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Talking to Strangers: Anxieties of Citizenship since Brown v. Board of Education
"Don't talk to strangers" is the advice long given to children by parents of all classes and races. Today it has blossomed into a fundamental precept of civic education, reflecting interracial distrust, personal and political alienation, and a profound suspicion of others. In this powerful and eloquent essay, Danielle Allen, a 2002 MacArthur Fellow, takes this maxim back to Little Rock, rooting out the seeds of distrust to replace them with "a citizenship of political friendship."
Returning to the landmark Brown v. Board of Education decision of 1954 and to the famous photograph of Elizabeth Eckford, one of the Little Rock Nine, being cursed by fellow "citizen" Hazel Bryan, Allen argues that we have yet to complete the transition to political friendship that this moment offered. By combining brief readings of philosophers and political theorists with personal reflections on race politics in Chicago, Allen proposes strikingly practical techniques of citizenship. These tools of political friendship, Allen contends, can help us become more trustworthy to others and overcome the fossilized distrust among us.
Sacrifice is the key concept that bridges citizenship and trust, according to Allen. She uncovers the ordinary, daily sacrifices citizens make to keep democracy working—and offers methods for recognizing and reciprocating those sacrifices. Trenchant, incisive, and ultimately hopeful, Talking to Strangers is nothing less than a manifesto for a revitalized democratic citizenry.
Returning to the landmark Brown v. Board of Education decision of 1954 and to the famous photograph of Elizabeth Eckford, one of the Little Rock Nine, being cursed by fellow "citizen" Hazel Bryan, Allen argues that we have yet to complete the transition to political friendship that this moment offered. By combining brief readings of philosophers and political theorists with personal reflections on race politics in Chicago, Allen proposes strikingly practical techniques of citizenship. These tools of political friendship, Allen contends, can help us become more trustworthy to others and overcome the fossilized distrust among us.
Sacrifice is the key concept that bridges citizenship and trust, according to Allen. She uncovers the ordinary, daily sacrifices citizens make to keep democracy working—and offers methods for recognizing and reciprocating those sacrifices. Trenchant, incisive, and ultimately hopeful, Talking to Strangers is nothing less than a manifesto for a revitalized democratic citizenry.
254 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2004
41 people are currently reading
755 people want to read
About the author
Danielle S. Allen
18 books141 followersDanielle Allen, James Bryant Conant University Professor at Harvard University, and Director of Harvard’s Edmond J. Safra Center for Ethics, is a political theorist who has published broadly in democratic theory, political sociology, and the history of political thought. Widely known for her work on justice and citizenship in both ancient Athens and modern America, Allen is the author of The World of Prometheus: The Politics of Punishing in Democratic Athens (2000), Talking to Strangers: Anxieties of Citizenship since Brown vs. the Board of Education (2004), Why Plato Wrote (2010), Our Declaration: A Reading of the Declaration of Independence in Defense of Equality (2014), Education and Equality (2016), and Cuz: The Life and Times of Michael A. (2017). She is the co-editor of the award-winning Education, Justice, and Democracy (2013, with Rob Reich) and From Voice to Influence: Understanding Citizenship in the Digital Age (2015, with Jennifer Light). She is a former Chair of the Mellon Foundation Board, past Chair of the Pulitzer Prize Board, and a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences and the American Philosophical Society.
Dr. Allen received her undergraduate education in Classics at Princeton University, graduating summa cum laude. She was awarded an M.Phil. and Ph.D. in Classics from Cambridge University and went on to Harvard University, where she received her M.A. and Ph.D. in political science. She joined the faculty at the University of Chicago in 1997 as Assistant Professor of Classics. In 2000, Dr. Allen became Associate Professor of Classical Languages and Literatures, Political Science and the Committee on Social Thought. In 2003, she was promoted to Professor. The following year she was named Dean of the Division of Humanities, a role she was in until 2007.
Widely known for her work on justice and citizenship in ancient Athens and its application to modern America, Dr. Allen was awarded in 2002 a MacArthur Fellowship for her ability to combine "the classicist's careful attention to texts and language with the political theorist's sophisticated and informed engagement."
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May 26, 2017
In Talking to Strangers, political philosopher Danielle Allen diagnoses the persistent problem of interracial distrust in America as a problem of defining and realizing democratic citizenship, i.e. how we are meant to act within our democracy. This is something that our country struggles with from its founding but is brought out most strongly by the Civil Rights Movement. Allen tells the story of how we developed this collective anxiety, diving into the choices of language, philosophy, and values that have led us here.
Starting with the iconic 1957 photograph of Black high school student Elizabeth Eckford being cursed by a white woman in front of Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas, Allen illustrates how the civil rights movement marked a change in the experience of democratic citizenship among Americans. Brown v. Board of Education and later the Civil Rights Act and Voting Rights Act upset a status quo preserving de facto and de jure White dominance. This represented a clear loss of power for Whites, especially in the South. The new law of the land demanded that Whites respect the rights of their fellow Black citizens and curb their deep-set norms of racial inequality. Arguing the Civil Rights Movement was effectively a civil war in the South, Allen suggests that social trust and political friendship at the core of democratic citizenship never recovered. Trust in the federal government declined after it was seen as usurping state and local control by Whites, and trust in fellow citizens declined as the polity was recast as the heterogenous and equal mix it was always meant to be.
