Is Ochlocracy Next?
First, an apology. I failed to offer new year’s greetings in my first post of the year, “Flourishing Together.” Between the events in New Orleans and Las Vegas, and on the heels of the assassination of a CEO in midtown Manhattan, it seemed a gruesome and sad time incompatible with annual revelry even as most Americans—including in New Orleans and Las Vegas—partied on.
So, a belated Happy New Years! Sort of? Hopefully!?
Whether 2025 proves to be a springboard to greatness, or a gradual slip-n-slide into madness, appears to be an even-odds proposition today. The early twentieth century Italian philosopher, Antonio Gramsci, might characterize this interregnum between regimes of order as a “time of monsters.” As the history of humanity illustrates quite clearly, although we often speak of sudden changes, like the “fall of Rome,” the reality is more subtle; we rarely recognize what has happened until its full manifestation is complete. We humans have a hard time seeing the forest for the trees. There are clear signs, however, that we might pay attention to—that suggest both monsters and madness are roosting on the rails of the front stoop.
It is becoming difficult to be shocked anymore. The outrage machine that has become our media, whether traditional or online, is having an increasingly difficult time creating any wide-eyed gasps from viewers and listeners which, of course, is their stock-in-trade for achieving their financial success. The psychological scar tissue we have built up over the last several years protects us, but also makes us susceptible to a slow degradation of social bonds that might just cause the collapse of civil society. We would be wise to realize that collapse in physical terms is when many little things give way until everything gives way at once. In social and political terms, it is characterized by institutional and systemic chaos (the little things) that precede the final fall.
None of what the rightwing media claimed about the attacker in New Orleans was true. Claims of “Middle Eastern national” that had “crossed the southern border” (FOX) prior to traveling to New Orleans to inflict evil were all false, as was Trump’s mimicking of same. Both of the events in New Orleans and Las Vegas were conducted by decorated American members of our military. Patriots who became terrorists apparently due to theological radicalization and mental illness. They were not others, they were us.
The fires in Los Angeles have, however, proven indeed shocking and offer a reprieve for news outlets that could only make so much of President Carter’s funeral or Trump’s musings over the invasion of Panama and Greenland as among his first conquests. The fires, which appear to have been both predictable and at least somewhat preventable, and which Trump and Governor Newsom have decided are best suited as an opportunity to extend their toddler bickering and blame game, are indeed horrific. Who knew that the emperor Nero strumming his lyre while Rome burned would be relevant again in 2025, or that the L.A. version would be a duet? But here we are. Ancient myths do occasionally mock current events. Our elected leadership and media are in a death-spiral clutching each other’s torsos as they fall symbiotically entwined, cascading into an abyss of sin, a la Dante.
The more important thing to understand is that each of these events—the assassination in Manhattan, death and destruction in New Orleans and Las Vegas, and the fires in L.A.—are evidence of social breach. Individually and collectively, they are screaming for our attention. They are like trees that define the forest that is under attack by pestilence. A few diseased trees don’t seem like a problem until the entire forest is destroyed. We need to pay attention to what is really going on: the destruction of the fabric that social contracts provide that make our societies, societies. Each breach becomes one tile in a mosaic depicting the final collapse; perhaps someday painted on the ceiling of the dome of a new society as a reminder and warning of what happens when you sleepwalk your way off of a cliff.
The concept of social contracts is hundreds of years old, written about extensively by Thomas Hobbes and John Locke in the seventeenth century, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau in the eighteenth. Essentially, social contracts are the quid pro quo of reciprocity. If those who rule/govern are given the authority and resources to do so, they must agree to serve the interests of the grantors—the people. Societies operate on a set of mutual expectations, both explicit and implicit. It’s a dynamic process, like assembling a jigsaw puzzle as the pieces continually change their characteristics, which is both maddening and invigorating. These expectations-cum-contracts form the glue that holds us together. They are that sticky stuff that keeps our civil web, webbed.
The breach of social contracts requires recourse, which is normally available when the contract is between a government and its people. Recourse is usually achieved through judicial and/or electoral consequences. Things are made right in some manner such that the web of social cohesion is restored. However, when any breach persists and festers—when it remains unreconciled—it can propagate in a manner that weakens society to the point of collapse. This reality highlights the critical value of consequences that both restore our confidence in the proposition of order and increase our capacity to properly assess risk—playing both a restorative and educational role.
In the case of the assassination in Manhattan, we see yet another situation apparently brought on by a lack of consequence—of any prospect of recourse. In the unique (in the developed world) circumstances of U.S. healthcare, the authority and resources granted a government by the people have been delegated or otherwise transferred from the public to the private sector, making recourse-upon-breach less available, or not available, at all. In the U.S., healthcare is a private/public good, rather than purely a public good.
