social change
Reclaiming Participatory Governance: Social Movements and the Reinvention of Democratic Innovation – review
In Reclaiming Participatory Governance, Adrian Bua and Sonia Bussu bring together analyses of social movements around the world that engage with democracy-driven or participatory governance. Although the essays in this volume reveal the challenge of bringing grassroots organising into our political systems, they advocate compellingly for nurturing these practices to create fairer and stronger democracies, writes Andrea Felicetti.
Reclaiming Participatory Governance is a compelling investigation of the potential for bottom-up forms of democratic innovations to vitalise our democracies. Anchored on Adrian Bua and Sonia Bussu’s concept of “democracy-driven governance” (DDG), this edited volume critically investigates the “potential, limits and opportunities” of social movements’ engagement with participatory and deliberative institutional designs. This is no small feat since social movements and democratic innovations are often seen as crucial in strengthening our democracies.
[Democracy-driven governance] is considered in its capacity for effectively ‘[o]pening up spaces for a deeper critique of minimalist liberal democratic institutions and the neoliberal economy that underpins them’.
From the introduction, expectations are high. Pitted against forms of “governance-driven democratisation” (GDD) that tend to be seen as top-down and markedly bureaucratic, DDG is considered in its capacity for effectively “[o]pening up spaces for a deeper critique of minimalist liberal democratic institutions and the neoliberal economy that underpins them”. Of course, this needs to occur at a time when “space for meaningful citizen input is increasingly constrained by technocratic decision-making and global economic pressure”.
The book presents a highly coherent and impressive collection of in-depth analyses that span theory and empirical research, with a great variety of cases. Spain takes centre stage, and there are no case studies from English-speaking countries, going markedly against the tide. Theory is at the heart of the first section. Drawing from fascinating cases in Germany and Iceland, Dannica Fleuss shows the urgency of thinking about democracy beyond liberal institutions. Nick Vlahos introduces the idea of “participatory decommodification of social need” as an interesting way to think about how participatory governance can combat the worst effects of capitalism, with examples from Toronto, Canada. Based on his extensive fieldwork in Rosario, Argentina, Markus Holdo discusses the concept of “democratic care” to unearth the work performed by activists that needs to be recognised in participatory governance. Finally, Hendrik Wagenaar offers a compelling analysis of strengths and weaknesses of the GDD/DGG pair from a political economy standpoint, building on a well-established threefold distinction between the dominant economic, financial system, the political, administrative sector and civil society.
Vlahos introduces the idea of ‘participatory decommodification of social need’ as an interesting way to think about how participatory governance can combat the worst effects of capitalism
The second part is markedly empirical. Paola Pierri analyses the Orleans Metropole Assise for the Ecological Transition, in France, showing a case of “collaborative countervailing power” that reminds us that the seminal work of Empowered Participatory Governance by Archon Fung and Erik Olin Wright remains highly relevant to understand participatory governance. Lucy Cathcart Frodén investigates the parallels between prefigurative social movements and participatory arts projects as well as their potential to contribute to democratic renewal. A rather effective collaboration between “right to the city” activists and local administration is documented in Roberto Falanga’s in-depth analysis of the participatory process for the regeneration of one of the main squares in Lisbon, Portugal. Giovanni Allegretti shows clearly how anticolonial protests irrupt into and benefit participatory experiments in Kalaallit Nunaat, Greenland. Mendonça and colleagues, instead, systematically explore strengths and weaknesses of Gambiarra, an unconventional means social movements in Brazil use to break into elites-dominated elections at local and parliamentary level. Bua, Bussu and Davies offer the ultimate comparison about the GDD and DGG models as embodied in the historical trajectories of participatory governance of the cities of Nantes and Barcelona respectively.
The third section highlights problems and limitations. Joan Balcells and colleagues unveil the tension that lay at the basis of the famous participatory platform Decidim. Always focusing on Barcelona, Marina Pera and colleagues look at the Citizen Assets Program showing how lack of trust prevented this very advanced form of democratisation from being embedded into its context. Fabiola Mota Consejero considers another case from Spain where Madrid’s progressive local government broke with a longstanding tradition of conservative patronage but failed to turn its main innovation, Decide Madrid, into an effective means for participatory governance. Patricia Garcia-Espin, instead, shows the fatigue and disappointment of activists involved in another innovation of Madrid’s new municipalist government, the local forums. Finally, Sixtine Van Outryve looks at a fascinating case of a local Yellow Vest organization in Commercy, France, trying to set up an open citizens assembly to have a communalist project represented in the local government that ultimately failed.
Virtually every chapter of this book details a host of challenges participatory governance faces in the context of minimalist democracies dominated by neoliberal economics.
