Politics (national)

Trump met with cheers at Alabama-LSU game

At their much-discussed visit to the LSU vs. Alabama game, President Trump and First Lady Melania Trump were met with cheers and applause, while protests happened outside the stadium.

How local student voting reflects core democratic values (opinion)

Inside Higher Ed recently published an article on a report on college student voter turnout, "Democracy Counts 2018," compiled by my organization, the Institute for Democracy & Higher Education at Tufts University. The article stimulated conversations in the comments section about the role of higher education in American democracy. Many of those comments reflected reader concerns about how much impact college students have, and should have, on local elections.

Readers debated key ideas about how democratic principles meet electoral practice: Is it fair that students at large universities in small towns can influence local elections? Does living on a college campus really constitute “residing” in the wider community? Are voter registration systems too relaxed and vulnerable to exploitation?

Those are important questions for higher education and our democratic society. We are excited that such conversations emerged from the report’s release; as an applied research shop, our mission is to engage higher education communities in conversation about the civic education role of American colleges and universities.

Data from our ongoing National Study of Learning, Voting and Engagement, the only national study of college student voting, shed some light on the current scope of nonresident students’ influence on local elections. The study is based on the voting records of more than 10 million students at more than 1,000 colleges and universities in all 50 states and the District of Columbia, and it combines student enrollment records at participating higher education institutions with public voting records to estimate electoral participation at campuses across the United States. Our data set includes information about where students are from and where they are registered to vote, which allows us to infer out-of-state student voting rates and to determine if they vote at home or near their campus.

Using this information, we’d like to dispel some myths, raise some questions and keep the conversation going.

What the Numbers Say

A large majority -- 79 percent -- of students in the 2018 national study database attended college in their home state. The image of the college student traveling to a distant campus and living in residence halls only applies to about 16 percent of students nationally. Most live off campus and commute to attend college near their permanent homes. Yet the students who do attend college in a different state -- nearly 3.75 million in 2018, by our estimates -- are not a small population. Thanks to our national voting data, we can examine this group’s impact on U.S. elections more closely.

And the fact is that we’ve found little evidence that out-of-state college students are redistributing the U.S. electorate and affecting local elections. First, such students participate in elections at much lower rates. In 2018, the out-of-state student voting rate was 26.5 percent compared to 40.1 percent among in-state students.

Second, they overwhelmingly choose to vote in their home districts. Of the out-of-state students who voted in 2018, 82.7 percent did so in their home state rather than where their college is located. It is also worth reiterating that of all college students in the United States, out-of-state students only account for one-fifth of the total to begin with. Extrapolated to the national college population, that implies that fewer than one million out-of-state students voted, and fewer than 200,000 voted in elections outside their home states -- or just 0.2 percent of the U.S. voting population. Empirically, out-of-state college students are not a formidable voting bloc.

Those numbers do not capture students attending college in their state but still far from their hometowns, which describes the bulk of enrollees at many states’ flagship public university campuses. But we can assume that our insights into voting patterns of out-of-state college students apply in some measure to those students, as well. Our data suggest that the scope of the actual influence of college students on local elections is low, in general.

Three Values-Based Views

Of course, specific campuses and local elections matter as much as overall trends. So, more important than the data themselves are the principles in question.

The U.S. Supreme Court has made it clear that students have the right to vote in either their home state or near the campus where they reside. But rights do citizens little good if they cannot exercise them. As a research institute that studies democracy, we are concerned with efforts to suppress the student vote. All else being equal, every American should support rules that make civic participation easier and be wary of those that make it more difficult.

That said, all else is never equal. So, the essential question in this case is “Should college students be allowed to vote at their 'place of domicile' -- in other words, in the campus precinct?” That is a wonderful question, because it requires us to reflect on a few core values of American democratic society and higher education. We face real trade-offs; both restricting and expanding voting access have their hazards. I would like to offer brief thoughts on three key values-based perspectives that frame the conversation.

Local residents should decide local elections. College towns often have a political dynamic that appears to pit college students against settled residents. College students and long-term residents may have different interests, and it seems unfair that students are able to influence policies that they won’t have to live with.

