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  • Jennifer McCoy on Pernicious Polarization, Hungary's Lessons, and the Case for PR
    2026/07/02
    The latest episode of This Old Democracy features Jennifer McCoy, a non-resident scholar at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace and political science professor at Georgia State University. McCoy is one of the world's leading researchers on democratic erosion and recovery, and on political polarization — a topic she has spent years studying comparatively across dozens of countries. The conversation with host Micah Sifry covers a lot of ground: what's really wrong with American democracy right now, what happened in Hungary, and whether structural reforms like proportional representation and fusion voting could help dig us out. McCoy wastes no time getting to the diagnosis. "I think we're in trouble," she tells Sifry early on. "We have extreme political polarization that I call pernicious polarization because it has a harm to democracy... And we have democratic backsliding going on. And basically we have a frayed society, a frayed social fabric that makes it difficult." "Pernicious" is the key word. McCoy draws a distinction between ordinary political polarization — which simply presents voters with choices, and can be healthy — and the pernicious variety, which "gets so extreme and uses negative tactics and negative rhetoric that demonizes and belittles the opposition" to the point where compromise becomes impossible and the other side starts to feel like an existential threat. That dynamic, she argues, is exactly what we're living through, and declining presidential poll numbers alone aren't enough to break it. Her proposed remedy is counterintuitive, at least to ears trained on the bridge-building discourse: rather than trying to reduce polarization directly, she argues we need to repolarize — but along a different axis. Instead of the red-vs.-blue, Democrat-vs.-Republican divide that currently structures our politics, she wants to see a new organizing line drawn between top and bottom, or between the interests of ordinary people and a corrupt elite. As she puts it: "We have one axis of polarization now, and it's basically defined as red, blue, Democrat, Republican... So what we're saying is you take that axis and you shift it around, like moving around a clock, move that line around and create a new axis, but one where you're not dividing into two equal parts, where you can actually galvanize a large group, a large majority, around an idea." It sounds theoretical, but McCoy has a concrete recent example: Hungary. This past spring, Viktor Orbán — who spent 16 years transforming Hungary from a democracy into what McCoy calls an "illiberal autocracy," and who has served as a model for authoritarian leaders elsewhere — lost power in a stunning electoral defeat. The victor, Peter Magyar, was actually a defector from Orbán's own party, and he succeeded largely by doing exactly what McCoy's framework prescribes: presenting a new axis of conflict, pitting the nation against Orbán's "clan" of cronies and corrupt elites. Magyar campaigned everywhere, including rural areas that had long been Orbán strongholds. And because he came from the inside, he was able to preempt the government's attempts to pin corruption charges on him by simply acknowledging his own past and denouncing the system. The Hungary comparison leads naturally to a conversation about structural reform. Sifry raises fusion voting and proportional representation as tools for escaping the two-party doom loop. McCoy is an advocate for both. On proportional representation, she makes the case with precision: it reduces pernicious polarization because it opens up political space beyond the binary. When people only have two options, she notes, they tend to vote against the scarier one — negative partisanship — rather than for something they actually believe in. Proportional systems allow parties to earn seats in proportion to the votes they actually receive, and multi-member districts could, in a state like Georgia, produce a congressional delegation that includes a MAGA Republican, a traditional Republican, a centrist Democrat, a progressive Democrat, and perhaps a Libertarian or Working Families representative. That's not fragmentation; that's a politics that more accurately reflects what voters actually want. And on fusion voting, McCoy is equally warm. She notes what Ticket readers already know: fusion doesn't require a constitutional amendment. Neither does proportional representation for the House — just a change to a single law passed in 1967. "[N]either of these require a constitutional amendment," she says. "They can be done just with changing legislation." The episode closes on the question Sifry puts to every guest: how do you cope? McCoy turns to Buddhist philosophy — "impermanence makes possible transformation" — and to the people around her: colleagues who believe in human agency, students, and younger generations who want something different and are ready to take risks to get it. It's a grounded...
