I live in an old house – more than 100 years old.
The other day I was down in my basement with a plumber looking at replacing some cast iron pipes that have reached the end of their time.
It’s never fun to be faced with significant home repairs, but at the same time I was trying to look on the bright side. The foundation of the house is solid, and the basement stays dry even through drenching summer thunderstorms.
Democracies have foundations too.
Isabel Wilkerson, in Caste: The Origins of Our Discontent, calls us to pay attention to our nation’s foundation:
“America is an old house. We can never declare the work over. Wind, flood, drought, and human upheavals batter a structure that is already fighting whatever flaws were left unattended in the original foundation. When you live in an old house, you may not want to go into the basement after a storm to see what the rains have wrought. Choose not to look, however, at your own peril.”
Foundations aren’t glamorous, but they are literally what keep structures standing.
When we walk into a house, our eyes are drawn to what’s right in front of us: the height of the ceilings, the color of the walls, the way one room flows into another. The foundation, on the other hand, is below our feet, down the stairs, out of sight.
Similarly with our democracy. We pay a lot of attention to political horse races, to the maneuverings of politicians, to the “sturm und drang” of what happens in Capitol buildings in Washington DC and in the various states.
We pay a lot less attention to what’s close at hand, sometimes right underfoot: “our relations with each other in families, neighborhoods, workplaces, voluntary associations, and the various settings of public life.” Yet, as Parker Palmer observes in Healing the Heart of Democracy, these “places comprise the vital pre-political layer of our common life, the social infrastructure on which democracy’s well-being depends.”
“Our relations with each other…comprise…the social infrastructure on which democracy…depends.”
The foundation of democracy is how we are with each other, our social and relational infrastructure – especially across our many differences. Acknowledging each other with respect and opening ourselves to hearing one another’s stories makes for a strong foundation. Us versus Them dynamics, in contrast, create and widen the cracks that compromise that strength.
There is a long history in the U.S. of the few using divide-and-conquer tactics such as racism to weaken the many, to prevent the creation of what Ian Haney López calls the “social cohesion” or “social solidarity” on which democracy rests. Other wedge issues – abortion, guns, gender identity, political party, and even where we live – also create fractures.
But, as Wilkerson reminds us, we disregard the integrity of our foundations at our own peril.
The tag line in Civity’s logo reads From Us vs Them to We All Belong. “Us versus Them” demonizes people who are different. Demonizing people who are different makes doing democracy – having the tough conversations that work through how to harness and reconcile and, yes, preserve the differences that can divide us but that can also make us stronger and more resilient – much, much harder.
“We All Belong” isn’t superficial nice-making. “We All Belong” is grounded in a deep awareness that making democracy work means rubber-hitting-the-road recognition that everyone in a community matters – and taking actions that are grounded in that recognition. Period. Because when not everyone matters, we’re building on a foundation with cracks.
Creating a civity-based culture – work that all of us can do – is making sure that we have a foundation for our democracy that can last.