History is not just an objective record of what has been. It is a reminder of what can be. Useful history offers inspiration but not hagiography, cautionary tales but not empty moralism. The Founding Fathers’ success in establishing new, stable political institutions is tempered by how relatively quickly the society served by those institutions devolved into a civil war. We should never forget that the success of the Civil Rights Movement occurred in the shadow of the earlier, quite enduring success of the Redeemers at the end of Reconstruction. We must never lose hope, for others have succeeded against far worse odds, but we must not forget just how bad things can get, either.

Here at Liberal Currents we are all quite afraid of what Donald Trump will try if he is allowed a second term. Between his track record, his campaign promises, and his Supreme Court effectively granting him legal immunity for his actions, there is ample evidence that his administration would attack the pillars of liberal democracy with impunity. All of us have felt that the ordinary methods of political opposition in regular use today have proven insufficient, that the problem has proven too large, too systematic, that more needs to be done even in the event of a Trump defeat at the polls. Each of us has, therefore, looked back to American history for methods of positive political action that might be useful today. Samantha Hancox-Li, seeing in the constitutional crisis of our moment a parallel to the constitutional crisis precipitated by the Articles of Confederation, looked back to the Founding Fathers. The Founders leveraged a concept of democratic legitimacy in order to circumvent the formal procedures needed to overturn the Articles of Confederation. They successfully replaced the Articles with the Constitution of 1788; we should not assume a repeat performance to be impossible.

Paul Crider, observing the viciousness of red state governments as Trump has successfully remade the party in his image, looked back to Frederick Douglass, who thought seriously about what it meant to be a good liberal who respects rule of law when the evil of slavery is legal. Douglass did not sit passively and wait for the evil laws to be changed; he developed a method of constitutional hardball that still has value today.

In this essay I will look instead to the Civil Rights Movement, in particular, Thomas E. Ricks’ interpretation of it as presented in his book Waging a Good War. Ricks describes the Movement structure and campaigns in military terms, as they often did themselves.This is a useful lens for understanding how they organized themselves, why they made the particular tactical choices they did, and what their overarching strategy was.

The challenges that the Movement faced were distinct from those emphasized by Hancox-Li’s subject or Crider’s. While the Founding Fathers were a cohesive elite that had fought a war together and represented the groups with all the economic and political power in their young country, Movement figures represented a minority of just one region of the country. Where Douglass opposed a slavery enshrined in the Constitution and affirmed by legal institutions, the Jim Crow states were lawless regimes that bucked the Constitution and the federal government, and relied heavily on mobs and the Klan for their enforcement.

A second Trump term would not conform precisely to any of these scenarios, but it is precisely in offering a range of them that history provides its value. Gaining an understanding of the different methods used in different times for different types of problems allows us to be flexible, to expand the options we are able to imagine being available to us today. The opposition to Trump would not be a regional minority the way the Movement was; instead, as Hancox-Li puts it, it “is a majority of the population, controls the majority of the national economy, the major financial, economic, intellectual, and cultural centers.” There is legitimate fear of political violence from MAGA types, but for the most part the problems we face institutionally are more intrinsic to the structure of American federalism and the legal system as currently constituted than was the case for the fight against Jim Crow; in that sense, Crider’s focus on Douglass’s methods is apropos.

Nevertheless, it beggars belief to say that the dominant economic and cultural elites of the country will act boldly of their own accord. They must be galvanized. And while Douglass’s insights are still valuable and relevant today, he was writing before the dawn of mass politics and mass media. The Civil Rights Movement, by contrast, had to galvanize moderates even among Blacks, and ultimately found their success in galvanizing white moderates across the country. They operated at an early stage in the birth of a truly national American media system, a system to which they owed their most dramatic successes, but which was also arguably a chief cause in their undoing.

The Civil Rights Movement has lessons to teach us still. And contrary to conventional wisdom, their methods are very much available to us today.

The methods

The critical components of the Movement, in Ricks’ military interpretation of them, were:

●      Training

●      Discipline

●      Support structures

●      Planning

●      Strategy

●      Reconciliation

All six emphasize the less visible aspects of the Movement. The boycotts, the sit-ins, the Freedom Rides; these were specific, very public actions that activists took which are retold in popular histories of the era. But all of these actions were aimed at some specific strategic objective. All were conducted by activists who had been trained for weeks or months ahead of time, and were monitored by other activists who were given the role of maintaining discipline. All required extensive planning and logistical support. And in every case, there was a great deal of follow-through that occurred once a political victory was won.

Training was a pivotal part of what enabled the success of the Civil Rights Movement. In 1958, James Lawson, then a student at Vanderbilt University’s divinity school in Nashville, Tennessee, began a training program. As Ricks puts it:

Lawson believed that he could turn the city into “a laboratory for demonstrating nonviolence,” and that doing so could plant the seeds for “many Montgomerys.” He set to work, conducting on March 26, 1958, the first of what he called “workshops” but the American military would call intense training and indoctrination. These took place on Tuesday nights, Saturday mornings, and Sunday evenings in church basements, at first with about ten participants, none of them students. But in the fall of 1958, students began to participate, and the workshop group doubled.^[1]

These workshops included discussions of principles and best practices, but it also involved actual practical training, in which some participants roleplayed nonviolent protesters, and others roleplayed the “harassing whites.” Trainees learned to resist their impulse to fight back or flee, as well as to protect their fellow activists if the violence escalated too far against one of them.

Lawson’s workshop was not exceptional in the Movement. Later on, Freedom Schools would attempt to scale up the approach to a certain extent. Even before the Movement properly took off, Rosa Parks had attended a session at the Highlander Folk School, which chiefly focused on preparing labor organizers but from which she took important strategic lessons. As I will discuss further down, much could be gained if the cultural center of gravity for activists in America could shift from the humanities departments of our universities to the more pragmatic type of programs that the Civil Rights Movement benefited from.