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    35 分
  • What Would It Mean for a Party to Actually Represent You?
    2026/06/22
    The latest This Old Democracy features Tabatha Abu El-Haj on associational party building, the power of a ballot line, and what democratic accountability can look like in practice. Something is missing from American politics — and it's not a policy position or a charismatic leader. It's a structural connection between the people who hold office and the communities they claim to represent. Tabatha Abu El-Haj, a professor of law at Drexel University and a nationally recognized scholar of the First Amendment and the law of democracy, has a name for what's missing. She calls it associational party building, and it's the subject of both a paper recently released by New America under the title A Model for Associational Party Building and a rich conversation with host Micah Sifry on the latest episode of This Old Democracy. The argument is deceptively simple: parties work best not as top-down electoral machines, but as living, rooted civic associations — embedded in the communities they represent, rich in face-to-face relationships, and accountable in ways that money alone can never manufacture. Abu El-Haj came to this view through an indirect route. She had spent years studying money in politics, but arrived at a sobering conclusion: you can't take money out of politics. So where does that leave ordinary people? "What they have is numbers on election day, but to exercise that power requires effective organization." She describes the problem with both major parties in terms that will feel familiar to most readers. The two major parties, she says — especially at the national level — "feel very disconnected from what the rest of us experience life as." They operate, in her telling, at a remove from ordinary people, inside echo chambers driven not just by moneyed elites but by professional ones too. An associational party is a remedy for that disconnection — one that starts bottom-up, invests in genuine community relationships, and gives ordinary members real encounters with the candidates and elected officials who depend on them. Here is where the theory connects most directly to election reform. What gives an associational party its distinctive power — beyond what any civic coalition can achieve on its own — is the ability to make its contribution to a candidate's victory visible and auditable. Without a separate line on the ballot, there's no way to prove, conclusively, how many votes came from your people. And without that proof, elected officials can always find a reason to take the meeting but ignore the ask. As we've written here frequently, fusion voting allows minor parties to show that proof without asking voters to waste a vote or spoil an election. Abu El-Haj's research draws on extensive interviews with organizers who built a new fusion party and experienced the shift from interest group to political party firsthand. The civic group leaders recounted how their relationships with legislators were transformed: "Before we were a part of the party, we would get access, but it would be like begging…. And then, you know, we would tell them, yeah, we delivered, but they were like, 'Yeah, we probably could have gotten those votes anyways. We could have hired other people to, it was just a matter of money.'" Once a party can point to a specific number of votes cast on its line in a specific district, that argument collapses. The contribution is no longer deniable. And from that shift — from invisible to auditable — real accountability becomes possible. The ballot line, she notes, also acts as organizational glue: in any coalition, tensions arise, but members who have tasted that kind of power don't easily walk away. Abu El-Haj is careful to note that her primary case study — the Working Families Party's experience in New York — was founded by unions and community organizing groups with deep roots in relational politics, and that not every new party effort starts from that foundation. But the core insight, she argues, applies broadly: to centrist parties trying to build a home for voters alienated from both major parties, to reform movements working to restore fusion voting, and as a cautionary lesson about what happens when parties don't do this work. She points to MAGA's rise as a case in point: it was able to emerge, she argues, in part because the old Republican elite "was not very well embedded" — and the same is true of the Democrats. "In the Bush-Clinton era," as she puts it, both parties were "disengaged." Churches, PTAs, civic associations, local unions — these are potential anchors for any party willing to do the slow, relational work. The model doesn't require a particular ideology. It requires a particular kind of commitment. "I hope that the leaders of those parties, when they get their ballot line in, will think about comparable ways to embed themselves." Go listen. It's one of the more useful conversations we've hosted about what democratic power actually...
