitalists, whatever their personality, and it demonstrates the need to move from a psychological paradigm to one focusing on structural imperatives.

The same logic leads capitalists to compete intensely even with giant rivals in the 1%. The system will not be kind to competitors who are unwilling to threaten, undermine, and destroy their rivals; they are vulnerable to being put out of business. This results in bullying within the capitalist class; it is, we show, both similar to and different from the cross-class bullying of workers that is class warfare. In both cases, the strong must defeat competitive rivals, and they can win only by devouring the weak.

Structural competition in the marketplace encourages other types of capitalist bullying, including bullying of the unemployed, of consumers, and of politicians. These bullying relations, too, are structurally dictated by the marketplace. As on the bully schoolyard, nice guys finish last.

Before moving forward, we must illustrate the generic way in which competition in most capitalist societies leads to the rich (the winners) bullying the poor (the losers). This is particularly true in the United States, where the competition is harsh and the ideology of winners and losers conveyed in a particularly bullying discourse. At least since the nineteenth century, American capitalists have seen the competitive process as a form of social Darwinism, in which the strong overcome the weak and the best triumph. Thus, the rich deserve all their wealth and blessings, whereas the poor deserve their low station and misery. Since the market is seen as a Darwinian selection process, it is only natural and good that the rich—those who have proved their worth—assume control over the society as a whole. The system will not function unless the poor learn that they deserve their fate; workers must be bullied until they embrace this Darwinian view that they are inferior and deserve their fate.

This view emerged in early American Puritanism, where competitive success was seen as a sign of God’s grace. The winners proved themselves a higher order of being, entitled to deference and special power and status. Competitive failure in the markets was, to the Puritans, a sign of being damned, in this life and the next. The degree of loss was a measure of the degree of worthlessness; it justified the winners treating the losers as drags on the social order who had to be controlled and kept in their place. Workers who didn’t accept their inferiority as losers would be bullied until they did so. This sense of inferiority is a “hidden injury of class, the enduring trauma of capital bullying.” This ancient Puritan view has survived in various forms to the present day, with the wealthy winners seeing their success as a sign of virtue—and seeing the poor as losers whose nature is inferior and parasitic. In the 2012 presidential election, Republican candidate Mitt Romney made his famous comment about makers and takers, expressing perfectly his view that the poor were parasites leeching off the wealth created by capitalists like himself. He claimed that 47 percent of Americans were takers, thus condemning much of the population to the status of dependent moochers on the body politic. The implication was not hard to fathom: people in Romney’s class would have to take charge of society and take control of the takers, through political and sometimes coercive means, in order to maintain a prosperous and virtuous social order. They had to bully the takers to embrace the view that the makers deserved to be in power and legitimately claimed their wealth.

This is, of course, a bullying view of society, in which the winners of capitalist competition must assume control over the losers to preserve social well-being. To offer help to the losers—through welfare or other social benefits—is to divert resources to the undeserving and encourage their dependency and parasitism. Politically, this leads to austerity policies that are designed to be punitive to the poor and maintain the “natural” and “fair” unequal order that the competitive selective process has established. All people deserve their positions in the hierarchy, and those who question this primal assumption must be bullied into accepting their inferiority. Austerity has become the contemporary policy most clearly symbolizing capitalist bullying, in which the worthy rich threaten and withhold benefits from the unworthy masses, who in turn recognize their own inferiority.

This bullying perspective was articulated lucidly by the writer Ayn Rand, who turned it into a broad philosophy about the morality of capitalism. Rand divided the population into the strong and the weak, the worthy and the unworthy, the productive or “creative” and the moochers. The virtue of capitalism was that the free, competitive market provided a sure way of distinguishing these two orders of people, and it ensured that the worthy would triumph over the unworthy, the makers over the takers. To intervene and seek to reverse that order by helping the losers was immoral and would lead to social decline. Society thrived only when it allowed—indeed forced—the strong to dominate the weak in the Darwinian world, structured and managed through the market.