The findings in this book are rather sobering. Employing a rigorous approach devoid of self-celebration or ideological dismissal, virtually every chapter of this book details a host of challenges participatory governance faces in the context of minimalist democracies dominated by neoliberal economics. In many case studies, elements of both GDD and DGG coexist, and sometimes one morphs into the other. Second, empirical investigations highlight weaknesses with DGG. This reduces our expectations about this model of democratisation, yet it also lends it a more realistic and useful outlook. Third, while the theoretical section highlights the political economy of participatory governance as a crucial issue, that remains in the background in the empirical analysis, as it tends to happen in the field. This kind of investigation remains essential.
Further, after reading this book, one has the feeling that contemporary participatory governance grapples with two important limitations. First, the promotion of participatory governance remains primarily within the purview of a select group of political actors: progressive parties, particularly those with a robust radical left presence. As we move to the centre of the political spectrum, the idea of reinvigorating democracy, let alone doing so by means of radical participatory governance, seems to lose attractiveness. Indeed, the book consistently shows that, in those uncommon cases in which progressive parties that champion participatory governance take power, they downscale their democratisation ambitions as they face the challenges implied in participatory governance. These can vary from administrative hurdles in implementing innovation to more endogenous problems relating, for example, to internal conflicts arising from differing conceptions of democracy that exacerbate fatigue and disillusionment. Second, the book gives the sense that contemporary participatory governance still has a mass democracy problem. It is still missing any substantial connection with the public at large. Except for occasional influence during electoral campaigns, none of the studied experiments have garnered sustained support or substantial interest from the public at large.
This volume stands as proof of the ongoing efforts to use participatory governance in critical and democratising ways around the world
This might seem disheartening, especially because there is no practical solution in sight. The electoral defeat of Spanish municipalism, central to this book, heightens this sensation. Yet, there is not much use in despairing, and a temporal prospective might offer some hope. As Gianpaolo Baiocchi reminds in his refreshing concluding remarks, it is not so long ago that the idea of participatory democracy made its irruption in our democracies. Initially championed by social movements and to a lesser extent Left political projects in the 1960s, this idea was later taken up by mainstream policymakers and international agencies. Unsurprisingly, participatory governance has not been able to singlehandedly compete with the broader political trend towards neoliberal governance; indeed, it has had to adapted to it to some extent. The resistance it meets today shows major limitations. Yet, this volume stands as proof of the ongoing efforts to use participatory governance in critical and democratising ways around the world. It also speaks to the fact that there is great social scientific scholarship trying to understand and strengthen this phenomenon.
The book often refers to the value of learning from and with activists. Indeed, one of its the most significant contributions is its ability to forge an expanded understanding of participatory governance.
The book often refers to the value of learning from and with activists. Indeed, one of its the most significant contributions is its ability to forge an expanded understanding of participatory governance. This volume goes beyond the perpetual dispute between different conceptions of democracy. It shows how participatory governance todays draws from a rich tapestry of diverse ideas and practices – both old and new. The fact that concepts such as “care”, the “right to the city”, “communalism”, “new municipalism”, “gambiarra” and “decolonisation” are brought together in this volume speaks to the eclectic nature and vitality of contemporary participatory governance. Despite its challenges, participatory governance continues to attract the ingenuity of people and their eagerness for democracy. Persistence is crucial, as these are fundamental ingredients in the struggle to build a more equal and just world.
Note: This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science.
Image credit: Dedraw Studio on Flickr.
The Revolution Will Be Hilarious: Comedy for Social Change and Civic Power – review
Caty Borum‘s The Revolution Will Be Hilarious: Comedy for Social Change and Civic Power considers how comedy intersects with activism and drives social change. Borum’s accessible text draws from case studies and personal experience to demonstrate how comedy can successfully challenge norms, amplify marginalised voices and foster dialogue on issues from racism to climate change, writes Christine Sweeney.
Can you teach comedy? Can a sense of humour, charisma, delivery, stage presence and timing be learned? Comedy programmes popping up in universities across the world would say, “Yes, yes it can”. If the question is, “can you teach comedy as a tool for social change and civic power?”, Caty Borum has an entire book which aims to provide an answer.
The Revolution Will Be Hilarious: Comedy for Social Change and Civic Power by Caty Borum explores the intersection of comedy and social activism, delving into the question of whether comedy can be taught and used as a tool for social change. Borum discusses the role of creativity, cultural power, and participatory media in driving social change and how postmillennial social-justice organisations collaborate with comedians. Serving as a follow-up to Borum’s work co-written with Lauren Feldman in 2020, A Comedian and an Activist Walk into a Bar: The Serious Role of Comedy in Social Justice, this new book is a how-to manual with case studies on integrating comedy into social justice efforts.
[The] book is a how-to manual with case studies on integrating comedy into social justice efforts.