Training and discipline of course go hand in hand, as any military expert would tell you. Of course, training is not all there is to discipline; otherwise there would be no need for court marshals. In the case of the Movement:

Protesters needed to be held to their training. Internal observers especially would monitor marches and try to stop anyone deviating into violence, which was essential to maintaining public support. This is also useful in deterring provocateurs working for the foe.^[2]

Activism is a voluntary pursuit where activists cannot truly be forced to do anything by their organizations; unlike an actual military, the enforcement here lacked real teeth. But simply having people on hand who were skilled at diffusing conflicts and could intervene before situations spiraled out of control made a difference time and again. These monitors were just one aspect of the support structures in place behind every protest, which “ranged from employing those observers to compiling lists of potential marchers who needed babysitters.”^[3]

It may sound obvious to say that you need a plan and a strategy, but the fact of the matter is that most mass protests today are truly spontaneous, without much pre-planning, if any. The Movement, meanwhile, emphasized having an ultimate objective for every action, and a planning stage in which they thought through the basic details of “If we do this, and they do that, what do we do next?”^[4]

Finally, the Movement’s greatest victories came not through the political defeat of their enemies but by “winning the peace,” the step which Ricks refers to as reconciliation. “The goal is not to crush your opponents but to change them, to find a way to live together down the road.”^[5]

An example of politically defeating their opponents might include the victory of the Montgomery boycotters in court; the Movement did not simply take that victory and move on. Consolidating it took real work. As Ricks recounts, Martin Luther King, Jr. and his colleagues had been preparing the community for what to do after victory for weeks before victory arrived.

Any boycotter who could not behave on the bus with restraint, they instructed, should “walk for another week or two.” And when integrated rides began, the Montgomery Improvement Association assigned two ministers to ride on each line at the morning and evening rush hours to monitor passenger behavior.

This kind of planning and disciplined behavior post-victory helped to entrench the gains. The core organizations of the Movement—the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), and the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE)—were all exceptionally good at the follow through for every campaign. This is perhaps the most underrated aspect of their success.

The media and its discontents

The birth of broadcast media and big, national mass audiences was a tremendous boon to the Movement. The brutes who formed the backbone of the Jim Crow system relied heavily on the fact that the audiences for their actions were by and large local audiences. Those with the power to change the system did not want to, for their interest was tied up in it or at any rate they did well enough that the risks associated with disrupting the status quo seemed higher. Those who suffered under it were regularly taught lessons in fear.

Television changed this reality. Backwater toughs found themselves faced down by media-savvy activists who exposed them to national audiences. Moreover, activists had the luxury of being selective in their targets, though they did not always succeed in this. History has familiarized most Americans with two high profile Civil Rights campaigns in Alabama, at Birmingham and Selma. Few are familiar with the campaign in Albany, Georgia. In that town, Chief of Police Laurie Pritchett had done his research on the Movement’s tactics and was prepared for them when they arrived. He had done groundwork with authorities outside of his jurisdiction in order to expand the jailing capacity he had personally available to his department. This allowed him to stymie the Movement’s tactic of overfilling jails in order to apply pressure. He also ensured that his deputies all treated the activists gently and respectfully, both when arresting them and when overseeing their imprisonment. Eventually, the Movement had to pull out with little to show for it.

Birmingham’s “Bull” Connor and Selma’s Jim Clark, meanwhile, were vicious by disposition and not particularly canny opponents in general. They unleashed almost theatrical levels of cruelty on the protesters, and theater is exactly what it became. In the case of the famous Selma march, the performance made it to a stage viewed by an audience of 48 million, nearly a quarter of the country’s population, in one single night.^[6]

The growth of a national broadcast media may have been the Movement’s salvation but in many ways it was also its undoing. As Ricks notes:

[I]n the years after Freedom Summer, the image of the civil rights worker inexorably shifted from the low-key voting rights organizer to the angry activist shouting into a microphone in front of a camera. Moses said of Stokely Carmichael that he became “a national media figure, and the organizers stopped organizing because it was more glamorous to do what Stokely was doing.” (. . .) “For the media, you don’t need even an organization, all you need is a charismatic personality,” Moses commented years later. He noted that Jesse Jackson rose to prominence in a similar way: “He is a genius at exploiting the media.” Meanwhile, SNCC’s field operations dwindled, and it became a group less focused on organizing and more on speaking.”^[7]

This was a trend that impacted more than just the Civil Rights Movement, of course. Increasingly, those with the skill of performing on camera displaced those with the skill of training, planning, and executing. In our own era, this trend has accelerated beyond what mere television could cause, as everyone now has a social media profile in which they can aim to make themselves the star of their own story, rather than a good, disciplined, rank and file member of a movement.

Some have understandably concluded from this that the kind of organizing that the Movement engaged in is simply impossible now. After all, how can we possibly expect behavioral discipline at an in-person protest when we cannot even have message discipline under normal circumstances? The idea of even attempting that kind of discipline seems far-fetched; who would want to join an organization that restricted your use of your personal social media?

It is undeniably harder now to pull off what they did than it was at the time. But we greatly underestimate just how hard it was to begin with when we focus on a handful of spectacularly successful organizations over a ten to fifteen year period. There is a reason that segregation and mass disenfranchisement lasted as long as it did, after all.

Moreover, there is a great distance between hard and impossible. We absolutely can organize today, as they did then.

Adapting their approach

Richard Rorty once sang the praises of campaigns over movements because the former is “something finite, something that can be recognized to have succeeded or to have, so far, failed.” Movements, meanwhile “neither succeed nor fail. They are too big and too amorphous to do anything that simple.”

I share Rorty’s fondness for the focused and concrete nature of campaigns, but have to disagree with his assessment of movements. The Civil Rights Movement in particular, was clearly not a single discrete campaign, and did have clear, overarching goals that guided how campaigns were decided on and planned. Though the distinction is muddy, you do need strategy as well as tactics, and to effect drastic change over the long term, you do need a movement as well as particular campaigns.

With the prospect of a second Trump term in front of us, what we need now more than ever is a movement to implement true liberal democracy in America, to shore up its institutional weaknesses. As Samantha Hancox-Li put it, “The constitutional order must be reforged if it is to uphold the fundamental American ideals of freedom, democracy, and equality.” She framed this in particularly American and patriotic terms; the Civil Rights Movement always made sure to do the same, even (or perhaps especially) when they were laying out their heaviest criticisms of the American status quo. That is simply a good rhetorical strategy. The bottom line is that we all know that the American institutional order has grown sclerotic and that this has put Americans in general and our most vulnerable communities in particular at increased risk. Hancox-Li’s suggested end-point is a good one, though it will ultimately be a matter of ongoing discussion among movement members as well as those they attempt to bring into the fold.

The chief infrastructure of the movement should be a replication of the Freedom Schools, or Lawson’s workshops, or the Highland Folk School. These training outfits can be set up as nonprofits, but we must be cautious about how this is pursued. There are an enormous number of liberal-aligned nonprofits that exist today who nevertheless are simply part of the established base of social power that is unlikely to do anything particularly drastic unless properly galvanized. We do not want to simply create another nonprofit of this kind, merely another sponge for cash from Democratic donors. Instead we should aim at more focused, leaner organizations like Run For Something that do just one thing and do it well.