Rand is useful because she so clearly described the bullying philosophy and practices that govern US capitalism and its basic social Darwinism. The idea that the strong must dominate the weak is central to the schoolyard bully. The bully is strong and a winner and therefore entitled to control the weak, who are seen as sissies, cowards, and losers. The weak must accept the definition of themselves as inferior. The bullies in school essentially enforce their own austerity on the out-crowd—the loser kids deserve the humiliation, injury, and ostracism administered by the winner kids in the in-crowd.

Bullying for Profit: Robber Barons Show How to Bully Workers and Make a Mint

In 1892, one of the most famous American strikes took place at a Carnegie steel plant in Homestead, Pennsylvania, near Pittsburgh. Andrew Carnegie had been known as one of the less ruthless tycoons of the era, but when the union, the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers, organized a strike at the Homestead plant to increase wages, Carnegie decided to break their will and destroy the union for good. Before things were over, workers were threatened and attacked, and some were even killed; proud workers who asserted their right to earn a living wage and enjoy basic American rights were ruthlessly bullied into submission and defeat. The Homestead tragedy is an iconic symbol of capitalist bullying, whereby, in the name of property rights, profits, and prosperity, employers threaten and harm workers who seek a degree of workplace power and decent wages.

As early as 1889, the union had effectively taken over the plant and established work rules to limit management’s absolute power to control every detail of the work. A series of negotiations ensued, and Carnegie, who had nominally accepted unions, decided enough was enough. He instructed his man on the scene, Henry Clay Frick, to lock out the workers. Frick sealed the plant, built a high barbed wire fence, installed cannons capable of spraying boiling liquid, and turned the site into an armed camp.

On July 20, 1892, the Strike Committee resisted the intense bullying pressure that Carnegie and Frick imposed, issuing this defiant proclamation:

"It is against public policy and subversive of the fundamental principles of American liberty that a whole community of workers should be denied employment or suffer any other social detriment on account of membership in a church, a political party or a trade union; that it is our duty as American citizens to resist by every legal and ordinary means the unconstitutional, anarchic and revolutionary policy of the Carnegie Company, which seems to evince a contempt [for] public and private interests and a disdain [for] the public conscience (commemorated on a plaque at the pumphouse of the plant)."

Such open resistance by the bullied was unacceptable. Frick responded by calling in the Pinkerton guards, an armed private security service that would attack the striking workers while helping bring in new, nonunion employees. Fighting broke out when workers refused to leave, and several of them were shot dead. As the fighting continued over the next few days, the union tried to defuse the situation, but Carnegie and Frick were not ready to concede anything. They turned to Pennsylvania’s governor, Robert E. Pattison, a politician who had been elected as part of the Carnegie political machine and was in no mood to tolerate workers confronting his corporate patron. The governor immediately ordered 4,000 soldiers to surround the plant—and within a day, the strikers were dispersed. Some of them were bayoneted to death by state militiamen.

The strike ended, and the plant reopened with nonunion workers. The union collapsed. The consequences were disastrous for workers across America. In the next several years, Carnegie and his fellow robber barons destroyed unions at steel and other plants across the country. By 1900, there was no unionized steel plant left in Pennsylvania, and the labor movement was effectively destroyed.

Homestead is a symbol of the capital bullying that has kept workers weak and intimidated up to the present day. Carnegie called himself a pacifist and had been seen, as noted earlier, as the most compassionate of the robber barons. He had given hundreds of millions of dollars (billions in today’s money) to build public schools and libraries, and he so opposed the expansion of the American militaristic empire that he offered to pay $20 million to “free” the Philippines. But the crisis at Homestead proved that wages and profits require a bullying system that keeps workers disorganized and submissive, with military force being used when necessary. This is true whatever the personality of the managers, with Carnegie exemplifying a “benign” capitalist pulled by the imperatives of market competition into bullying. The regime change of the New Deal led to a peak of about 36 percent of US workers being organized in unions, yet the Reagan revolution decades later resurrected the work Carnegie and the other robber barons began; as of 2014, some 94 percent of private sector workers had no union.