Borum reflects on her own comedy career, drawing from experiences working with sitcom legend Norman Lear on get-out-the-vote campaigns in the late ’90s and early 2000s like Declare Yourself. While these campaigns engaged young people and demonstrated the power of comedic efforts, Borum notes that the impact on electoral outcomes was limited. Though 2004 saw the largest turnout (nearly 50 per cent) of voters aged between 18 and 24, that demographic still accounted for just 17 per cent of the total voter population, and Bush beat his democratic rival John Kerry to secure a second term.
Although mobilising the public through comedy for direct political action may be too great an ask, Borum emphasises comedy’s narrative power in shaping public understanding and influencing cultural attitudes. The book explores the evolution of comedy in the participatory media age, especially its increased visibility during the pandemic and its role in challenging societal norms. The rise of independently produced content on social media has challenged the authority of networks and studios, boosting the democratisation and creative agency of comedy “content”. Though Borum acknowledges the benefits of social media for amplifying marginalised creators, she falls short of critically examining its impact on mental health, the spread of misinformation and biased algorithms. Despite this, she underscores comedy’s potential as a cultural intervention empowered by the participatory networked media age.
Positive deviance, according to Borum, is the quiet power of comedy that journalism lacks.
The book discusses the comedic response to political events, particularly the rise of Donald Trump, positioning comedy as a force for social change by offering fresh ways of undermining the status quo. According to Borum, comedians say what journalists cannot, thinking of Michelle Wolf, who at the 2018 White House Correspondents dinner pointed out the mutually beneficial cycle of journalists covering then-President Trump’s near-constant news feed. Positive deviance, according to Borum, is the quiet power of comedy that journalism lacks.
Comedy also serves as a creative space for marginalised voices, providing an alternative narrative and critique that traditional journalism may lack. Borum highlights the importance of optimism in comedy. Comedy provides a space for an alternate reality, for example the TV series Schitt’s Creek portrays a world where the LGBTQ community is fully accepted. In this sense, optimism can be a survival tactic. As Borum suggests,
[C]omedy as a force for social justice breaks down social barriers and opens space to discuss taboo topics; persuades because it is entertaining and makes us feel activating emotions of hope and optimism; serves as a mechanism for traditionally marginalized people to assert and celebrate cultural citizenship through media representation; acts as both social critique and civic imagination to envision a better world; and builds resilience to help power continued struggle against oppression.
Borum provides an in-depth, well-researched review of cultural entertainment activists, tracking the power of the entertainment industry to affect how people feel. “Pioneering cultural entertainment activists pushed for ‘mainstreaming’ oppressed people – including and normalizing their lives and lived experiences in entertainment.”
The book is something of a documented workshop, drawing from the experiences and insights of leaders across social justice activism and comedy to emphasise the power of media.
The book is something of a documented workshop, drawing from the experiences and insights of leaders across social justice activism and comedy to emphasise the power of media. Its instructive aspect lies in Borum’s description of running comedy workshops and writers’ rooms, offering a practical guide for both comedians and social activists. These collaborative spaces aim to translate key messages into comedy routines through storytelling, making complex issues more accessible. The author uses climate change and the opioid epidemic as examples, demonstrating how comedy can humanise and mobilise audiences to address pressing challenges.
Borum examines a case study of youth political activist group Hip Hop Caucus which aims to communicate a basic awareness of climate change to Black, Indigenous, and other People of Colour, who are the most affected by, and yet contribute the least to, climate change in the US (and globally). Even if this comedy work may not reach the oil companies responsible for the brunt of climate change, it serves to educate and mobilise audiences. In this sense, the messaging of the book goes, culture is important because it is the mechanism by which we relate to each other. Although it’s hard to demonstrate the material impact of comedy and the entertainment industry overall on political dynamics, communicating the mechanisms translating individual experiences in collective narrative storytelling to foster understanding and support is convincing.
Culture is important because it is the mechanism by which we relate to each other.
The Revolution Will Be Hilarious emphasises the power of comedy as a force for social justice and provides practical insights into its integration with activism. She effectively shows how collaboration between the two has the power to start meaningful conversations around racism, climate change, economic disenfranchisement, addiction and more. Borum’s work serves as a valuable guide for media and communication theorists, entertainment industry professionals, social activists, and comedians, showcasing the potential of collaboration between comedy and activism in sparking meaningful conversations on various societal issues.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science.
Image Credit: Paul Craft on Shutterstock.
Philosophers: the Original “Dishabituation Entrepreneurs”
“We have come to believe that it is not possible to understand the current period—and the shifts in what counts as normal—without appreciating why and how people do not notice so much of what we live with.”
That’s Tali Sharot (UCL) and Cass Sunstein (Harvard) writing recently in The New York Times. They continue:
The underlying reason is a pivotal biological feature of our brain: habituation, or our tendency to respond less and less to things that are constant or that change slowly.
We get used to once-novel features of our environment and cease to notice them. We get used to our own behavior, becoming comfortable with behavior (like lying) the more we do it.