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    34 分
  • Michael Latner on voting rights, proportional representation, and the ruins of the VRA
    2026/06/05
    The Callais decision is a watershed moment. Latner argues the only path forward runs through "party-system" reforms: PR w/ a side of Fusion. The Supreme Court didn't just rewrite the rules of redistricting in Louisiana v. Callais. It effectively ended, after more than forty years, the regime of legal protection for minority voters that the Voting Rights Act had built. The decision stripped away the tools that voting rights lawyers have relied on since the 1980s to identify and remedy racial vote dilution, leaving what Justice Kagan called, in dissent, "a dead letter." The latest episode of This Old Democracy features Michael Latner, professor of political science at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo and director of research on democratic reform at Harvard Law School's Charles Hamilton Houston Institute for Race and Justice. Latner co-authored Gerrymandering in America: The House of Representatives, the Supreme Court, and the Future of Popular Sovereignty, and a major article in the Yale Law Journal (co-authored with Guy-Uriel E. Charles, Luis Fuentes-Rohwer and Carlos Algara) titled "Callais Confusion, Power Sharing, and the Inevitability of Proportional Representation" — published shortly before the Court issued its ruling. Host Micah Sifry puts that article, and its central argument, to the test over the course of a wide-ranging, substantive conversation. Latner walks through the mechanics of the Callais decision with admirable clarity. It isn't just that the court made it harder to prove discrimination; it's that the majority essentially declared that the only permissible approach is "racial blindness" — that courts can no longer rely on racial data to identify whether district maps dilute minority voting power. The catch: in a country where 90 percent of Black voters in Louisiana vote for the Democratic Party, the idea that race and party affiliation can be cleanly separated is, in Latner's telling, "empirically not possible." States can now gerrymander with impunity as long as they claim they're doing it for partisan, not racial, reasons. The fallout has been fast. Louisiana suspended an ongoing primary to redraw its maps and remove one of its two majority-minority districts. Tennessee eliminated its Black congressional district. Alabama, Mississippi — and maybe others are moving. As Latner puts it, states are "acting on the decision even before the ink is dry." What does all of this tell us about American democracy more broadly? Latner doesn't soften the diagnosis: "We are the only major democracy in the world that seats only two parties in its legislature... many U.S. voters were understandably upset at the Democratic Party in 2024. It was a poorly performing party. There was a leadership crisis. These are things that in normal democracies you would see the governing party replaced with an alternative. The problem in the U.S. is that the only alternative was an authoritarian one." Most proportional systems, he notes, have contained or constrained their authoritarian movements — through coalition governments that collapse when one party overreaches, or through vote-share constraints that limit how much power any single faction can accumulate. The United States is one of the rare cases where a major party has been fully taken over by authoritarian forces and handed unilateral control of government. That is not a coincidence. It is a structural consequence of our electoral system. This brings Latner to the central argument of his Yale Law Journal article: that proportional representation (PR) is not merely desirable but, given where the courts have taken us, inevitable. "The short answer hearkens back to Winston Churchill — that the Americans will do the right thing after they've tried everything else." The logic runs as follows. If the Supreme Court demands racial blindness, and if the only system that can achieve fair representation without relying on racial data is one where the threshold for winning a seat is low enough that any coherent organized coalition gets seats proportional to its votes — then proportional representation isn't just a reform preference. It is the only legally defensible path to minority representation in a post-VRA world. "If the Supreme Court is serious and we are now in an era, a post-VRA era where … the use of racial data in order to protect voters of color is not going to be used in operation of protecting voting rights; and if in fact racial blindness, which is what the court refers to as an appropriate approach to protecting voting rights, if that's actually the only option, there's only one type of electoral system where you can truly be racially blind. That is, you don't take account of race when you're designing the rules and the system, and that's proportional representation." The contrast with the old VRA framework is sharp. Under the Voting Rights Act, the state had to carve out specific districts, count citizen voting-age population, use ...