But college students are not the only population that challenges the definition of who counts as a local resident. As Sheri Iachetta, registrar of Charlottesville, Va., observed in a 2008 congressional hearing, housing transience among students is not entirely dissimilar to that of so-called snowbirds -- people who maintain seasonal residences -- and the idea that students are more invested in the college itself than committed to the local community is true of “any number of transient professionals … doctors in [residence], visiting professors.” Yet we see special value for all local constituents to encourage students to develop connections to the community, foster better town/gown relationships and cultivate a sense of localized civic responsibility. Communities can benefit from the energy and fresh perspective of their highly motivated college student populations, and students should have some influence in local politics, given that they are affected by the policies and political climate of their surroundings.

In a democratic society, political participation should be easier rather than harder. Laws imposing barriers to voting arise from concerns about the integrity of the electoral system. Increased national attention to immigration policy, along with allegations of voter fraud, have motivated legislators to enact laws that impose higher costs on electoral participation through stricter proof-of-residency requirements or restricted voter-identification options. In principle, neither of those ideas are bad ones; in a world without trade-offs, anyone should prefer more certainty about the identities of voters.

But we do not live in such a world, and such rules conjure our country’s disturbing history of debate over who is qualified to vote and how hard they should have to work to prove it. Attempts to impose requirements on would-be voters are nearly always justified by perfectly rational principles, but those requirements can often have negative impacts, especially on vulnerable populations. Contemporary incarnations of rules involving voter identification, residency definitions and voter registration practices appear to disproportionately affect college students, sparking recent litigation in New Hampshire and Tennessee. A growing body of credible research reassures us that voter fraud is negligible in the United States, which leaves little justification for rules that deter turnout.

Civic engagement should be a core component of the college experience. One of the functions of American higher education is to support upward economic mobility for its students. Our core conviction at the Institute for Democracy & Higher Education is that political mobility should be just as important, because its consequences are just as lasting. A citizenry should be as well equipped to contribute to public life as a collectively reasonable, deliberative body politic as it is to contribute to the labor economy as a capable workforce.

At the institute, we spend a lot of our energy improving our process for generating accurate and useful statistical data, which we hope helps galvanize and guide civic engagement efforts on campuses. But at the end of the day, increasing and enhancing engagement in politics is largely about changing culture: how we talk about politics across lines of difference, what commitments we expect of our fellow citizens and how invested we are in the processes that underpin democracy. We aim to improve political learning, discussion, equity and participation, and we view those outcomes as reflections of institutional commitment and climate. Colleges and universities can be central to that transformation, if they embrace it as one of their essential roles.

Dave Brinker is a senior researcher at the Institute for Democracy & Higher Education at Tufts University.

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The need to engage in sincere conversation with those with whom one disagrees (opinion)

“I do not like that man,” Abraham Lincoln is said to have remarked. “I must get to know him better.”

Not exactly words you expect to see tweeted from today’s White House, or for that matter, to be heard on today’s college campuses.

It seems that whenever a crisis occurs -- like the recent wave of mass shootings in California, Texas and Ohio -- one group of Americans blames the others for causing it, and the other blames the first for defamation, thereby inspiring more hostility. But democracy depends on honest disagreement, which in turns means crediting the other with good faith whenever possible and not leaping to hostile judgment. We need to see the world from the other point of view and hear how our own voice sounds.

Empathy is bigger than Republicans and Democrats. To persuade rivals you need to understand their point of view and respect it. Empathy accepts that our opponents are just as passionate about their views as we are about ours, and they have every right to be. By appreciating that, we can move toward more effective and honest persuasion. That’s what we try to teach our students.

Jane Austen’s novels often tell the story of how a heroine, sure that she sees the world correctly, turns out to have been governed by unsuspected “pride and prejudice.” As Pride and Prejudice begins, readers usually agree with the heroine Elizabeth Bennet that the snobbish Mr. Darcy is a moral monster and the charming George Wickham a good man. But as she at last discovers her error and recognizes the moral overconfidence that led to it, readers, if they are wise, may learn the same lesson. If our democracy is to survive, we want to allow for the possibility that our Darcys are really Wickhamish and vice versa.

Sincere dialogue offers the chance to learn something not only about other people but about ourselves, as well. But empathy is a skill, is hard to learn and requires practice. Perhaps the best way to practice it is to read literature, especially great novels. In addition to Austen, authors such as Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, George Eliot and Henry James give us practice in identifying with people unlike ourselves and sensing from within what it is like to be someone else. You experience the world from the perspective of a different social class, gender, religion, culture, sexual orientation, moral understanding or other categories that define and differentiate human experience. By living a character’s life vicariously, you not only feel what she feels but also reflect on those feelings, consider the nature of the actions to which they lead and gradually acquire the wisdom to appreciate actual people in all their complexity.