Right now, the drift of some humanities departments towards a high level of abstraction, combined with the discursive incentives created by our present media environment, have resulted in a political culture that is vague on particulars. Large concepts such as patriarchy, structural racism, and capitalism loom over the discussions, but we never seem to get actual analysis of the specifics of these structures. Pragmatic analysis aimed at specific action is entirely absent.

Compare this to Ricks’ description of Lawson’s workshops:

The first step in the workshops was to explain the theory and philosophy of nonviolence. The next step was to introduce tactics—how to translate theory into practice. The third was to determine procedures—how to implement those tactics, step by step.^[8]

We need more organizations and individuals who are focused on creating a culture of activism that is fundamentally practical and not purely theoretical. As Ricks emphasized, there is certainly a role for theory. But the theory of nonviolent direct action was always grounded in the high practical stakes of those putting it into practice, something that cannot truly be said of whatever analogue we may wish to draw to today.

The movement for “the fundamental American ideals of freedom, democracy, and equality” needs to aim to develop, through training and regular community-building, a class of competent and flexible activists. The training will impart knowledge of the best practices needed to conduct a successful campaign, and develop the skills to pull it off. These activists will then be able to come together, either for years at a time as the Civil Rights Movement organizations did, or just to accomplish some goal at some specific time and place, and then disperse.

Truly spontaneous mass protests are here to stay. In many ways, this is a good thing. But horizontalism does not work as a strategy for enacting change. Smaller, disciplined organizations with competent activists can exist alongside unpredictable, unplanned protests. Among the best practices that need to be developed for this community of activists are tactics for taking advantage of spontaneous mass protest when it occurs, turning surprise mass action into specific, concrete gains.

Another important best practice needs to be the development of social media policies for activist groups. I mentioned above that social media has made message discipline very difficult, if not impossible, for any given group these days. Just about every member of any organization is going to be used to casually offering opinions in public, even if only for very small audiences made up largely of acquaintances. When an organization is attempting to walk some political tightrope, they can very easily get pushed off of it because a member posted something which angered the wrong people or was perceived as at odds with the mission of the organization. Less innocently, some members may attempt to better their position in the internal politics of an organization by airing their grievances externally, something that can be fatal for a group’s cohesion and credibility.

People seeking to participate in a particular group’s activism should be required to agree to the group’s social media policies. Just as the SCLC had individuals that monitored marches, contemporary groups need social media monitors to ensure these policies are followed. Enforcement actions can include asking a particular participant to stay off of social media for a week if they are found to have violated the policy. Even in the absence of punishments that have real teeth behind them, expressing clear disapproval on the part of the group for a member’s social media behavior can be a potent tool for reining them in, especially if it is done through a set of rules that all have agreed to. If that is not enough, incalcitrant posters should be removed from the group entirely. This is unlikely to be sustainable in a big organization that is going to be around for years and years, but may be achievable for specific, time-bound campaigns with discrete actions and goals.

A great deal of the original principles of the Movement can be taken on board without modification. For example, the practice of carefully laying the groundwork before engaging in direct action, through information gathering (or “reconnaissance” as Ricks puts it) and by making contact with the local leadership of the communities you seek to mobilize. Or the mantra to “turn negative energy into positive action,”^[9] which sounds a bit New Age but in practice meant that when white supremacists bombed a church, the Movement seized the initiative to get political concessions. The basic playbook still works; there is no reason to reinvent the wheel.

We are already organized

I am not here seeking to pretend that we are lacking for activism, even good, effective activism, on behalf of liberal ideals today. Organizations like Fair Fight Action in Georgia drive voter registration and turnout despite absurd hurdles the state of Georgia has put in place. If the institutionalized nonprofit iteration of Black Lives Matters has faced similar failure modes as other such organizations, its many local chapters (affiliated or not) have done good, nuts and bolts work that we will be hearing about for years to come. Even Occupy Wall Street, which was a failure from all practical points of view on its own, can reasonably be read as step one in the learning process of a new generation entering into the world of activism.

With this essay I hoped only to play my own role as a liberal writer, to unpack the methods of a group of activists which we have had decades to analyze and discuss. The history of Black Lives Matters and everything they have done and will do has yet to be written. But the Civil Rights Movement ended long ago, its most successful actions and greatest failures have been turned over and scrutinized again and again.

What is important to remember is that they did do it, then. And we can do it, now. Whether we must face a second Trump term, or not.

[1] Ricks, Thomas E.. Waging a Good War: A Military History of the Civil Rights Movement, 1954-1968 (p. 43). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.

[2] Ibid,332.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Gurri, Adam, Law and Social Action (March 20, 2021). Available at SSRN: https://ssrn.com/abstract=3808658 or http://dx.doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.3808658. 12.

[7] Ricks, Thomas E.. Waging a Good War: A Military History of the Civil Rights Movement, 1954-1968 (p. 246). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.

[8] Ibid, 45.

Featured image is James Lawson, by Laura Garcia

… we the people, the people, the PEOPLE—we, the people, do ordain and establish this Constitution. There we stand on the main foundation. [Sources of Danger to the Republic, 1867]

Frederick Douglass is the liberal mind for our antiliberal times.

The remarkable life story of Frederick Douglass—escaped slave, abolitionist newspaperman and orator, advisor to presidents, and statesman—tends to eclipse the man’s own ideas. But his star-spangled résumé also featured the fact that he was an innovative political philosopher. His autobiographies are barely disguised political treatises more than they are memoirs. He omits almost any reflection on his intimate relationships, and every story he relates is a parable for some philosophical idea. His vast corpus of writing included essays and speeches explicitly on the nature and justification of government, the derivation of rights, the limits of the Constitution and democracy, and the philosophy of reform.

Douglass was a liberal, though liberals have oddly tended to leave him on the shelf—a glance through any history of liberalism almost invariably fails to even mention Douglass. Douglass’s individualism, his appeals to natural rights, his cosmopolitanism, and his beliefs in self-betterment and social improvement through commerce and industry all fit a basic liberal outlook. But it’s hard to pin him down to anything narrower than that.

What is distinctive about the political philosophy of Douglass—what sets him apart from other liberals—is his fugitivity. Douglass had an ambivalent relationship with the law and a willingness to think and act outside established institutions. Like any good liberal, Douglass advocated the rule of law and stable representative institutions. Liberals are comfortable theorizing about political institutions and constructing mythical origin stories to justify those institutions. Douglass, by contrast, elaborated a political theory from his experiences as a slave, where institutions were directed against him and people like him. He had to become attuned to the differential character of law as it applied to slaves and other outlaws—those outside the law.