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    39 分
  • Heather McGhee on Zero-Sum Politics, the Party System, and Finding Hope in History
    2026/05/29
    Heather McGhee is featured on the latest episode of our This Old Democracy podcast. Heather is the former president of Demos, author of the bestselling The Sum of Us: What Racism Costs Everyone and How We Can Prosper Together, and one of the most incisive voices in American political life and thought. In the conversation with host Micah Sifry, McGhee connects the dots between the racial politics she chronicled in The Sum of Us and the authoritarian moment we're living through right now — and she doesn't let the two-party system off the hook. McGhee's central argument in her writing and organizing is that the "zero-sum mindset" — the belief that gains for people of color come only at the expense of white Americans — has been systematically deployed by elites to destroy support for shared public goods. She famously illustrated this with the story of Southern communities that literally drained and then shut down their public swimming pools rather than allow Black children to swim alongside white children. On the podcast, she updates that analysis for our era. For me it remains a useful and powerful framework for understanding what's going on in front of our dismayed eyes. "I wish that the book didn't have so much to say in this moment. I wish that it was an antiquated time capsule. If only... Elon Musk comes in, the richest man in the world and gleefully tries to destroy everything we hold in common from cancer research to national parks to life-saving AIDS treatment. We really are living in a world where the zero-sum story is the core right-wing narrative in the United States and in many other places." The conversation turns to why Trump's second term feels qualitatively different from his first. McGhee's diagnosis is clear: the corporate world has bent the knee, Silicon Valley has bankrolled the regime, and the authoritarian playbook — going after lawyers, universities, and media — is running on all cylinders. But she pushes back on the narrative that the country itself has swung sharply rightward. "I think it's really important that we not over-attribute an electoral snapshot to the heart and soul of this country… People are disgusted by the immigration crackdown… Donald Trump's numbers are in the tank across everything, from the economy to immigration. And people are actually more hungry for big solidarity solutions — like addressing health care costs in a way that is permanent, universal, and guaranteed. These policies that are like refilling the pool of public goods, they're a sort of update of the New Deal era, are far more popular than any political party." From there, the conversation moves to terrain that is very much The Ticket's home turf: whether the two-party system itself is one of the root causes of our crisis. McGhee doesn't hedge. "Between money-in-politics and the two-party system, we simply don't have enough choices, and there is such a radical class bias to our electoral options that you have a working class and increasingly a middle class that just does not have enough champions in politics. As long as that is the case — late-stage capitalism, record inequality, and we don't have a politics that is not responsive to it — we are going to continue to have volatility. We're going to continue to have faux populists, outsiders, authoritarians saying, 'I can fix this, I will blow up this system for you.' And then they come in and line their pockets." She's unambiguous about the remedy: fusion voting and multi-party democracy. And she grounds her case in history, pointing to the cross-racial Fusion coalitions of the post-Civil War South — in North Carolina, Alabama, and Georgia — as a model for what electoral pluralism can do for communities of color. "There is a long history in this country of fusion voting really being about creating cross-racial coalitions. And you see that in the era after the Civil War, when that is the only way you had white working class and Black power to help create Southern democracy, in that narrow window before the Supreme Court and the northern elites gave up on it." With the Supreme Court now amputating the last leg of the Voting Rights Act — wiping out majority-minority districts that have enabled the election of representatives from communities historically excluded from power — McGhee sees multi-partyism as a democratic lifeline. "[W]e need to massively disrupt our electoral system and give more people more choices. We do need to encourage politicians to seek coalitions. We do need to encourage movements to seek coalitions in order to get things done for the American people and solve our big problems and make sure we have nice things. "I do think that there is a way in which that does help create racial solidarity at the ballot box. And it's a very exciting dimension of the growing push for multiparty voting, for fusion, for more electoral diversity." The episode closes on a remarkable note. Asked how she ...