If we could only see others as they see themselves, we might just treat our ideological opponents with a modicum of respect. That might not be as personally satisfying as despising them. (Who hasn’t secretly enjoyed a sense of righteous indignation?) But being content to simply express your moral outrage often gets in the way of doing the hard work that results in lasting change. It is a lot easier to convince people to listen to you if you are willing to listen to them, and you are more likely to be heard among all the screamers if you are decent and thoughtful. In the words of Martin Luther King Jr., “You have very little morally persuasive power with people who can feel your underlying contempt.”

Just as we should develop the tools for empathy, we must also recognize when empathy fails us. Sometimes greater understanding does not lead to greater respect. Serbs and Croats both charged each other with horrible past crimes, and both were right; sometimes, if we really understood the real person sitting beside us, we would be even more revolted. How many gatherings of family and friends, especially when alcohol is involved, have left us with a disconcerting glimpse into what someone whom we thought we knew actually believes? Perhaps they made the same discovery about us?

Some people say that if we took the time to know one another, we would necessarily love each other more. They have never been to Thanksgiving dinners at our homes. It would be wonderful if taking the time to listen and engage always brought people together, but that is a fantasy. There really are people who want to do bad things. And yet, it is also true that we may leap to the conclusion that the other side is just plain bad in order to save ourselves the trouble of empathizing. Empathy is no panacea, but we do not know if it fails until after we have really tried it.

So while empathy is sorely needed, especially during these troubled times, it would be wrong to think it offers a certain escape from the tensions of the day. Don’t forget that even Lincoln, with his inspiring civility and soaring oratory, couldn’t avoid civil war.

But when the war was over, the same Lincoln who had won it called for malice toward none and charity for all. After World War I, vengeance was the order of the day, and we know where that led. We were wiser after World War II. We need the judgment to empathize as much as possible, to fight when empathy is not enough, and to avoid letting the sense of our own righteousness beget ever more conflict.

Gary Saul Morson is a professor of Slavic languages and literatures at Northwestern University, where Morton Schapiro, a professor of economics, is president. They are the authors of Cents and Sensibility: What Economics Can Learn From the Humanities (Princeton University Press, 2017).

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Survey suggests who pays for college drives partisan divide

Think tank survey finds majorities of Republicans view higher ed as valuable, but see individual students as benefiting from degrees.

Academe should avoid politicizing educational attainment (opinion)

Amir Attaran, a professor of law and medicine at the University of Ottawa, recently set off a social media firestorm by describing Conservatives as the “party of the uneducated.”

Facing backlash, Attaran subsequently denied affiliation with any political party and claimed to be merely conveying what the “data” says. Yet his remarks were clearly intended as disparaging. Their implication: Conservatives are less rational or informed than other voters. As if to alleviate any doubt about this subtext, Attaran went on to state that the lack of education among these voters is why conservative governments offer “numbskull policy,” even as he condescendingly dismissed critics as “unintelligent.”

Attaran was speaking to the political milieu of Canada. But a similar partisan education gap exists between Republicans and Democrats in the United States -- and similar sentiments often prevail among the left-leaning American intelligentsia toward conservative-leaning voters.

Throughout the 2016 election cycle (beginning in the primaries), pundits and analysts seized on the apparent “diploma divide” between those who supported Trump and those who did not. This trend continued through the recent 2018 midterms. A subtext running through many of these essays (sometimes even an explicit theme) is that the consolidation of support among degree holders for the DNC is somehow proof that Democrats’ political preferences are more intelligent, informed, rational or effective than those of the opposition. As comedian Stephen Colbert once put it, “Reality has a well-known liberal bias.”

Maybe it does. But despite the reality that social psychological literature also has a well-known liberal bias, it nonetheless throws cold water on the idea that a constituency’s education level suggests anything about the wisdom of a political party’s policies or platform.

Mixed Blessings

For many people, it is intuitive and comforting to believe that while the political preferences of others may be driven primarily by prejudices, emotions, superstition, dogma and ignorance, the positions of well-educated or highly intelligent voters are shaped by logic and “the facts.” We make decisions based on a careful consideration of the issues; we would readily change our minds if the facts were not “on our side” or as the relevant circumstances evolved. The faith that education produces just these kinds of citizens has been baked into the project of modern universities from the outset.