Luigi Mangione (or those he ostensibly represented) was no match for United Healthcare’s carefully crafted systems that prohibit their customers from achieving recourse. Mangione couldn’t oust the CEO, Brian Thompson, but he could shoot him. His apparent frustration and anger—his rage against the machine—drove him to kill Thompson, which is evidence not just of a heinous crime (which it most certainly was), but also evidence of a breach of social contract for which Mangione’s recourse was sought through a Glock-styled 3D printed ghost gun. Like the soldiers in New Orleans and Las Vegas, the Ivy League educated Mangione was not a foreign-born terrorist. He is us, too.
In the case of the fires in L.A., although the issue of recourse is between the people and their government (and not the private sector), the magnitude of the loss makes recourse impossible. There is no way the government can answer for the consequences the people have endured, and the property insurers will undoubtedly behave as health insurers do. The gross size of the breach is irremediable. The integrity of the relationship between those who govern and the governed has been shattered. As the author and podcaster, Sam Harris, who experienced the fires himself, wrote this week on Substack, “We must rebuild, but we must also create a culture of competence and social cohesion‚and transform our politics in the process.” Due to a lack of leadership, the fires in L.A. may create more Mangiones. They are us, too.
Once consequences are marginalized or eliminated altogether, the restoration of meaningful and enforceable social contracts is obliterated along with the prospect of cooperation and compliance. This is when the Greek historian, Polybius, would suggest the existing democracy will slide into chaos and be replaced by ochlocracy: mob rule. In today’s America, consequences are largely reserved for the powerless and forlorn. In the Age of Deceit, fairness has been so severely compromised as both a concept and an application of equitable recourse that we should fully expect more people acting in a manner unthought of just two decades ago. We must not fall victim (as we did preceding the attacks of 9/11) to a failure of imagination. Assassins, murderers, and arsonists may become normative. Burning a person alive on the subway, as happened recently in New York City, combined these offenses into a trifecta. The monsters are us, too.
Now, let me illustrate what I believe may become the grand irony of the days to come. First, by acknowledging the substantial victory of the Republicans last November. Notwithstanding Democratic Party apologists who like to argue the defeat wasn’t so bad, what actually really matters is who Americans believe will serve their interests and who have the strength/power to do so. On these two dimensions—trust and commitment—the Democrats were routed. When asked which party was “on my side” “to fight for people like me,” working class Americans said Republicans over Democrats by 14 points (50/36). When it comes to strength, the Republicans increase their margin to 40 points (63/23). This, among folks who were once the foundation of the Democratic Party. And while many describe the next administration as a kakistocracy (government by the least suitable or competent citizens of the state), through our uniquely American version of democracy corrupted unintentionally by the electoral college, and intentionally by gerrymandering congressional districts, Republicans have won the right to govern.
The grand irony will unfold once the Trump administration is sworn in. Trump is the biggest, most prolific, and most powerful example of shattering social contracts—of violating norms and laws—to come along in the history of our nation. For many who celebrate his swagger as an avatar of their own disruptive and amoral ambitions, he is a (nearly) religious icon. For those same folks, who number in the millions, he has given them permission to behave in the same manner as he, as a morally-exempt and hyper self-interested lout.
But here is the rub—the anvil upon which irony will be hewn from the timber of corruption. Once you are in power your effectiveness is dependent upon the compliance and cooperation of the other side of the contract: the people must behave. Notwithstanding the other millions who will never bow to Trump, what happens when his toadies continue to follow his lawless lead acting in whatever way they please, right when he needs them to support, and comply with, his policies? Will he be willing to swallow his own medicine? Will he come to appreciate the value of social cohesion-by-contract? Of civil society? Does he even have the intellectual and moral capacity to do so? Will monsters and madness leave the stoop and breach the threshold of social and political order causing their collapse?
In next month’s issue of The Atlantic, Derek Thompson writes about this disintegration of social cohesion noting we have entered the “anti-social century.” Among other things, technology has allowed us to detach from each other and the real world. He illustrates that due to screens—first TVs and now smartphones—many of us have become “secular monks.” I wrote my own piece on this in December 2022 titled, “Digital Dementia.” We have replaced humans as a source of enrichment with technological artifice, even including AI-generated intimate partners. Instead of focusing on improving social cohesion, and the many social contracts that codify interhuman expectations, we are shoving off from the shore of society. The implications point to the prospect of ochlocracy (per Polybius) where order may no longer be possible. The techno-optimists would argue that in a perfect world driven by technologies like AI, such traditional regimes of order are no longer necessary. Until, of course, their own home burns down and they need help.
So, Happy New Year, indeed. 2025 may just prove to be a pivotal year when our destiny takes a sudden turn—one way or another.