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Non-inclusive and non-deliberative : initiatives and referenda in comparative perspective Ellis, Anthony 2017

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NON-INCLUSIVE AND NON-DELIBERATIVE:INITIATIVES AND REFERENDA IN COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVEbyAnthony EllisA THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OFMASTER OF ARTSinTHE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES(Political Science)THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA(Vancouver)August 2017© Anthony Ellis, 2017iiThe following individuals certify that they have read, and recommend to the Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies for acceptance, a thesis entitled:Non-inclusive and non-deliberative: initiatives and referenda in comparative perspectivesubmitted by Anthony Ellis in partial fulfillment of the requirements forthe degree of Master of Artsin Political ScienceExamining Committee:Maxwell Cameron, Political ScienceSupervisor Mark Warren, Political ScienceSupervisory Committee Member iiiAbstractInitiatives and referenda may have deleterious effects on representative democracy in two ways.  First, they may lead to outcomes that are not inclusive.  Second, they undermine deliberation by providing binary choices.  A most different systems methodology is used to explore the effect initiatives and referenda have on democracy in Washington State and Switzerland.  It relies on the works of theorists of democratization, the existing comparative literature on referenda and initiatives, and contributions from scholars in fields outside political science such as biology and law.  It concludes with a review of potential alternative institutions that reduce democratic deficits while mitigating the exclusionary risks posed by direct democratic mechanisms.  ivLay SummaryScholars of democratic theory often point to “democratic deficits” within democratic systems – areas in which these systems are not appropriately responsive and accessible to their citizenries.  One proposed solution has been to add systems of direct democracy alongside existing systems of representative democracy.  This appears to work, but an in-depth analysis of Washington State and Switzerland, two systems which have long used direct and representative democracy together, shows that this can come at the high cost of reducing political inclusion.  Direct democracy, as it exists in Washington State and Switzerland, does not allow for the deliberation needed to avoid outcomes that exclude minority groups.vPrefaceThis thesis is original, unpublished, independent work by the author, Anthony Ellis.viTable of ContentsAbstract. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . iiiLay Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ivPreface  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vTable of Contents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . viAcknowledgements  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . viiIntroduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1Literature Review  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4  Direct Democratic Mechanisms – Key Definitions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 The Case for and Against Direct Democratic Mechanisms  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Benchmarks for Inclusion  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Inclusion and Case Categorization  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 Deliberation and Democracy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Biology, Deliberation, and the Tyranny of the Majority . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11Suffrage and Direct Democracy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Suffrage in Switzerland  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13  Suffrage in Washington State . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18“Modern” Problems of Inclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Same-Sex Marriage in Washington State . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 The Expulsion Initiative in Switzerland  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 22 Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24Closing Remarks  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 26 Direct and Deliberative – Potential Paths Forward .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 27Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29viiAcknowledgements  I would first like to thank my supervisor, Dr. Max Cameron.  Without his thoughtful commentary and suggestions throughout the drafting process, this paper would have no doubt ended up a sprawling, tangential mess.  I greatly enjoyed having the chance to discuss the theoretical underpinnings of my paper with a true expert.   I am also deeply indebted to Western Washington University’s Political Science and German departments, in particular Drs. Amir Abedi, Petra Fiero, and Sandra Alfers.  Their support throughout my undergraduate education encouraged me toward comparative politics and a greater interest in events beyond my backyard.   Lastly, I want to thank my parents for all of the sacrifices they have made for my sister and I over the years, and my grandparents for fostering an unhealthy interest in politics and history in me from a young age.  1Introduction In the field of democratization, the order of the day seems to be the identification of so-called “democratic deficits.”  There is indeed something problematic in the idea that citizen participation in democracies is often limited to processes of authorization every four years and some meagre ability to serve in what Mark Warren refers to as an “aggregative advisory” role (Warren, 2006, p. 21).  One solution, according to theorists like David Altman, is to widen minimalist definitions of democracy, like Dahl’s famous metrics of contestation and inclusion, to include “direct popular decision-making,” by which he means initiatives and referenda (Altman, 2013, p. 615).  While democratic deficits exist and such tools as Altman describes do serve to make governments more accountable to the public they represent, I argue that they may do so at the expense of another crucial element of democratic governance: inclusion.  Moreover, initiatives and referenda, as they are currently conceived of, do nothing to provide a deliberative forum for decision-making.  Without the sobriety provided by deliberation, they are too prone to lead to exclusionary results to recommend as an antidote to failures of accountability.   In terms of the existing literature on democratization, I contextualize this piece with works on the topics of democratic deficits, direct democracy, participatory democracy, and deliberative democracy.  Writing as he does about the need to include measures of direct democracy in minimalist definitions of democracy, there is some obvious tension between my work and Altman’s (2011, 2013, 2016).  However, we are not in complete disagreement.  He advocates for direct democracy alongside representative institutions rather than as replacements for them, and he is careful to note that he is not claiming “that citizens deciding directly is always desirable or wise. Nor [is he] arguing that decisions taken by [citizen-initiated mechanisms of direct democracy] are necessarily efficient, good, just, or that there is no tension between these decisions and representative institutions” (Altman, 2013, p. 621).  Additionally, he is careful to differentiate between different types of mechanisms of direct democracy (MDDs), and finds that certain types of MDDs (especially plebiscites) do not achieve what ought to be the central benefits of direct democracy.  2 The difference of opinion lies in that I believe that, in the cases I examine, the drawbacks, even for the citizen initiated MDDs Altman prefers (i.e. initiatives and referenda), are sufficiently denigrating to representative democracy that their use as a remedy to democratic deficits is limited.  