The minimum wage workers at Burger King and other fast-food companies, as well as at huge businesses such as Walmart, are struggling to create a new labor movement to help prevent the return of Gilded Age conditions. They are beginning to see that without the countervailing power of unions, corporate bullying—keeping wages low and workers submissive— will never end and that American workers will be like the bullied weak kids in the schoolyard. Corporate employment in capitalist societies creates latent or active bullying against all employees, including unionized ones. To work in America is to inevitably experience substantial structural bullying, and those on the lower end of the totem pole suffer the most and yet somehow must learn to view it as a fair situation—much like the kids who are far down on the totem pole of power and “coolness” in school.

Reproduced with permission of the University Press of Kansas, Bully Nation: How the American Establishment Creates a Bullying Society by Charles Derber and Yale R. Magrass.

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Have Democrats Lost Their Liberal Spirit?

Intro written by Colin Greer: The following excerpt is from Bruce Miroff's book on the 1972 McGovern Presidential campaign, The Liberals' Moment. This is the first history of that epochal event in progressive politics. The book is rich in detail and its path takes us to the recognition that, for two or three generations, the leadership of the Democratic party and its guiding centrist message derives from politicos, DLC luminaries including Bill Clinton and John Podesta, who cut their teeth in the McGovern campaign and learned the wrong lessons from it.

In 1972 the American Left, -- and there was then a Left in America -- was destroyed in the same way the Right seemed to be destroyed in 1964. The Goldwater defeat was actually replicated on the Left by the McGovern defeat. The McGovern defeat was so devastating that professional politicians basically cut themselves off from the base of the people who make political life real at the local level and whose needs would push toward progressive policy if the public interest were a public priority.

Miroff shows that it is largely the McGovern campaign alumni who shaped what's legitimate and doable in Democratic Party politics since that time. They have been convinced that there is a fixed center in American political life, that this is a centrist nation and that successful politics can only occur close to that center.

This group badly misread a series of elections after McGovern. They thought Carter had been thoroughly rejected by the American public and forgot that Carter was actually rejected because of the Iranian hostage crisis, -- and lost only marginally. They thought that Ronald Reagan and the market economy defeated the Soviet Union, and so sacrilized the idea of a hawkish conservative electorate. But in fact it was the mobilized resources of the state -- large-scale public spending on the war and espionage machine that triumphed.

They also misread the Clinton victory; seeing the election of a centrist demo-republican seemed to confirm their story. In fact, Clinton won marginally in a three-way race. Throughout, as Miroff shows, the McGovern campaign alumni spawned and reinforced the demo-republicanism of the Democratic party. They saw, following their 1972 defeat, the upward swing of Republicans, the new role of big funders in the political game, and set about looking like the enemy. Miroff reports that Robert Strauss turned down the offer of McGovern's grass roots fundraising directory; the new party was looking in a different direction for its finances -- and its accountability.

Becoming the party of new professionals and new entrepreneurs, Democrats were now defined by social progressivism and economic restraint. Miroff argues this is exactly what the Republicans want them to be and why so much effort went into defeating Clinton's health care initiative; if the Democrats delivered big time to working people, they might win. Unfortunately, that was only a Republican strategic understanding.

The fact is, McGovern campaign alumni have lost any idea what really is possible in America. They keep using polls to predict and limit the future, forgetting that polls only really tell you about what is immediate. They're useful in tactical election campaigns. They're nearly useless in building a future.

**********
The Liberals' Moment
by Bruce Miroff

Despite the landslide defeat, the McGovern campaign bequeathed to the Democrats a talented, youthful cadre of strategists, organizers, and wordsmiths who as they aged would largely shape the evolution of the party over the following decades. [...]

