Tag: Democracy

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I have written before about the horrors of the “ROI society” in which we live, and in a more recent post, I argued that “play resists “instrumentalization”, reminding us that some actions are undertaken with no rewards or external purpose in mind. Play is the primary purpose of play.”

This calls for some unpacking, as I believe it will prove to be an essential part of the argument I’m slowly trying to make.

If we have no aspiration outside economic achievements, is there even room or reason for democracy to exist? It can’t all be quid pro quo and return on investment. Democracy has to do better than that.

I believe that if democracy is to thrive, to mean something again, we have to learn how to insist on principles, ideas, thoughts and activities with inherent value, regardless of their financial value.

Danish professor of psychology, Svend Brinkmann, is frequently arguing against the dominating logic of instrumentalization:

“I will argue that instrumentalization in our time has become so pervasive that it threatens other ways of thinking, which are far more fundamental in regards to living a good and meaningful life. Instrumentalization effortlessly cover that which is actually meaningful” (my translation).

He even mentions play as an example a phenomenon that exists outside the realm of instrumentalization, an “autotelic activity”, something that “has a purpose in and not apart from itself”.

I also found this theme in Wendy Brown’s harsh criticism of neoliberalism in “Undoing the Demos”:

“As economic parameters become the only parameters for all conduct and concern, the limited form of human existence that Aristotle and later Hannah Arendt designated as “mere life” and that Marx called life “confined by necessity” — concern with survival and wealth acquisition — this limited form and imaginary becomes ubiquitous and total across classes. Neoliberal rationality eliminates what these thinkers termed “the good life” (Aristotle) or “the true realm of freedom” (Marx), by which they did not mean luxury, leisure, or indulgence, but rather the cultivation and expression of distinctly human capacities for ethical and political freedom, creativity, unbounded reflection, or invention.”

She goes on, showing also how the neoliberal logic inevitably leads to the death of democracy:

“the normative reign of homo oeconomicus in every sphere means that there are no motivations, drives, or aspirations apart from economic ones, that there is nothing to being human apart from “mere life.” Neoliberalism is the rationality through which capitalism finally swallows humanity—not only with its machinery of compulsory commodification and profit-driven expansion, but by its form of valuation. As the spread of this form evacuates the content from liberal democracy and transforms the meaning of democracy tout court, it subdues democratic desires and imperils democratic dreams.”

I honestly feel chills run down my spine when I read this. It’s pure dystopia, as if taken straight from the most terrifying future scenario even the most skilled sci-fi writer could come up with. Only difference is, it’s real, here and now.

Judith Butler presents a similar argument in “Notes Toward a Performative Theory of Assembly”:

“we are in the midst of a biopolitical situation in which diverse populations are increasingly subject to what is called “precaritization.” Usually induced and reproduced by governmental and economic institutions, this process acclimatizes populations over time to insecurity and hopelessness; it is structured into the institutions of temporary labor and decimated social services and the general attrition of the active remnants of social democracy in favor of entrepreneurial modalities supported by fierce ideologies of individual responsibility and the obligation to maximize one’s own market value as the ultimate aim in life.”

“the obligation to maximize one’s own market value as the ultimate aim in life” – is that really all we can ever hope for?

It’s quite popular to see play as an instrument to achieve lots and lots of things, from learning and creativity over a wretched from of “resilience” to economic growth and maximizing “one’s own market value”. Now, there can indeed be worthwhile and valuable outcomes of play, but if that’s our primary concern, we misunderstand play altogether.

We need to look at play through a different prism. Like Miguel Sicart in “Play Matters“, I too see “play as a struggle against efficiency, seriousness, and technical determinism.”.

Play does not care in the least about all these quantifiable outcomes or results. Instead, play teaches us to stop obsessing over all of that, as it only really thrives when we dare to stop thinking about the returns on our playful investments. When play happens like that, all anyone cares about is that moment, that shared experience of being in play together.

As such, play might be the antidote we so desperately need. Maybe play can remind us that the otherwise widespread instrumentalization can be resisted? That there is indeed more to life and to democracy than maximizing profits?

Even in the bleakest moments, I hope so. On the best of days, I actually think it might just be possible, but only through collective action, rooted in (play) communities. 

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Some might say that this whole thing about “play and democracy” is a misunderstanding, forcing play into a space, where it doesn’t belong: the realm of politics.