Altman claims that those focusing on the outcomes of MDDs miss “the most crucial part of the democratic game: the process itself, which is arguably more important than the outcome of the ballots themselves” (Altman, 2011, p. 2).  Direct democracy can indeed strengthen the processes that allow for vertical accountability within democratic systems.  However, this strengthening of democratic accountability comes at the cost of weakening the processes within representative democracy that foster political inclusion.  Although more complicated to implement and far less proven, experiments and scholarship in deliberative democracy offer an alternative path forward, with more vertical accountability than representative democracy alone and reduced risk of undermining political inclusion.   To examine my claims, I turn to a comparative case study of Washington State, a sub-federal majoritarian government within the United States, and Switzerland, a consociationalist federal state.  Both states utilize both proactive initiatives and reactive referenda, and so would be considered fully empowering of popular decision-making under Altman’s criteria (Altman, 2013, p. 623).  Although I refrain from an in-depth analysis of each system here, a central assumption of this article is that they share relatively little else in common, allowing the use of a most different systems approach to generalize similarities in drawbacks to direct democratic mechanisms where they exist.  Comparing a US state and Switzerland is not an entirely novel idea in the direct democratic literature – von Arx (2002) compares the historical and legal development, political systemic reactions, and constitutional restraints on referendums and initiatives in Switzerland and California in his helpfully-titled book, Similar, but Different (translation mine).   To lay the last of the introductory groundwork, my article adheres to the following trajectory:  I begin with a review of the literature on the merits and drawbacks of MDDs, using Altman’s work as a frame for this discussion.  After delving slightly into theory, I turn to a 3comparative analysis of women’s suffrage in each polity.  I then take a look at two cases that rely on a more expansive notion of inclusion:  Washington’s legalization of gay marriage and Switzerland’s 2010 initiative and later referendum on the expulsion of “criminal foreigners”.  This allows me to look at inclusion in perhaps the most obvious sense (i.e. who can vote) as well as in a way that is more generally applicable to politics in developed countries today.  I close with a look at some promising avenues moving forward for reducing democratic deficits without the exclusionary side effects.  4Literature ReviewDirect Democratic Mechanisms – Key Definitions A central contribution of Altman’s work lies in his classification of various forms of MDDs.  There are three major subcategories of MDDs – Constitutionally required MDDs, top-down MDDs, and citizen initiated MDDs.  Constitutionally required MDDs are triggered automatically once certain preconditions are met.  Top-down MDDs involve the legislature delegating decision-making power to the public on particular issues, despite not being required to by law.  Citizen initiated (CI) MDDs are bottom-up, being created and brought forward by people and group not formally affiliated with the state.  Each of these subcategories have binding (law-altering) and non-binding (consultative) variants, and from there are divided further into proactive and reactive MDDs.  Initiatives, for example, are binding, proactive, citizen initiated MDDs because they are brought onto the ballot by private citizens and groups, alter the law, and seek to create new law.  Referenda are similar, except they affirm or reject existing law rather than create something new (Altman, 2011, pp. 10-15).   This categorization is elegant and theoretically rich, but there are difficulties in translating often idiosyncratic local varieties neatly into this scheme.  In Switzerland, the legislature is empowered to submit counter-proposals to initiatives in a fairly clear example of binding, reactive, top-down MDDs, however, in Washington, the most similar mechanism to this is the Initiative to the Legislature (Altman, 2011, p. 14).  This is a type of initiative that is started by citizens but, before going to the ballot, is passed to the legislature, which can either (1) vote the initiative directly into law, (2) decline or fail to act and allow the measure to go on the ballot, or (3) submit a counterproposal that will be voted on in a manner similar to the Swiss binding, reactive TD-MDD (Wash. Const. art. 2, § 1).  Depending on how the legislature acts, initiatives to the legislature can be either (1) proactive, non-binding quasi CI-MDDs that consult only signatories, (2) functionally indistinguishable from other initiatives, or (3) traditional reactive, binding TD-MDDs.  This example does not necessarily point to a weakness of Altman’s schema, rather, it shows the difficulty scholars face in labeling and measuring unique direct democratic processes.  5The Case for and Against Direct Democratic Mechanisms The most convincing argument in favor of the use of CI-MDDs is a simple one:  representative democracy is imperfect, and voting every few years still leaves considerable democratic deficits.  Referenda act as the peoples’ veto against encroachment by an irresponsive government, and initiatives give the people a proactive voice where they would otherwise have to wait for representatives to act on their behalf.  Matsusaka (2014) and Altman (2016) identify this as the direct mechanism through which MDDs affect policy and foster vertical accountability.  This, however, only accounts for some of the differences between policy outcomes in polities with MDDs and those without.  The “credible menace of triggering a CI-MDD” acts as an indirect mechanism, constraining political actors and holding them accountable to the voting public (Altman, 2016, p. 6).  Theoretically, then, a society with strong allowances for CI-MDDs might not resort to them often, since the threat of CI-MDDs might cause responsible representatives to come up with solutions palatable enough to the public to preempt CI-MDDs (Altman, 2016, p. 6).  Matsusaka disentangles the two mechanisms and finds that MDD states in the US are “16% more likely than non-initiative states to choose a policy congruent with public opinion, but the difference is 35% when initiatives are actually approved (direct effect) compared to 9% when the initiative is only a threat (indirect effect) (Matsusaka, 2014, p. 347).  Altman notes that “more than 70 percent of Uruguayan legislators consider that the presence of a potential referendum is a sufficient enough reason to look for a broad consensus within the political parties” (Altman, 2011, p. 49). Altman identifies four main strains of argument against MDDs and attempts to fend them off.  The first category involves the potential for a tyranny of the majority and the related danger of cycling decisions.  Gamble (1997) makes a case similar to my own, claiming that MDDs promote the tyranny of the majority and have a demonstrably negative impact on the civil rights of minorities in societies where such mechanisms are used.  Altman fends off this challenge by citing studies by Frey & Goette (1998) and Donovan & Bowler (1998), which find that a far smaller percentage of MDDs opposing civil rights than Gamble claims have 6succeeded1.  Troublingly for Altman’s defense, a 2007 review and retesting of both Gamble and Donovan & Bowler’s hypotheses arrived at a completely opposite result, vindicating Gamble’s original theory (Haider-Markel, Querze, & Lindaman, 2007).  Even ignoring Haider-Markel et al.’s challenge, I am uncertain that this fully encapsulates the civil rights case against direct democracy.  