The McGovern insurgency was an initiation in presidential campaigning not only for later Democratic leaders like Gary Hart and Bill Clinton but also for future Democratic strategists like Bob Shrum and John Podesta. It marked the coming of age for a new breed of Democratic activists, beneficiaries of the postwar explosion in higher education and alumni of the great causes of the 1960s, civil rights and the antiwar struggle. The 1972 campaign was the last time Democratic activists could wear their hearts on their sleeves all the way up to Election Day; the hopes they entertained, and the devastating disappointment they found in the end, were formative experiences whose reverberations are still felt in the politics of the Democratic Party. [...]

Vulnerable in electoral contests on matters of patriotism, strength in defending the nation, connection to working-class constituencies, and identification with unsettling cultural change, liberal Democrats have been branded as surefire losers by their centrist adversaries in the party. Leaders of the Democratic Leadership Council thus continue, almost as often as Republicans, to bring up the McGovern campaign as a warning of the electoral debacle facing the Democratic Party if it lets liberals back into its command. Yet centrists should not be too quick to read the story of the McGovern campaign as a validation of their philosophy and strategy. The centrist record since 1972 is only marginally more impressive than that of the liberals. Counting Jimmy Carter and Bill Clinton as centrists, that wing of the party has only elected a presidential candidate under highly favorable circumstances -- against weak opponents and when the economy and international events were strongly in its favor. Moreover, the Democratic Party as a whole can hardly be said to have thrived during the administrations of these centrist presidents. The McGovern campaign, derided for its failures, provides in its successes some clues to the continuing electoral (and governing) weakness of Democratic centrists -- to vulnerabilities that centrists have evaded just as liberals have evaded their own.

One of the electoral vulnerabilities of centrist Democrats is that they engender a conviction gap with the Republicans. Intellectuals associated with the DLC have produced thoughtful manifestos staking out a centrist philosophy for American politics. Yet integral to the centrist approach has been a concern for the "inoculation" of their Democratic candidates on precisely those issues or themes upon which liberals, starting with McGovern, have been vulnerable. Shaping campaign positions out of a concern for "inoculation" invariably places centrist Democrats in a defensive crouch; centrists explain themselves by what they are not and out of a fear of what Republicans will say they are. To make matters worse, defensiveness often bleeds over into pure expedience. The DLC's greatest success story, Bill Clinton, heralded a centrist Third Way, but when, under the guidance of an ideological cross-dresser like Dick Morris, he practiced "triangulation" in the White House, the Third Way between liberalism and conservatism looked like nothing so much as opportunism.

Defensiveness and opportunism only exacerbate the identity crisis of the Democratic Party. In 2004 some voters who did not agree with President Bush or his policies nonetheless appeared to prefer his firm air of conviction to a Democratic challenger who seemed to have few convictions at all. Citing survey evidence, John Halpin and Ruy Teixeira write, "Despite difficult times for the GOP in early 2006, Republicans continue to hold double-digit advantages over Democrats on the key attribute of 'know what they stand for' and fewer than four in ten voters believe the Democratic Party has 'a clear set of policies for the country.'" McGovern and his liberal heirs have had convictions whose electoral vulnerabilities at least might be faced and partially fixed; the historical record does not suggest that the centrist wing of the party can say the same.

The conviction gap between the centrists ascendant in the Democratic Party and the conservatives who dominate the Republican Party leads to a passion gap in presidential campaigns. Following the centrists' strategy, with its defensive crouch and constrained aspirations, Democratic presidential nominees such as Michael Dukakis, Al Gore, and John Kerry generate scant enthusiasm for their candidacies. Dispirited activists come to feel that their party has no fundamental purpose or message save opposition to the right wing. Democratic partisans may loathe the ideology of conservative Republicans, but some envy how their Republican counterparts at least have leaders in which to believe.

That McGovern still hears from numerous admirers that he was the last Democratic presidential nominee who touched their hearts is a solace for him but a sad comment on his party. The most successful feature of the McGovern campaign -- and the one most relevant to the revival of the Democratic Party -- was its grassroots army. It is doubtful that the centrist strategy can generate the passions that inspire that kind of army. Leaders of centrist organizations, from the Coalition for a Democratic Majority to the Democratic Leadership Council and the New Democrat Network, have insisted that they, and not the disproportionately liberal activists of the party, speak for rank-and-file Democrats. The claim is less impressive than it sounds, since activists in both parties have, for as long as political scientists have been studying the matter, been more ideological than the mass of generally moderate party followers. It is also a claim that centrist organizations have not wanted to test, since they have remained small, elite organizations that do not even try to organize a mass following.