Having said before that there’s no forcing play, obviously I want to avoid that. I really, really want to avoid that.

The thing is, though, that play is already always political. In fact, it could be argued that play is indeed more political than contemporary politics as it is taking place in parliaments and similar institutions.

How is that?

Several political theorists have described how we’re now living in an era of “post-politics” or “post-democracy”, as Colin Crouch describes the situation in his “Post-Democracy” from 2004:

“The fundamental cause of democratic decline in contemporary politics is the major imbalance now developing between the role of corporate interests and those of virtually all other groups. Taken alongside the inevitable entropy of democracy, this is leading to politics once again becoming an affair of closed elites, as it was in pre-democratic times.”

Chantal Mouffe elaborates:

“Politics therefore has become a mere issue of managing the established order, a domain reserved for experts, and popular sovereignty has been declared obsolete. One of the fundamental symbolic pillars of the democratic ideal – the power of the people – has been undermined because post-politics eliminates the possibility of an agonistic struggle between different projects of society which is the very condition for the exercise of popular sovereignty”

The “hegemony of neoliberalism” has effectively eliminated the space for democratic plurality, and without that, there are no politics to be conducted, only technicalities to be “managed” by “experts”.

In the words of Lynne Segal:

“Neoliberalism has had one remarkable success, despite all its own contradictions and disasters. Its extraordinary victory has been ideological: it has convinced so many that its version of predatory, corporate capitalism is inescapable; that political resistance is inevitable.”

This is often expressed as the “politics of necessity”, even by politicians, which seems strange when you think about it, since they thus effectively contribute to the undermining of democracy and the space for doing politics. Politicians against politics, quite the slogan, huh. That’s where we are, however, at an unfortunate and undesirable impasse where the traditional realm of politics leaves little room for the political.

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What about play, then?

For starters, play won’t ever accept the politics of necessity.

Reawakening our imagination, lifting our spirits, bringing us hope, play is political precisely because it insist that there are always alternatives, other ways of living, and it encourages us to explore these possible worlds together. Play is, according to a definition by game scholars Katie Salen and Eric Zimmerman in “Rules of Play”, “free movement within a more rigid structure”. While I don’t intend to wade into any lengthy discussion of definitions, I contend that play can’t ever exist without some degree of “free movement”. Absent such freedom, we risk entering into what Huizinga dubbed “false play” in “Homo Ludens”, further unpacked by Thomas S. Henricks as “that perversion of human creativity that occurs when organizations take over and manage play for their own ends”.

Hence, when Judith Butler argue that:

“The ethical question, how ought I to live? or even the political question, how ought we to live together? depends upon an organization of life that makes it possible to entertain those questions meaningfully.”

…I propose that play allows for such an “organization of life”. When we play, we, explicitly or implicitly, ask and examine those questions of how to live and to live together. This takes me back to that quote from Henricks I used in the first post of this series:

“I argue that play is that social laboratory. When we play with others, we create and administer a publicly acknowledged reality () When people agree on the terms of their engagement with one another and collectively bring those little worlds into being, they effectively create models for living.”

Furthermore, play resists “instrumentalization”, reminding us that some actions are undertaken with no rewards or external purpose in mind. Play is the primary purpose of play. Play also has a profound social dimension, refusing to embrace the individualism also brought by neoliberalism (see “Recognizing the Other”).

For these reasons, and many more yet to be examined, I don’t consider it a heretic act to connect play and democracy. Play is political by nature and I believe that if we set it free and follow its path, play might lead us to a radically different way of doing democracy and living together.

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I recently asked if play can save democracy, marking the first steps on my journey to explore what I already at the outset consider a deep kinship shared by play and democracy. As promised, there is no clear answer in sight, but some patterns and questions are surfacing.

One such theme revolves around equality and “recognizing the other”, seeing eye to eye across our differences. Equality is traditionally considered a “pillar of the democratic ideal” (Mouffe, 2018), and “participatory democracy underlines the need to create the conditions for real equality” (della Porta, 2013). What happens, then, when we find ourselves in a situation where the following questions, asked by Judith Butler, are acutely pressing:

“Which humans count as the human? Which humans are eligible for recognition within the sphere of appearance, and which are not?”

And she continues:

“The very fact that I can ask which humans are recognized as human and which are not means that there is a distinct field of the human that remains unrecognizable, according to dominant norms”

This (widespread!) unwillingness to recognize “the other” is poison to democracy.