Sharot and Sunstein cite the Milgram experiments and Nazi Germany as examples in which people were habituated to evil.
But not everyone accepts the things they’re used to. There are, they write, “dishabituation entrepreneurs”:
Those are people who have not habituated to the evils of their society; they both see the wrongdoing for what it is and call it out to cause dishabituation in others.
The “dishabituation entrepreneurs” they mention are people engaged in activism and are able to mobilize people towards social change by getting them to see what they’ve gotten used to.
Among their examples is Peter Singer, who is responsible for knocking many people out of their complacency with cruelty towards animals and neglect of the poor.
It’s good that they include a philosopher, but it seems to me that philosophers are all “dishabituation entrepreneurs” by trade—and not just for moral and political matters, but for a wide range of human activities, for our understanding of the world and our selves, for science, and for knowledge and thought in general.
As Bertrand Russell reportedly put it: “In all affairs it’s a healthy thing now and then to hang a question mark on the things you have long taken for granted.” That’s basically the unofficial motto of most Philosophy 101 courses.
The “markets” philosophers peddle their dishabituation to first-time buyers is typically the classroom. There are other markets: book and journal readers, conference attendees, occasionally broader swathes of the public. But a philosophy professor need not be the dishabituating analog of a multinational corporation in order to be a dishabituation entrepreneur; they’re just local.
Sharot and Sunstein think “dishabituation entrepreneurs” are important and ask “can dishabituation entrepreneurs be produced?”
Perhaps this is a new way to frame the value of studying philosophy.
The post Philosophers: the Original “Dishabituation Entrepreneurs” first appeared on Daily Nous.
A Just Energy Transition: Getting Decarbonisation Right in a Time of Crisis – review
In A Just Energy Transition: Getting Decarbonisation Right in a Time of Crisis, Ed Atkins argues for prioritising social over technical considerations in decarbonisation policies and sets out six principles for a just and sustainable transition. Focusing on the UK, the book makes a strong case for decarbonisation initiatives that centre community participation, worker inclusion and global equity, writes Sibo Chen.
A Just Energy Transition: Getting Decarbonisation Right in a Time of Crisis. Ed Atkins. Bristol University Press. 2023.
Find this book: 
As momentum for decarbonisation grows worldwide, how can the transition to renewable energy be made in a just and equitable manner? In response to this vital question of environmental politics, A Just Energy Transition by Ed Atkins is a timely contribution that delineates the multiple facets of the concept of a “just energy transition”. The book criticises the dominance of technical considerations over social and political ones in current policy discussions regarding decarbonisation. It urges greater scholarly and public attention to the elements that render decarbonisation unfair and undemocratic. Accordingly, its analytical focus is on “what a just energy transition should be” rather than “why such a transition is necessary.”
[A Just Transition] criticises the dominance of technical considerations over social and political ones in current policy discussions regarding decarbonisation
The book’s arguments are laid out in nine chapters. In Chapter One, Atkins contextualises the injustice inherent in the ongoing energy transition in the UK through a detailed account of how mounting energy expenses pose an urgent challenge to many households. With energy affordability having been largely overlooked in the development of renewable energy infrastructure thus far, many vulnerable and marginalised communities feel left “stranded” when renewable energy infrastructure is developed in their surroundings. Thus, Atkins argues that in order to achieve a just energy transition, protecting potentially “excluded” communities worldwide and offering them new possibilities for prosperity (like means to reduce living costs) is as important as phasing out fossil fuels.
Atkins contextualises the injustice inherent in the ongoing energy transition in the UK through a detailed account of how mounting energy expenses pose an urgent challenge to many households.
Chapter Two delves deeper into the operationalisation of a policy framework for just energy transition through an examination of the interrelationships between just transition, energy justice, and energy democracy. Recognising how current decarbonisation planning has been dominated by elite stakeholders, the chapter advocates for a government-led yet community-centred approach to the roll-out of renewable energy infrastructure. According to Atkins, this approach needs to prioritise the original “just transition” concept’s call for coalition building between climate activists and workers, marginalised communities’ call for participation in the decision-making process of energy projects and for the investments in renewable energy to engender structural and transformative reforms. To accomplish these objectives, energy transition initiatives should incorporate principles including distributive justice, procedural justice and recognition justice.
In subsequent chapters, Atkins details how different forms of energy injustice overlap and coincide with one another, drawing upon cases in the UK context. This analysis underscores the need for moving beyond thinking of opposition to renewable energy projects as “Not-In-My-Neighbourhood” (NIMBY)-ism. Instead, the opposition to and support for new landscapes resulting from decarbonisation by communities and residents reflects broader issues and narratives. Atkins outlines six rules that bring together the reduction of emissions, the support for vulnerable households, and the empowerment of communities.