In particular, I find it odd to use data on how often anti-civil rights MDDs appear and succeed as a metric for their hostility to civil rights, when a comparison between the actions of representative bodies and MDDs might give us a clearer picture of the harm (or lack thereof) caused by MDDs.  Haider-Markel et al. share this position, calling for comparative research on the impacts of legislatures and MDDs on civil rights.  As I will elaborate upon in my larger argument, anti-civil rights MDDs have indirect anti-inclusionary effects as well that will not necessarily be picked up by quantitative studies like Gamble’s2, Frey & Goette’s, or Donovan and Bowler’s.  Altman defends more effectively against fears of cycling, as there is simply little evidence of such a thing occurring.  He posits that this may be due to policies that are decided on by MDD being seen as highly legitimate (Altman, 2011, p. 47).   The second attack Altman faces is on the perceived “erosion of the power of elected officials” (Altman, 2011, p. 48).   Altman is largely ambivalent towards this claim, as, to a certain extent, this is the point of CI-MDDs.  Parties are supposed to be at least somewhat responsive to public opinion anyway, so if CI-MDDs force them to do so, this is a good thing.  He also notes that they are not entirely successful in circumventing the parties:  in Uruguay, Switzerland, Italy, Ireland, and Austria, he finds evidence that the parties are crucial to informing people how they ought to vote and making sure that they do vote.  He concedes that including CI-MDDs complicates the decision process for governments, but does not see this as necessarily a disadvantage (Altman, 2011, pp. 50-52).1 It should be noted that Donovan & Bowler’s analysis focuses on a narrower set of anti-minority MDDs, focusing exclusively on gay civil rights rather than Gamble’s more expansive criteria (Donovan & Bowler, 1998, p. 1021)2	 Gamble	mentions	this,	but	only	fleetingly	in	her	conclusion	(Gamble,	1997,	p.	262).7 Altman then turns to the dangers of economic populism and money.  While admitting that CI-MDDs sometimes result in selfish, shortsighted economic outcomes, he claims that, in general, the public does a competent job of managing the state’s pocketbook.  The literature generally supports him in this claim, but the cause for this prudence seems more likely to be the result of horizontal accountability between the CI-MDD institutions and the traditional branches of government.  In Washington State, proposals by anti-tax crusader Tim Eyman to both reduce taxes and force the Senate to require a two-thirds majority to pass tax increases have been struck down by both the Supreme Court and the Senate itself (Ballotpedia - Tim Eyman, 2017).  On the other end, if the public passes something truly irresponsible, yet not illegal, the legislature can adjust the budget in other areas to compensate for the mistake.  In respect to the question of money in direct democratic campaigns, the evidence paints a complex picture, with the most egregious cases of money acting as a barrier to effective participation happening in US states.  Altman makes the reasonable counterpoint that the reason so much money has been poured into MDD elections in the US is a series of decisions by the US Supreme Court and “Thus, critics of direct democracy should throw their darts in a reliable and valid manner: Popular votes are not to be avoided because money plays a role; rather, legislation controlling such influences should be reformed” (Altman, 2011, p. 54).   The last challenge Altman sees as significant enough to respond to in depth is presented by critics’ questioning of the competence of citizens to participate adequately in direct democracy, and the potential alienation of citizens from the democratic process by an overabundance of voting.  He begins with a strange argument against voter incompetence, claiming that if voters were incompetent, direct democracy would be ruinous, and a country like Switzerland could not have survived for the 150 years it has (Altman, 2011, pp. 56-57).  In response to this I would point to Switzerland’s robust consociationalist system and the fact that direct democracy in Switzerland is not devoid of horizontal accountability.  He moves back to firmer ground in his discussion of the mixed evidence on voter capabilities, citing Campbell, Converse, Miller, & Stokes (1960) and Lupia & McCubbins (1998) as examples of pessimistic and optimistic views of our “capabilities,” respectively, and discusses theories of heuristics to 8explain how voters in direct democratic elections can make sense of information using shortcuts and vote rationally (Altman, 2011, p. 57).  There are similarly conflicting arguments on the subject of voter fatigue, with some studies showing an increase in political interest as a result of “a culture of active CI-MDDs,” while others show voters seeing even national elections as less significant when they are faced with a large number of CI-MDDs (Altman, 2011, p. 58).   To sum up, there is plenty of evidence to support Altman and others’ claim that CI-MDDs increase the level of vertical accountability in a given polity, and many of Altman’s defenses against the critics of direct democracy are successful.  However, he fails to adequately account for the variety of ways CI-MDDs can pose a danger to minority civil rights and inclusion, which can undercut other processes crucial to the proper functioning of democracy.  9TheoryBenchmarks for Inclusion The simplest way to conceive of democratic inclusion, according to Wolbrecht & Hero (2005) is as a “series of benchmarks” (Wolbrecht & Hero, 2005, p. 4).  Borrowing from Schmidt et al. (2002), they outline five of these:  “(1) full access to participation, (2) representation in important decision-making processes and institutions, (3) influence in/power over government decisions, (4) adoption of public policies that address group concerns or interests, (5) socioeconomic parity” (Wolbrecht & Hero, 2005, p. 4).  These benchmarks are linear, meaning a society generally needs full access to participation before it can have representation in important decision-making processes.  The first step of inclusion is clearly sine qua non to democracy, but the later steps, while good for democracy, could be met only partially or not at all within a state fitting minimalist definitions (Munck, 2016, p. 20). For the purposes of this paper, I approach inclusion from a liberal democratic perspective. This is not because I believe that the liberal democratic approach is normatively or theoretically superior to the socially democratic approach.  I argue instead that the social democratic approach offers something in addition to the central components of liberal democratic inclusion, rather than a completely alternate explanation of what inclusion is.  Referring back to my review of Schmidt et al.’s components of democratic inclusion, components 1-4 fit neatly under the umbrella of liberal democratic inclusion, while 1-5 fit under that of social democratic inclusion.  This fits well with Wolbrecht & Hero’s observation that these benchmarks are linear and that “a group must achieve one prior to the other” (Wolbrecht & Hero, 2005, p. 4).  Focusing solely on liberal democratic inclusion, then, allows me to perform a hoop test on MDDs.  If they do not meet the standards of liberal democratic inclusion, they will not meet the higher standards of social democratic inclusion.  A downside to this approach is that MDDs could conceivably improve the standard of inclusion along socioeconomic lines while denigrating the earlier components.  This is a research question well worth asking, but the cursory information I gained over the course of my research does not paint an optimistic picture for this hypothesis.  10Inclusion and Case Categorization The two categories of cases I have researched look at different areas of liberal democratic inclusion.  