The Disenfranchisement Complaint Colin Ross Kielty Yorba Linda, CA BA, University of California, Santa Barbara, 2006 MA, Univers
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The Disenfranchisement Complaint Colin Ross Kielty Yorba Linda, CA BA, University of California, Santa Barbara, 2006 MA, University of Chicago, 2009 A Dissertation (or Thesis) presented to the Graduate Faculty of the University of Virginia in Candidacy for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy Department of Politics University of Virginia September, 2018 Professor Stephen K. White Professor Lawrie Balfour Professor Jennifer Rubenstein Professor Rachel Wahl Introduction: Disenfranchisement in the Democratic Imagination On August 9, 2014, Michael Brown was shot dead in Ferguson, Missouri. His killing, the neglect of his bullet-ridden body, and the behavior of the Ferguson police department—at once evasive and repressive—all contributed to a subsequent protest movement that achieved mass scale and national attention. But as that movement gained momentum, the domain of grievances that it articulated widened. Not only did citizens of Ferguson and the surrounding areas voice complaints about Brown’s slaying itself. Nor did they focus exclusively on the police response to their protests, immortalized in images of camouflaged phalanxes of officers and snipers perched atop armored tactical vehicles.1 In addition to complaints about these things, protesters expanded the range of relevant issues to include the general experience of simply being a citizen in Ferguson. Specifically, they complained that part of their experience was the condition of being disenfranchised. As Ferguson Democratic committeewoman Patricia Bynes described the source of her community’s disaffection, “the African-American community [in Ferguson] has been disenfranchised for a very long time.”2 Russell Gunn, a former state representative whose district included part of Ferguson, described community sentiment thusly: “Some people feel so disenfranchised, they wonder what good [getting politically involved] is going to do.”3 And 1 A particularly iconic image containing all of these things lead the New York Times’ initial coverage of the protest, just days after Brown’s slaying. See Julie Bosman and Erik Eckholm, “Anonymity in Police Shooting Fuels Anger in Missouri,” New York Times, August 13, 2014. 2 See Bynes’s NPR interview with Robert Siegel, “Between Ferguson’s Police and Population, A Racial Divide,” All Things Considered, August 14, 2014. 3 Nick Timiraos and Dante Chinni, “Why Is Ferguson’s City Leadership Not Racially Representative?,” The Wall Street Journal, Aug 25, 2014. 1 several commentators, such as The Root’s Charles D. Ellison, stressed that the township’s black residents were both “struggling and disenfranchised” well before Brown’s killing.4 The complaint has not been confined to Ferguson. It was echoed in the wake of the Baltimore Uprising ignited by the killing of Freddie Gray, and it has also surfaced in Anglophone media coverage of social conditions in Paris’s outlying banlieues.5 The language of disenfranchisement has even been deployed as an analytic for understanding the grievances of the diffuse menagerie of movements organized under the banner of “Occupy.” New York Times writers Jeff Zeleny and Megan Thee-Brenan describe Occupy Wall Street as animated by “a sense that the poor and middle class have been disenfranchised.”6 And Andrew Sullivan brings Europe’s anti-austerity protests into the same fold, writing: “The theme that connects them all is disenfranchisement, the sense that the world is shifting deeply and inexorably beyond our ability to control it through our democratic institutions.”7 Each invocation of disenfranchisement here differs, as the anarchy of everyday language doesn’t accommodate the tidiness of analytical precision and coherence. But shared among all of these invocations is an at least partially conscious choice of rhetorical equipment, one that leverages the taut polysemy that holds literal and metaphorical senses of disenfranchisement together to explain—partially, but still effectively—what is going wrong. Citizens are shut out of 4 Ellison, “Ferguson’s White City Leadership Must Change,” The Root, August 18, 2014. 5 See Charles Blow, “Violence in Baltimore,” New York Times, April 29, 2015. American media coverage spurred by both the Charlie Hebdo and the November 2015 Paris attacks also employed this language. See Liz Alderman, “After Terrorist Attacks, Many French Muslims Wonder: What Now?,” New York Times, January 10, 2015; and Walied Shater, “To Stop Radicalization, the French Need More Fraternité, “New York Times,” November 19, 2015. 6 Jeff Zeleny and Megan Thee-Brenan, “New Poll Finds a Deep Distrust of Government,” New York Times, October 25, 2011. 7 Andrew Sullivan, “How I Learned to Love the Goddamn Hippies,” Newsweek, October 22, 2011. 