Despite the grand scale of today’s topic, I’m going to break tradition by attempting:

1. a prediction of what a civic assembly would decide, and
2. (relative) brevity

Civic assemblies, in case you’re new to my harangues, invite ordinary citizens selected by democratic lotteries to gather, learn about specific topics, question experts, deliberate, and reach decisions. All without parties, pandering, gerrymandering, grandstandering¹, or the nastiness of electoral politics. (Kissing babies is still allowed.) This newsletter is devoted to advancing these and other forms of lottery-based self-governance. Or, as the Greeks called it, democracy.

This newsletter recently argued that for democratic lotteries (aka sortition) to catch on in America the way they have in Europe, we need to think big.

…We shouldn’t start with the easy stuff. Instead, we go straight for the biggest pickles. If there’s a problem that politicians know they really need to solve but can't for whatever reason – too hot, too partisan, too controversial, too complicated, too risky, too expensive – it’s time to send in the citizens.

Truth be told, we have no shortage of big thinkers in the American sortition movement. Many of us hanker for dramatic constitutional change, and debates about how best to reimagine governments around democratic lotteries pepper academic journals and saturate the groupchats of Sortition USA. Terrill Bouricius’s Democracy Without Politicians, due out this year, offers one of the most compelling big-idea, north-star narratives of what democracy could some day be. Among such folks, the conversation often starts with constitutional conventions, and the ideas get bigger from there.

Most of the movement’s legwork, on the other hand, comes from folks with a more concrete, bottom-up approach. They work on local civic assemblies like the recent one in Fort Collins, CO, which proposed plans for the old Colorado State football stadium. Or Los Angeles’ first full civic assembly, which submitted citizen proposals for L.A.’s charter reform earlier this year. These folks are doers. They’re pragmatic, they’re willing to get their hands dirty (in fertile civic soil, not political mudslinging). And they believe – rightly, in my estimation – that Americans need to see more of this sortition stuff before they hand it the keys. (If indeed they like the constitutional change ideas at all; many civic assembly advocates are quite content to have mini-publics play an advisory role and have little or no interest in moving power from politicians to juries.)

I’m a fan of both approaches and, like many, I dabble in both realms. In fact, I don’t think they’re necessarily as far apart as they seem. There are opportunities today for American assemblers to think very big within the realm of advisory mini-publics. In fact, I suggest we aim jury power straight at a big, complex, expensive, controversial, enormously impactful topic that politicians recognize as a massive concern but have no interest in discussing. I say we grab the third rail.

Tip O’Neill probably didn’t earn the credit he’s often given for dubbing Social Security the "third rail of American politics." But he did help validate the electrocution metaphor by zapping the Reagan administration with a high-voltage critique of their 1981 proposal to cut student aid, disability payments, and early retirement benefits. "I'm not talking about politics,” said O’Neill, who was never not talking about politics. “I'm talking about decency. It is a rotten thing to do. It is a despicable thing."

Despite the political hazards, the projections that Social Security would run out of funds by 1983 inspired a bi-partisan commission whose recommendations led to reforms that would stave off disaster for quite a while.

But not forever. Without intervention, Social Security will celebrate the 50th anniversary of that Reagan-era episode by running out of cushion in 2033. So will Medicare. But they may lose the competition for the honor of scariest budget line item over the next decade to interest payments on the national debt, which has already surpassed spending on national defense and soaring upwards with every reckless budget shortfall.

How do we deal with it all?

• Option 1. Kick the can until 2033. A terrible option. A disastrous option. As Tip would say, “a despicable thing”. This is probably what will happen.
• Option 2. Replay 1983. Form a bi-partisan commission and then pass their recommendations. Unfortunately, this is wishful thinking. Political warfare is not new, but today it is too pitched, too entrenched, too vicious for bipartisanship. The third rail has been supercharged. Each side would eagerly pounce on any idea from the other team that could prove a liability. Even in a closed commission, indiscretions would leak to social media. In the unlikely event that the commission managed to reach a consensus proposal, it would almost certainly fail in so-called “deliberation.” Democrats would never let a Republican majority claim such a victory and vice versa.
• Option 3. Hand the problem to a large national civic assembly of ordinary citizens selected by sortition. Pick a reasonable threshold for what constitutes a major budget item, and have the assembly review all items above the threshold. Let them identify and summon experts. Let them deliberate. Let them weigh solutions. Let them deliver recommendations.

In the third scenario, would Congress actually act on the citizens’ recommendations? I always hesitate to forecast prudent congressional action, but the hopeful story goes like this: Congress does know there’s a real problem and has no interest in tackling it but can’t avoid it forever. The assembly process offers a way out. Both parties would see more risk than upside in attacking the citizens’ proposals. If the results proved unpopular, politicians on both sides would have political cover. Conversely, if things went swimmingly, the party in power would get limited credit, muting the minority’s party’s incentive to stonewall.

In other words, Congress might reluctantly decide its best option is to do the right thing.

Can I still keep my promises to be (relatively) brief and to predict the outcome of a civic assembly? Sure, but only by being vague. I won’t be so arrogant as to assert with much specificity what decisions a group representative of the breadth of America would reach after thinking more deeply about the budget issues than I ever have. But if the assembly were given adequate time and resources, I would expect:

1. No down-the-road can-kicking. They would offer answers, not twiddle thumbs.
2. Honest projections. They would base the plan on the best research and budgetary models presented, not offer rosy forecasts based on fudged numbers.
3. Shared sacrifice. To the extent that the solution caused pain, the pain would be distributed broadly and thoughtfully.
4. A near-term trajectory to a budget surplus. The plan would call for the government to spend less than it brings in within three or four years – and get specific about how.
5. A long-term debt-reduction plan. They would offer a way out of the interest trap.
6. A large supermajority endorsement of their plan. At least two thirds of participants would sign on.
7. Mutual admiration. They’d emerge genuinely fond of each other.

Don’t poo poo #7. That’s the stuff of a well-woven society. Civic love.

How exactly would they do all this?

By humbly learning, listening to diverse experts and to each other, asking tough questions, weighing tradeoffs, learning, pondering, experimenting, and collaborating. And by sparing nary a thought for re-election, fundraising, soundbites, or partisan strategy.

They would solve problems by acting like responsible adults together.

Or, as the Greeks called it, democracy.