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    44 分
  • Robert Kuttner on Winning the Arguments, Losing the Politics — and What Comes Next
    2026/05/05
    In a wide-ranging conversation with Micah Sifry, longtime political columnist Kuttner takes stock of what went wrong, why the guardrails may be holding, and what it will actually take to rebuild democracy from what he sees as the wreckage of the neoliberal era. There's a particular kind of intellectual honesty in someone who has spent decades arguing for a position, been vindicated by history, and still asks himself: So why did we lose? That's the animating question of Bob Kuttner's new book, Notes for Next Time: Surviving Tyranny, Redeeming America, and it's the question that drives the latest episode of This Old Democracy. Kuttner — co-founder of The American Prospect magazine, professor at Brandeis University, co-founder of the Economic Policy Institute, and author of 14 books — brings to this conversation the perspective of someone who has watched American politics from the inside and the outside for more than half a century. Host Micah Sifry gives him room to roam, and Kuttner takes full advantage. The through-line of Kuttner's memoir is captured in the title of one of its chapters: "Winning the Arguments, Losing the Politics." As he tells Micah, he has long believed that the Democratic Party's embrace of neoliberal, market-first economics in the 1980s and 1990s was not just wrong on the merits — it was a political catastrophe. "The turn to neoliberalism basically set the stage for Trump because it meant that the Democrats gave up on the white working class, which made interracial coalition much more arduous. And the claims of neoliberalism that this would energize the economy turned out to be completely bogus. The only thing neoliberalism did was it made the rich richer and the middle class [and] the working class more vulnerable." When he and Paul Starr and Robert Reich launched The American Prospect in 1990, they were swimming hard against the tide. The conventional wisdom, personified by the rise of the centrist Democratic Leadership Council, was that the Democratic Party was too pro-union, too pro-Black, just too liberal. The Prospect said: no, liberals need to become better New Dealers. Two years later, Bill Clinton was in the White House, quoting them — and then, largely ignoring them Kuttner knew better, in part because of his experience in midwifing the Community Reinvestment Act (CRA). Kuttner was chief investigator for Senator William Proxmire's Banking Committee in the mid-1970s, and the story of how the CRA came to be is, well, thrilling (in a nerdy way). This profoundly useful piece of legislation did nothing more than consider poor people as legitimate actors in our society, deserving of respect when they too sought to obtain a mortgage and purchase a home. Kuttner describes how the CRA emerged: grassroots multiracial neighborhood coalitions, a sympathetic US Senator who did not accept any campaign contributions, investigative staff tasked with developing tough hearings, and a press that covered them seriously. The result was landmark legislation that created immensely powerful tools against redlining if the citizenry used them (which they did). Kuttner calls it his graduate education in how the financial system — and the political system — actually function. Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the conversation, for listeners expecting gloom, is Kuttner's relatively buoyant short-term read on where things stand. "I think contrary to what a lot of people felt six months ago, I think the guardrails are holding more than we dared hope. Trump is just really on the skids. Republicans are giving themselves permission to criticize him. Democrats are feeling bolder and more feisty. He's lost the courts — which is just amazing." He notes that the recent defeat of Viktor Orbán in Hungary — by a candidate who broke from the authoritarian's own party and organized a movement from scratch — is a meaningful data point: even entrenched authoritarians can lose when they lose the people. Unsurprisingly, he thinks it likely that control of Congress and then the presidency is likely to flip back once again to the opposition party. But then he pauses. Full stop. Because that's when he gets worried. Short-term optimism gives way to a much harder question. Kuttner frames it plainly: "I think democracy will survive. The question is whether it will deliver." For Kuttner, the social contract that his generation inherited — affordable college, decent wages for blue-collar workers, employer-provided pensions and health insurance, attainable home ownership — has been systematically dismantled. Restoring something like it will require a political agenda every bit as ambitious as Franklin Roosevelt's. If Democrats return to power without that kind of courage and that kind of mandate, he warns, they will only incubate the next wave of authoritarian populism. The anxieties and resentments that produced Trump don't go away just because Trump loses. This is ...