In “Not for Profit: Why Democracy Needs the Humanities”, Martha Nussbaum argues that the humanities can teach us to “imagine sympathetically the predicament of another person” and that this is indeed a fundamental prerequisite for any democracy:

“When we meet in society, if we have not learned to see both self and other in that way, imagining in one another inner faculties of thought and emotion, democracy is bound to fail, because democracy is built upon respect and concern, and these in turn are built upon the ability to see other people as human beings, not simply as objects.”

Some would say that this is only possible in homogenous societies, where “respect and concern” are expected to somehow emerge from a shared history and culture. I strongly disagree with this notion, however, and Nussbaum’s argument is, by no means, a call for homogeneity. On the contrary, I believe she assumes that society is already heterogeneous and diverse, but that we can – and must! – learn to embrace and appreciate this diversity.

We must trust that the other, because without trust, democracy is impossible.

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The same can indeed be said for play. Without trust, we can’t play together. On the contrary, play thrives when we allow ourself to be present in the moment, to show vulnerability, to be open to whatever might happen. There’s a strong sense of “togetherness” in play, as I wrote a while ago:

“Play only works if we’re simultaneously aware of the needs of ourself and the other. It’s a dance, back and forth, looking into yourself and reaching out into the world () play becomes a demonstration of empathy, an exploration of being together in ways that respect us all. Play is a lesson in humanity, a gentle reminder of all the things we have in common across age groups, nationalities, religions, socio-cultural backgrounds and other differences that usually keep us apart.”

Or as my friend Bernie wrote so beautifully in “A Playful Path”:

“When we are playing together, despite our differences, we celebrate a transcendent sameness, a unity that underlines the illusion of our separateness. You could call this an act of love – an enacted love that lets us keep the game going. Many acts of love, in fact, many acts of compassion, caring, trust, assurance.”

This resonates with play scholar Stuart Brown, who writes that “taking part in this play is a way to put us in sync with those around us. It is a way to tap into common emotions and thoughts and share them with others” and continues:

“I would claim that sustained emotional intimacy is impossible without play. This is true not only for married bliss, but for continued vitality in long-term friendships.

“Without the various forms of social play we would find it very hard to live together. (…) Play is the lubrication that allows human society to work and individuals to be close to each other.”

He’s far from alone in insisting that play has the capacity to radically transform and deepen our social interactions and relationships. On the contrary, it’s a recurring theme across the field of play studies.

Can play break down the barriers between people, bringing us closer together, helping us see eye to eye?

Yes. Yes, I sincerely believe so, and that is one reason why play can lead us to a reinvigorated democracy.

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It’s a big question and one that I’m afraid I can’t answer in the affirmative. Not yet, probably never. I’m not sure democracy can ever be saved, at least not in an ultimate sense. It’s in the nature of democracy to be more about process, ongoing negotiations, exchanges, corrections and conflicts – tedious, messy and anxiety-inducing as these may seem.

Perhaps we should view democracy more like Alan Watts thought of life:

“We thought of life by analogy with a journey with a pilgrimage which had a serious purpose at the end the thing was to get to that end success or whatever it is or maybe heaven after you’re there. But we missed the point the whole way along it was a musical thing and you were supposed to sing or dance while the music was being played.”

 

So what if even the best we can ever do, despite gargantuan efforts, will always fall short of “saving” democracy, if we can only hope to keep it alive, or, better yet, to make it come alive? And what if that is exactly what play brings to the table – life? As my friend, the late Bernie DeKoven kept saying: “playfulness will lead us back to life itself”.

Isn’t that worth working hard for, worth fighting for?

I, for one, think so, and that feeling grows stronger by the day.

While I have long been interested in play, participation, power and similar topics, I have only recently developed a more direct and explicit connection to democracy itself. I must admit that for a long time, I took democracy for granted. We know that relationships between people suffer when they take each other for granted, and any love that was there eventually withers away. The same is true for democracy, and taking it for granted, assuming it would always be there, was a big mistake, if a common one. Growing up as a white, middle class male with a decent (free!) education in a fairly solid (social) democratic welfare state like Denmark, sheer privilege didn’t allow me to see how deep trouble we’re actually in.

As David Runciman writes in “How Democracy Ends”:

“Contemporary representative democracy is tired, vindictive, paranoid, self-deceiving, clumsy and frequently ineffectual. Much of the time it is living on past glories”.

