19
The Democratic Revolution
(Excerpt from The Case for Rational Optimism, by Frank S. Robinson)
Thomas Jefferson believed the Declaration of Independence embodied universal human values. The last thing he ever wrote was a letter saying he was too ill to attend a fiftieth anniversary celebration for the declaration—but avowing his hope that its idea of self-government and human rights would in time spread throughout the world: Òto some parts sooner, to others later, but finally to all.Ó
Such democratic ideals have always been a mainstay of the American consciousness. But lately thereÕs been a burst of cynicism. As weÕve seen, many find a lot wrong with democracy as practiced in America today. And, when a US president talks of spreading democracy, they not only scoff at this idea, they condemn it, and even take smug satisfaction at setbacks. They say democracy isnÕt for everyone, isnÕt always desirable, and is a pipe dream anyway. Cultural relativists label arrogant, imperialist, or dishonest the notion of spreading what they call ÒWesternÓ values, saying we should understand and respect other societies rather than trying to change them.
Humility is a virtue; but this mindset tends to see other cultures as unalterable, which actually denies a fundamental human reality of continuous striving for betterment. In fact, people can and do change and so do cultures. A perfect example is AmericaÕs own change in racial attitudes, particularly in the South, dramatically upending deeply embedded social constructs.
Cultural relativism is largely the work of intellectuals who exhibit scant respect for one culture at least—their own. And while "social change" used to be their mantra, now they have ditched the idea, at least for other societies. Such an outlook, columnist David Brooks has written, makes people stop trying to fight evils, and pretty soon, to stop condemning them—a hard-heartedness that flatters their moral vanity with an aura of sophistication.
This modern cynical pessimism is skeptical toward ideals altogether. We are told that ideals are just masks for self-interest, tools used by some to bamboozle others (or themselves), with pervasive failure to practice what is preached. Hypocrisy is indeed common; but to deem it universal goes way too far. Human beings are not, may I repeat, purely selfish egoists. Goodness and rightness do matter to most of us. But a belief that idealism is fundamentally suspect undermines oneÕs own willingness to hold and act upon ideals. Surely the counter to phony ideals should be genuine ones and not to give up on ideals altogether.
ItÕs also fine to advocate realism. But reality often reflects not some natural necessity, but merely what serves certain individuals, and bowing to such reality is not sense, itÕs surrender. The Law of Gravity is a reality that canÕt be changed, but Jim Crow laws could be changed and were. As Kant showed us, we are not bound by what exists just because it does. And while it may be naive to expect our ideals will triumph, itÕs not naive to try.
Cultural relativism often works out to be quite callous toward the actual human beings it claims to respect. Who in the world has a genuine cultural preference for tyranny and repression? When we are told that some societies donÕt want democracy, free speech, or religious liberty because these values are somehow incompatible with their cultural traditions, it isnÕt being said by people denied such rights. Oppressive systems are always rationalized by the elites who benefit, not their silenced victims. When some insist that certain cultural traditions validate treating women as chattels, subjecting them to so-called circumcision, stoning them to death for non-virginity, or Òhonor killingsÓ by their own families on mere suspicion, it never comes from the mouths of those mutilated or murdered. Likewise, in the old American South it was frequently said that blacks were happy with the Òcustom and traditionÓ of segregation, or even with slavery itself—but this was never said by blacks speaking freely.
People in a repressed country might outwardly appear perfectly content, even enthusiastic about the system. Many visitors to StalinÕs USSR returned with stars in their eyes—ÒI have seen the future and it works,Ó gushed Lincoln Steffens. What they failed to see was millions shot for the slightest hint of disloyalty. With a gun to your head, you too would sing StalinÕs praises. Natan Sharansky, in The Case for Democracy, divides the world between free societies and fear societies, with the latter populated by a core of loyalists, a few brave rebels, and a wider population of double thinkers bludgeoned into suppressing their true feelings.