Perhaps the ultimate vulnerability for the centrist strategy of muffling the party's liberal values is that it fails the pragmatic test: it seldom works. The fate of Dukakis in 1988 has been paradigmatic for Democratic presidential candidates, with Clinton only a partial exception to the pattern. The centrist approach has been to seek the middle and deny all associations with the name and perspective of liberalism. But Republican attack artists have blasted through the centrist equivocations and pinned the liberal moniker on every Democratic presidential candidate, be they liberal or centrist. Democratic candidates, regularly put in the position of denying their party's most deeply held values, only deepen the impression that they are inauthentic as they awkwardly struggle to define what it is, other than liberalism, that they do in fact represent.

Twin evasions -- by liberals shying away from a reckoning with their electoral vulnerabilities, by centrists glossing over the dispiriting effect of their defensive crouch -- have left the Democrats wandering in a persistent identity crisis, even as their opponents grow increasingly divided and muddled themselves. Yet another round of Democratic soul-searching has been sparked by defeat in 2004 at the hands of a president whom Democrats despise more than any Republican since Nixon. Sophisticated and shrewd analyses since 2004 have laid bare the party's confused identity and generated some intriguing suggestions. Yet the analyses have, for the most part, fallen short in understanding the party's evolution since the 1960s and the paradox at the core of the identity crisis that it has produced.

Democrats are not likely to find guidance from the suggestion that they update the fighting faith of the original Cold War liberals from the Truman era for an age of international terrorism. Regardless of its subtlety and moral modesty in theory, Cold War liberalism became militant interventionism in practice. It was discredited for most Democrats by its disastrous implementation in Vietnam. It has been the neoconservatives, the unreconstructed Cold War liberals and their heirs, who, in the Iraq debacle, have made this approach to the world twice cursed.

More promising is the recommendation that Democrats hark back to FDR and New Deal liberalism and establish their lost identity as the party of the common good. For a party that has developed a reputation as a wrangling collection of self-regarding interest groups, indifferent to the concerns of the majority of ordinary Americans, a politics of the common good points toward ideological terrain upon which Democrats might reconnect with the constituencies that they have alienated. Yet the history underpinning this proposal is a bit skewed: a philosophy of the common good was present in the New Deal, but so was the interest-group liberalism that brought organized labor and senior citizens into the Democratic coalition. More important, the idea of a common good is probably too abstract and indistinct to serve as an identity for the Democratic Party. It is an idea that can be stretched to encompass almost any policy position and can be evoked by either party.

This is not the place -- and I am not the person -- to come up with a full-blown alternative that might help Democrats resolve their identity crisis. Yet the story of the McGovern campaign and its aftermath does hold some clues to a possible resolution. The McGovern campaign was a moment when Democrats had conviction and passion. It was also a moment when they went down to an overwhelming defeat. Examining the campaign with an eye to how to recapture the first without bringing on the second can serve as a therapeutic exercise for troubled Democrats.

Revisiting the McGovern campaign, we might learn that parties have strong messages not because they have labels or brands but because they articulate core convictions. It has not been the label of conservative that has been central to Republican electoral successes since 1980 but the core convictions that it expresses: small government, traditional values, a strong military. Democrats will not get far in addressing their own identity crisis if they fixate on a more appealing label for the party. Rather, they need to articulate and elaborate core convictions that can be counterpoised to those of the Republicans: economic justice, social equality, a more multilateral and multifaceted strategy for national security.