The suffrage cases deal quite clearly with the question of full access to participation, while the postmaterialist cases deal with all four of what I am considering the liberal democratic benchmarks.  My focus on these two varieties of inclusion allows me to probe a counterintuitive point embedded within my hypothesis:  Although direct democratic schemes allow all voting citizens to be included without an intermediary in political decision-making, this generally results in less, not more, inclusion.   The reasons for less inclusive results are more immediately obvious in the more basic form of inclusion which I examine through my case studies of suffrage in Switzerland and Washington.  It would be fair to ask how important it is to look at inclusion through the lens of suffrage when considering the problems of modern MDDs, now that the largest battles over the expansion of the franchise have been won.  As a response to this, I would first point out that the question of suffrage is not as settled as it immediately appears to be.  To give a recent example of a challenge to universal suffrage, the US Supreme Court’s 5-4 decision in Shelby County vs. Holder struck down a major supervisory provision in the 1964 Voting Rights Act, allowing even jurisdictions “with significant histories of voter discrimination” to create new voting procedures without Department of Justice approval (The Voting Rights Act, 2017; Virginia: a rights battleground, 2017).  A further problem is seen in the large refugee and other non-citizen populations throughout the world.  Suffrage is generally (but with exceptions) not extended to non-citizen residents.  With the Syrian refugee crisis and the status of undocumented immigrants in the United States offering particularly large examples, a staggering number of people live in democracies where they have little to no say in proceedings.  Additionally, in another area where research with a focus on a social democratic conception of inclusion would be valuable, de jure inclusion does not necessarily lead to de facto inclusion, even where laws artificially suppressing the vote do not exist.  Some people and groups do not have the requisite financial means or knowledge to participate on an equal footing.  Finally, the same passions that inspire the included 11to deny the excluded in my suffrage cases are present in my more modern cases of inclusion.  In sum, questions of basic inclusion such as suffrage remain salient in today’s world, if perhaps not to the same extent, and it is reasonable to expect that characteristics of voters in MDDs on suffrage issues remain broadly similar on more exclusively modern questions of inclusion.   Deliberation and Democracy To define deliberation, I turn to the broad and growing literature on deliberative democracy.  Cameron sums up the work of theorists like Gutmann, Thompson, and Benhabib as the following:  “From a deliberative perspective, democracy is a political system in which those exercising power offer public reasons for their actions and defend them against criticisms” (Cameron, 2013, p. 157).  Key are concepts of “more communicative action, more disagreement resolved through dialogue and discourse rather than contestation” (Cameron, 2013, p. 159).  Biology, Deliberation, and the Tyranny of the Majority A central claim in my thesis – that a lack of deliberation is a major cause of the exclusionary effects of MDDs – requires unpacking, as it is far from the only intellectual tension that can be drawn out of the inverse relationship between direct democracy and inclusion.  One could justifiably focus solely on the tyranny of the majority, as past writers have, or argue that the innate characteristics of the populace make direct democracy irretrievably unfriendly to the preservation of rights.  The reason I find the idea of focusing on the lack of a deliberative component so attractive is that it ties some of the diverse ways of conceptualizing this problem together in an elegant manner:  There are some characteristics innate to humanity that make it difficult for us to look to preserve the rights of others, which, in a forum where these characteristics go unmitigated, can lead to the tyranny of the majority.   Deliberation can act as this mitigating factor.  In this formulation, the problem is not that direct democracy leads 12inevitably to a breakdown in civil rights, but that direct democracy in places such as Washington and Switzerland takes place in improperly constructed forums.   I will explain this further.  Looking at the intersection between political science and biology, Fukuyama writes that the unique nature of human politics comes through the interplay of four natural characteristics:  The capacity for inclusive fitness, kin selection, and reciprocal altruism; abstraction; emotional norm following; and the desire for recognition by one’s fellows (Fukuyama, 2011, p. 43).  Looking at these characteristics, the biological root of the problem of non-inclusivity in referenda and initiatives comes to the fore in the interplay between the third and fourth criteria.  Participation in initiatives and referenda is limited as a matter of course to those who are already politically recognized (i.e. citizens).  This strengthens the third criterion at the expense of the fourth, as calls for recognition inherently challenge a status quo that has oftentimes long been entrenched in the norms of a society.  The culture of the in-group, already having received its recognition, may be built upon norms that either de-emphasize or even discourage the inclusion of those on the outside seeking recognition, causing emotional norm following to provide a bulwark against calls for recognition.  Problems of inclusion exist in representative bodies, but are mitigated by their structure.  Legislatures, both through formal means such as floor debate and less formal means such as informational sessions and meetings between legislators and interest groups or individual citizens, provide a deliberative forum.  Legislators are thus provided reasoning and incentives to overcome emotional norm-following that ordinary citizens, many of whom only possessing a passing interest in politics, are not.  Although this process manifests itself differently in each of the cases I examine, deliberative bodies are seen outperforming non-deliberative MDDs in matters of inclusion, overcoming in-built biases and countering majority tyrannical decisions more often.  13Suffrage and Direct Democracy Suffrage in Switzerland First-wave feminism resulted in the vast majority of European countries expanding suffrage to women in the early 20th century.  The waters seem to have been more tepid in Switzerland.  It was not until 1971 that Swiss women’s right to vote was recognized by their government.  Although the unique history, consociationalism and federal structure of Swiss society complicated suffrage efforts, also demonstrably responsible for this lag was the immense hurdle put in place by required referenda for changes to the franchise.   “The history of Swiss women’s struggle for the right to vote,” writes Regula Stämpfli in Women and Politics Worldwide, “is filled with deceptions, frustrations, and prevention tactics initiated by men and the state” (Stämpfli, 1994, p. 694).  The character of the early national suffrage movement (beginning in 1909) reflected the complex federalism of the Swiss state – the organization itself was highly federalized, with little support offered to cantonal organizations and none at all to cantons without organizations.  The organization failed to improve upon this difficult beginning, splitting quickly into three different national organizations based somewhat upon the weak pillars of Swiss society.  After the First World War, at which time many European women escalated their efforts for suffrage, Swiss women were comparatively quiet.  Still, the Social Democrats and certain members of the Radical party advanced a motion in 1919 to amend the constitution to allow women the vote.  