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    42 分
  • Voters are not Thinking like bankers. We're thinking like sports fans.
    2026/03/30
    Political scientist Lilliana Mason on social sorting, partisan self-deception, and why the two-party system makes all of it worse. The latest episode of This Old Democracy features the remarkable Lilliana Mason, a professor of political science at Johns Hopkins, in a wide-ranging conversation with host Micah Sifry. Mason offers a rigorous — and at times unsettling — account of why Americans have stopped thinking of their political opponents as fellow citizens. She discusses parties, politics, policy, and young people. We really need to think about this one because the civil in civil society is an essential piece of the democratic puzzle. In Mason's view, political parties are essential to democratic decisionmaking. "[Parties] are a really useful informational shortcut for us. We can't ask our citizens to read every single piece of legislation and every piece of the party platform and know about all of the different parts of the platform and fully understand these policies. The reason we have representative democracy is because we don't all have time to do that and we can't expect everyone to do that. And so what parties do is they simplify that political decision that we are given the privilege of making as citizens. We can't all be experts. And so the parties give us a much simpler choice." Mason's work centers on a deceptively simple insight: we don't really choose our political parties the way we choose between competing products on a shelf. The "banker mind" model of democratic citizenship — the idea that voters coolly weigh policy options, calculate trade-offs, and select the candidate who best serves their interests — is, she argues, largely a myth. The reality is considerably messier. "Our punditry tends to assume that we think about politics sort of like bankers and we're choosing investments with a sober and quantitative mind and assessing the positives and negatives, you know, is this policy marginally affecting my family in this number of decimal points? But actually, that's not how we participate in politics. We're much more like sports fans when we engage in politics." What has happened over the past six decades, Mason explains, is a process she calls social sorting: the gradual alignment of partisan identity with race, religion, geography, and other social identities. In the 1950s, both parties contained meaningful internal diversity — cross-cutting coalitions that made it impossible to know, just from someone's party registration, very much about who they were. That era is over. Today, the parties have sorted themselves into two fairly coherent tribes, and the sorting makes genuine cross-partisan contact rarer with every passing election cycle. What makes social sorting especially durable, Mason says, is that people genuinely believe they are reasoning independently — even when they're not. She describes a political science experiment in which subjects were randomly assigned either a Democratic or Republican label to the same welfare policy. Democrats reliably preferred the "Democratic" policy, and Republicans the "Republican" one, even when the substantive details of the policies had been swapped. When asked afterward whether their party had influenced their preference: "Everyone said, not at all. That was entirely me. I have entirely come up with the reasons for my desire to have this policy enacted. We don't know that we're doing it. And also in that experiment, they said, do you think other people are influenced by their party? And everybody says, yes, definitely. Everyone else is influenced by their party, but I'm not." The distortions don't stop at policy preferences. Mason's research also documents systematic misperceptions of who actually belongs to each party. Americans consistently overestimate the share of Democrats who are Black, LGBTQ+, or non-Christian — and overestimate the share of Republicans who are elderly or evangelical. "Most people assume that Democrats are 35% LGBT and the true number is 5%. They assume that Democrats are 40% Black and the true number is 25%." These stereotypes aren't merely factual errors. They shape the emotional valence of partisan identity: if you believe the other party is almost entirely composed of groups you view negatively, your hostility toward that party will track your feelings about those groups — whether or not the factual premise is accurate. The stakes of all this, Mason makes clear, are not merely rhetorical. In her book, Radical American Partisanship, she and Nathan Kalmoe measure the kinds of attitudes that social scientists have found to precede mass violence in other contexts — dehumanization, vilification, openness to political aggression. The numbers they've compiled since 2017 are worth sitting with: "In 2017, it was about 40% of Democrats and Republicans who were willing to say the other party was evil. It's gone up to almost 70% of Republicans in 2022. Last summer, it's around 50 to 60% of ...
