Conflict and order: How disputes invigorate and threaten democracy

Democracy differs from all other forms of government in that it welcomes public debate as a prerequisite for good decision-making. Everywhere else, from monarchies to aristocracies and dictatorships, the opposite is true: public debates and disagreements, whether among rulers or the ruled, threaten the system.

However, the willingness to engage in debate could only become a unique feature of democracy because a comprehensive set of rules ensures that political debate proceeds in a peaceful and orderly manner. Today's losers may be tomorrow's winners. Dispute is not an end in itself, but a means of bringing about majority decisions that are accepted by all parties involved. This puts a temporary end to the debate until it starts again on another matter decision. Majorities decide not only what is done, but also who comes to power. For democracy to survive, it is essential that majorities are constantly being formed anew and that no one has to live with the prospect of remaining in the minority forever. The orderly transfer of power through new majorities is the basis of every democracy.

For the democratic system to function, it needs institutions with different tasks that monitor, criticise and respect each other – from government to parliament and the courts to the media. Democratic rule is based on the control and sharing of power. Those who are politically active must not only be able to acknowledge a loss, but also to live with limited power and think of the entire electorate even when they win. Despite all the love of debate, partisanship and differences of opinion, democracy depends on a basic consensus among all participants on how the rules of the game work and which institutions act as referees.
 

Every democracy needs elites

All this is asking a lot, which is why democratic politics is not for everyone. To be successful in the democratic power game, one must restrain one’s will to shape things through self-restraint, combine the ability to gain a majority with the acceptance of being in the minority, and prioritise participation in the democratic process over the enforcement of one’s own will. Those who manage to do this rightly belong to the meritocratic elite of democracy. Every democracy needs political elites to function; none, not even Switzerland, accurately correspond to the image of pure and direct popular rule. What distinguishes democratic elites is their acceptance of a limited length of time in power and their willingness to quietly make way for new members in the circle of power when they are voted out: “servir et disparaître”.

If we outline the basic conditions for democracy to function, the diagnosis today is that democratic politics is in crisis. Unlike in the past, it is not threatened by the appeal of competing systems such as communism or fascism. Rather, the crisis has struck at its heart: the culture of debate. Political opponents are declared enemies, democratic rules are violated, supervisory bodies are ignored and even election results are denied.
 

Election denial and firewall

On 6 January 2021, the greatest attack on American democracy in recent history took place: When Donald Trump called on his supporters to “march on the Capitol” to overturn the allegedly stolen election, he renounced the fundamental democratic consensus. The mob that stormed the Capitol not only stormed a building but also broke with the idea that political disputes are decided through words and elections. Four years later, the man who incited the riot is back in the White House – elected, but not reformed – and pursuing a policy of undivided power.

Fractures are also appearing in Europe. In Germany, the ‘firewall’ against the AfD is shaping the political climate. It represents an attempt to defend the democratic order against internal enemies. The moral line drawn is historically understandable, but democratically delicate: where exactly is the line between legitimate defence and political exclusion? When democratic parties refuse to engage in dialogue with a growing electorate, democracy risks losing its most important asset – the ability to keep conflicts within its own order. The dispute that should invigorate it becomes a risk in itself.
 

Is democracy history?

These examples illustrate what political scientists Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt described in their book "How Democracies Die" (2018) as the creeping erosion of democratic norms. According to their thesis, democracies today rarely fail as a result of coups, invasions or revolutions. They decay quietly, from within – through the gradual loss of the self-restraint that holds the political game together. In functioning democracies, Levitsky and Ziblatt write, opponents voluntarily adhere to two unwritten rules: that the opponent remains a legitimate player despite all differences, and that one’s own power must not be exploited to the extreme.

When these two rules erode, democracy begins to falter. When political actors treat the opposition as the enemy, declare the judiciary and the media to be biased and only accept elections when they themselves win, the system loses its internal stability. The institutions may continue to exist formally, but they become the backdrop for a power struggle without rules. The dispute, which was once an expression of pluralistic vitality, turns into a battle for victory or destruction.

With Tocqueville to the beginnings

The French aristocrat Alexis de Tocqueville was already aware that democracies thrive not only on laws but also on customs when he travelled through the United States in the 1830s. With Democracy in America, he painted an impressive portrait of a society that attempts to combine equality and freedom. Tocqueville recognised early on that democracy is much more than an institutional arrangement: it is a way of life. Its strength lies in the willingness of citizens to get involved, to compromise, to take responsibility.

Tocqueville was fascinated by the fact that the Americans of his time practised the art of self-government on a daily basis – in associations, communities, churches and newspapers. These forms of cooperation created a moral school of freedom in which society regulated itself. He saw this as the decisive difference between the old societies of Europe and the new: Americans argued, but they did so in forms they themselves had created. The dispute was not divisive, but unifying.

It is precisely this aspect that seems to be lost today. The institutions remain formally intact, but the social spaces where people learn to act politically are disappearing. The new public spheres of the digital world may intensify the dispute, but they do not organise it. Diversity of opinion becomes confrontation, criticism becomes outrage, participation becomes exhaustion. Democracy has not forgotten how to argue, but it has lost the ability to make arguments productive.

This is where the contrast between Levitsky/Ziblatt and Tocqueville lies. The former describe how democracies collapse when their institutions and norms erode; the latter shows why they function at all as long as they are supported by vibrant social practices. Ultimately, however, they are concerned with the same phenomenon: the fragile balance between conflict and order.