First, he advocates for community-scale energy projects. While the imperative of decarbonisation necessitates the large-scale development of renewable energy projects, the placement of these projects in rural areas frequently gives rise to “green sacrifice zones” that inflict harm upon rural communities. To mitigate such distributive injustice, a just energy transition can include small renewable energy facilities directly benefiting their adjacent communities. These community-centred projects, supported by community investment as well as financial and technical aid from the state, enable the production of electricity that is owned by the local community and mitigate the negative effects of landscape disruption.
[Public] consultations tend to fail short in empowering people and communities in the decision-making process.
Second, he suggests that participation and voices of communities be amplified when developing new energy projects. Renewable energy projects commonly seek to obtain the support and approval of their host communities by means of public consultations. Yet, as evidenced by the local opposition to several wind turbine projects in the UK, such consultations tend to fail short in empowering people and communities in the decision-making process. Procedural injustice manifests itself when local residents are merely seen as passive recipients of reimbursement and compensation and bystanders of electricity generation, with little thought given to concerns such as energy access and landscape disruptions. Accordingly, community-level ownership ought to be considered in a just transition, as it not only fosters local support and buy-in but cultivates positive relationships among community members.
A notable advantage of community and public-owned renewable energy projects is their capacity to strengthen local economies. Stigmatisation affects communities grappling with energy poverty, as their lack of capacity to engage in energy transition initiatives (often attributable to substantial upfront infrastructure expenses) is misrecognised. Recognition justice entails respecting the variations among local stakeholders in terms of their motivations, priorities, experiences, and actions. Atkins thus calls for the foregrounding of community-centred energy schemes in local economies. Community Municipal Investments, which connect low-emission or renewable energy infrastructure to residents who require assistance, are a crucial tactic for advancing recognition justice.
Amid the escalating costs of energy, many households are unable to finance retrofitting projects designed to improve energy efficiency
A fourth priority is to provide for those most vulnerable to energy poverty. Amid the escalating costs of energy, many households are unable to finance retrofitting projects designed to improve energy efficiency. Recognising the vulnerability of these households while prioritising their needs fulfils the call for restorative justice. Given their substantial influence on the fundamental rights of households to heat and light, decarbonisation initiatives must prioritise energy availability, accessibility, and sustainability.
Atkins’ fifth call is to Ensure the participation and inclusion of workers. Providing better livelihoods and working conditions for workers is a key goal of the early advocates for just transition. In the UK, however, past, and current renewable energy projects have not fully realised this promise. As of now, the employment opportunities generated through decarbonisation are predominantly precarious, characterised by hazardous work environments and inadequate salaries in comparison to identical positions in the oil and gas sector. A long-term approach to green skills and employment that is attentive to worker-led action and voices is vital.
Ongoing decarbonisation initiatives in developed countries risk shifting the negative impacts of energy transitions to the Global South.
Lastly, the author stresses that a just energy transition in the UK must be achieved in a way that advances energy justice everywhere. Cosmopolitan (energy) justice, defined in the book as “linking low-carbon transitions to a broader understanding of global injustice(s)” (30), underscores that ongoing decarbonisation initiatives in developed countries risk shifting the negative impacts of energy transitions to the Global South. As evidenced by the escalation of illegal mining (eg, cobalt in the Democratic Republic of Congo and gold in Peru and Colombia) and waste disposal (eg, electronic waste dumped to countries such as India and Pakistan), the expanding demand for raw materials driven by renewable energy infrastructure poses a particular threat to the living conditions of communities situated on the periphery of global climate politics. To achieve an energy transition that incorporates the principle of cosmopolitan justice, decarbonisation needs to be reframed from a global perspective, reckoning with both the historical responsibility of developed countries for emissions as well as the entrenched injustices associated with colonialism.
Atkins’ advocacy for examining decarbonisation through the lenses of the urban-rural divide and global injustice offers valuable insights for future research development.
In sum, A Just Energy Transition elucidates the major theoretical discussions pertaining to the relationship between decarbonisation and social justice. Grounded in environmental justice theories, it proposes six principles crucial to accomplishing a just energy transition. The book’s discussion of the root factors of NIMBYism and the wide-ranging repercussions of energy poverty are comprehensive and convincing. Atkins’ advocacy for examining decarbonisation through the lenses of the urban-rural divide and global injustice offers valuable insights for future research development. Although the book’s exclusive focus on the UK restricts the generality of some of its arguments, it remains an informative resource for scholars and students intrigued by the political and social implications of decarbonisation.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.
Image Credit: I Wei Huang on Shutterstock.
A Theory of Everyone: Who We Are, How We Got Here, and Where We’re Going – review
In A Theory of Everyone: Who We Are, How We Got Here, and Where We’re Going, Michael Muthukrishna contends that the core issue affecting Western societies is increasing energy scarcity, leading to economic struggles, political disillusionment, and global instability. Though the public policy solutions Muthukrishna proposes – like better immigration systems and start-up cities – are outlined only vaguely, the book offers fresh ideas in an engaging writing style, according to James Sewry.
