Constitution

About: Constitution is a research topic. Over the lifetime, 37828 publications have been published within this topic receiving 435603 citations.

The Other Founders: Anti-Federalism and the Dissenting Tradition in America, 1788-1828

Abstract: The Other Founders: Anti-Federalism and the Dissenting Tradition in America, 1788-1828. By Saul Cornell. (Chapel Hill: Published for the Omohundro Institute of Early American History and Culture, Williamsburg, Virginia, by the University of North Carolina Press, 1999. Pp., xvi, 327. Maps. Cloth, $55.00; paper, $19.95.) American historians today love underdogs. Whereas our predecessors lavished attention on statesmen and generals, we now cast our spotlights on the unappreciated or overlooked, especially those who challenged now discredited norms of respectability and deference. The consensus emerging among historians of early America, as indicated by Jon Butler's new synthesis, Becoming America (2000), peels away the pretentious gentility of earlier portraits to reveal a boisterous and ribald popular culture taking shape in defiance of authority and tradition. Surely this is a propitious moment for taking a fresh look at those lovable losers of the early republic, the Antifederalists. It is clear from The Other Founders that Saul Cornell relishes the carnivalesque plebeian populism that sometimes sparked Antifederalist riots. If Americans failed to produce cat massacres, they did at least hang and bum in effigy Federalists such as James Wilson. Spontaneous popular uprisings, such as the 1787 protest against the Constitution in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, and the Whiskey Rebellion of 1791, gave honest working men a chance to thumb their noses at effete elites, and so give us a chance now to salute their heroic efforts. Unfortunately, compelling as that morality play may be to our own sensibilities, it cannot be sustained by the historical record. As Cornell's careful and subtle analysis makes clear, there are at least three problems with the attractive portrait of Antifederalists as plebeian democrats. First, the personnel and programs of those who opposed the Constitution varied so widely that it is difficult even to identify who they were and what they stood for. Only their common fears of centralization united Antifederalists. Plebeian democrats from the backcountry, such as William Petrikin, had little in common with wealthy, elite critics of the Constitution from New England and the South, such as Mercy Otis Warren and Arthur Lee, or even with middling democrats from New York and Pennsylvania, such as George Clinton and Melancton Smith, who championed commerce and economic growth. Moreover, the contributors to Antifederalist discourse who exerted the greatest influence, and whose writings were most often reprinted and distributed, tended to articulate middling or elite, rather than plebeian, arguments. Not only were Federalists outraged by the Carlisle riot and the Whiskey Rebellion, but almost all Antifederalists likewise condemned their erstwhile allies' lawlessness and, with William Findley, Albert Gallatin, and even William Manning, railed against the dangers of "mobocracy." The "fear of anarchy," Cornell writes, prompted middling democrats to create a loyal opposition rather than encouraging "extralegal action" (141). Second, most Antifederalists shared a commitment to what Cornell, taking his cue from Jurgen Habermas, calls the emerging public sphere. Whereas the anonymous print culture of that arena challenged and eventually displaced the politics of personal patronage and deference that preceded it, the premium placed on reasoned argument-even when advanced through satirical or raw-boned prose-did not jibe with a politics of violent protest. The ideal of deliberation that Cornell skillfully and painstakingly pieces together from the mass of Antifederalist writings required balancing and filtering different interests in order to achieve the common good, a still-vital republican ideal. Only a few Antifederalists, such as James Winthrop, ever articulated a straightforward politics of self-- interest; far more common in Antifederalist tracts were claims that the necessary balancing and filtering could be done better at the local or state rather than the national level. …

Sovereignty: An Introduction and Brief History

Abstract: Most citizens of most states recall, in eulogy or in censure, a founding moment when battles, heroes, speeches, debates and compromises brought about a new constitution, an enduring new orthodoxy of political authority and principles. They speak of 1776, 1789 and 1917, of preserving the spirit of the revolution and the intentions of its founders. Rarely, though, do such sentiments apply to international relations. Occasionally scholars write of our "Westphalian system," but only cooly to categorize and chronicle not to pronounce or polemicize. Why the reticence? It probably has much to do with the dominance of the realist tradition, according to which the history of international relations is an endless competition between armies and economies; rules, constitutions and notions of political authority, then, are only deceptive, forgettable surface reflections. I will argue for the reality of these reflections. International relations, too, has something akin to a constitution, embodied in what I will call "norms of sovereignty," and this constitution is formed through revolutions: Tumult yields novel orthodoxy. Today sovereignty is again the issue. There is evidence that another revolution is afoot. Against the spirit of "the end of history," new actors are claiming new forms of authority. The European Union and the United Nations endorse the right to independence of secessionist Yugoslavian republics; the U.N. and its proxy armies intervene in Somalia, Iraq and Rwanda for humanitarian reasons and apply sanctions on Haiti on behalf of democracy, all without the consent of local parties; legal scholars note an "emerging right to democratic governance" which makes domestic government a matter of international concern; and E.U. states make new progress toward the "pooling" of authority in a common institution.[2] These trends are still partial; whether they will become durable norms in the new world order is not yet certain. But if they do, together they will amount to one of the rare international revolutions in sovereignty since medieval times. If the current relevance of the state is our question, then these emerging norms of sovereignty are noteworthy. They are not, however, all that is important to the state. Increased flows of trade, money, information and armaments, and changes in laws governing ownership and citizenship dramatically alter the state's functions and efficacy, but have little to do with sovereignty, which itself is purely a matter of legitimate authority. Although revolutions in norms of sovereignty are only part of important political change, they are an inestimably important part, and we ought to know something about their nature and history. I seek, then, to introduce sovereignty in two stages. First, I offer a sorely needed definition and explore some of its variations. I then offer a brief history of its crucial historical junctures and founding moments. International lawyers have so thoroughly delineated, demarcated, explicated, qualified and categorized sovereignty that the term's continued useful precision is open to question.[3] Yet, because sovereignty has so often been appealed to or claimed, in both polemics and preambles, by statespeople, diplomats and members of parliament concerned about the integrity of their authority, and because it comprises the struts and joists without which statecraft would not exist, it cannot be scuttled. But sovereignty needs definition. Precisely because of its complex historical evolution, finding a definition encompassing every usage since the 13th century is a pipe dream.[4] However, there is a broad concept - not a definition, but a wide philosophical category - which unites most of sovereignty's past, and with which we can begin: authority. Authority is "the right to command and correlatively, the right to be obeyed."[5] It is legitimate when it is rooted in law, tradition, consent or divine command, and when those living under it generally endorse this notion. …

