The Dullness of Democracy

What does "to be or not to be" mean? What is Hamlet asking himself?

Natalie knew it had to do with death, but couldn't answer the question.

What is "The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns"? What country are we talking about?

No clue.

Are we talking about America?

No.

England?

No.

China?

No.

Well, what country then?

"Imagination," ventured someone.

But that country is not "undiscovered," I tell the student. I've been there myself. I go there whenever I teach this class. And I've come back.

"Natalie!"

Always this startled reaction when I arrest their reveries.

"Have you ever felt the pangs of despis'd love," I ask her.

She purports not to have felt them. Neither has another girl who falls under my search beam. One grinning boy from Guangdong, on the other hand, volunteers that he has felt them. (I do not offer my own confessions.)

How about "the proud man's contumely" (i.e., contempt)? There's something I've been bugged by myself on occasion. Has anyone run into that?

The thought bubbles floating over their heads uniformly read: "What -- yawwwn -- is this guy talking about?"

This class is really hopping.

I try to impress upon them that the man on the stage is contemplating plunging a knife into his own heart. I mime the action for those bereft of English.

Yes, yes, their eyes tell me. But what does this stuff have to do with us? The English is so hard.

Can you imagine, I ask them, that there are courses in some universities where students have to read entire books? This is a single sheet of paper (just the soliloquy) -- about 50 lines.

But it is too much.

Tell us about customs in the West, Natalie invites me with an alluring smile.

Natalie, this is the twenty first century. There are no "customs" anymore. Maybe 150 years ago people weaved special costumes and put them on every month to dance under a full moon, but now they have TV's and computers and cellphones and cars.

A couple of students are shaking their heads, grinning broadly at my outrageousness.

Give me a Chinese "custom," I challenge Natalie.

Spring Festival, she ventures reluctantly.

Spring Festival? What's that? You shop and you eat. What else do you do? Natalie! This is the modern world. Forget it. "Customs" is history.

Those are the B's. At least we have fun together. Sometimes we even manage to read stuff and get some comprehension happening. But the A's have reverted to their sullen silence, as if they are all shell-shocked.

I am becoming increasingly blunt with them: "More and more, I have the impression that you hate to be here."

I renew my solemn promise to the class: "I will not work harder than you."

Yet I do "lend" them effort, anticipating a payback they do not yield. I present "Hypocrites in Power," an op-ed piece from last November by New York Times columnist Anthony Lewis: "There have been contemptible Congresses before, and historians can argue about which was worst. But I remember none in modern times as dismal as the one now sitting, the 106th Congress. It has set new records in cynicism and hypocrisy."

They like to hear me talk and talk. My dulcet Canadian inflections are wonderful to relax by. As long as I don't ask them questions.

Do you have this in China, I ask them. Top government leaders being vilified by prominent newspapers?

Yes, offers one of my few participants. But he's only talking about discredited leaders after, for example, they've been arrested for corruption.

No, of course you don't have this. Because you don't have free speech in China. Even when a government is perfect, some journalist is sure to want to slam it. If you don't see that happening, then you don't have free speech.

Short little entertaining story about the strength of free-speech protections in the U.S.: Reverend Jerry Falwell losing his libel suit against Hustler magazine after they published the piece about him and his mother having sex with each other in an outhouse.

Is free speech desirable? Are people smart enough to recognize unfounded criticisms? Or does free speech mean eventual anarchy, as it becomes impossible to maintain popular faith in the government's legitimacy?

The old phrase "democratic experiment" underscores how democracy was originally viewed as a tenuous proposition. Although most today take it for granted as the only enlightened form of government, it is still unproven. America could yet fail. In 10 years or 20, the world's perspective on democracy could be very different.

"The Republican leaders of the House ... bleat about states' rights," writes Lewis. "But they push through a bill ... to bar state courts from hearing class actions brought against industries that make big political contributions."

Striving to elicit interest, like someone kicking a corpse and getting only the most occasional twitch, I point out that this line reflects one of the major threats to the survival of American democracy. Not just my opinion -- I point out to them that in a recent Congressional debate, one senator after another spoke openly about the prospect of American democracy ending if they don't solve the campaign finance problem (see http://urielw.com/democracy.htm).

I explain the campaign finance issue. Sufficiently exhaustively, I believe. I have some idea at this point what it takes to convey something here.

Then I think maybe it's time to ask a question. Here's one: What is the campaign finance issue? How does it threaten democracy?

Vacancy. Rooms to let.

I draw a graph on the board showing a hospital patient's vital signs. It's often seen in movies -- up, down, up, down, then the line becomes flat and horizontal. I inform them that that's what they make me think of. Flatliners.

The mind is like the body, I tell them. If you don't exercise it (as most people don't), it becomes fat and weak.

The U.S. election fiasco consistently generates zero interest, I've also found. It's funny to think that only ten years ago, university students died for democracy. The vagaries of fashion.

The other day a student was disputing my right answer on a test, and I agreed to a class vote. He got 11 pals to vote for his totally wrong answer, while 4 voted for my right answer. But 16 abstained. Clearly it was necessary to exercise my judgment as to the intentions of those 16. I won easily.

As a matter of fact, I told them, there is a similar situation happening in some place called Florida, with dimpled chads, machine ballot readers and the rest of it. But I could elicit no interest.

Even a student named "Chad" is utterly indifferent to how the word, unknown a month ago, has suddenly come to be on everyone's lips in America.

One amusing comment relating to the imbroglio comes from the New York Times's Maureen Dowd (Nov. 15): "If [David Boies] could turn Bill Gates into a stumbling incompetent in a deposition, I shudder to think what he could do with W."

There is a simple, obviously fair solution to this whole affair, but it's far too sensible to ever be put into practice: Accept that there is no dependable record of Florida voters' intentions, and order a new vote in that state.