Yet still cynics insist that democracy is unsuitable for some cultures and that some are not ready for it or capable of understanding it because theyÕve never had it, donÕt really want it, and are bound to screw it up if they get it. All this was said about Afghanis before their first-ever election in 2004, yet they voted with huge enthusiasm and made a reasonable choice. And it was said most relentlessly about Iraqis until the day that millions of them literally risked death to vote. I will always remember the pictures of Iraqi women proudly holding up inked fingers, showing that, for the first time in their lives, their voices had been heard.
With all the talk about how this country or that one has no experience with democracy, and so canÕt possibly succeed with it, we seem to forget that not so very long ago there were almost no democracies in the world altogether. Yet democracy has proliferated and not just in the West. Look at India. Until 1947, it was ruled by princelings and British functionaries, without voting, legislative bodies, or constitutions, no popular sovereignty whatsoever. Then, poof: full-blown democracy. And it took hold. India has remained (with one brief interruption) quite a vibrant democracy ever since.
People everywhere understand well enough what it means to participate in governance. And there isnÕt anyone who doesnÕt want it. ThatÕs not some ÒWesternÓ cultural idiosyncrasy. Furthermore, when considering all the cynicism about the shortcomings of democracy, letÕs not forget what the alternative is: dictatorship, tyranny, repression. Does anybody, even the most cynical, think thatÕs preferable, to produce better outcomes and a better world?
* * *
But most of us actually donÕt question the concept of democracy as an ultimate political ideal. ItÕs worth talking about why. Some regimes, like North KoreaÕs, with no elections, call themselves Òdemocratic,Ó claiming to act on behalf of the people and for their benefit. In reality, the interest such regimes invariably serve is their own power and privilege. But such a government could never truly serve the interests of its citizens because it cannot know them. Most people prefer the freedom to pursue their own interests, and to express them through open politics. That has to produce better human results.
All non-democratic political models rest on the dubious idea of an elite supposedly knowing whatÕs best for everyone else. My mother used to order me around, saying it was for my own good; but we should be less trusting when similar claims are made by people not our mothers. Democracy means government treating citizens as adults, not children.
Yet, we often hear that democracy in practice is overrated, even meaningless, or worthless. We have discussed the imperfections of democratic government; no system could ever be perfect. But government accountability to people, through the ballot box, makes all the difference in the world. We frankly fail to value this enough. Its absence in communist Russia and China resulted in more deaths than in both world wars plus the Holocaust. China has imprisoned, tortured, and sent thousands to labor camps just for belonging to an exercise club, Falun Gong, which the regime vaguely fears.
Democracy gives citizens crucial protections against government, limiting what the most powerful can do, making everyone more safe and secure. That happily lowers the stakes in political competition. Losing an election doesnÕt mean losing your livelihood or your life.
Granted, dictatorship can be governmentally efficient. Though itÕs a false myth that Mussolini made the trains run on time, Chile, China, and Vietnam did open up their economies by decree, with great results (VietnamÕs poverty rate fell from 58 percent in 1993 to 15 percent in 2007). In democracies like Germany and France, voters resist such liberalizing reforms; as weÕve seen, democracy is not an unmitigated blessing, and an empowered citizenry can be obstructive. Yet still free countries, by and large, are more prosperous than tyrannies. And human aspirations are not just economic. Chileans, after gaining economic freedom and prosperity, then insisted on political rights too. Even if it were true that dictatorship could produce better raw economic results, political liberty is itself an important element of human well-being, for which people are willing to pay a price.