Centrists can readily object that these are precisely the values that have made liberals so vulnerable in national elections. Yet they are the animating values of most Democrats, and it is ultimately fruitless to hide them. Instead, Democrats, especially on the party's liberal wing, need to be working not to parade these values in defiance of the concerns of constituencies that have turned away from the party, but to reshape and refine them to take into account the beliefs and the interests of those constituencies. In this enterprise, unfortunately, George McGovern will not be a model: McGovern movingly articulated liberal convictions, but he did so in a fashion that pushed away many traditional Democrats. The best exemplar for this ideological feat remains the man who gave the Democratic Party its liberal identity in the first place: Franklin D. Roosevelt. FDR understood, better than any of his Democratic successors, how to blend the liberal vision of political transformation into the American political tradition, and how to make a new liberalism into the necessary next step in the progress of the ancestral American faith.

The question of what to call the Democrats' core convictions -- progressive, liberal, or something else -- is not the critical question. But it will inevitably come up, because Republicans can be counted on to label these convictions as liberalism, with all of the negative associations that they have attached to the word. When Democratic presidential candidates are assailed as liberal, they only heighten the confusion by further equivocating about what they are. They will be better served by acknowledging the label and giving an account of what it means in their own terms. They will come across as more authentic, as McGovern has recently argued, if they react with pride in the liberal tradition, with its heroes and its grand accomplishments, from social security to civil rights. The mounting failures of conservatism under George W. Bush suggest that its era of ascendancy might be coming to an end and that Americans might become open once again to its traditional alternative if it is convincingly defended.

An essential step in resolving the identity crisis of the Democratic Party is to recover what Democrats believe, their core -- and liberal -- convictions, and to refuse to conceal them any longer. Equally essential is the honesty to work through the traumas of liberal defeat, particularly 1972, and to learn from liberal failings. Battling against centrist Democrats and their circumspect strategies, liberal Democrats have had the luxury to revel in their ideological fortitude while neglecting its drawbacks. Ironically, a Democratic Party liberal wing that witnessed presidential candidates who stood by its core convictions might become less rigid and uncompromising about their applications. The twenty-year-old debate between liberals and centrists in the Democratic Party, now grown sterile and tiresome, might be superseded by a more fruitful discourse in which liberals and centrists unite around core convictions and struggle over the most pragmatic ways to get them across to the electorate.

I have suggested that the identity crisis of the Democratic Party has its origins in the McGovern insurgency of 1972, and that working through this critical piece of its history is part of the therapeutic process through which Democrats can regain their confidence that they know who they are. It is remarkable how fully the issues that troubled Democrats in 1972 remain vexing three and one-half decades later. Nonetheless, the brevity of the liberals' moment under McGovern does not presage inevitable frustration for liberalism in our own time. Several features of contemporary American politics suggest that the setting for a liberal presidential candidacy is more favorable than it was when McGovern ran. The Democratic Party is not as bitterly divided as it was in 1972, especially because so many of the intractable conservatives who fought McGovern to the end have shifted to the Republican side. The party's progressive groups, such as the feminists, are generally less militant and more pragmatic than they were in 1972, when they still had far to travel to reach their objectives. Even the Republicans' advantage in the area of national security -- Nixon's hole card against McGovern -- is not what it used to be after Bush's Iraq disaster.

Parties and ideologies do not dominate forever in American politics. New Deal liberalism remade American politics, but it eventually came apart amid racial conflict, a failed war in Vietnam, and an economic crisis. The Reagan alternative has had a powerful run for a generation, but its own contradictions have increasingly come to the fore in this decade. As the election results of 2006 indicate, American politics is opening once again to the Democrats. But they will muff their opportunity unless they figure out what they stand for. It will not be George McGovern's unreconstructed liberalism. It may well be a liberalism that speaks in his deeply American voice of honesty and humane values, even as it reaches out to meet the concerns of those Americans who rejected what they thought he was saying about their country.

The Liberals' Moment: The McGovern Insurgency and the Identity Crisis of the Democratic Party, by Bruce Miroff, copyright (c) 2007 by the University Press of Kansas. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

You can purchase the book from the publisher here and from Amazon here.
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