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Recall the lessons of democratic breakdowns in Europe in the 1930s and South America in the 1960s and 1970s: When gatekeeping institutions fail, mainstream politicians must do everything possible to keep dangerous figures away from the centers of power.
For Republicans, it tested their political courage. Would they accept short-term political sacrifice for the good of the country?
right-wing politicians endorsed ideological rivals—angering much of the party base but redirecting substantial numbers of their voters to keep extremists out of power.
Leading national Republican politicians such as Paul Ryan, Mitch McConnell, Marco Rubio, and Ted Cruz endorsed Donald Trump. The only Republican figures of any prominence who endorsed Hillary Clinton were retired politicians or former government officials—people who were not planning to compete in future elections, who, politically, had nothing to lose.
First, intensifying partisan polarization had hardened the electorate in recent years. Not only was the country increasingly sorted into Republicans and Democrats, with few truly independent or swing voters, but Republicans and Democrats had grown increasingly loyal to their party—and hostile to the other one.
Had Republican leaders publicly opposed Trump, the tightly contested, red-versus-blue dynamics of the previous four elections would have been disrupted.
Democratic breakdown doesn’t need a blueprint.
Demagogues attack their critics in harsh and provocative terms—as enemies, as subversives, and even as terrorists.
Though observers often assure us that demagogues are “all talk” and that their words should not be taken too seriously, a look at demagogic leaders around the world suggests that many of them do eventually cross the line from words to action. This is because a demagogue’s initial rise to power tends to polarize society, creating a climate of panic, hostility, and mutual distrust.
All politicians are frustrated by these constraints, but democratic ones know they must accept them. They are able to weather the constant barrage of criticism. But for outsiders, particularly those of a demagogic bent, democratic politics is often intolerably frustrating. For them, checks and balances feel like a straitjacket.
The erosion of democracy takes place piecemeal, often in baby steps. Each individual step seems minor—none appears to truly threaten democracy. Indeed, government moves to subvert democracy frequently enjoy a veneer of legality: They are approved by parliament or ruled constitutional by the supreme court. Many of them are adopted under the guise of pursuing some legitimate—even laudable—public objective, such as combating corruption, “cleaning up” elections, improving the quality of democracy, or enhancing national security.
The easiest way to deal with potential opponents is to buy them off. Most elected autocrats begin by offering leading political, business, or media figures public positions, favors, perks, or outright bribes in exchange for their support or, at least, their quiet neutrality. Cooperative media outlets may gain privileged access to the president, while friendly business executives may receive profitable concessions or government contracts.
As key media outlets are assaulted, others grow wary and begin to practice self-censorship.
Elected autocrats also seek to weaken business leaders with the means to finance opposition.
Usually, however, governments prefer to co-opt popular cultural figures or reach a mutual accommodation with them, allowing them to continue their work as long as they stay out of politics.
The quiet silencing of influential voices—by co-optation or, if necessary, bullying—can have potent consequences for regime opposition. When powerful businesspeople are jailed or ruined economically, as in the case of Khodorkovsky in Russia, other businesspeople conclude that it is wisest to withdraw from politics entirely. And when opposition politicians are arrested or exiled, as in Venezuela, other politicians decide to give up and retire. Many dissenters decide to stay home rather than enter politics, and those who remain active grow demoralized. This is what the government aims for. Once
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Authoritarians seeking to consolidate their power often reform the constitution, the electoral system, and other institutions in ways that disadvantage or weaken the opposition, in effect tilting the playing field against their rivals. These reforms are often carried out under the guise of some public good, while in reality they are stacking the deck in favor of incumbents.
Finally, it banned campaign advertising in private media, limiting television campaigning to the public broadcast station, which was run by Fidesz loyalists.
The end of post–Civil War Reconstruction in the 1870s led to the emergence of authoritarian single-party regimes in every post-Confederate state. Single-party rule was not some benign historical accident; rather, it was a product of brazenly antidemocratic constitutional engineering.
Between 1885 and 1908, all eleven post-Confederate states reformed their constitutions and electoral laws to disenfranchise African Americans. To comply with the letter of the law as stipulated in the Fifteenth Amendment, no mention of race could be made in efforts to restrict voting rights, so states introduced purportedly “neutral” poll taxes, property requirements, literacy tests, and complex written ballots. “The overarching aim of all of these restrictions,” historian Alex Keyssar observed, “was to keep poor and illiterate blacks…from the polls.”
Even though African Americans constituted a majority or near-majority of the population in many states, and even though black suffrage was now enshrined in the Constitution, “legal” or neutral-sounding measures were used to “insure that the Southern electorate…would be almost all white.” Black turnout in the South fell from 61 percent in 1880 to just 2 percent in 1912. The disenfranchisement of African Americans wiped out the Republican Party, locking in white supremacy and single-party rule for nearly a century.
Citizens are often slow to realize that their democracy is being dismantled—even as it happens before their eyes.
Crises are hard to predict, but their political consequences are not. They facilitate the concentration and, very often, abuse of power. Wars and terrorist attacks produce a “rally ’round the flag” effect in which public support for the government increases—often dramatically;
Because few politicians are willing to stand up to a president with 90 percent support in the middle of a national security crisis, presidents are left virtually unchecked.
Citizens are also more likely to tolerate—and even support—authoritarian measures during security crises, especially when they fear for their own safety.
For a demagogue who feels besieged by critics and shackled by democratic institutions, crises open a window of opportunity to silence critics and weaken rivals.
Whether real or not, would-be authoritarians are primed to exploit crises to justify power grabs. Perhaps the best-known case is Adolf Hitler’s response to the February 27, 1933, Reichstag fire, just a month after he was sworn in as chancellor.
For demagogues hemmed in by constitutional constraints, a crisis represents an opportunity to begin to dismantle the inconvenient and sometimes threatening checks and balances that come with democratic politics. Crises allow autocrats to expand their room to maneuver and protect themselves from perceived enemies.
If constitutional powers are open to multiple readings, they can be used in ways that their creators didn’t anticipate.
Finally, the written words of a constitution may be followed to the letter in ways that undermine the spirit of the law.
Because of the gaps and ambiguities inherent in all legal systems, we cannot rely on constitutions alone to safeguard democracy against would-be authoritarians.
All successful democracies rely on informal rules that, though not found in the constitution or any laws, are widely known and respected. In the case of American democracy, this has been vital.
Like oxygen or clean water, a norm’s importance is quickly revealed by its absence.
Mutual toleration refers to the idea that as long as our rivals play by constitutional rules, we accept that they have an equal right to exist, compete for power, and govern. We may disagree with, and even strongly dislike, our rivals, but we nevertheless accept them as legitimate.
Partisan conflict was so ferocious that many feared the new republic would fail. It was only gradually, over the course of decades, that America’s opposing parties came to the hard-fought recognition that they could be rivals rather than enemies, circulating in power rather than destroying each other. This recognition was a critical foundation for American democracy.
In just about every case of democratic breakdown we have studied, would-be authoritarians—from Franco, Hitler, and Mussolini in interwar Europe to Marcos, Castro, and Pinochet during the Cold War to Putin, Chávez, and Erdoğan most recently—have justified their consolidation of power by labeling their opponents as an existential threat.
Where norms of forbearance are strong, politicians do not use their institutional prerogatives to the hilt, even if it is technically legal to do so, for such action could imperil the existing system.
Politicians are more likely to be forbearing when they accept one another as legitimate rivals, and politicians who do not view their rivals as subversive will be less tempted to resort to norm breaking to keep them out of power.
The erosion of mutual toleration may motivate politicians to deploy their institutional powers as broadly as they can get away with. When parties view one another as mortal enemies, the stakes of political competition heighten dramatically. Losing ceases to be a routine and accepted part of the political process and instead becomes a full-blown catastrophe. When the perceived cost of losing is sufficiently high, politicians will be tempted to abandon forbearance. Acts of constitutional hardball may then in turn further undermine mutual toleration, reinforcing beliefs that our rivals pose a
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the norms that would later serve as a foundation for American democracy emerged out of a profoundly undemocratic arrangement: racial exclusion and the consolidation of single-party rule in the South.
If partisan animosity prevails over mutual toleration, those in control of congress may prioritize defense of the president over the performance of their constitutional duties. In an effort to stave off opposition victory, they may abandon their oversight role, enabling the president to get away with abusive, illegal, and even authoritarian acts.
The American system of checks and balances, therefore, requires that public officials use their institutional prerogatives judiciously.
As the occupant of an office many feared would become a new form of monarchy, Washington worked hard to establish norms and practices that would complement—and strengthen—constitutional rules. He energetically defended his designated areas of authority but was careful not to encroach on areas within the domain of Congress.
Washington had learned that he “gained power from his readiness to give it up.” Thanks to his enormous prestige, this forbearance infused many of the American republic’s other nascent political institutions. As historian Gordon Wood put it, “If any single person was responsible for establishing the young Republic on a firm footing, it was Washington.”
So although the office of the American presidency strengthened during the twentieth century, American presidents demonstrated considerable restraint in their exercise of that power. Even in the absence of constitutional barriers, unilateral executive action remained largely a wartime exception, rather than the rule.
America’s democratic institutions were challenged on several occasions during the twentieth century, but each of these challenges was effectively contained. The guardrails held, as politicians from both parties—and often, society as a whole—pushed back against violations that might have threatened democracy. As a result, episodes of intolerance and partisan warfare never escalated into the kind of “death spiral” that destroyed democracies in Europe in the 1930s and Latin America in the 1960s and 1970s.