There is much talk about other supposed human rights—to healthcare, education, housing, and so forth. Such notions of social and economic rights raise a lot of tricky issues, of how always limited resources should be divvied up. No one has a ÒrightÓ to something to be supplied at someone elseÕs expense. Much in contrast are straightforward political rights of free elections, free speech, rule of law, and protection against arbitrary punishment, which can be honored without taking anything away from anybody. It may be pointless to talk of a right to, say, education, in a poor country that canÕt afford it; but nowhere is free speech unaffordable. And it is telling that governments like CubaÕs and ChinaÕs wrap themselves in rhetoric about such ÒrightsÓ as healthcare and education while brutally crushing rights of the more fundamental sort. Can such regimes ever be trusted to truly serve the human needs of their subjects—as opposed to manipulating them as a means for hanging onto power? It is through democratic rights of free speech and elections that governments are best made genuinely responsive to peopleÕs social and economic concerns. Those political rights are the indispensable foundation for everything else.
* * *
Much cynicism toward democracy nowadays focuses on worries about the wrong people winning elections. ItÕs pointed out that Hitler gained power through the ballot box—which actually isnÕt even true (the Nazis never got more than about 40 percent in a free election, and seized total power by force). But anyhow this misses a key point. Democracy doesnÕt mean just elections. It certainly doesnÕt mean Òone man, one vote, one timeÓ elections giving control to anti-democrats who never allow another vote. And voting itself can be meaningless if there isnÕt fair and open competition.
A democratic civil society, in contrast, is one with pluralism, rule of law, private property, minority rights, free expression, and decisions made with broad popular participation and debate. Checks and balances serve to disperse power and prevent its concentration. Government is itself subject to law, open, and transparent; there is a basic trust between government and citizens. ThatÕs what democracy really is; itÕs not just a political system, itÕs a cultural system. And societies that develop it donÕt elect Hitlers and donÕt do all the nasty things that are common to undemocratic regimes. Genuine democracy does not make nations dangerous.
This is not to say the whole world should adopt a single uniform model of perfect democracy. Different nations solve their own special problems differently. AmericaÕs Electoral College is a political quirk that some assail as antidemocratic. Perhaps; but it doesnÕt mean America isnÕt still basically a democracy. Likewise, other nations will sport their own peculiarities. And just as democratic culture accommodates idiosyncrasies among citizens, so too can a democratic world community tolerate some political diversity among nations.
ThereÕs an old adage that people get the government they deserve. Well, sometimes a regime rules by violence, and nobody deserves that. A government like ChinaÕs may claim a sort of legitimacy because citizens accept it, but they have no choice. That was made clear in 1989 when, faced with people seeking change, the Chinese regime shot them down, literally. Mao meant it in saying, Òpower comes from the barrel of a gun,Ó not consent of the governed.
But sometimes people do effectively choose undemocratic government. In order to have a real democracy, you need citizens with a real democratic mentality, putting a high enough value on a democratic society that theyÕre willing to accept its costs. Those costs include such annoyances as the necessity for compromise, sometimes inability to get things done, the need to tolerate participation by people you donÕt like, maybe even their having power, and maybe even a little disorder. The idea of public order as incompatible with, and preferable to, democratic openness can have some appeal. Russia, for example, now has a repressive government because that is actually what Russians voted for. They rejected an open democratic society, and gave their votes instead to a Kremlin mafia that seemed to promise order and security as an alternative. A poor choice; but seventy-four years of Communism had warped their political consciousness. Russia has elections, but no real democracy, because its people have yet to embrace the culture of democracy.
We ourselves also fall for the false choice of order versus democracy. Promoting freedom is often derided as a foolish, even dangerous naivite; weÕre told itÕs more sensible to pursue stability, through a no-nonsense ÒrealpolitikÓ that puts interests ahead of ideals. Thus, we shouldnÕt even think about democratizing, and risk destabilizing, say, Saudi Arabia. We have long bought into that notion. And fifteen of the nineteen 9/11 hijackers came from Saudi Arabia. ThatÕs what ÒstabilityÓ got us.
In truth, when it comes to repressive regimes, itÕs really stability that is the foolish pipe dream. A tyrannized country bottles up the aspirations of its people, leading not to stability but to eventual explosion. And putting our interests ahead of our ideals here is nonsense as well, because in this case our ideals actually serve our interests. Our number one interest is a peaceful world. WhatÕs the surest guarantor of peace? Democracy.