The institutional breakdown prior to the Civil War and the extraconstitutional cataclysm of the Civil War itself gave Douglass reason to think about how liberal values could be applied in a revolutionary context of institutions in flux. A keen awareness of the militarily defeated but socially and politically unbroken spirit of slavery gave Douglass a no-bullshit attitude toward the fragility of liberal institutions. Douglass was attuned to how inequalities of wealth and political power and the ever-adaptive spirit of slavery represented ongoing threats to the republic and the flesh and blood people it comprised.

A fugitive liberal

Douglass embodied this fugitive rebelliousness against the established authority from his earliest memories as a slave boy. He recounts the “first decidedly anti-slavery lecture” he ever heard—Hugh Auld explaining to his wife Sophia the danger of teaching young Fred how to read. It would “unfit him to be a slave.” Douglass resolved to learn at all costs. This commitment to unfitting himself to slavery would extend to teaching his fellow slaves to read, an objective he would clandestinely pursue for the rest of his tenure in bondage.

Reading and teaching may feel like small stakes. The slave drivers would disagree, but Douglass’s fugitive philosophy would develop further when he found himself “pinched with hunger.” Stealing food from his master was justified easily enough as simply moving the master’s property from one bin to another, since his belly also belonged to Master Thomas. Douglass found that slaves are justified in stealing from society at large, and not just the necessaries of life, but gold and valuables.

It was necessary that the right to steal from others should be established; and this could only rest upon a wider range of generalization than that which supposed the right to steal from my master. It was some time before I arrived at this clear right. To give some idea of my train of reasoning, I will state the case as I laid it out in my mind. 'I am,' I thought, 'not only the slave of Master Thomas, but I am the slave of society at large. Society at large has bound itself, in form and in fact, to assist Master Thomas in robbing me of my rightful liberty, and of the just reward of my labor; therefore, whatever rights I have against Master Thomas I have equally against those confederated with him in robbing me of liberty. As society has marked me out as privileged plunder, on the principle of self-preservation, I am justified in plundering in turn. Since each slave belongs to all, all must therefore belong to each.' [Life and Times of Frederick Douglass (LTFD), 1892]

Emphases mine. Douglass does not dispassionately derive his conclusions from first premises. He seeks out this reasoning because necessity—the pinch of hunger—requires that he steal food. Yet he must justify his actions, both to himself and to an imagined other, and eventually to his readers. The right derived from his need is clear. Moreover, because it is not the singular slaveholder, but an ideology and elaborate political economy of the slave power that oppresses the slave, transgressive actions against the system of slave power itself and those individuals enabling and enacting the slave power.

This parable captures a recurring theme of Douglass’s fugitive liberalism. Transgressive actions are morally authorized and sometimes even demanded by the manifest needs of people for “self-preservation,” in order to survive. But we must justify these actions and prepare some path to lawful relations between free and equal persons after the transgression.

Douglass continues,

The morality of free society could have no application to slave society. Slaveholders made it almost impossible for the slave to commit any crime, known either to the laws of God or to the laws of man. If he stole, he but took his own; if he killed his master, he only imitated the heroes of the revolution. Slaveholders I held to be individually and collectively responsible for all the evils which grew out of the horrid relation, and I believed they would be so held in the sight of God. [LTFD, 1892]

Douglass occupies a double position. Those who take decisive action against the slave power are like unto the heroes of the revolution. At the same time, this is a perversion of the morality of the free society. The slave power necessitates actions unbefitting free people.

Douglass enacted these values as a fugitive ex-slave. Like many escaped slaves, Douglass lied and forged official documents in order to make his escape to the North, with the crucial assistance of Anna Murray, a free Black woman who would provide his travel fare and later marry Douglass. It’s worth pausing to emphasize the inherent fugitivity of the escaped slave. There were no legal pathways to the North, even in principle—no queue, no forms, no fees. Escaping from slavery was pure lawbreaking.

Once free in the North, Douglass had to live in anonymity or risk being kidnapped by slave catchers and returned to bondage in the South, against which he would have no legal recourse. When Douglass chose to reveal his identity in 1845 by publishing his Narrative of the Life of a Slave, he fled to the British Isles, where he would live in exile for 22 months and only return when some of his friends had pooled enough money to purchase his freedom from his former owner. The life of a freed slave was one of extreme legal precarity.

Just as he wanted to share the liberating power of the written word with fellow slaves, Douglass wanted to aid the escape of as many enslaved persons as possible and so he became involved in the Underground Railroad. On at least one occasion, this led Douglass to sheltering fugitive slaves who had killed agents of the state in their flight. After the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, Douglass advocated deadly resistance against those who were authorized by the Act to capture and abscond with escaped slaves. “The only way to make the Fugitive Slave Law a dead letter is to make half a dozen or more dead kidnappers.” 

Douglass was a friend and confidante of John Brown, who would lead the raid on the federal armory at Harpers Ferry in 1859 that ultimately sparked the Civil War. Douglass refused to join Brown on the raid, and advised against its execution, but Douglass also kept Brown’s confidence, was forced to flee the country for his complicity, and would for the rest of his life sing Brown’s praises as an American hero. 

This brief recounting of these events of Douglass’s life shows Douglass was no stranger to violence, including violent resistance against the state. But Douglass would offer his radical counsel to the state as well as against it. Douglass criticized Lincoln for placating the South and demanded the emancipation and arming of the enslaved population to fight against the slavers. Though a fierce critic of Lincoln during the early, reticent stages of the Northern campaign, Douglass would go on to defend Lincoln’s wisdom. Notably, Douglass’s fugitive relation to the law could extend to those in positions of authority when they were willing and in a position to strike a blow against the slave power. Douglass exalts Lincoln for being willing to do what was necessary—in spite of strict adherence to norms and procedures—to save the republic.