2 important spheres of public life, but not just that. They are also pushed around with far too much impunity, but not just that either. They are also disempowered, deprived of the voice, the say, the input and—crucially—the involvement that democratic citizenship ought to entail. The disenfranchisement complaint highlights and foregrounds this kind of disempowerment. And, with the appeal to explicitly democratic language—a language that, outside of a background of democratic desires and aspirations, would make little sense at all—it takes on a similarly democratic cast. Disenfranchisement is not just powerlessness in general. Iris Young, to this point, describes “powerlessness” as one of the five faces of oppression. Young means to capture with the term a “mediated” condition wherein some citizens not only cannot participate in making the decisions that affect their lives, but also have no authority or standing to challenge the orders and command issues by others who are similarly shut out of decision-making.8 But it is not the putative power to issue orders or commands that stands as Young’s corresponding expectation or ideal. Instead, it is the normative goal of participation, a goal with its own democratic pedigree. But how would one describe the lack of participation, its undermining, diminution, or failure? Exclusion perhaps.9 But one can be ostensibly included and still feel that one’s participation is thin, inconsequential, even meaningless. What language is available then? Powerlessness and disempowerment are apt descriptors of a kind of injustice. Participation is useful way of naming an important political good. But these vocabularies are incomplete. 8 See Young, Justice and the Politics of Difference (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), Chapter 2. 9 Young elsewhere differentiates between “external” and “internal” forms of exclusion to capture this issue in part. But, as Chapter 1 will argue, the language of exclusion as such has constitutive difficulties in capturing what goes wrong in cases of disenfranchisement. See Young, Inclusion and Democracy (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), Chapter 2. 3 The core idea of this dissertation is that disenfranchisement offers a more complete, prescient and powerful vocabulary for describing contemporary injustice. It picks out—if not uniquely, then most directly, forcefully, acutely—the condition of having no voice; of being systematically ignored; of lacking any real say in the political and social life that one shares with others; of being shunted into a citizenship that is all subject, no author. In short disenfranchisement highlights and vivifies, even as its utterance contests, the disempowerment that leaves citizens vulnerable, if not helpless, and unfree. Political theorists are typically quick to acknowledge these issues. But they can be just as quick to shift to other kinds of complaints—exclusion, oppression, and especially domination— to express what is really wrong in a given instance, and to articulate in more general terms the forms of injustice should preoccupy our normative imagination. Indeed, while disenfranchisements and its cognates pop up in academic contexts as a way to capture a condition of normative injury (in addition to disenfranchisement’s appearance in the press and in the streets), this usage is no less off-hand and no more analytically precise than it is elsewhere. Democratic theory’s unwillingness to disaggregate disenfranchisement from other species of injustice—and our more general tendency to default away from its analytical use as the intellectual stakes are raised—is in large part a result of a lack of appreciation of, if not skepticism towards, the corresponding ideal of enfranchisement. Enfranchisement is typically associated with the right and effective opportunity to vote alone, such that one is enfranchised when one has a specifically electoral say in things. But the kind of empowerment that the idea of enfranchisement carries with it—a secure, meaningful and symmetric form of empowerment, one that is necessarily shared with others and only exercisable for common purposes, but is all the more powerful for it—is deeper and wider than the institutional franchise alone. Indeed, we 4 can find this distinctively democratic kind of empowerment absent in a whole range of contexts: not just strictly electoral ones, but also when politics is conducted through talk, in the practices through which we decide what deserves public attention in the first place, and within the practices through which public memory that underpins our background understandings of the world is constructed and shaped. All of these areas represent not only domains of social or political life, but also ways of exercising power over those who move within them. Citizens can be enfranchised—secure in a