A Personal Case for Liberal Democracy

There is an adage in journalism that the reader has a right to “know by whom they are being persuaded.” Let me tell you:

After many years working as a foreign-service contractor on good-governance and anti-corruption efforts, and as a senior government-oversight investigator, I returned full-time to music. I had largely left that world behind in Los Angeles in the 1990s after my children were born. As a musician in the 1980s, I toured throughout the Eastern Bloc. As a contractor, I later worked in fragile democracies across the Indo-Pacific. Both experiences have informed my art and left me with a clear picture of what happens when democratic institutions fail or are absent: free speech is silenced, dissident “others” are imprisoned and killed.

I do not want to see the democratic experiment fail. For all its shortcomings, democracy remains the system most successful at limiting the concentration of power, fostering innovation, and promoting the coexistence of diverse worldviews. The rise of political polarisation, and the intolerance and rejection of divergent views, troubles me.

Censorship inevitably leads to more censorship. Once the “others” have been silenced, attention turns inward, as efforts begin to root out dissent from within.

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The marketplace of ideas is unlikely to become an orderly or wholly good-faith exchange, but open public dialogue has, in its imperfect way, enabled communities with fundamentally different views to coexist. This is a more important and sustainable goal than chasing victory over ideological rivals one shrill tweet at a time.

It reflects the fundamental reality that communities—even at the level of families—contain differing views. Managing their coexistence is simply an acknowledgement of this fact. Suppressing dissident viewpoints may remove them from public view, but the ideas and grievances that generated them will remain and harden within those who feel excluded and unheard. Censorship inevitably leads to more censorship. Once the “others” have been silenced, attention turns inward, as efforts begin to root out dissent from within. Societies that promote diversity of thought at the local level while maintaining cohesion at the national level tend to be more innovative and more responsive to emerging challenges than their authoritarian counterparts.

On a personal level, my best plans have always emerged from broad consultation. This has been true even when final decision-making authority rested with a single individual. My least effective plans were those formed in isolation or within small, self-reinforcing groups, particularly when driven by a sense of grievance. The outcomes were rarely what I anticipated; they produced unintended, though often foreseeable, consequences.

No idea I have held has failed to benefit from interrogation by other viewpoints. Such engagement rarely changes my core beliefs, but it exposes untested assumptions and compels me to consider the consequences of my attitudes and actions. The rigid adherence to orthodoxy that increasingly defines political life harms the community. It creates a world in which groups pressure their members to reject, without examination, any idea associated with “them.” What is “theirs” becomes “not ours,” and what is “not ours” becomes “against us.”

I have seen what happens when democratic institutions fail, when voices are silenced. I have seen how much worse life becomes under authoritarian and corrupt governments, where ambition is reduced to securing shelter, food, water, and whatever security one can muster.

These are the ultimate consequences of hyper-partisanship and the demonisation of “others.” When democracy fails, it creates a vacuum—and that space does not remain empty for long. In systems defined by absolute victors and absolute losers, at least half the population must lose. The democratic ideal, however imperfect, insists on leadership that governs for all.

While I may struggle to understand other people’s explanations, I recognise that their search for meaning is the same as my own.

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A former agency chief once told his staff—tasked with handling citizen complaints—that even the most rambling and incoherent submissions might contain legitimate grievances. It was their responsibility to find the complaint beneath the confusion.

People are trying to understand forces that affect their autonomy, their standing, and their lives. I hold ideas that some would consider obscure or implausible, just as others do. The impulse is universal: to make sense of the world and to find a place within it. While I may struggle to understand other people’s explanations, I recognise that their search for meaning is the same as my own.

Identifying injustice and arguing that systems can govern better is essential to a functioning democracy. Yet without restraint, the system that protects these rights risks being undermined in the hope that something better might replace it. It will not. Possessing a right does not absolve us of responsibility for how we exercise it.

In these polarised and increasingly intolerant times—when openness to opposing views is dismissed as weakness or betrayal—it is worth considering the cost of censoring dissent, both from outside and within one’s own group. The belief that ideological homogeneity will produce social cohesion is misguided. It will not.

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