We appealed, to be sure—we pointed out through our principles the right way—but we were powerless, and we saw no help till the man, Lincoln, appeared on the theater of action and extended his honest hand to save the republic. No; we owe nothing to our form of government for our preservation as a nation—nothing whatever—nothing to its checks, nor to its balances, nor to its wise division of powers and duties. It was an honest president backed up by intelligent and loyal people—men, high minded men that constitute the state, who regarded society as superior to its forms, the spirit as above the letter—men as more than country, and as superior to the Constitution. They resolved to save the country with the Constitution if they could, but at any rate to save the country. To this we owe our present safety as a nation. [Sources of Danger to the Republic, 1867]

Emphases mine. At the root of Douglass’s fugitive philosophy is his observation that, at the end of the day, it is up to the individual to act. Republican government cannot survive without moral individuals doing what is necessary to uphold republican principles. No constitution or system of government sustains itself by force of words or reason. It is always up to individuals to do the right thing. In a political crisis where rogue parties are determined to ignore norms and laws and resort to violence, the form of government and the delineated functions and powers of institutions may be powerless to repel them. In an extraconstitutional situation where the Constitution has already been ignored or overridden, the Constitution itself offers no guidance for returning to a constitutional context.

Douglass reminds us that the Constitution doesn’t exist for its own sake. The purpose of government, our laws, our Constitution, is to serve flesh and blood human beings. Lincoln and his allies sought to save the United States within the Constitution if at all possible, but they resolved to save the nation by going around the Constitution if necessary.

Lincoln and his allies were in the theater of action. They were the ones situated to act, to steer the mass of citizens and resources to oppose the threat facing the nation that was rent asunder. By “theater of action,” Douglass distinguishes Lincoln and his government from the millions of Americans who could express their values, vote one way or another, and engage in individual acts of humanity and resistance, but who ultimately were at the mercy of powers and events outside their control.

Finally, Douglass speaks of Lincoln’s “honest hand.” Lincoln may have had to seize extraconstitutional power to save the country, but that doesn’t mean anything goes. Douglass’s fugitivity is always liberal. It is always bound by the spirit of law and humanity, and only authorized when peaceful and legal options have failed. Resorting to violence or seizing power for vicious reasons must always be condemned. 

The spirit of slavery

Douglass was thus not a fire-breathing radical by disposition. The radical measures he advocated always aimed at creating or returning to a state of freedom, equality, and social order. He resisted any temptation for revenge or violence beyond what was necessary for liberal order. In his famous conflict with the slavebreaker Edward Covey, Douglass tells his readers that he fought defensively, and avoided striking any crippling blows. In one of the greatest political disappointments of his late life—and what would be seen by later generations as the end of Reconstruction—the Supreme Court effectively nullified the Fourteenth Amendment and the Civil Rights Act of 1875. Though Douglass saw this as a calamity that left Black people in the United States naked and defenseless, he still saw the potential for peaceful reform, and resisted calling for violent action against the “autocratic” Supreme Court. 

Liberals crave clear rules for when to “break glass in case of constitutional crisis,” but such crises are always novel, and by definition spread outside known political terrain. There be dragons. Douglass couldn’t offer hard and fast rules, but he offered a model of forbearance—resisting radical measures as long as possible—with constant appeal to constitutional principles, and an invitation to return to constitutional relations.

Throughout his autobiographies, Douglass humanizes whites and even slave-owners, first the neighborhood children who were too young to grasp why Douglass was different from them and was fated for slavery. Douglass had an evident affection for his mistress, Sophie Auld, who began teaching him how to read out of her good nature, before Hugh Auld imposed the spirit of slavery on their otherwise natural human relationship. Later in life, after the war, Douglass recounted visiting a now elderly Thomas Auld. Even this man, who had presumed to own Douglass and subject him to slavery, was given the benefit of Douglass’s orientation toward a future of peace and equality.

[N]ow that slavery was destroyed, and the slave and the master stood upon equal ground, I was not only willing to meet him, but was very glad to do so... He was to me no longer a slaveholder either in fact or in spirit, and I regarded him as I did myself, a victim of the circumstances of birth, education, law, and custom. [LTFD, 1892]

Douglass’s great enemy was not any person, but the system and spirit of slavery. Though slavery itself was destroyed by the Civil War, Douglass believed the spirit of slavery persisted, and would take generations to fully defeat. "Though the rebellion is dead, though slavery is dead, both the rebellion and slavery have left behind influences which will remain with us, it may be, for generations to come." This spirit of slavery is the systemic racism that critical race theorists and other racial justice activists have brought to our attention, the systematic and persistent social, economic, and political disadvantages thrust upon Black people in America. The slave power—the political faction that implicitly or explicitly acts to preserve systematic Black disadvantage and the domination of a white elite—persists to the present day.

The MAGA movement of Donald Trump represents the slave power in its most acute contemporary form. In the second part of this essay on fugitive liberalism, I will explore how Douglass’s ideas might be applied in our own time of antidemocratic authoritarianism, outlaw communities, and constitutional crisis.

They're pulled from their homes. Rounded up.

Then?

Well, there's not anywhere they're set to go, or even can go. There's no plan.

Get a thousand parking lots and some tents or something. 

They'll need and want meals prepared, network access, drinks and snacks, a bed, a shower, toiletries, cleaning services, laundry, medicine, education, books, church, rewarding work, vacations, shopping, entertainment, family life, and community.

Are you going to pay for that?

Well, you won't want to.

You know, they were fine, where they were. You were hardly paying for any of that stuff before. They generally had jobs, and paid taxes.

You also have jobs. That's how you pay taxes.

Anyway, after you yank them away from their jobs, they won't be able to pay for anything they need and want, so you'll have to.

But you won't want to pay very much, so you'll throw them into hot warehouses, or onto parking lots under some tents. 

And soon they'll be hungry. Tired. Dirty. Gross. Sick. Out of touch.

Considering how much you were already being told to hate them, how Trump was already dehumanizing them while they were freely living their lives, how right will he seem after he's sealed them inside these godforsaken pens?

And you'll be paying 100 percent of their costs of living.

When you stop paying some of those costs, without setting them free, they'll start dying.

The camps will be riddled with death.

We'll want the camps to go away. 

Probably, hopefully, we'll quietly let the people who survive go back to their homes, back to their jobs and lives.

We'll wish to forget the whole thing.

They'll want to forget it too, but won't.

Does a second term for Donald Trump represent an existential threat to American democracy?

Even for those fortunate Americans outside of the Trump cult of personality, some are skeptical. Some of that skepticism, perhaps, comes from focusing on the outcome of the January 6 insurrection than on the full sweep of Trump’s attempt to overturn the results for two months before it was stopped in Congress that night. And some of the skepticism, for well-meaning individuals like Shadi Hamid, is a diehard faith in American institutions, a faith they feel was vindicated by Trump’s failure to end democracy then. 

Of course, the legal community was nearly united in its assumption that Trump's immunity claim had no basis in law at all, and the Supreme Court surprised them. Who knows how they will surprise us when Trump inevitably challenges the result of an election on some equally invented grounds. It is odd to still have an unyielding faith in face of such an enormous uncertainty.