ItÕs a cliche that democracies donÕt war with each other. Some critics dispute that. In one such essay, columnist Jonathan Last claimed a Òwhole listÓ of democracies that fought. To make his list, he counted Nazi Germany as a democracy; included BosniaÕs self-defense against ethnic cleansing; cited a border skirmish between Ecuador and Peru; and a war in 415 BC. That was the entirety of his list!
The reason democracies are actually so un-warlike is that the democratic mentality shapes not just their internal affairs but also their relations with other countries. The same spirit of peaceable tolerance, cooperation, and compromise to resolve differences that governs their domestic politics will govern their international relations too. Most people in a democracy dislike war; they donÕt want to risk their lives and property, they are less belligerent, and abhor bloodshed. Political leaders must be highly sensitive to all this.
Non-democratic dynamics contrast markedly. Public opinion is less potent, and dissent is silenced. War increases the role of the state and the power of rulers. And itÕs a common pattern for regimes lacking electoral legitimacy to rally support by demonizing supposed enemies and whipping up nationalist bloodlust. Those in Cuba, North Korea, and Iran all strive to foment hatred against the US as a pretext for the repression they employ to retain power. ArgentinaÕs junta, with its authority crumbling in 1982, saw nationalist war over the Falklands as a way to prop itself up. The war failed; bye-bye junta. A democracy will not go to war without strong popular support; in a non-democracy, war is used to gin up support.
Where democracies have been pushed into war, itÕs always against dictatorships, because itÕs dictatorships that do the kinds of things that provoke war. Democracies do not. They never fight each other, quite simply, because democracies donÕt give each other cause to do so.
Furthermore, in the modern era, civil wars are far more prevalent than one nation fighting another. But democracies allow nonviolent options for achieving societal change; whereas dictatorships, not accountable to citizens, and sharply dividing society between those in power and the powerless others, are far more prone to political violence and civil conflict. Their culture of fear and rule by force aggravates this. Writer R. J. Rummel has conducted thorough statistical analyses confirming the strong correlation between lack of freedom and internal political violence as well as war among nations.[1]
Moralistic pacifists concentrate on opposing war, but itÕs freedom we should focus on. Less blood is spilled in wars than by murderous dictatorships like those in Burma, Sudan, or North Korea. And the wrongs committed by such regimes are the causes of war. Freedom is always good for peace, while dictatorship, for all the blather about Òstability,Ó never is. Only with democratic culture can there be true stability of the sort worth having. Most of the worldÕs worst problems have undemocratic regimes at their root, so the fewer such regimes, the less trouble there will be.
ItÕs recognized that for certain countries, near-term democratization is unrealistic; that pragmatism may require compromising some objectives to serve others; and sometimes our democratic ideals must take a back seat to more immediate concerns. We cannot pursue a single-minded one-issue foreign policy. But none of this means democracy is a dispensable or peripheral goal. Instead, it is absolutely central to our vision for the kind of world we want.
And in the long run, we are far better off being seen by downtrodden masses as their champions than as collaborators of the downtrodders. By backing the Shah, we made an enemy of Iran. Thus, supporting democracy in every corner of the globe is—from the standpoint of hard-nosed ÒrealpolitikÓ—in AmericaÕs true security interest. Freedom, not stability, is the horse we should ride.