Yet the cognitive and behavioral science literature suggests that those who are highly educated, intelligent or rhetorically skilled tend to be significantly less likely than most to revise their beliefs or adjust their positions when confronted with evidence or arguments that contradict their priors. This is because, in virtue of knowing more about the world, or being better at arguing, they are better equipped to punch holes in data or arguments that contradict their prior views or to otherwise make excuses for “sticking to their guns” regardless. And so, they do.

Indeed, research suggests that people with highly refined critical capacities often deploy them to scrutinize others. Hence, those with higher education levels and academic aptitude (college GPA) tend to be less attuned than most to ambiguity, complexity, uncertainty and limitations in their own knowledge -- and less prone to innovative or creative thinking.

Although highly educated people tend to be more politically engaged on average, their involvement is also much less likely to be oriented toward pragmatic ends. Instead, those with high levels of education gravitate toward “political hobbyism” and “expressive voting” -- that is, engaging in political research, discourse and participation for the purposes of self-aggrandizement, entertainment, validating one’s identity and views, and so forth.

According to Mark R. Joslyn and Donald P. Haider-Markel in “Who Knows Best? Education, Partisanship and Contested Facts,” those who are highly educated tend to be more politically partisan than most. They are also significantly more likely to conform their evaluations of historical or present circumstances to fit the messaging of party elites. In fact, as compared to the general public, cognitively sophisticated voters are much more likely to form their positions on issues, or even change their positions on issues, based on partisan cues of what they are “supposed” to think in virtue of their identity as Democrats, Republicans, etc. People tend to grow more politically polarized as their scientific literacy, numeracy or reflectiveness increases, and evoking scientific studies or statistics in the context of sociopolitical arguments tends to polarize people even further.

By virtue of their tendencies toward political hobbyism, highly educated people tend to follow political horse races much more closely than the general public and are often much better versed with respect to contemporary political gossip, dramas or scandals. Yet they tend to be little more informed than most with regards to more substantive facts -- often lacking even rudimentary knowledge about civic institutions and processes. In fact, research suggests that highly educated people tend to be less self-aware of their own sociopolitical preferences than most people -- typically describing themselves as more left wing than they actually seem to be. They also tend to be significantly worse at gauging others’ political beliefs, often assuming other people are much more extreme or dogmatic than they actually seem to be.

That is perhaps because studies show that, compared to the general public, highly educated or intelligent people tend to be more ideological in their thinking, more ideologically rigid and more extreme in their ideological leanings. Highly educated and intelligent people are also more likely to grow obsessed with some moral or political cause. Research suggests that they are more likely to overreact to small shocks, challenges or slights. Other studies have found that, while they are less likely to be prejudiced against others on the basis of things like race, they tend to be more prejudiced than most against those who seem to think differently than they do -- and often look down on those with less education.

In short, many of the biases and distortions to which all people are susceptible seem to be even more pronounced among those who are highly educated or intelligent.

Given such realities, it is far from clear that the consolidation of America’s educated class into a single political party would actually prove to be a boon for that party, its platform or its decision making. Indeed, history from the United States and abroad is replete with examples of grievous harm caused by well-intentioned technocrats and ideologues when they grow insufficiently accountable to ordinary folk.

In other words, while the growing diploma divide along partisan lines may tell us many things about the trajectory of America society and culture, it does not prove -- or even suggest -- that one party’s political platform and priorities are any more rational, informed or effective than another’s. If it is the case that Democrats’ positions are more ethical or practically effective than those of their rivals, that would be incidental to (perhaps even despite) partisan differences in constituents’ average education levels.

Consider: up until the 2012 elections, Republicans tended to have a larger share of college-educated voters than Democrats (an effect that was even more pronounced among white voters). Most of us on the left did not take this as evidence that Republican policies were consistently more ethical and well grounded than those of Democrats. Instead, many interpreted these trends as a sign that the Republicans were the party of elites, while Democrats were the party of “the people.”

Yet now that the educated class has shifted their allegiance, condescension and elitism have become increasingly vogue on the left, while “populism” has become something of a dirty word.