But more than trying to convince you of how Trump might go about it, what I really to say to those of you who are still open to the idea that the threat is greater than you suppose, to people liberal or conservative, Democrat, Independent, or Republican, is this:

He will try.

Many of you wouldn't deny this, and even take it for granted. I am asking you not to take it for granted, to take seriously what it means to say that one party's candidate will not try to cripple our system of free and fair elections, and one party's candidate is guaranteed to. How high do his odds of success have to be before you treat this as a genuine emergency? Is a 20 percent chance of losing our democracy too low? Is 30?

Of course Trump is not just a threat to democracy. He’s a threat in many other ways. Most dramatically, the number of people he has promised to deport if elected keeps going up, but has not gone below 15 million. Perhaps you think he will fail. After all, he promised to deport 8 million people in 2016 and did not succeed. Why should we take it seriously this time?

He will try.

In both cases, past performance is not a guarantee of future outcomes. He tried then, and if given the opportunity, he will try again. Moreover, if he wins we may find in hindsight that defeating him in 2020 only to reelect him in 2024 was the worst possible sequence of events. The efforts of 2017–2021 were haphazard, poorly thought out and organized, but there was a significant degree of learning on the part of those few stable figures in Trump’s inner circle such as Stephen Miller. And a four-year break allowed time to process what was learned and formulate a less haphazard approach; most famously, though not at all exclusively, seen in Project 2025.

But even setting all that aside, even assuming that his odds of success in 2025 will be no higher than they were in 2017, any reasoning person must concede: he will try.

A mass expulsion on the scale of 15–20 million people would be, bar none, the largest in the history of the world. Even if Trump’s people only manage to hit a quarter of their goal, the result will be human suffering and death on an enormous scale. The path to hitting deportations of that level would necessarily involve significant weakening of the very safeguards that Hamid and others were banking on protecting our system of free and fair elections.

He will try. And even a partial failure would be a humanitarian catastrophe, and break many of our already battered institutions.

Is it worth it? For what?

Do not promote false equivalences. Do not pretend there is some symmetry of risk here.

And do turn out to vote the entire Democratic ticket, no matter what state you live in.

He will try, so you had better.

Featured Image is DC Capitol Storming, by TapTheForwardAssist

The last two weeks have been among the scariest for liberals and for the broader anti-Trump, pro-democracy coalition since Donald Trump descended the golden escalator and accused Mexicans of being rapists and drug dealers in announcing his candidacy in 2015. President Biden's disastrous debate performance on June 27th was what kicked off the collective alarm and widespread calls for him to withdraw from the race in favor of someone younger. The Republican majority's decision in Trump v. United States, which gives presidents near total legal immunity for official acts during their presidency and which defines official acts so broadly as to make it functionally impossible to ever hold a president legally accountable for lawless or corrupt behavior in office, only added to the pro-democracy coalition's freakout.

The net effect of these two events has been to stoke panic among the friends of freedom both in America and abroad with many succumbing to nihilistic doomerism and despair. While this is a very understandable impulse—I myself had probably my worst mental health day since 2016 this week—despair is neither the right response, nor one we have any right to indulge.

There is, as the writer John Green has observed, a certain seduction to despair. This is because despair can always seem like a viable choice—'the good old days' are famously a myth and at no point in history have humans ever faced a shortage of problems. And despair can also seem like a viable choice because of the certainty that none of us are going to make it out of this thing alive. Moreover, our entire solar system will eventually be swallowed by Andromeda. In that case, why bother to struggle for or against anything at all? Why not embrace nihilism? 

I offer two reasons. First, because despair is a lie. It says that we know for certain that nothing will ever get better. Not only is that not something anyone can know, all the evidence of modern human history strongly contradicts it. Humanity's last 500 years is the history of an accelerating and dramatic improvement in the wellbeing of almost everyone alive compared to our ancestors. The second reason to refuse the poison chalice of nihilism is that doing so dramatically improves one's subjective experience of life. Maybe someone else somewhere has met a happy, fulfilled nihilist, but I certainly have never heard of such a person. On the other hand, there is a large body of very well-documented evidence that a sense of purpose is one of the core requirements for mental health and human flourishing. 

Returning to a more temporal plane and the situation American liberals and democrats are now faced with, there are more practical reasons to take heart. In politics sometimes you’re in government, sometimes you’re in the opposition, and sometimes you’re a dissident. As of this writing, some combination of the latter two are looking more probable than not for the next 4 years in America. One of the worst and most common tropes in most people's thinking about authoritarian regimes is the idea that democracy and dictatorship are binaries. Countries are either liberal democracies, or they're Nazi Germany or North Korea. Christopher Hitchens used to like to say that one benefit of studying history is that you have other metaphors in your toolkit besides Hitler and the Nazis. And as anyone who has studied authoritarian regimes and democratic backsliding knows, there is never a single inflection point where democracy dies and the flame of freedom is extinguished, never to burn again. What tends to happen instead is a deterioration of democratic conditions over time. Sometimes this process culminates dramatically in a successful coup or the election of an authoritarian leader. But sometimes it happens quite gradually, as was the case in Orban's Hungary, Erdogan's Turkey, and the Philippines under Rodrigo Duterte. All of that is to say, nothing that happens in the United States is going to make resistance impossible and certainly nothing that has happened yet has done that. 

Many doomers argue that there is little to no difference between another Trump administration and another Biden (or Harris) administration. It should be difficult for anyone who hasn’t been in a coma since 2015 to take this argument seriously. On every single policy issue, Trump and the Star Wars cantina of crooks, grifters, and true-believing fascists he has around him are vastly, vastly worse than the Biden administration has been. This is even true on Israel-Palestine, where I share many of the doomers’ exasperation with Biden’s reluctance to aggressively use America’s considerable leverage to strong-arm the Israeli government into allowing in sufficient aid to the 2 million starving Gazans and ending what very much looks like it will turn into an endless war. Trump has recently begun to use Palestinian as a slur. He appointed a virulently rightwing, anti-Palestinian U.S. Ambassador to Israel and upended 70 years of American policy by officially recognizing Jerusalem as Israel’s capital. Where the Biden administration has been timid and inept in trying to reign in Netanyahu and his goons, a Trump administration would be eager enablers of them. 