Lending credence to Stämpfli’s earlier assertion, the government ignored the motion until 1957 (Stämpfli, 1994, p. 695).   The suffrage movement fared little better at the cantonal level, although their efforts made it to the ballot.  There were six cantonal votes on the matter in 1921.  All failed.  Party support, it turned out, despite perhaps being salient in the legislature, had little bearing on the voting habits of party members.  The Social Democrats, again, supported suffrage in their platform, yet even those suffrage initiatives that took place in cantons they dominated yielded large majorities in opposition to franchise expansion.  Consistent with my expectation that 14legislators will be more inclined to overcome emotional norm following due to their position within deliberative bodies, Social Democrat party elites proved more accepting of the proposition than their base at large (Stämpfli, 1994, p. 695).   Part of this non-influence of party preference on initiative voting can be attributed to the need for federal parties to operate as “big tent” parties, contrasting the stronger parties often seen in other consociationalist countries.   Related to this, consociationalism has a different character in Switzerland than in places like Belgium and pre-1970s Netherlands, with far lower levels of pillarization, but Switzerland shows a culture similarly “dominated by the strong belief in non-confrontation at all levels” (Badie, Berg-Schlosser, & Morlino, 2011, p. 1895; Stämpfli, 1994, p. 697).  This had tangible effects on the women’s movement and the tools available to it.  For instance, outspoken feminists were often ostracized within the movement and without.  Iris van Roten’s treatment is exemplary of this trend.  “Male typesetters initially refused to set” her work, Frauen in Laufgitter (Women in a Children’s Prison, translation Stämpfli), and the National Organization for Women’s Suffrage “rejected any further collaboration with von Roten” (Stämpfli, 1994, p. 697).   Stämpfli credits intensifying international pressure with the breakthrough at the Assembly level in 1957.  By 1959, both chambers had accepted amending the constitution to allow women the right to vote.  “If Switzerland had not been a direct democracy, women’s right to vote would have taken effect immediately,” writes Stämpfli.  However, as constitutional amendments required a referendum before taking effect, the decision went to the people.  69 percent of voters ended up voting against the motion (Stämpfli, 1994, p. 695).   Obviously, there was more to the voting men of Switzerland’s decision than the reinforcement of emotional norm following through direct democratic procedures.  The country’s unique position in the world, wartime neutrality, multilingual consociationalism, disorganized and comparatively passive suffrage movement, systematic repression of women who were less passive, and, perhaps most importantly, strong federalism, all meant that there was more to the 151959 result than the men gathering in the town center and saying, “Eh, not today.”  It would thus be a gross overstep to lay Switzerland’s lack of political inclusion for women solely at the feet of its direct democratic mechanisms.  Also, lest my earlier condemnation of direct democratic requirements seem overly congratulatory to the Swiss representative bodies, I will reiterate the fact that the support of the Federal Council and Assembly for women’s suffrage was also late in coming.  That it took until 1957 for the Assembly to address the suffrage motion of 1919 shows that it was hardly some progressive body pushing for the rights of women against the all-male, anti-suffrage referenda voters.  Until 1957, the Assembly was equally culpable for the solidity of this non-inclusive status quo.  Still, even with these qualifications in mind, the Assembly voted in favor of inclusion twelve years sooner than the broader public, who did not succeed in amending the constitution until 1971.  The 1959 referendum had a direct, quantifiably negative effect on women’s inclusion in politics.   Characteristic of the Swiss system, even the successful 1971 referendum did not spell the end of Swiss women’s struggle for political recognition.  Despite federal law allowing women the right to vote, the “sanctity of federalism” meant that the national government was loath to interfere with cantonal policies on the matter (Stämpfli, 1994, p. 697).  The men of the canton of Appenzell used the referendum system to continue to deny women the vote at the cantonal level until 1990, at which point the Swiss Supreme Court issued its first ever ruling to restrict cantonal rights by ruling the cantonal voting restrictions as in violation of the country’s Gleichstellungsartikel (Equal Rights Amendment, translation Stämpfli), which had been in place since 1981.  Although cantonal suffrage referenda appeared before the male voters of Appenzell every year since the 1971 federal referendum, they voted in opposition every time3.  Because of the Swiss mix of strong federalism and direct democratic mechanisms, women could still be denied the right to vote 19 years after the federal right was granted and nine years after the country adopted a constitutional amendment intended to guarantee the equal rights of men and women (Stämpfli, 1994, p. 697).  3 Altman, citing Donovan & Bowler (1998) and this same historical record, hypothesizes that minority rights are placed in greater danger by MDDs in smaller polities (Altman, Direct Democracy Worldwide, 2011).  16Suffrage in Washington State Washington State’s suffrage history is in a more distant past than Switzerland’s.  In 1854, at which time it was still a territory yet to achieve statehood, the territorial government came one vote shy of extending the vote to women.  Before continuing, it bears mentioning that it was far easier for suffrage to be extended in a territory than in a state.  T.A. Larson (1976), in a retrospective article on the Washington suffrage movement, notes:In Wyoming, for example, a very small legislature gave women the right to vote and hold office in 1869 without any suffrage organization, demonstration, petition, or vote of the people.  When Wyoming became a state in 1890, woman suffrage was included in the constitution, again without vote of the people on that particular issue.  On the other hand, Oregon, a state since 1859, had to go the amendment route, and the amount of time and energy expended in six statewide elections before victory came in 1912 is appalling  (Larson, 1976, p. 49). Despite these two cases deviating from the two I have selected, the contrast Larson draws illustrates the difference between inclusion by legislature (territory) and inclusion by referendum (state).   Returning to Washington, after further legislative setbacks followed by intense campaigning by suffragettes as notable as Susan B. Anthony and Abigail Duniway, the territorial legislature finally voted in favor of suffrage in 1883, and for four years, women had equivalent voting rights to men.  Viewing the records of the public legislative debates held shows the power of deliberative legislatures in overcoming non-inclusive norms.  After hearing Duniway speak on women’s rights in front of a joint session, Representative Elwood Evans, a notable figure in Washington Territory’s history, “challenged his colleagues: ‘Who of either House of this assembly can make a speech upon any subject more creditable as an intellectual effort?  Who of all of us can successfully answer it?’” (Larson, 1976, p. 52).  Although both houses of the assembly were comprised exclusively of men, their deliberative nature allowed a forum for 17members of the out-group to speak and inspire these men to engage in positions of substantive representation of women.  The setup of the legislature and the ease with which Duniway could engage in communicative action with policy-makers caused calls for representation to win out over emotional norm following.   