For much of modern history, democracy has been the politics of the ghetto. Peoples and electorates have been divided by class, religion and even collective memory. Politically, most voters died where they were born, among their own people. The result was ghetto like isolation but also stability. People knew who and what they were. Voting patterns changed little.
Often the ghettos’ walls took ideological form: communism versus conservatism, liberalism versus socialism, left versus right. People knew instinctively which side they were on. These walls have gradually crumbled in most modern democracies, replaced by a politics of blandness: a politics not of “us and them,” or “left and right,” but of “more or less.” Which politicians or party can best deliver the goods most of us want–more jobs, pensions, health care, good schools, law and order? Safe, nonideological, pretty dull, except when spiced by Helmut Kohl’s secret slush funds or Bill Clinton’s sexual incontinence.
But what happens when this post-ghetto system goes wrong? What happens when all the existing politicians and political parties fail to deliver, or fail to address deeply felt voter concerns? The answer is easy. It even has a name: Arnold Schwarzenegger. Or rather, it has several names: Pierre Poujade (the French populist who died a few weeks ago), Silvio Berlusconi, Jorg Haider, Jean-Marie Le Pen and Pim Fortuyn–among others. California is not at all unique. These events conform to a pattern already well established elsewhere. The Golden State, so often a trendsetter, is actually behind the times.
In the 19th century, the legion of the disgruntled–the politically homeless–typically turned to “a man on horseback,” a big or little Napoleon. In the first half of the 20th century, they looked to charismatic thugs like Adolf Hitler or Benito Mussolini to improve their lot. Now they mostly vote for “celebrities”–flamboyant double-breasted tycoons like Berlusconi, attention-seeking mavericks like Fortuyn or media creations like Schwarzenegger.
What all those newly minted politicians have in common–and what makes them so appealing–is their claim that they stand outside, indeed stand as a rebuke to, the entire existing political establishment. They flourish either when existing parties are weak, as in France, Italy or California, or else suffocatingly strong, as in the Netherlands. They are attractive because, in the post-ghetto era, anti-politician populists can appeal–sometimes successfully–to anyone, anywhere, on any ground they like.
But appealing is one thing, governing another–and only a few of these populists have come anywhere near being forced to take responsibility for their rhetoric. Haider remained only briefly in the Austrian cabinet. Berlusconi has so far been unique in his governmental power. Can Schwarzenegger deliver? It seems unlikely. Jesse Ventura, the wrestler elected as governor of Minnesota, failed spectacularly. Many of California’s problems lie far beyond the state’s boundaries, and every benefit that Schwarzenegger has so far promised–or hinted he can deliver–comes at the cost of much else that Californians value. The Terminator will probably soon resemble Laocoon, caught in the coils of the very populist monster he has helped create.
California is probably the most “democratic” polity in the world, with initiatives and recalls galore. But it’s also one of the worst governed polities in the world. The people of California have just said so, loudly and angrily. Just conceivably, there may be a connection between the extent of California’s democracy and the quality of its governance. Perhaps the same can be said for other places on the globe. Or is one allowed to say that?