Most democracies, all over the world, are in a state of crisis, and it seems deeper and more severe than many of us had assumed. The outlook is bleak:

“The question for the twenty-first century is how long we can persist with institutional arrangements we have grown so used to trusting, that we no longer notice when they have ceased to work. () A hollowed-out version of democracy risks lulling us into a false sense of security. We might continue to trust in it and to look to it for rescue, even as we seethe with irritation at its inability to answer the call. Democracy could fail while remaining intact.” – David Runciman

Even so, at this tense moment, it’s not too late to act (or so I have to believe), but things have to change and radically so. Once upon a time, democracy gave people hope of a better future, of more equal societies, of shared decision making, and while the future looks less bright, there’s hope still:

“Despite democracy’s many failures, it remains a stirring dream, a fantasy, an ideal that has taken various institutional forms over time and generated hopes for creating equitable social, economic, and political arrangements now and in the future.” – Temma Kaplan

In the face of neoliberalism’s “politics of necessity”, I am becoming radicalised, insisting instead on the possibility of a different world. Democracy is not supposed to be a dull, bureaucratic process, it’s a matter of life, joy, hope and dreams, and maybe “it is not so hard to turn the struggles for greater participatory democracy into sites of collective exhilaration, given the creativity, strength and agency we can gain from one another along the way” (Lynne Segal)?

I have begun, slowly and without any clear destination, to chart these waters, exploring the many connections between play and democracy. It is an attempt to weave together different strands of knowledge, finding vantage points from where to survey the land, to gain numerous, diverse perspectives on both play and democracy. This thing I’m making is a patchwork, a messy one that probably won’t be much to look at, but what if we’re wrong to obsess with the aesthetics of democracy? I can’t do “polished”, but that’s a misguided goal anyway. Does it really matter how it looks, if it has the potential to transform society for the better?

I’m not a proper researcher and this is not a proper research project, rather it is my hope that it will sit somewhere between research and practice, between the theoretical and the empirical. That is, to the best of my knowledge, the space where the most interesting and (sometimes) surprising things happen, when mind and body, ideas and experiences, collide, merge and enrich each other.

Where do an exploration of play and democracy even begin?

I will probably be travelling along many avenues at once, and then examine the intersections between these: looking into the empirical experiences of “play as democracy”, designing practical experiments (like CounterPlay), talking about it wit lots of different people/groups, while also reading up on the (massive) field of theory and research.

I believe that we must be equally ambitious with both phenomena, taking them both very, very seriously on their own terms. Play is not some shallow concept we all understand because we were once (or have since had) children. On the contrary, it’s complex, ambiguous, diverse and always moving just outside the reach of our grasp. It calls for passionate, serious study and it demands hard work. The same is true for democracy. We can’t begin this journey by assuming we know what democracy is because the state we live is called a democracy, and we’d be thoroughly mistaken if we reduce it to winning a majority at election night.

There has to be more to it, as Donatella della Porta argues in “Can Democracy be Saved?”:

“The quality of decisions could be expected to decline with the decline in participation, as the habit of delegating tends to make citizens not only more apathetic, but also more cynical and selfish. Participation is instead praised as a school of democracy: capable of constructing good citizens through interaction and empowerment”

I’m driven by instinct, a gut feeling and an assumption that there is something special about play when it comes to (democratic) participation. On top of that, I have seen with my own eyes what play can do, I have created arenas for this to happen, I have talked to people far more knowledgeable than me and I have read (some of) their works.

For democracy to thrive, it must be something we *live*, an approach to life and the world, driven by a sense of agency and capacity to act in and change societies through everyday negotiations. Just like play, democracy proper is unruly, encourages participation and diversity, and keeps evolving to adapt to the needs of the people involved:

“I argue that play is that social laboratory. When we play with others, we create and administer a publicly acknowledged reality () When people agree on the terms of their engagement with one another and collectively bring those little worlds into being, they effectively create models for living.” – Thomas S. Henricks

What I’m hinting at is not some form of pseudo democracy or simulated democracy. It’s not about role-playing democracy (however important and meaningful that can also be!). I don’t see play as not real; “play is not detached from the world; it lives and thrives in the world” (Miguel Sicart). To me, play is democracy and to play is to act democratically.

Following the Hero’s journey, this is the call to adventure and I hope you’ll join me. I have no idea where we’ll end up, but we can only make it together (in a very literal sense).

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