This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
By Andy Oram
June 19, 2009
This article was originally published on the O’Reilly Media web site. The article is the second in a series leading up to the Personal Democracy Forum. The first article was posted on June 16, 2009.
I never cottoned to the term Government 2.0. Stripping away RESTful interfaces and OpenID accounts, the new practices in government transparency are just intensifications of things democracies have done for a long time: public comment periods, expert consultation, archiving deliberations, and so forth. So let’s look back a bit at what democracy has brought to government so far.
Like any telescoped presentation of history, this one reduces the swirling forces that extend and retract their way through the centuries into a couple near-mythological categories. I do this in the service of evaluating the concepts we toss around when discussing government participation.
Last year, Boston residents and visitors got the chance to see an exhibit of sculptures preserved from the culture that earned a special role in history as the first major power to exert ruthless control over many peoples: the Assyrians. Other dynasties—Egyptian, Chinese, Babylonian, and Akkadian—were around before the Assyrian empire, but the Assyrians were the ones that set a new standard for cruelty. The fearful image assigned to them in biblical texts also assures them a special fascination for Westerners.
Most visitors to the Museum of Fine Arts were thrilled by the artistic quality of the wall reliefs, human figures, and everyday objects. Personally, I was depressed by the unrelenting scenes of war and cruelty.
Assyria refined a strategy of subjecting cities just outside their borders and using the resulting booty to raise soldiers and provisions to attack the next frontier. Any populations whose subjugation was in doubt would be uprooted and forced to move closer to the center of the empire, replaced in their old homelands by more compliant subjects.
When the court entertained local dignitaries or foreigners (the lobbyists of the day), they walked through “lobbies” adorned with the scenes of carnage that ended up last year at the center of the Boston exhibit. The depictions of chariots crushing helpless civilians and soldiers impaled on stakes gave visitors a clear message: submit or end up the same way. Thus the Assyrians promulgated a “shock and awe” doctrine four thousand years before US troops brought their own version to the same geography.
This went on, with interruptions, for 1,300 years, and established a practice that guided other empires for thousands of years to come.
Some empires were more humane, of course. Empires could provide their inhabitants with protection and stability through currencies, constables, and courts (remember Hammurabi’s Code). But all these policies remained subject to the whim of the supreme ruler.
And that is the distinguishing trait of Government 1.0: unchecked power centered in one individual. The reason emperors could stay in power was that they exploited their hierarchies to delegate both power and wealth. As long as governors maintained loyalty to the emperor, they could exert broad powers in the regions under their control and use those powers to accumulate great amounts of money. They in turn delegated power to those beneath them, and so on down through the hierarchy.
What could be more successful than this carrot-and-stick methodology combining vast rewards with threats of terror?
There must be something persnickety about the character of ancient Athens. They couldn’t tolerate strong leaders. Almost anyone who ever pulled off a major military victory, proved to be a persuasive orator, or got a corner on political power eventually found himself executed or exiled. (The Athenians invented the idea of “ostracism”—a fiercely democratic institution in their implementation, ironically.) Socrates was just one of the later examples of the propensity Greeks showed for bringing down anyone who was widely admired.
So this seems to be a natural setting for a system that grants a voice to a wide range of citizens. The decisions they reach may not be the best, but they’re decisions that the political body can follow through on, having been reached democratically. The losers (if they weren’t powerful enough to scare the winners) can stick around and try again at the next gathering in the agora.
Greeks recognized from the beginning the problems of democracy with which we are so familiar today. They knew that many votes were bought outright, and that others could be pulled in by smooth-tongued sophists. They also knew their democracy rested precariously on the labor of the slaves and other disenfranchised residents. And that a democracy could become an oppressive empire, using behavior against people next door that it would never tolerate within the walls of its own city.
I like this disturbing contradiction. That’s why my web site, identi.ca account, and Twitter account are named after Praxagora, a character in an ancient Greek play that shows both the flaws and the immense power of democratic systems. The name Praxagora combines “action” with “public forum.”
Right or wrong, a democratically reached decision—which if properly done, comes into focus as an emergent property of the assembled masses rather than being imposed by one party or individual—has an irreproachable authority. Socrates didn’t like democracy, but if we are to believe Plato (who also didn’t like democracy), Socrates insisted on obeying the popular will, even at the cost of his life.
We shouldn’t hang a halo around direct democracy. In fact, the trend in technology-driven government transparency is not Athenian direct democracy—despite its idealization by some activists—but a tighter agency/public partnership. Today’s experiments in public participation go far beyond electing representatives. But even the traditional American political culture consists of more than bills and vote counts. For instance, the executive branch tends to consult regularly with the public, a topic I’ll take up in the next article in this series.
As we don digital media and communications—those somewhat ungainly garments we try to mold to human forms—in order to improve on twenty-five hundred years of flawed Government 2.0, we can learn some lessons from those millennia:
Like any useful technology, digital media and communications can help us realize a vision. Government 2.0 is a very old vision. A recognition of what has been achieved and what still challenges us can guide the development of the proper technology.
For instance, we can learn from history to bring the technology of participation to every member of the population and give them the opportunity to learn it, to subject the results of electronic deliberation to review by authorities governed by outside checks and balances, to highlight experts’ reputations so they can wield more influence, and to give participants on electronic forums a few cycles of decision-making to work out processes that make effective use of the technology.
Deploying Government 2.0 technology will teach us more about that technology, and about ourselves.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.