Watson and Barber, writing on the democracies of the Greek city states, facetiously link the consumption of wine to the spread of democratic attitudes in places like Athens (Watson & Barber, 1988, p. 9).  Alcohol and politics mixed to different effect in Washington.  Fearing women voters’ predilection towards temperance policies, the territory’s liquor interests went to the judiciary, who overturned the law on an absurd technicality, claiming that the 1883 suffrage act’s official title did not “adequately describe the content” (Larson, 1976, p. 54).  The overturning of a second attempt by the legislature to grant women suffrage (under a new title) was similarly farcical.  A female opponent of women’s suffrage “arranged to have her ballot rejected by precinct judges” and then filed suit (Larson, 1976, p. 55).  The court then ruled that the 1888 law “was void because Congress had not intended to give territories authority to enfranchise women” (Larson, 1976, p. 55).  As the filer of the suit was opposed to suffrage, she did not see fit to appeal to the Supreme Court.   This description of court cases is not a digression – it had broad implications for the constitutional convention that took place a year later, as women could no longer vote for delegates.  The all-male voters voted in turn for all-male electors, who voted 35,527 to 16,613 against a suffrage amendment (Larson, 1976, p. 55).  Women had neither descriptive nor substantive representation.  As Larson carefully points out, the suffragists’ claim that the overturning of suffrage came down to prejudiced judges may be accurate, but public (male) opinion had also soured on women’s suffrage due to its movement’s strong link with temperance. As a state, Washington now required a successful referendum to amend voting rights to extend to women.  The new legislature passed a bill a decade later in 1898 to send the matter to a referendum, but this again failed, though by a slimmer margin (Larson, 1976, p. 55).  It was not until the third attempt in 1910, a full 47 years after the territorial legislature first passed their act 18recognizing women’s right to vote, that the people of Washington agreed with their legislature and voted in favor of inclusion (Larson, 1976, p. 61).    To conclude my discussion of Washington, it seems at first counterintuitive to label the efforts of a state fifth in the nation to expand suffrage and well ahead of the curve in terms of the international trend toward suffrage an example of the comparative weakness of direct democracy in matters of inclusion.  However, the picture painted by the historical record is clear:  The territorial and state legislatures showed themselves repeatedly willing to move on this issue decades before the public was willing to.  Even looking only at times when legislative and direct democratic efforts both existed, the legislature acted in 1888 (a year before statehood, yet close enough to consider as a comparison) to ensure suffrage, yet a referendum a year later failed by a two-to-one ratio, and the legislature attempted the same in 1898 only to see the people reject its measure once again.  Measures taken to increase inclusion were more likely to be successful in the more deliberative forum of the legislature than when put to public vote.  Conclusions Quite contrary to my expectations, I found much stronger evidence for my hypothesis in the Washingtonian case than in the Swiss.  In Washington, we see a legislature demonstrably and repeatedly functioning in a deliberative manner, with the influence of political speech shown to educate lawmakers and lead to substantive representation of women.  Women made use of the deliberative functions of the legislature to obtain substantive representation to, in turn, obtain descriptive representation.  Were it not for dubious court decisions and, later, non-deliberative referenda, women would have had the vote permanently decades earlier.   While I remain convinced that referenda played a role in the Swiss case, and believe this is adequately proven by the 1959 Assembly decision and contrasting referenda result, culture, history, consociationalism, and federalism’s roles cannot be understated.  In terms of 19the cases’ respective suffrage movements, strong voices like Duniway’s defined the Washington movement.  Strong voices like von Roten’s were shunned in Switzerland.  Furthermore, the strong federalism of Switzerland had deleterious effects of its own on the suffrage movement, as well as allowing Appenzell to deny suffrage until 1990 through its own referendum.  Direct democratic mechanisms and these other factors must be seen as working in tandem in the case of Swiss society’s lack of the most basic political inclusion for women until so late a date.  20“Modern” Problems of Inclusion With basic political inclusion guaranteed in both Washington and Switzerland, recent questions of inclusion have tended towards the more expansive notion of inclusion that I described earlier.  Suffrage, with exceptions, is universal, and post-materialist questions have come to the fore.  For that reason, I see it as important to look at cases dealing with such issues as well as the suffrage issue, to see if similar drawbacks exist for direct democratic mechanisms here.  Same-Sex Marriage in Washington State  The anti-inclusionary aspects of the Washington referendum on same-sex marriage, from here forward referred to as R-74, are at first hard to recognize.  After all, the referendum to overturn the legislature’s marriage bill failed, and by the large margin of 54 to 46 percent at that (November 06, 2012 General Election Results, 2012).  Hans A. Linde, writing on the topic of an initiative aimed to restrict the rights of LBGTQ people in Oregon, 1992’s Measure 9, reminds us that the failure of such measures does not represent a triumph of direct democratic systems.  As he is writing in a law journal, Linde is primarily writing with the objective of proving that certain types of direct democracy, such as that seen in Measure 9, violate the U.S. Constitution, as they cause states to “[lose] caste as a republic” (Linde, 1993, p. 31).  However, I notice several key findings in his article, particularly in his account of James Madison and the Federalists’ ideas on institutional deliberation, which support my claims.   The first of these findings relates directly to my thoughts on emotional norm following and inclusion.  He frames it in the Madisonian notion of “passion”:  “Passion” describes, not how strongly one supports a measure, but why one supports it. The most obvious (though not all) collective passions appeal to a communal judgment of inclusion and exclusion based on nationality, race, or religious convictions – to ad hominem preconceptions like those condemned as “invidious” in equal protection 21doctrine… An appeal to ideological or moral group judgment is hard to disguise, and it is harder to hide in a public initiative campaign than in a legislature.” (Linde, 1993, p. 35) Linde states that deliberative institutions do not completely mitigate such concerns – issues like same-sex marriage are controversial regardless of how they are decided upon – but they do lessen the effects of “passion” (Linde, 1993, p. 38).  Although nowhere near as explicit in its text in asking Washingtonians to define between the “righteous” and the “sinners” as the Oregon measure, there is clear evidence in the campaigns run by both sides that this was the sort of decision being made (Linde, 1993, p. 35).  For example, a high profile strategist employed by the “No” campaign is famous for airing ads that play on the emotions of those who disagree personally with gay marriage, but may or may not have strong opinions about others being allowed to marry same-sex partners.  The strategist employs ads that show “what he calls the ‘consequences’ of same-sex marriage.  