A Theory of Everyone: Who We Are, How We Got Here, and Where We’re Going. Michael Muthukrishna. Basic Books. London. 2023.
Find this book:
A Theory of Everyone by Michael Muthukrishna, Associate Professor of Economic Psychology at LSE, is a bold and ambitious book. It argues that the underlying cause of the present malaise of western societies is increasing energy scarcity. There is no doubt that the malaise is real. Since the global financial crisis, the UK has struggled to achieve economic and productivity growth; living standards are stagnant; inflation recently reached almost double figures; and the cost of energy spiked. As faith in politics and institutions is eroded, voters are drawn towards populism. Social media polarises us. The global order seems precarious: wars rage in Ukraine and the Middle East. In the words of Muthukrishna, “we can feel in our bones that the world is breaking – that something is wrong”.
The global order seems precarious: wars rage in Ukraine and the Middle East. In the words of Muthukrishna, ‘we can feel in our bones that the world is breaking – that something is wrong’.
The ultimate cause of all these different problems, Muthukrishna argues, is the lack of excess energy. Tapping into the energy contained within fossil fuels has driven society’s development since the Industrial Revolution, precipitating prosperity and increasing standards of living. Until relatively recently, energy seemed abundant. But fossil fuels are running out. The energy return on investment (EROI) that they offer is diminishing. For every single barrel of oil discovered in 1999 one could find at least another 1,000, but by 2010, this number had reduced to five. As Muthukrishna contends, we came to take energy for granted and stopped thinking about it. But as it becomes more expensive and more effort is spent on its extraction, life becomes harder. This matters because, as the availability of excess energy reduces, the “space of the possible”, that is, what humans are collectively able to achieve, shrinks with it. Humanity’s pressing challenge, therefore, is how to arrive at the “next level of abundance that leads to a better life for everyone”. Otherwise, according to Muthukrishna, the future will be bleak, with humanity beset by conflict over dwindling energy and resources.
Tapping into the energy contained within fossil fuels has driven society’s development since the Industrial Revolution, precipitating prosperity and increasing standards of living. Until relatively recently, energy seemed abundant.
To provide an approach to this enormously challenging future, A Theory of Everyone is divided into two parts. The first explains “who we are” and “how we got here”, detailing what the author proposes as the four “laws of life” which underpin human development: energy, innovation, cooperation and evolution. This layout is justified on the grounds that “the forces that shape our thinking, our economies, and our societies have become invisible to us”, and that in order to solve problems, we must first understand them. Part two then considers practical policy solutions that might begin to address our current predicament: “how this comprehensive theory of everyone can lead to practical policy applications.”
What distinguishes us is our capacity for social learning and imitation which has enabled each generation of humans to add to the stock of knowledge which is then acquired and marginally improved upon by each subsequent generation.
Given the scale and ambition of the book, it is perhaps unsurprising that the reader is left feeling disappointed by its suggestions for public policy. Muthukrishna essentially offers the following ideas: better designed immigration, educational and tax systems; start-up cities; programmable politics; the curation of free speech and genuine meritocracy; and improving the internet and social media. Taken by themselves, many of these ideas are sound, and if there were sufficient political will, ought to be implemented as soon as practically possible. There are also many powerful insights within the book that might help shift some common understandings, such as the assumption, which Muthukrishna powerfully counters, that what differentiates us as a species is our innate intelligence and ability to reason. Instead, what distinguishes us is our capacity for social learning and imitation which has enabled each generation of humans to add to the stock of knowledge which is then acquired and marginally improved upon by each subsequent generation. Our intelligence is therefore more the result of this evolving cultural “download” than it is thanks to raw ability.
It is difficult to see how the book’s policy ideas sufficiently match the scale of the challenges the author outlines.
However, some of these practical applications are frustratingly light on detail. For example, his proposals for “start-up cities” and “programme politics” in his chapter on governance in the twenty-first century are both sketched out only vaguely, with little sense of how they might be realised. Where ideas are fleshed out, they are sometimes caveated with qualifiers such as “this approach is one of many and may not even be the best approach”. On occasion the author struggles to move beyond platitudes, as in his very brief discussion of artificial intelligence: “More progress is needed to know the true limits of what machines can achieve and our role in all of this. The tides of progress can only be held back for so long.” It is difficult to see how the book’s policy ideas sufficiently match the scale of the challenges the author outlines.
Muthukrishna does not seem to appreciate, or at least makes no room for, the fact that a number of his fundamental assumptions, such as a belief in the underlying virtue of capitalism and economic growth, might not be universally shared. Others would want to see climate change given more thorough treatment.