The final reason to take heart is that we are blessed with wonderful examples of liberal and democratic resistance to look to both from our own history and from our friends and comrades around the world. The two that have been cheering me up the most the last several months are Polish democrats uniting to oust a deeply entrenched PiS government last fall which had been in power for eight years and which, going into the election, showed every sign of having Poland on an express train to becoming a second Hungary. This dire state of affairs in Poland under the former PiS government was detailed brilliantly by Anne Applebaum in her book "The Twilight of Democracy: The Seductive Lure of Authoritarianism." Applebaum, an American historian and journalist, happens to be married to Polish politician Radosław Sikorski. Sikorski and his fellow Polish democrats went from being the subjects of a concerted campaign of incitement and defamation by the PiS-controlled state broadcaster a few months ago, to now being the government of Poland. That doesn't mean the threat disappeared. PiS still holds Poland's presidency and is fighting with everything it has against the new government's efforts to rid the judiciary of the loyalists who were installed on the bench during PiS's rule. 

The other rich vein of inspiration I've been mining during the Trump years is the struggle for African-American citizenship and equality. W.E.B. DuBois's is maybe the most useful life to look at here. DuBois was born in 1868, three years after the end of the Civil War that ended slavery, near the start of the ill-fated Reconstruction regime in the American South. For a brief few years under Reconstruction, black American men were able to vote freely in the South, with this right being protected at gunpoint by thousands of federal troops. For a glorious few years between the late 1860s and the late 1880s, America saw not only blacks able to vote in the places they had so recently been in chains, but it even saw black U.S. Senators, black state governors, and black state legislators. This changed in 1877 when a contested presidential election led to Northern Republicans ending Reconstruction by withdrawing federal troops from the South in exchange for their guy getting the presidency. Even after 1877, African Americans clung on to some vestiges of their former political power and rights up into the 1890s, by which time Southern whites had retaken political power in all the states of the former Confederacy and began implementing the apartheid-style political and economic system known as Jim Crow. Jim Crow lasted the rest of DuBois's adult life, not even showing so much as a crack in its edifice until well into the 1950s. DuBois died in 1963 at the height of the Civil Rights Movement, but shortly before its crowning achievements, the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. 

As DuBois's life illustrates, neither victory nor defeat are final in politics. And as if to demonstrate this point further for us, lawless Republican hacks in robes—including three of the six lawless hacks responsible for the Trump V. United States ruling that turns presidents into unaccountable kings and equality before the law into a cruel joke—gutted the enforcement provisions of the Voting Rights Act in 2013 in Shelby County v. Holder. 

Resistance isn't just possible when faced with a cabal of insurrectionists and crooks who are urinating on the Constitution from a great height. It is the only moral response and is the duty of every person who loves liberty and values the rule of law and not of spray-painted felons and extravagantly bribed judges who have stopped pretending to care about anything other than their own side's power. 

Featured Image is Dissent is Patriotic, by Joe Flood

President Biden’s executive order to limit asylum access to people crossing the US border ignited a rebuke from progressive Democrats and a minor furor on social media: how is this different from Trump’s border policies that inspired so much fear and rage? Biden claims “I will never demonize immigrants. I will never refer to immigrants as 'poisoning the blood' of a country. And further, I’ll never separate children from their families at the border.” But in the same speech Biden says that “if the United States doesn’t secure our border, there is no limit to the number of people who may try to come here, because there is no better place on the planet than the United States of America.” 

This, following a long history of restrictionist policies and rhetoric, betrays a zero-sum understanding of immigration and of America itself. There is some “limit” to the number of immigrants beyond which current Americans must defend their better way of life, and “the good will of Americans [is] wearing thin right now.” This closed border thinking views immigrants as presumptively suspicious and, in large numbers, threatening. 

The truth is that MAGA is right about Democrats and open borders. The deepest values any true Democrat holds point ineluctably toward open borders and freedom of movement for all people. We as Democrats must stop cringing from this core truth, and we must stop kowtowing to anti-immigrant rhetoric that only serves reactionary causes. Only an open border is consistent with freedom, democratic government, diversity, and racial justice.

Freedom

In a very real sense, migration just is freedom. We move across borders to choose where we live. We move to meet and mingle with the people we’d like, to be with family and friends or to make new friends and join new families. We move to work in the jobs and careers we desire. We move to experience the culture, the cities and the natural landscapes that inhabit our dreams. In short, we migrate to live the lives we want to lead. Migration is choice, self-determination, and self-authorship.

This is all the more true in the case of refugees fleeing oppression. Enslaved blacks struck for freedom by fleeing to the north. European Jews fled Nazi death camps, and were all too often turned away by proto-MAGA antisemites in America, to our everlasting shame as a nation. There is no more powerful image of freedom in recent decades than the joyous destruction of the Berlin Wall, which had confined millions of Germans in unfreedom with its concrete, barbed wire, land mines, and snipers. Uighurs, Palestinians, Sudanese, Venezuelans and others can attest that the world today does not lack in oppression and horrors from which to flee.

But we make a mistake to draw a line too sharply separating “merely” economic migrants from refugees and asylees. Natural disasters, destitution, and decrepit political institutions can smother freedom as surely as repression and violence. And refugees are necessarily also economic migrants, who must repair their often shattered financial condition and pursue work in their new country. Differentiating between refugees and “ordinary” immigrants only incentivizes politicians and officials to cynically define the conditions of asylum ever more narrowly.

Consider what it takes to stop immigration. There are no gentle ways to deny entry, detain, or deport. Barring entry to a country means forcefully compelling a person to return from whence they came. Closed borders erode civil liberties even for citizens: federal border enforcement agencies have arrogated the power to search anyone within 100 miles of any US border—about two out of three people—without a warrant. As long as our borders remain closed, even under administrations who don’t conspicuously delight in pornographic cruelty, we will be confronted with images of separated families and drowned children.

Detention is incarceration—literal, physical unfreedom. If we are uncomfortable imprisoning human beings without trial and for victimless misdemeanors, then we should be outraged when armed agents of the state throw people into cages for the “crime” of crossing a border to shape and improve their lives.

Deportation rips an individual away from their lives and forcefully ejects them from society. Dreamers, immigrants brought to the US as children by undocumented parents, make an especially sympathetic case because they didn’t immigrate of their own volition. But all immigrants—documented and otherwise—have lives, families, friends, communities, careers, obligations, bills, plans, and projects associated with their homes. The human connections that make Dreamers so sympathetic are common to all immigrants, and their forceful severance is always devastating to the human beings involved. Deportation ultimately consists of men with guns frog-marching a fellow human being onto a plane and dumping them in a place they would prefer not to be, and may even fear. Banishment and exile are not freedom.