A typical one… for example, showed a young girl running up to her mother: ‘Mom, guess what I learned in school today?  I learned how a prince can marry a prince, and I can marry a princess!’” (Turnbull, 2012).  Potential voters are encouraged to see expansion of inclusion to same-sex couples in marriage rights as a threat to their children.  Obviously, the question and the strong opinions that come along with it would still exist in the absence of initiatives and referenda.  Such arguments might even be advanced by certain lawmakers in a deliberative forum.  Neither Linde nor I seek to blame these mechanisms for society’s divisions.  Yet, the forum used to debate and craft laws on such issues matters.  The deliberative forums of the legislature were designed by people like Madison to protect “minorities against unmediated swings of majority passions” (Linde, 1993, p. 37).  Such institutions are imperfect and do not always (or perhaps even seldom) reach the level of deliberation prescribed, but, even so, they fare better in this matter than direct democratic mechanisms.  While voters might only be familiar with television ads making emotional appeals when they go to the booth to cast their ballots, bills in Washington go through a grueling formal committee and floor debate process in which legislators are required to listen to contrasting arguments and “offer public reasons for their actions and defend them against criticisms” (Cameron, 2013, p. 157).  Informal communicative action also takes place through the processes of interest group meetings with legislators.  22 To Linde’s second important point against initiatives and referenda, “Harm from enactment of the proposal is not all that makes the process improper,” he writes, “indeed, forcing a public vote for and against the targeted minority may serve the sponsors’ purpose if it shows the enmity of a substantial fraction of the community” (Linde, 1993, p. 38).  This is less obvious in the case of Washington’s referendum, due to the history of gay rights in the state and in the country.  R-74 could have served to shore up an anti-same-sex marriage coalition, but few LBGTQ people would be unaware of the enmity of vast segments of society based on past law and the plethora of initiatives and referenda aimed at curbing their rights throughout the country, and almost certainly, by 2012, would have considered the fact that only 46 percent of society was explicitly opposed to their right to marriage great progress and cause for celebration.  Still, it is only in light of this particular history that R-74 is partially exonerated from this criticism.  The Expulsion Initiative in Switzerland Spearheaded by the far-right SVP, a constitutional amendment proposing a ban on the construction of any new minarets was put before the Swiss people in 2009.  If the results of Washington’s R-74 showed that direct democracy need not always lead to non-inclusive policy, the minaret ban offers a view of what Madison feared such measures would lead to.  Although the minaret ban shows direct democracy at its exclusionary worst, the SVP’s comparatively milder follow-up effort, 2010’s expulsion initiative, offers a clearer picture of how deliberation can result in more inclusive policymaking.   To give some of the necessary background, citing statistics showing high levels of crime among the foreign population of Switzerland, a group of citizens led by the SVP proposed the automatic expulsion of all foreign residents convicted of a serious crime.  On the face of it, this seems reasonable.  Nobody has ever wanted more crime to deal with.  However, the SVP’s proposal fell afoul of both the country’s international obligations and the rule of law more 23generally.  In what has become a common theme in Swiss direct democracy, the EU warned that the proposed amendment would violate their bilateral agreement on the free movement of people, and the initiative also opened the possibility of deportations to countries that practice torture (Cumming-Bruce, 2010).  The Swiss Constitution already allowed for deportation of foreign criminals at the conclusion of their sentence, but only after an individual assessment by a judge.  Through this process, “government statistics indicate that ‘some 300-400 people [were] expelled every year’” (Zeldin, 2010).   The problems with the initiative extended beyond its legality and practical justification.  To repeat Linde, “An appeal to ideological or moral group judgment is hard to disguise, and it is harder to hide in a public initiative campaign than in a legislature” (Linde, 1993, p. 35).  Appeals to the majority’s passions were on full display throughout the campaign, particularly from those in favor of the SVP’s proposals.  Posters for the “Ja” campaign featured a black sheep being kicked out of Switzerland by a white sheep, in a now-infamous dog whistle.  Other advertisements in favor of the initiative featured a menacing-looking foreign stereotype named Ivan and asked voters if they wanted him to be Swiss, and, “in another, brown and black hands reach out for Swiss passports” (Speigel, 2010; Llewellyn, 2010).  Preying upon emotional norm following, ban proponents stoked the voting public’s fears, driving a wedge between Swiss citizens and even non-criminal immigrants (Llewellyn, 2010).   Reacting to the desire of its citizens for stricter treatment of foreign criminals but concerned over the radicalism of the SVP’s initiative, the Swiss Assembly submitted a counterproposal as a referendum, which competed against the original initiative.  This would have also strengthened provisions for expelling foreign criminals, however, “with the proviso that international law would take precedence” (Llewellyn, 2010).  The individual assessment by a judge would remain.  The government’s proposal was no shining beacon of inclusive values, but it would not have violated international law, and nor did its advocates engage in a fear campaign against foreigners more generally.  In the end, Swiss voters ended up rejecting this counterproposal, voting in favor of the SVP’s by a margin of 52.9 to 47.1 percent (Zeldin, 2010). 24 Over the course of this contest, Bächtiger et al. (2010) performed a field experiment on Swiss voters to test some of the key claims of deliberative theorists and see how the precepts of deliberative democracy could be applied to Swiss direct democracy.  Participants willing to engage in the deliberative forum were split into three survey groups – one control group neither receiving balanced, expert materials nor participating in deliberation, one group receiving the information but also absent from deliberation, and a last group which received the information and participated in deliberation.  Prior to exposure to the experiment, the approval rate of the government counter-proposal was between 40 to 45 percent in all three groups.  Startlingly, at the end of the experiment, around 70 percent of the members of the discussion section favored the government’s proposal, while the other two groups remained stagnant.  The process by which this occurred was complex.  Bächtiger et al. found that most of the changes that occurred in the thinking of the deliberation group occurred actually prior to discussions, “suggestive of the philosopher Robert Goodin’s concept of ‘deliberation within,’” with the discussion “less important for opinion change that the information phase and the internal-reflective process in participants’ heads prior to discussion” (Bächtiger, Steenbergen, Gautschi, & Pedrini, 2010, p. 7).  The deliberation became important for the retention and consolidation of those informed preferences, with the deliberation group outperforming the other groups in information tests after the vote.  On the whole, this study found that deliberation served as a mediating influence on ordinary participants in direct democracy, driving them toward a soberer, less exclusionary policy.  