* * *
JeffersonÕs dream of spreading democratic values Òfinally to allÓ was a daring notion, in 1826, when American democracy still stood virtually alone; even the French Revolution had fizzled out. Yet, JeffersonÕs vision has since come a long way toward fulfillment. In my own lifetime, I have seen more progress toward it than I ever dared imagine. Just as he said in that final letter, we Americans, in 1776, gave all humanity a signal to burst its shackles. I share his conviction that one day every person on Earth will enjoy the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
The famed historian Samuel Huntington once opined—in 1984—that Òthe likelihood of democratic development in Eastern Europe is virtually nil.Ó Giuseppi DiPalma, in To Craft Democracies, reviewed all the reasons why sophisticated thinkers like Huntington are often skeptical about prospects for democracy in various countries. But DiPalma pointed out that such visionless analysis might deem impossible almost any revolution or social transformation—yet they repeatedly occur. ItÕs because human beings are not passive, do not supinely accept any status quo, and are capable of taking positive action that confounds naysayers. Tellingly, DiPalmaÕs own book itself nevertheless avowed scant hope for democracy in Eastern Europe. He wrote it in 1989.
There used to be an event called ÒCaptive Nations Day.Ó At the complex where I worked, people in native costumes manned tables bedecked with national flags, advocating liberation for Soviet-dominated lands: Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, and so on, even Ukraine. I would pass by with sympathy but sorrow—the cause seemed quixotically hopeless.
But I was wrong; like DiPalma, I was insufficiently optimistic—yes, even me. ÒCaptive Nations DayÓ is no more because none of those nations is still ÒcaptiveÓ—not even Ukraine. Not all are yet democracies, but at least now theyÕre independent, and between 2003 and 2005, three of them ousted undemocratic regimes. IÕll never forget November 9, 1989, when I switched on the evening news and saw people dancing atop the Berlin Wall. The world became a new and better place. It was people, seizing control of their own lives, who triumphed over that wall, and a chunk of it now sits on my desk as a tangible reminder of why I am a humanist and optimist. And then, in 1991, the evil empire itself finally fell; historyÕs Òdungeon of nationsÓ sprang open, fifteen new countries emerged blinking into daylight, the Cold War was over, and the good guys had won. Who ever expected this?
Up through the eighteenth century, democracy was essentially nonexistent in the world. As late as the 1940s, it was still confined to just a handful of nations. Since then, a global democratic transformation has occurred. Until the 1970s, Spain, Portugal, and Greece (together with all the Communist satellites) were dictatorships. Europe is now (bar only Belarus) entirely free—and divested of colonies. Membership in the quasi-federal European Union serves to cement democracy, as nothing less is tolerated by the EU. Throughout Latin America, where in 1977 all but four countries were dictatorships, democracy today reigns in practically every land, and it has been breaking out all over in long-suffering Africa. As recently as the 1980s, only three African nations could be termed democratic; now itÕs about twenty. Asia has seen similar trends (notably in Indonesia, a huge country), and there are even glimmers in the Middle East. Some nations, particularly China, which have yet to embrace political liberty, have become freer in other ways. Even Russia today, for all its renewed authoritarianism, is nevertheless a freer and more open society than it was under Communism.
What is particularly remarkable about this flood tide toward democracy is that violent revolution has generally not been necessary. Instead, in country after country, old regimes essentially folded without a fight. Autocrats realized they had no leg to stand on—that in todayÕs world, ballots are the only legitimate source of government authority.
* * *
The whole concept of human rights is a modern development too. We still have a lot of human rights problems, but in ages past the issue didnÕt even exist. Nobody thought to question what governments did to their people. This began to change in the nineteenth century. Only in 1941 was the phrase Òhuman rightsÓ first used, by Franklin Roosevelt. Law Professor Thomas Franck has labeled ÒphenomenalÓ the progress in human rights since WWII.[2] In 1948 the UNÕs Universal Declaration of Human Rights was promulgated, and practically every nation has signed it. True, for many itÕs just lip service; but the fact that even the worst regimes felt obliged to sign shows the power of the idea. And there have been some victories. By invoking the UDHR, the US government working with NGOs got Pakistan to free Dr. Younis Sheikh, a professor sentenced to death for blasphemy in 2001. (His offense? Saying that prior to IslamÕs start, Muhammad and his deceased parents were non-Muslims.)