These flaws do not mean that the book is without merit. A recognition of the world’s complexity and the author’s commitment to truth and the scientific method means he is robustly unafraid to court controversy. He lauds unfettered free speech, expresses scepticism towards affirmative action, and explores sex-based differences in intelligence, while on immigration he contends that new migrants bring “with them cultural values both desirable and less desirable”. Muthukrishna is arguably right not to shy away from these controversial areas for, as he argues, “we can only arrive at the truth in a diverse environment of different backgrounds, considering all hypotheses and ideas – both those we like and those we don’t.”
Muthukrishna is arguably right not to shy away from […] controversial areas for, as he argues, ‘we can only arrive at the truth in a diverse environment of different backgrounds, considering all hypotheses and ideas’
The book is also written in an engaging and accessible manner, and whilst it might fail to attain the heights it purports to reach, in its fresh thinking it is a welcome addition to the basket of literature that helps contemporary politicians, policymakers, and anyone with an interest in the direction of humanity grapple with the complexity of today’s challenges.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.
Image Credit: blvdone on Shutterstock.
Q and A with Jonathan White on In the Long Run: The Future as a Political Idea
We speak to Jonathan White about his new book, In the Long Run: The Future as a Political Idea, which investigates how changing political conceptions of the future have impacted societies from the birth of democracy to the present.
On Tuesday 30 January 2024 LSE staff, students, alumni and prospective students can attend a research showcase where Jonathan White will discuss the book.
In the Long Run: The Future as a Political Idea. Jonathan White. Profile Books. 2024.
Find this book:
Q: What is the value of examining democracy in terms of its orientation towards, or relationship to, the future?
My book tries to show how beliefs about the future shape expectations of who should hold power, how it should be exercised, and to what ends. The emergence of modern democracy in Europe coincided with new ways of thinking about time. In the 18th and 19th centuries, emerging ideas of a future that could be different from the present and susceptible to influence helped to spur mass political participation. Movements of the left cast the future as the place of ideals, and “isms” such as socialism and liberalism provided the basis on which strangers could find common cause. Conversely, authoritarians have used the future differently to pacify the public and keep power out of its hands. Projecting democracy, prosperity and justice into the future is one way to seek acceptance of their absence in the present.
In the 18th and 19th centuries, emerging ideas of a future that could be different from the present and susceptible to influence helped to spur mass political participation.
Q: Why is an emphasis on continuation beyond the present essential to the operation of democracy?
Modern democracy is representative democracy, and that gives the future particular significance. Why should people accept the results of elections that go against them? “Losers’ consent” is generally said to rest on the notion that victories and defeats are temporary – there will always be another chance to contest power. The expected future acts as a resource for the acceptance of adversaries and of mediating institutions and procedures. One of today’s challenges is that this sense of continuation into the future is increasingly questioned. Problems of climate change, inequality, geopolitics and social change are widely viewed as so urgent and serious that they remove any scope for error – waiting for the “next time” is not enough. Every political battle starts to feel like the final battle, to be won at all costs. This year’s US presidential election will be fought in these terms and will make clear the stresses it puts on democracy.
One of today’s challenges is that this sense of continuation into the future is increasingly questioned. Problems of climate change, inequality, geopolitics and social change are widely viewed as so urgent and serious that they remove any scope for error
Q: You credit liberal economic thinkers like Adam Smith with “pushing back the temporal horizon”. How did their ideas around the free market treat the future?
In the early Enlightenment, defenders of free trade and commerce tended to emphasise the dividends that could be expected in the short term – peace and stability, for example, and access to goods. But the legitimacy of the market order would be hard to secure if it rested only on immediate benefits. What if conditions were harsh, or wealth was concentrated in the hands of the few? Pioneers of liberal economic thought such as Smith started to promote a longer perspective, allowing them to cite benefits that would need time to materialise, such as advances in efficiency, productivity and innovation. The future could also be invoked to indicate where present-day injustices would be ironed out. What we now know as “trickle-down” economics, in which returns for the rich are embraced on the idea that they will percolate down to the many, entails pointing to the future to defend the inequalities of the present. By invoking an extended timeframe, one can seek to rationalise a system that otherwise looks dysfunctional.
Pioneers of liberal economic thought such as Smith started to promote a longer perspective, allowing them to cite benefits that would need time to materialise, such as advances in efficiency, productivity and innovation.
Q: You cite the 20th-century ascendance of technocracy, of “ideas of the future as an object of calculation, best placed in the hands of experts”. How has this impacted democratic agency?
One way to think about the future is in terms of probabilities – what outcomes are most likely and how they can be prepared for. You find this outlook in business, and in government – especially in its more technocratic forms. It brings certain things with it. A focus on prediction and problem-solving often means focusing on a relatively near horizon – a few years, months, weeks or less – as where the future can be gauged with greatest certainty. And that in turn tends to go with a consciously pragmatic form of politics, less interested in the longer timescales needed for far-reaching change. In terms of the democratic implications, a focus on probabilities tends to elevate the role of experts – economists, for example – as those able to harness particular methods of projection such as statistics. If you turn the future into an object of calculation, it tends to favour elite modes of rule.