Academics and Elitism

Many branded Attaran’s remarks, disparaging the uneducated and their preferred political party, as “elitist.” He has attempted to dismiss this charge on the grounds that he is a son of immigrants and therefore (in his mind) must not be an “elite.” Yet the average income for full-time faculty member at the University of Ottawa, according to Glassdoor, is roughly $138,000 -- about twice Canada’s median household income. Given the specific departments he is affiliated with (law and medicine), Attaran’s salary probably puts him into the top 10 percent of Canadian income earners. It is hard to see how this does not qualify as elite.

In the United States, similar dynamics hold. The median income for postsecondary teachers is roughly $78,000. That is well above the overall median household income in the country. The typical American professor falls solidly into the uppermost quintile of income earners; many are well into the top 10 percent (earning $118,000 or higher). Yet relatively few academics actually seem to recognize themselves as social elites.

Instead, as Rachel Sherman noted in Uneasy Street (Princeton University Press), her study of affluent New Yorkers, or as Richard Reeves pointed out in his book Dream Hoarders (Brookings Institution Press), many relatively well-off Americans mischaracterize themselves as “middle class” -- especially those who are not born into wealth. This lack of self-awareness among many academics about their socioeconomic and cultural position, and their frequent elitist tendencies, is far from harmless.

Indeed, while those with college degrees may increasingly lean Democrat -- and the number of degree holders has increased in recent years -- only about a third of Americans possess a bachelor’s degree, let alone an advanced degree. And those voters tend to be geographically concentrated in areas of the country that already skew decisively blue. As a result, even if the diploma gap continues to expand, and the number of degree holders continues to climb, Democratic gains from these trends may be minimal with regard to congressional seats or national races. They could even suffer at the ballot box if they lose touch in the process with less educated voters -- who are more broadly distributed throughout the country, and twice as plentiful as degree holders.

Finally, it’s worth emphasizing that people typically disinvest from institutions that they are not reflected in. As education becomes increasingly associated with allegiance to the left, incentives to slash university funding will grow even stronger among right-leaning politicians. Already, experts -- and the institutions that produce them (universities) -- are widely perceived as having a political agenda that is out of step with the will and interests of the general public. As the diploma divide continues to expand, and inequality continues to rise, right-aligned populists will be able to seize and maintain power even more easily by exploiting the growing mistrust of elites. It is incumbent upon us to avoid exacerbating those dynamics.

It may be emotionally satisfying for academics and intellectuals to disparage or patronize the less educated and their political allegiances, but this condescension is unearned. The political leanings of highly educated or intelligent people tend not to be any more rational or informed than anyone else’s. Putting on a pretense of superiority is likely to blow up in our faces.

Musa al-Gharbi is a Paul F. Lazarsfeld Fellow in sociology at Columbia University and senior fellow at Heterodox Academy. Readers can connect to his research and social media via his website, musaalgharbi.com.

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Tuesday, August 27, 2019
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Academic and Political Elitism

Colleges recruiting 2020 presidential candidates as commencement speakers

Colleges recruit presidential contenders to speak -- and don't do much to make sure their talks don't turn political.

Pete Buttigieg, Democratic candidate, bucks progressives on free college

After debate over free college defined 2016 Democratic primary campaign, South Bend, Ind., mayor is the second Democratic presidential candidate to take a stand against the idea.

Students at Sarah Lawrence want to review the tenure of a conservative professor who criticized student affairs programs

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Students at Sarah Lawrence want to review the tenure of a conservative professor who criticized student affairs programs as ideologically "lopsided."

Looking abroad increases optimism about our democracy in the U.S. (opinion)

The last few years have witnessed a deluge of commentary warning of the coming end of American democracy. Commentators have warned that “Trump is a threat to liberal democracy,” that the United States is a “breeding ground for tyranny” and that “this is how fascism comes to America.” Every week seems to bring with it new reasons for concern.

In a recent study, we argue that if you want to feel better about the prospects for democracy in the United States, you should look beyond our borders. Studying democratic erosion abroad increases optimism about those prospects, instilling confidence in the strength and longevity of American democratic norms and institutions.

Since fall 2017, we have led a collaborative, multi-university course on democratic erosion taught at more than two dozen college campuses in the United States, Israel and the Philippines. The course encourages students and faculty members to critically evaluate threats to democracy here and abroad not through the lens of partisan attachments, but rather through theory, history and social science. We aim to treat democratic erosion as an empirical question rather than just a political one. Is American democracy really at risk? What about democracy in the West? The world? And if it is at risk, what can we do about it?

To our knowledge, this is the first multi-university course of its kind in the social sciences, and it has received both local and national news media attention. The course is built around a 13-week syllabus on democratic erosion that we developed with a small group of professors and students. Assignments maximize opportunities for collaboration. Instead of reading responses, students write posts for our publicly accessible blog, where they are also required to read and comment on one another’s posts.

Instead of final papers, they write case studies on countries that have recently shown signs of democratic decay -- such as Hungary, Nicaragua, Zambia and the Philippines. This is not merely an academic exercise. This past May, students studying for their master's degrees at Texas A&M University converted the undergraduates' case studies into a downloadable data set. They then presented preliminary findings to USAID, the U.S. State Department and a consortium of more than 20 NGOs involved in the promotion of democracy worldwide.

When we started this project, we worried that 13 weeks of thinking about dead or dying democracies might induce even more hand-wringing about our own democratic norms and institutions. Using a combination of surveys, interviews and written questionnaires, we compared the experiences of students who took our course to a similar group that did not (including students who attended the first day of class but were not admitted due to enrollment caps). Our results are now forthcoming in a peer-reviewed article in PS: Political Science & Politics.

At the start of the semester, students’ prognoses for American democracy were almost universally grim. Across 14 universities, the average student rated the quality of U.S. democracy as a 6.4 out of 10. Half believed this number would decline over the following year. About a third believed it would stay the same. Only 15 percent thought it would improve.

But something surprising happened as the semester progressed. The more our students thought about democratic erosion abroad, the better they felt about democratic stability at home. The key, it turned out, was to take a step back from the breathless, often alarmist headlines that dominate the daily news cycle and view American democracy from a global perspective.

As one student put it before taking the course, “I thought Trump was more drastically bad for the country than I do now. I was caught up in the rhetoric. [But] the course helped me think about the strength of institutions and the many things that aren’t in Trump’s power.” Another student said the course helped illustrate that “the United States has more preventative measures than most countries to stop erosion from happening.” A third said that, before taking the class, “a lot of news was, ‘the world is ending.’ Now looking at other countries, seeing America’s response to the possibility of democratic erosion, gave me encouragement rather than bringing me down.”

When we asked students who didn’t take the course about their perspectives on American democracy, we got very different responses. Those students tended to focus on the day-to-day drama of the Trump administration. They also tended to discount the lessons we can learn from nations beyond our borders. For example, when asked if he felt more or less optimistic about American democracy when thinking about other countries, one student said, “I wouldn’t say it makes me feel any way in either direction. I think that’s because I feel like America is a superpower in its own way.” Other students who didn’t take the course voiced similar sentiments. They thought that America is one of a kind and faces one-of-a-kind risks that are real and growing.

Broadening people’s limited views is why the study of comparative politics can be a powerful tool for countering pessimism of this sort. For those on the political left in particular, it’s tempting to instinctively compare all of Trump’s objectionable actions to the worst analogues abroad. Trump says he wants stronger libel laws in the United States, and we immediately think of Russia, China and Venezuela. But some established democracies have strict libel laws as well -- notably the U.K. (the inspiration for Trump’s remark).

Or to cite another example: the president elevates Jared Kushner and other family members to plum White House posts, and we think of Iran, South Africa and Zimbabwe. But we forget about France, Japan and a slew of other democracies that have suffered nepotism scandals in recent years. Maybe the United States is becoming Venezuela. Or maybe it is becoming Japan. One of those fates is much worse than the other.

Of course, we should not be too sanguine about democracy under Trump. The president does not appear to care about the health of our democratic norms or institutions. His incessant attacks on the press, his reckless meddling in the judiciary, his disrespect for our democratic allies abroad -- all of these are reasons for concern. But as the students from numerous higher education institutions in our course have found, if you look long and hard beyond our borders, the picture at home seems a lot less gloomy.

Hannah Baron is a Ph.D. candidate in political science at Brown University. Robert Blair is an assistant professor of political science and international and public affairs at Brown University and coordinator of the Democratic Erosion consortium. Shelby Grossman is an assistant professor of political science at the University of Memphis.

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Liberty University stands by CIO, despite questionable business activities

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Liberty University is standing by its chief information officer despite reports that he accepted cash to rig online polls for Donald Trump.

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