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    32 分
  • What does a democracy veteran and former Secretary of the State of Connecticut make of this moment — and what comes next?
    2026/03/17
    A new episode of This Old Democracy features Miles Rapoport, who has four decades of democracy reform to draw on — and a lot of reasons to stay optimistic In a moment when the democratic project feels genuinely imperiled, it helps to hear from someone who has been in the fight for four decades and still wakes up ready for more. The latest episode of This Old Democracy features Miles Rapoport — community organizer, state legislator, Connecticut Secretary of the State, former president of Demos, former national director of Common Cause, and current executive director of 100% Democracy, an initiative he co-founded to promote universal voting. Over the course of an expansive conversation with host Micah Sifry, Rapoport traces an arc from the antiwar movement to the ballot box to the boardrooms of national advocacy, and explains why — despite everything — he remains an optimist. Rapoport pulls no punches about where we are: "There are zero guardrails on what Donald Trump and the Trump administration and the movement behind him would like to do to restrict and take over our democracy. So that's the worst of times." But he balances that assessment with a characteristic refusal to despair: "[A]s the song goes, don't stop thinking about tomorrow. Because I do think that there are lots of ways in which people are working, as you are, Micah, to make democracy better. And I think that's a really important thing. I am an optimist on this question, because I think that the forces to preserve and improve democracy will ultimately prevail." Rapoport's path from Vietnam War protester to Connecticut state legislator was not a straight line, but it had an internal logic. After years of community organizing — working to empower people and make government more responsive — he watched the Reagan revolution demonstrate, with painful clarity, that electoral power could undo in months what organizing had won over years. The answer, for him and for many in the community organizing world at that moment, was to enter the arena directly. He ran for the Connecticut state legislature in 1984, won, and was assigned almost immediately to the elections committee — which he would eventually chair. Ten years of immersion in election law and voting rights policy followed. "It's not a super straight line, but there is definitely a through line... the idea that there is tremendous inequality economically and socially and racially in the country, and at the same time, our democratic institutions are failing to deal with it." Rapoport's run for Secretary of the State in 1994 offers one of the most compelling real-world demonstrations of what fusion voting actually does. Rapoport, a Democrat, was cross-endorsed by A Connecticut Party, the independent, centrist party that ex-Republican Lowell Weicker had created in 1990. When the votes were counted, Rapoport had received 365,000 votes on the Democratic line — and 125,000 more on the "A Connecticut Party" line. He won the race by 2,237 votes. "Absent A Connecticut party, no way I would ever have been elected." That experience didn't just help him win. It shaped how he governed. One out of every four of his voters had come to him on a third-party line — moderate, old-line Republicans who crossed over based on shared values around the income tax fight and civic reform. He knew who they were and felt accountable to them. "I definitely was more bipartisan than I might have been — more conscious of making sure that the people who voted for me on the Connecticut Party line felt good about it." To critics who argue that fusion is too complicated for voters or too difficult to administer, Rapoport has a direct response: "It's not only not rocket science, it's not even algebra. It's just third grade math. You can vote for a candidate on one line and on another line, and at the end of the night you add the two votes together to get a total." He adds, with characteristic directness: "I'm urging any secretary of state who's thinking about it to give me a call. I can give you a hands-on lesson. It's easy." As Secretary of the State, Rapoport oversaw elections in a state where fusion had been practiced continuously and understood the nuts and bolts of running it well. He and Micah also discuss what was achieved beyond fusion: implementing the National Voter Registration Act ("Motor Voter") aggressively and thoughtfully; expanding access to the primary system; and thinking of the office itself as, in Rapoport's phrase, the "advocate in chief for democracy and participation." After leaving office, Rapoport continued pushing the frontier. At Demos, which he led for 13 years, he helped drive the national expansion of election day voter registration — from six states when he started to 25 today. The goal was always the same: close the gap between who is eligible to participate and who actually does. But at some point, that incremental approach confronted its own limits. Rapoport...