Fighting for human rights can require enormous courage in places where it risks torture and death. To humanityÕs credit, it seems there are always individuals who will stand up for whatÕs right, putting their lives on the line in countries like Zimbabwe, Myanmar, and China. And in todayÕs small-wired world, abuses are hard to conceal or ignore and consciences are mobilized. ÒPeople powerÓ has become a force to be reckoned with, helping to sweep away the Berlin Wall, the Soviet Union, South African apartheid, and rotten regimes all across the globe. Bad guys from Goering and Tojo to Milosevic, Karadzic, Saddam Hussein, and Charles Taylor are made to face justice. In countries like Chile and Argentina, amnesties for crimes committed by military juntas have been revoked and the perpetrators hauled into court. This is all new.
We tend to underestimate (if not denigrate) the power of our own ideals of freedom and human rights. Germany in WWII made war on the very idea of democracy; few then would have believed it capable of becoming the democratic and peaceful nation it is today. Such virtues seemed even more foreign to Japan; sober analysts would have dismissed as laughable the notion of a democratic and pacifist Japan. And, like Huntington and even DiPalma, we didnÕt believe our ideals of freedom could prevail over Communist tyranny until thatÕs exactly what happened. And no sooner did it happen than many of us forgot the lesson and launched a fresh new era of cynical disparagement of our own democratic ideals.
Oppressive governments can appear pretty entrenched, making Òregime changeÓ seem an unrealistic fantasy. Few regimes ever looked more impregnable than the USSRÕs. In 1975, it signed the Helsinki Accords, to get some goodies from the West in return for human rights pledges the Soviets thought were just hot air. But monitoring compliance with Helsinki proved to be a key factor in the ultimate unraveling of the USSRÕs repressive system; it turned out that we were not impotent after all. Such linkage between how we treat a regime and how it treats its own people can be an important tool for achieving democratic progress.
This is not a matter of ÒimposingÓ democracy. That kind of language assumes that in some places democracy is an unwelcome imposition. It may be unwelcome to rulers, but not to the masses. Our policy should be to support and assist those people suffering under the imposition of non-democracy to free themselves. ThatÕs what we did in 2000 by helping Serbian democrats oust Milosevic after he tried to steal an election; and Serbia has joined the growing free world.
* * *
In 1992, Francis Fukuyama authored The End of History and the Last Man. What he means is that history, understood as an evolutionary process, is reaching a conclusion. Fukuyama argues that the societal model encompassing democratic politics, free market economics, and individual rights is now the unchallenged ideal because it finally gives us what we have always wanted, materially and spiritually.
Our worldly desires are satisfied through technological advancement, driving nations toward economic openness and integration as necessary in a complex post-industrial world where information and innovation are paramount. But people are not just economic creatures. Fukuyama (following the German philosopher Hegel) contends that our deepest need boils down to a hunger for recognition as human beings of dignity and worth, a passionate spirit that the ancient Greeks called Òthymos,Ó tied up with basic emotions of pride versus shame. We are, again, primarily social animals whose self-esteem is validated in othersÕ eyes. Many Americans work so hard, and identify themselves with their work, not just for straightforward economic reasons, but because it provides them with thymotic status and recognition.
Fukuyama also sees thymos in a craving for justice, not only for oneself but for others. Thus, the US civil rights struggle was not mainly about material advancement but, rather, human dignity for black people. This kind of thymos is what makes us fight for abstract ideals. This is what makes a man stand in front of a tank.
Thymotic assertiveness has been the central problem of politics, as it creates desires for domination over others, and the violence of the Hobbesian state of nature. But this problem is resolved, Fukuyama says, by the emergence of democracy and economic freedom, and thatÕs the most important reason for the broad historic trend in that direction. In a fully realized democracy people no longer have to struggle for recognition of their human dignity and can satisfy thymos through constructive cooperation rather than conflict. Business and professions entail competitive efforts at mastery of one kind or another; democratic politics is likewise thymotic as it centers upon competition for public recognition based on differing ideas.