Conclusions My hypothesis is fairly clearly borne out in the Swiss expulsion initiative, and so this example does not require much elaboration here.  Absent a deliberative forum to moderate their passions, the Swiss people voted in favor of a radical, exclusionary measure that ran afoul of international law and the rule of law more generally.  In deliberative forums, both the Swiss government and individual citizens came to less exclusionary policymaking decisions.  25However, the ability to decide matters of inclusion in non-deliberative forums does not necessitate non-inclusive policy results.  This is clear enough in light of Washington State’s same-sex marriage referendum and its decisive result.  Linde, by invoking Madison, adequately illustrates why this should not cheer supporters of initiatives and referenda, however.  The referendum was not a decision in favor of inclusion – it was a decision against rolling back the inclusive policy already enacted by the legislature.  Had Washington not the capacity for referenda, same-sex marriage would have been allowed without being subjected to the “passion” of public referendum (Linde, 1993). “It is of great importance in a republic, not only to guard the society against the oppression of its rulers; but to guard one part of the society against the injustice of the other part,” Madison writes in the Federalist (Madison, in Linde, 1993, p. 32).  Ultimately, initiatives and referenda of R-74 and the expulsion initiative’s color fail Madison’s test.  They pit segments of society against one another in a non-deliberative forum defined by passion, and, even when such efforts fail to lead to non-inclusive law, they send a clear signal to the minority group whose rights are at risk that often large segments of society are opposed to them.  26Closing Remarks Taken together, the cases I have observed paint a complicated picture, but one that generally supports my hypotheses.  Obstacles facing long term struggles for recognition like suffrage movements cannot be reduced to initiatives and referenda alone, however, they can be shown to play a role.  Initiatives and referenda do not preclude inclusive results, however they do appear to allow a greater chance for non-inclusive policies to be enacted or inclusive policies to be rejected.  Despite these limitations, initiatives and referenda are shown to be generally deleterious to inclusion in the cases I examine.  If one believes, as I do, that inclusion is a critical piece to the democratic puzzle, these results are troubling for CI-MDDs.  That this lack of inclusion comes directly from a lack of deliberation is difficult to prove with a high degree of certainty, but everything I have found seems to support the idea that the forum matters.  Deliberative forums outperformed MDDs by decades in matters of suffrage, and the ability for excluded voices like Abigail Dunaway’s to be heard appear to have played a role in this, while Iris van Roten’s experience shows that the forum is no guarantee.  In postmaterialist areas of inclusion, deliberation seems to affect both the tenor and result of decision-making.  In the Washingtonian case, the lack of a proper forum hurt the quality of discourse but did not end up resulting in an exclusionary policy.  The Swiss case had a similarly poor level of discourse, and the Swiss government’s counterproposal alongside Bächtiger et al.’s experiment show that a less harmful policy option could have been chosen with better institutional design.   Promisingly for my methodological approach, direct democratic mechanisms in Switzerland and Washington faced similar drawbacks in each country, colored by the dramatic differences between polities.  Initiatives and referenda demonstrably provided a hurdle to suffrage in each country, yet the suffrage movements’ organization and tactics, the support of representative bodies, temporal context, and cultural attitudes towards cooperation and cohesiveness differed.  Similarly, both countries saw groups leverage direct democratic mechanisms against policies of inclusion, but to different results.  How generalizable my findings are depends heavily on there being significant differences between the two countries.  The diffuse contexts shown in the previous examples lend credibility to my case selection and methodology. 27Direct and Deliberative – Potential Paths Forward In spite of the dreary picture I have painted for direct democracy throughout this essay, if I am correct in my observation that a lack of deliberation is a key factor in its inclusionary failures, then it can be salvaged.  Indeed, direct involvement by citizens in government is crucial to most understandings of either deliberative or participatory democracy.  As Gutmann and Thompson write, through deliberative institutions “Persons should be treated not merely as objects of legislation, as passive subjects to be ruled, but as autonomous agents who take part in the governance of their own society, directly or through their representatives” (Gutmann & Thompson, 2004, p. 3).  The success of participatory budgeting (PB) in Brazil shows that governments can devolve decision-making powers directly to the populace while retaining some deliberative standards.  The results of participatory budgeting and other forms of participatory democracy are not universally grand and they generally remain limited to the municipal level so far, but, in marrying vertical accountability and deliberative decision-making, they represent a strong step forward in institutional design.   An important caveat, however, is that PB-inspired institutions may not translate well to polities like Switzerland and Washington, accustomed as they are to yes/no ballot measures.  In 2006, 64.8 percent of Swiss voters saw direct democracy as very important, and 31 percent as sufficiently important, while in 2000 in Washington, 80 percent of voters saw direct democracy as a “good thing”, with only three percent seeing it as a “bad thing” (Bowler, Donovan, & Karp, 2003, p. 23; Donovan & Karp, 2006, p. 677).  These data are old, but there is little indication in either case of any sort of upheaval against direct democracy in recent years.  Systems like PB rely on the eventual narrowing of participants in deliberation, relying upon to increasing degrees as the process continues on what Warren calls “citizen representatives” (Warren, 2006; Wampler, 2008; Pateman, 2012, pp. 10-11).  This is a far cry from the simple appeal of “one person, one vote.” Attempts like Bächtiger et al.’s to graft deliberative features onto existing direct democratic structures seems to hold the most promise for polities in which direct democracy 28is already well-established.  One of their methodological innovations in their research was to hold the deliberative forums online, rather than in person.  This helps them in two important ways:  it keeps costs down and preserves citizens’ anonymity.   The online format managed to retain deliberative standards4, and participants’ views demonstrably became more considered.  Despite the strengths of this design, even the relatively inexpensive online deliberation format could quickly become prohibitive in cost if scaled up in size.  Perhaps even more troublingly, only 15 percent of respondents to the first stage of their polling agreed to participate in deliberations.   Although more people could conceivably be inspired to participate were there real stakes attached, this is a long way from the around 50 percent who generally participate in Swiss CI-MDDs (Bundesamt für Statistik, 2017).  More work needs to be done to find a hybrid institutional design compatible with both the state and its citizens.   Even considering these challenges, there is no reason to take the defeatist tact of returning to classical CI-MDDs to solve democratic deficits.  They accomplish this goal, but I believe my research shows that the accountability they provide comes too often at the exorbitant price of inclusion.  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