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    27 分
  • How Natural Is the Two-Party System? (Spoiler Alert: Not at All)
    2026/03/05
    The latest This Old Democracy podcast features political scientist Lisa Disch on the artificial roots of two-party rule, the buried history of multi-party democracy in the US and a credible strategy for creating a better party system. If you've ever felt trapped by a disagreeable, binary choice at the ballot box — known in elite political science circles as the "hold your nose" vote — Lisa Disch wants you to know that feeling isn't a personal failing. It's a structural condition, and not a natural one. It didn't have to be this way. And it doesn't have to stay this way. Disch, a professor of political science at the University of Michigan and author of The Tyranny of the Two-Party System, joins host Micah Sifry on the latest episode of This Old Democracy for a wide-ranging conversation about the rules, myths, and suppressed history behind America's duopoly. The result is an illuminating conversation — essential listening for anyone who wants to understand not just what's broken about our politics, but how it got this way, and what we can do about it. Disch opens with a provocation: she would ban the very phrase "two-party system" if she could. Not because two parties don't dominate American politics — they obviously do — but because calling it a "system" implies something organic, inevitable, and permanent. It's none of those things. "Most people in the US accept third party failure as a matter of course. They feel that third party candidacies put them in a terrible position — in the grips of a terrible dilemma. Do I vote for a candidate who might represent me better, but may end up throwing the election to the candidate whom I, and actually most people, least prefer? And we assume that this is just a natural feature of the two-party system. And we don't think about the institutions that make this game so stacked against third political parties." That's not a description of nature. It's a description of rules — rules that were deliberately designed, largely at the turn of the 20th century, to choke off the extraordinary multi-party vitality that had characterized American democracy for most of the 1800s. The history Disch tells is one familiar to regular readers of this Substack, but unfamiliar to most Americans. Before the adoption of the government-printed "Australian ballot" in the 1890s, parties printed their own ballots, and fusion candidacies — where a single candidate could and did appear on the ballot under multiple party lines — were common and powerful. They allowed third parties to build real coalitions, elect real officeholders, and sustain real organizations. Then came a two-step trap. First, states adopted ballot access thresholds that made it costly and difficult for minor parties to qualify. Then — and this is the critical piece — some states quietly banned fusion by requiring that no candidate could be nominated by more than one party. The effect was devastating: "What this meant was that partisans of one party would not vote for the candidate that looked like it was the candidate of the other party... populist voters [would say], 'I'm not voting for the Democratic party. They're a terrible party. They supported slavery. Why would I do that? I'm going to lose votes.'" A populist organizer of the era saw it coming with brutal clarity, as Disch quotes: "Whenever a fusion candidate running under the Democratic heading alone produced many stay-at-home votes – that is to say abstainers – in the future, we populists will have to get on the ballot by petition." They understood exactly how the new rules would hollow out their organizations. And they were right. "This is one of the reasons why it is so difficult for third political parties to have any lasting presence in US elections — because you spend an enormous amount of resources just getting on the ballot." The near-destruction of fusion voting didn't just limit ballot options. It destroyed something more fundamental: the capacity of ordinary people to build durable political organizations that could teach civic skills, develop political identities, and force new issues onto the national agenda. "Party organizations are incredibly useful because they teach voters civic skills and give them a commitment to participation that does not revolve around a charismatic person." This is why, Disch argues, 20th-century third-party efforts so often collapsed into personality vehicles — Perot, Nader, Stein — rather than sustained movements. Without the rules that enable organization-building, third parties become flashes in the pan. And flash-in-the-pan politics, as Micah Sifry noted in his own earlier writing (which Disch quotes back to him), leaves us with "chronic explosions of anti-incumbent sentiment and independent celebrity bids for office as the only alternatives to the duopoly." So far this is familiar stuff to most readers. But then Disch explains the deeper damage, far beyond electoral mechanics, ...
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