Pork for Policy: Executive and Legislative Exchange in Brazil

Abstract: The Brazilian Constitution of 1988 gave relatively strong powers to the president. We model and test executive-legislative relations in Brazil and demonstrate that presidents have used pork as a political currency to exchange for votes on policy reforms. In particular Presidents Cardoso and Lula have used pork to exchange for amendments to the Constitution. Without policy reforms Brazil would have had greater difficulty meeting its debt obligations. The logic for the exchange of pork for policy reform is that presidents typically have greater electoral incentives than members of Congress to care about economic growth, economic opportunity, income equality, and price stabilization. Members of Congress generally care more about redistributing gains to their constituents. Given the differences in preferences and the relative powers of each, the legislative and executive branches benefit by exploiting the gains from trade. Copyright 2006, Oxford University Press.

The living Constitution

Abstract: I. LECTURE ONE: ARE WE A NATION? The telephone rang, and a familiar conversation began: since 1989, the State Department had been badgering me to serve on delegations to advise one or another country on its constitutional transition to democracy. I had refused, and refused, and refused: no junketing for me, no ignorant professing in front of politicians I did not know on countries I barely understood. But once again, I heard an earnest midwestern voice at the end of the line, speaking self-importantly in the name of the Special Assistant to the Assistant to the Deputy Assistant Secretary of State. This time, he assured me, it was going to be completely different. The State Department wasn't asking me to help write a constitution in a language I couldn't read. It was inviting me to engage in a one-on-one tutorial with the great Akhil Alfarabi, a master of both the European and Islamic legal traditions, who was eager to extend his understanding to American constitutional law. Nothing but mutual enlightenment, the cheery voice guaranteed: it was past time to bridge the fearsome cavern separating the great legal systems of the world. And they were asking only for a week of my time. Why not? I asked, and I soon found myself, jetlagged, encountering a smiling Alfarabi at an undisclosed location. After drinking endless cups of tea, we began serious conversation where I always begin: with the written Constitution, starting from the words "We the People" and working our way to the end of the text. Alfarabi fulfilled my fondest expectations. He was a master of the art of elaborating profound legal principles out of lapidary texts and listened intently as I presented the famous words left behind by the American Founding and Reconstruction. A couple of days of joyful conversation passed, and we finally moved into our final lap: the texts of the twentieth century. But Alfarabi was getting impatient, and a bit resentful, at my treating him like a brilliant first-year student. "How about changing roles," he suggested, "and letting me take the lead in interpreting the last few constitutional amendments?" Truth to tell, I was a bit doubtful: for all his learning, he didn't have the foggiest idea of American history. But after all, I didn't have any idea of his country's history, and that hadn't stopped us from engaging in some great conversation. "Why not?" I asked myself, glimpsing the ghost of John Dewey (1) enthusiastically nodding his approval: "We have reached the Twenty-First Amendment. What do you think it means?" "Well, the year is 1933, and Franklin Roosevelt is coming into office--he's the one who announced the New Deal, no?" I nodded enthusiastically, as is my habit, and was greatly relieved to learn that the guy knew more about my country's history than I knew of his. "And looking at the amendment," said Akhil, "I can see precisely why they call it the New Deal. I find it deeply regrettable that the American people repealed the ban on the consumption of alcoholic beverages, but as a lawyer it's obvious that something very new is happening: We the People are demanding a sharp cutback in overly ambitious federal regulatory schemes. The larger constitutional principle is clear: the era of Big Government is over." Alfarabi spoke with confidence, for great lawyers never lack self-confidence. Before I could figure out what to say, Akhil was pushing on to the next amendment. "This Twenty-Second Amendment," he explained triumphantly, "only confirms my interpretation. I see that it was enacted when Harry Truman was in the White House--wasn't he a loyal follower of Roosevelt?--and the text makes it clear that the People are moving right along in the direction marked by Roosevelt's New Deal. In 1933, they repudiated Big Government; now they are cutting the imperial presidency down to size by limiting incumbents to two terms in office. …