Rummel similarly argues that the worldÕs people have gradually evolved democracy as the optimal Òmeta-solutionÓ to their disparate societal and cultural situations. ItÕs a practical social contract in which we agree to live and let live, and the freedom of each is made compatible with the freedom of all.
In sum then, the emergence of Democratic Man, and his triumph, do not represent some random historical accident, but the logical product of elemental forces.
The Return of History and the End of Dreams by Robert Kagan is a riposte of sorts to Fukuyama. Kagan argues that autocracy remains alive and well, and old-time geopolitical power competition has not dissolved into some mellow global post-historical democratic love feast. All surely true. Yet, what Kagan himself winds up saying is merely that the mistake of the nineties was the over-optimistic belief that democracy is unstoppable; and what he sees now is actually undue pessimism. He believes autocracies are not impervious to change, and we should work to change them. In KaganÕs view, the Russian and Chinese regimes stamp out dissent so assiduously because their huge legitimacy deficits make them vulnerable. They are naked emperors fearing daylight. KaganÕs ultimate point is simply that progress does not happen by itself, but only by human effort.
And we are making it happen. The world, in the big picture, is undergoing a democratic and human rights revolution. Yes, revolutions can be messy with unintended consequences. And nothing in human affairs is ever linear, so there are inevitable episodes of backsliding. The virus of authoritarian rule is hard to kill, not because itÕs a good system, not because it serves true human needs, but it does serve autocrats who impose it because, sometimes, they can.
Yet, in fits and starts, one step back and two steps forward, slowly but surely, genuine democratic values are spreading—even to places where pessimists and cynics never thought they could emerge or work. It is happening because, again, political freedom is not some peculiarly Western cultural quirk but, rather, a universal human aspiration. It is happening because true democratic culture is ultimately so attractive and so conducive to positive human development.
Deniers of progress will say that human nature hasnÕt changed, and all this is just a seasonal fashion that can be rolled back tomorrow, just as repression was rolled back in favor of freedom. Such cynics are blind to those deep aspects of human nature that hate the one and love the other. They would have to believe that monarchy will return to Europe, Africa will be re-colonized, women will lose the vote, and slavery will reappear. And pigs will fly.
But a virtuous circle is operating. Orderliness in the world promotes the flourishing of democratic values. While many of us regard todayÕs world as disorderly, in a larger historical perspective thatÕs actually quite untrue. WeÕll see in the next chapter how warfare and conflict are very much on the wane. A key reason behind that is spreading democratization, for the reasons weÕve noted. Furthermore, the world is also growing more prosperous, and that too is good for democracy. The richer we are, the more secure we are, the more democracy we want, and the more we believe we can afford. So a richer and more orderly world makes for a freer world; and as the world becomes freer, the richer and more orderly it becomes.
Democracy is often portrayed as a fragile flower. That may be so when itÕs just starting to grow. Building all the elements of democratic culture can take some time and effort. But a full-grown democracy is very robust because, as Fukuyama explained, it gives people what they crave, both materially and psychologically. It is in truth repressive systems that cannot endure; stifling human creativity and expressiveness is not a sound long-term plan. That again is why Communism failed. That is why we donÕt see mass demonstrations demanding dictatorship; and that is why Jefferson and Fukuyama are on the right side of history.
Fukuyama concluded his book with the image of a wagon train to portray humanityÕs journey. Some wagons, he said, have already pulled crisply into town. Others are stuck in ruts back in the desert; or attacked by Indians; or losing their way and temporarily heading in the wrong direction; some, exhausted by the journey, are camping out somewhere along the trail; and some have found other winding routes toward town. However, despite their differences, the wagons are all basically similar, and so are the people in them. ItÕs one great journey, with one destination. And—perhaps not tomorrow, but in the fullness of time—we will all get there.