An emphasis on prediction is also something that has shaped how politics is covered in the media. Consider the use of opinion polls to narrate change – increasingly prominent from the 1930s onwards – which encourage a spectator’s perspective. Or consider a style of reporting quite common today, whereby a journalist talks about “what I’m hearing in Washington / Westminster / Brussels”. Its focus is on garnering clues about who seems likely to do what, and what they think others will do. The accent is less on the analysis of how things could be, or should be, or indeed currently are, and more on where they seem to be heading. It is news as managers or investors might want it – and politically that often amounts to an uncritical perspective.
Q: You discuss how desires to calculate the future through military forecasting took hold during the Cold War. What are the legacies of this in governmental politics today?
One of the main functions of military forecasting during the Cold War was to second-guess the actions of enemy states – where their weaknesses lay, where they might attack, and so on. That was true in both the West and the East. But forecasting was also applied to the control of populations at home, and not just with an eye to foreign policy. Fairly early on, national security experts started to get involved in public policy and urban planning – think of initiatives such as the “war on crime” launched by US President Lyndon Johnson in 1965. The outlook of the military forecaster began to transfer from the realm of geopolitics to public policy, counterinsurgency and the management of domestic protest, bringing methods of secrecy with it. Today’s forms of surveillance governance are the descendants of these forecasting techniques. And so too are conspiracy theories, which are often based on the idea that some have more knowledge of the future than they let on. Theories of 9/11 that suggest the US government saw the attack coming and deliberately let it happen, or even assisted it, are emblematic.
Q: Why is reducing social and economic inequality important to enable future-oriented political engagement from as many people as possible?
Democratic participation requires the capacity to see the present from the perspective of an imagined better future. But that presupposes the time and capacity for reflection. Those living in insecure conditions typically lack the resources and inclination to turn their eyes to the future. In exhausting jobs, the focus tends to be on getting through the day (or night): the present dominates the future. In precarious jobs or unemployment, people lack control of their lives: the future can look too unpredictable to bother with. Political engagement also depends on a sense that the problems encountered are shared with others. A workplace centred on short-term contracts on the contrary presents individuals with a constantly changing cast of peers. Other things can also undercut a sense of shared fate – personal debt, for instance, or algorithmic forms of scoring (eg, in insurance) that focus on the particularities of individual lives.
In exhausting jobs, the focus tends to be on getting through the day (or the night): the present dominates the future.
This is the sense in which the social and economic changes of the last few decades have fostered the privatisation of the future. The choices of political organisations like parties and movements are crucial in this context. They can either challenge these tendencies, developing that critical perspective on the present and a sense of shared fate – think eg, of a movement like the Debt Collective. Or they can reproduce these tendencies – eg, by treating voters as individuals who want only to maximise their own interests.
Q: What effects can crises have on how governments and citizens conceptualise and act on the future? Are current democratic political systems capable of addressing the climate crisis, the great future-oriented challenge of our time?
Crises tend to engender a sense of scarce time, and in the contemporary state that tends to bring a managerial approach to the fore. Emergencies are governed as one more problem of calculation, with a focus on concrete outcomes that can be traced from the present. The risk is that questions of justice and structural change get marginalised, as considerations that distract from the immediacy of the situation and open too many issues. Emergency government tends to prioritise short-term goals over long-term, and those which are concrete and quantifiable over those which are not.
Climate change too tends to be turned into a problem of calculation in policymaking circles. One sees it with the targets and deadlines invoked. By making net zero carbon emissions an overriding objective, authorities can marginalise considerations no less relevant to human wellbeing and environmental protection – biodiversity, global health and economic equality, for example. This is why some climate scholars see such methods as counterproductive. By emphasising a particular set of variables within a delimited timeframe, targets and deadlines get us thinking more about the near future, crowded with specificities, and less about the further horizon and the more general, incalculable goals that belong to it.
Taking the future seriously meant not hemming oneself in with false precision but setting out clear principles and organising in their pursuit.
The pitfalls of exactitude are something I try to highlight in the book. Not only is it hard to make predictions in a volatile world, but a focus on quantified targets can be counterproductive, since the facts at any moment can be bleak. As the socialists of the late 19th century understood, if the future was to be about radical change pursued over the long term, one could not afford to get lost in the details of the moment. Taking the future seriously meant not hemming oneself in with false precision but setting out clear principles and organising in their pursuit. I think this is a message that still applies. Climate change requires science and precision to grasp, but climate politics requires balancing this with a sense of uncertainty, open-endedness, and the possibility of radical change.
Note: This interview gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The interview was conducted by Anna D’Alton, Managing Editor of LSE Review of Books.