Democracy

Americans rebelled against the British crown with the demand, “No taxation without representation.” It was self-evidently unjust that taxes and other matters of law could be imposed on people who had no say in their composition. When legislation affects our lives and welfare, we deserve some voice in the matter.

But what voice does the immigrant have? The strong, violent arm of government bears down far more harshly on the crosser of frontiers than do any taxes or ordinances. But the immigrant cannot vote to influence the forces that so profoundly shape their life. In our electoral discourse we take no account of the immigrant’s manifest desire. We poll citizens who have no skin in the game about how much immigration should be tolerated. How much, as if immigrants comprise a formless mass, as if each immigrant is not a distinct person with unique dreams. 

But every immigrant has already voted in the most profound possible way—with their feet and their lives—in favor of their chosen country. Every immigrant is a vote for America. Every deportation is a vote against America.

Democrats rightfully rail against the Senate and the Electoral College because they violate the basic democratic principle of “one person, one vote.” Republicans since the Civil Rights Movement have schemed to gerrymander and election-rig Black Americans out of political power. But non-citizen immigrants are completely disenfranchised, no chicanery even necessary. Immigrants, despite living among us as Americans in all but legal status, are in a similar situation as women before suffrage, or Black Americans before the fall of Jim Crow. Such a profound asymmetry in power demands courage and unwavering commitment from Democrats to dismantle. 

Racial justice

Racial justice is incompatible with closed borders. It’s clear enough that white supremacy animates the MAGA mission to close our borders to immigrants from “shithole” countries. Donald Trump’s Muslim ban was exactly what it said on the tin: a ban on Muslim and/or Arab immigrants. MAGA threatens public peace and our democratic form of government to forestall the “Great Replacement,” the conspiracy theory that Jews are coordinating the systematic replacement of white people in America and western Europe with black and brown foreigners.

But MAGA white supremacy is hardly unique. American immigration was first restricted in the nineteenth century for the explicitly racist purpose of excluding immigrants from China. Constricting the American border to target certain races or nationalities—Mexicans, Haitians, Arabs—for exclusion and to privilege access for whites and Christians has been the norm throughout our history. 

It is, of course, possible to carefully massage and prune the language of border policy to be fastidiously “colorblind” so the racism is merely systemic and not evident beyond the shadow of a white man’s doubt. But Democrats are not obligated to play make-believe as if they were on the MAGA Court. The closed border has been and will only be the ally of white supremacy. Efforts to degrade and destroy racism on which Democrats have prided themselves since the Civil Rights Movement will come to naught as long as they affirm the unquestioned right of the government to detain, deport, and discriminate against immigrants and people who look like they might be immigrants.

Diversity

In affirming the principle of closed borders, of “border sovereignty”—that the individual has no freedom of movement that the state must respect—Democrats cede the narrative to the MAGA worldview. We concede that moving across frontiers is an inherently suspicious act and immigrants inherently suspicious people. 

But this is alien to the Democratic vision of what America is and can be. We celebrate diversity not merely as an ideal but as a firm, visible fact. People from different ethnic backgrounds, different religious traditions, and different cultures can and do live together in close proximity and in peace and prosperity. People who look different, dress differently, eat differently, and pray differently can live together, dispersed as well as in overlapping communities. This makes America richer, stronger, and livelier.

This is no mere fantasy. American cities from the California coast to the Atlantic seaboard, from the industrial Midwest to the deep South, are living, breathing centers of boisterous diversity and cultural and economic dynamism. Like so many features of American politics, the apparent hostility to immigrants is a product of our lingering undead antidemocratic institutions, such as the Electoral College, the Senate, and an artificially shrunken House of Representatives. These privilege white folks and empty land over the diverse, heavily urban American tapestry as it actually exists.

Democrats betray our commitment to—our faith in—diversity when we condone shutting down the very mechanism which produced our diversity. If Democrats would have America be the multihued, polyglot cosmopolis we advertise on our yard signs and bumper stickers, then we must condemn closed borders. We must press the case for open borders and freedom of movement. 

Essays like this usually include facts and figures to allay the concerns ordinary people—the denizens of midwestern diners and rural Americans—have about immigration. Immigrants don’t increase crime and they don’t take away jobs and they don’t lower wages and they don’t bankrupt social services and they do integrate and they do enlarge the economic pie. These aggregate facts are easy enough to confirm if you’re curious. But the essential truth is that immigrants are simply human beings, with all the foibles, frailties, passions, and brilliances to which our species is heir. We should not single out those humans we call immigrants for higher (or lower) expectations because of some accident of their birth. We are Democrats, and we are against that kind of thing.

Instead I will close by showing how in welcoming immigrants with open borders and open arms, we affirm a patriotic American tradition.

Her Right Foot

When Emma Lazarus penned The New Colossus, the poem we associate with the Statue of Liberty, she bestowed upon the nation a new Founding document to accompany the new monument.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

America’s most iconic monument is a statue proclaiming world-wide welcome. The Mother of Exiles welcomes not only the rich and powerful, but pointedly the poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free. These words and the Statue of Liberty herself have so impressed themselves onto the civic religion of America that they rival “We hold these truths to be self-evident” and “That government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the Earth.” Our most deeply held ideas about who we are as Americans are that we fight for freedom and against tyrants, that we are willing to risk the blood and unity of the whole nation in order to liberate those held in bondage, and that we lift the lamp of welcome beside our golden door of liberty.

The New Colossus is well known. Less well known is its sequel, written in the form of a children’s book by Dave Eggers, illustrated by Shawn Harris. In Her Right Foot, Eggers alerts us to the fact that the right foot of the Statue of Liberty is upraised, her heel lifted off the pedestal, broken chains close by. She faces southeast, outward to the world, and she is on the move. Why?

If the Statue of Liberty is a symbol of freedom, if the Statue of Liberty has welcomed millions of immigrants to the United States, then how can she stand still? Liberty and freedom from oppression are not things you get or grant by standing around like some kind of statue. No! These are things that require action. Courage. An unwillingness to rest ... In welcoming the poor, the tired, the struggling to breathe free, She is not content to wait. She must meet them in the sea.

Look to the Statue of Liberty and act. Break the conventional chains of closed borders. Defend the right to move freely across borders. Welcome all who would become Americans and fight for their right to do so. Defend, shelter, and advocate for the immigrant with all the fire and passion you can muster. This is our commitment as Democrats and as Americans. Throw open the borders and break the infernal locks. Free them all.

Featured image is Liberty Enlightening the World, by Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi