Illusions of Merit
“If Tyranny and Oppression come to this land, it will be in the guise of fighting a foreign enemy.”
(James Madison, 4th President of the United States)
Donald Trump in the United States. Rodrigo Duterte in the Philippines. Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil. Recep Erdogan in Turkey. Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador in Mexico. Giuseppe Conte in Italy. These are some of the 17 world leaders listed as populists by the Tony Blair Institute for Global Change at the beginning of 2020.
Populism is an inherently democratic tradition; despite its association with antidemocratic practices, it is as old as democracy itself. The demagogues of ancient Athens, Roman dictators like Julius Caesar, Louisiana governor Huey P. Long (who inspired the Sinclair Lewis novel It Can’t Happen Here) and his radio ally Father Charles Coughlin, the leaders of the German volkisch movement that helped paved the way to Nazism…all had one thing in common: they all built their political careers on an appeal to the popular majority, or in-group, to the detriment of some out-group(s). Popular targets have included aristocrats and other oligarchs, the banks, traditional political authorities, and immigrants and other ethnic and religious minorities, most notably the Jews.
In the populist tradition, these groups are (mis)characterized as wielding disproportionate political power, from whom the populist promises to wrest away and return that power to the people…generally embodied in the populist personally. As Venezuela’s Hugo Chavez infamously proclaimed: “I am the people!”
Among other defining features, populism inculcates a distrust of intellectuals and education, of the free press and free elections, of anything that can be plausibly accused of building up what the populist promises to tear down. The Athenian demagogue Cleon “openly sowed distrust of intellect,” writes John Leonard, “claiming that ‘states are better governed by the man in the street than by intellectuals…who…want to appear wiser than the laws…and…often bring ruin on their country.’”
Democracy, of course, is by definition founded on the will of the people, but this can mean various things. Populism takes certain democratic principles to an extreme, to the detriment of others. Donald Trump was a populist—despite never winning the popular vote—because his supporters were fanatically devoted to him as a savior archetype, which is not normal in American politics. Populism is not limited to conservatives but is primarily associated with them today. Left-wing figures like Bernie Sanders and Britain’s erstwhile Opposition leader Jeremy Corbyn have been described, somewhat plausibly, as populists, but they actually lack most of the attributes associated with the phenomenon. Democratic leaders should, after all, strive to represent their voters.
Populism rises when this admirable goal is taken too far, usually for advantageous reasons by ambitious mavericks. The conditions which sow the ground for populism are closely intertwined with nationalism, nativism, and paranoia. With all the latter on the rise, it is no surprise the effects of populism are already being felt across the world.
Phantoms of Liberty
It is traditional to invoke the financial crisis of the 2000s as the catalyst for the rise of nationalism in Europe, the U.S., and elsewhere, but this does not tell the whole story. The populist groundswell has kept gaining momentum even as the effects of the Great Recession have been alleviated. There must be deeper forces at work.
“It is now evident that populism draws strength from public opposition to mass immigration, cultural liberalization, and the perceived surrender of national sovereignty to distant and unresponsive international bodies,” writes William A. Galston of Brookings. “If economic arguments had determined the outcome of the Brexit vote, Britain would have remained in the EU. If economic growth had been decisive in Poland, which enjoyed the faster growth rate in Europe between 1989 and 2015, the populist Law and Justice Party would never have become the country’s dominant political force.”
Why is it so easy for so many people to forsake liberal democracy, for all its time-tested appeal? Some might argue that the relatively short history of democracy in many parts of Europe is one factor. In the aftermath of WWI, such notions as democracy, intellect, and reason were widely regarded in Europe as underlying causes of the devastation and subsequent economic collapse. The emotional allure of traditionalism, sentimentality, intuition, and tribalism thereby became overwhelming. Out of this nihilism emerged great art movements like Dada and Surrealism, but it also generated Italian fascism and German Nazism. Philosophical principles like Darwinism and Nietzsche’s Ubermensch and Death-of-God notions were mangled into tortured justifications of racial and cultural elitism. (Note that Nietzsche, though contemptuous of democracy and socialism, was also deeply opposed to German nationalism, presumably because he always championed an individualist worldview.)
This sort of “us-against-them” mentality lends itself to Great Man interpretations of history and global affairs. In contrast to liberalism’s structure-based theories, the Great Man does not build on the foundation of history but is the foundation of history. According to this view, leaders are entitled to their powers through their inborn strengths and should be obeyed out of reverence for their natural superiority (reflecting the Calvinist upbringing of Thomas Carlyle, the originator of Great Man theory).
When social and economic systems are strong, it is easy to mythologize the system in place of an idealized Fuhrer or Duce. When systems start breaking down, the atavistic impulse to seek and crown a potential savior reemerges. In America, this has taken the form of Donald Trump, whose “outsider” status appealed to millions of Americans who no longer feel represented by their “representative” government. Only in a world governed by appearances could so many people place such faith in an unsuccessful television personality whose only life achievement has been to epitomize the adage fake-it-until-you-make-it.
Is there a way to escape the well-trodden vicious circle of escalating passions and counter-passions? I turn now—ironically, some might think—to the state of democracy in modern, post-WWII Germany.
The Teutonic Alternative
“For historic reasons,” writes Femke van Esche of the European Consortium for Political Research, “the German electorate regards with suspicion the charisma and pathos associated with visionary leadership.” Modern Germany is much more a meritocracy than other democracies. To this meritocratic culture, van Esche attributes the success of Chancellor Angela Merkel, who led Germany for an unprecedented 16 years (2005-2021).
The German electoral system is a triumph of constitutional, parliamentary government. Combining single-member districts with proportional representation, half the Bundestag (the main legislative body) is elected on a single-member-district-plurality, first-past-the-post basis, the other half by proportional representation through a vote for preferred political party. (The number of Bundestag seats, technically 598, actually fluctuates to guarantee proportionality regardless of the SMDP results.) A 5% threshold mitigates the risk of minor parties creating obstructions. (Chadwick) Although Germany has not proved immune to the populist upsurge, it remains probably the most stable, prosperous, and liberal country in Europe at present.
It’s worth noting that the current German system was heavily influenced by the occupying powers in the aftermath of WWII. These powers—the U.S., the U.K., and France—were able to draw on the comparative strengths of their different democratic systems to rebuild Germany, literally and figuratively. Nearly eight decades later, none of these countries is as strong a democracy as Germany.
The genius of Angela Merkel was to avoid the common democratic trap of trying to please everyone at the same time. This served her better in Germany than may have been possible elsewhere because German culture is so meritocratic. Even when her approval ratings were lower than those of her opponents, Germans preferred “Merkel’s reasoned, compromising and fact-based approach to politics over sweeping statements.”
A starker contrast to Donald Trump’s leadership would be difficult to imagine, and may have been a factor in his ill-concealed hatred of her. As well as openly admiring authoritarian leaders worldwide, Trump never hesitated to cast aspersions on America’s democratic allies, of whom none “was more of a constant target than Angela Merkel.” In the closing days of the Obama administration, the President flew to Germany to speak with Merkel. There, after an emotional dinner scene, Obama’s deputy national-security adviser Benjamin Rhodes raised a toast to Merkel as the new “leader of the free world.”
The German example demonstrates how populism can be resisted by a culture of restraint and historical consciousness. The legacy of Nazism does not undermine this rationale. Actually, the disproportionate responsibility attributed to Germans for the atrocities of Nazism too often leads us to overlook the prejudices and atrocities committed by other actors before, during, and after WWII. A major catalyst for the founding of the State of Israel was that no country anywhere wanted to assimilate the millions of Jewish refugees created by the Holocaust. The resurgence of populism (and anti-Semitism) in those same countries today makes me wish the rest of Europe and America had adopted the same democratic system they imposed on Germany.
Without significant political reforms, the shortcomings of twenty-first century democracy will persist. More important, however, is that we learn to resist the culture that produces populism by valuing cults of personality higher than capable leadership. Perhaps the time for meritocracy in the Western world has arrived.