In this same historical moment, Allen notes that the Pledge of Allegiance was revisited adding “under God” after “one nation,” emphasizing the idea of oneness. The success of this re-wording effort is more than just about religion, Allen argues, it put forward a strong vision of a homogeneous nation. (In the same way, the original pledge was developed to spur national identity during the rise of immigration in the 1890s.) Allen argues that the American predilection for oneness (cf. E Pluribus Unum) ultimately hurts the cause of democratic citizenship and interracial distrust. Because it matters “how democratic citizens imagine ‘the people’ of which they are a part” (p. 17). Customs and practices follow from this imagined body. Allen prefers “wholeness” as the metaphor we should be striving for because it allows for multiplicity, heterogeneity. The toxic reaction to Eckford’s attempt to attend her desegregated school illustrates a desire to reassert oneness.
Part the practice of citizenship as either oneness or wholeness is sacrifice. Voluntary sacrifice is a virtue of democratic citizenship. We give some of our liberty to the state for protection and accept policies and decisions that serve a majority we may not be a part of. To paint this picture in the age of oneness, Allen dives deeply into Ralph Ellison’s novel Invisible Man, reading its political philosophy as a meditation on Black political sacrifice. Eckford’s ordeal in Little Rock represents this same type of sacrifice. In her case, she gives her dignity in that moment to the cause of the larger civil rights movement. There is a long tradition of such sacrifice in the Black community. During Jim Crow, it took the form of subjugation to the domination of Whites. This is an involuntary sacrifice. In this form of citizenship, oneness is preserved through the unequal treatment of the minority. But as Allen argues, sacrifice should be seen as a virtue; it should be respected. A more just and productive form of democratic citizenship respects the sacrifices of others in a polity. Citizens in this case should let sacrifice be a guide to a more mindful politics; they should honor it by finding solutions that listen to the voice of the minority and seek justice for them too.
This is the foundation of trust and what Allen calls political friendship. She suggests that friendship should be our guide to what citizenship ought to look like. A friend would listen to another friend even though they don’t agree with them. A friend would consider their friend’s feelings and well-being when making a decision. When a citizen can generally count on another citizen to look out for their interests, this reciprocity is the foundation for social trust and for democracy. This requires that we change our cultural norms to embrace this ideal of citizenship. It also requires that we transform our institutions to enshrine this respect for the wholeness of our nation. Unfortunately, America has yet to change its norms and transform its institutions in the wake of the Civil Rights Movement. Instead, we have retreated to ideological, and in many cases geographical, enclaves and maintained or developed postures of lost oneness.
Between these bookends, Allen develops a cogent philosophical critique of the underpinnings of American democracy. She finds a fatal flaw in Hobbes’s formula for government of the people and goes back to the Greeks and to rehabilitate rhetoric from its ambivalent reputation. Across his various writings, Hobbes successfully diagnosed the problems of human nature and politics and even points to how a culture of reciprocity might aid the effort of political agreement (p. 97). However, his prescription for the Leviathan form of government oriented citizens toward the sovereign institution of the state rather than toward one another, which is clearly illustrated in the frontispiece from his publication, wherein citizens' heads are turned toward the sovereign.
This conception of the people—subjugating their own power to the sovereign in the interest of security and stability—contrasts with a one of equal, empowered citizenship. In American democracy we imagine the will of the people arising from equitably powered citizens themselves rather than the unitary voice provided by monarch or court. Locke and the founding fathers rejected this form of the social compact in which the people are ruled by the sovereign, and instead adopted a system of limited government. However, the perfectibility of Hobbes's system is still seductive in light of his social analysis that consensus of the multitude’s wills is impossible. For Hobbes, stability and security can be achieved through repression. Alternatively, the promise of American democracy is that popular engagement may secure trust between the multitude and the institutions of government. And most often we see this as being through pure rational discourse among equals.
At this point, Allen goes on to propose a possible antidote to distrust and Hobbes's view of the people. She defends the art of rhetoric, following Aristotle’s rejection of Plato’s model of a perfectible republic, arguing for the fundamental imperfect nature of politics among individual citizens. In this, Allen also critiques of Habermas’s ideal of dispassionate, consensus-based political discourse. While having such a utopian vision is an important goal to strive toward, Allen notes that unanimity in consensus “idealizes the wrong thing and fails to establish evaluative criteria for a crucial democratic practice—the attempt to generate trust out of distrust” (p. 85).
Aristotle offers a favorable comparison between a rhetoric and medicine: “a doctor aims not only to cure as many patients as possible but also to treat properly ‘even those who recovery is impossible.’” “So, too, a rhetorician seeks not perfect consensus but maximal agreement coupled with satisfactory treatment of residual disagreement and those emotions in which it is often registered: anger, disappointment, and resentment” (p. 91). Allen concedes, that the utility of rhetoric can be used for good as well as for ill, just like medicine can be—the Greek debate over sophistry comes from concern over how rhetoric can exploit trust and distrust. However, without rhetoric we lack the foundation for an intersubjective experience of democracy—for reciprocity—whereby we consider the interests of others and appeal to both majority and minority, crafting our arguments through negotiation and affective feedback.
In practice, this is a citizenship of political friendship—an orientation toward each other, viewed as equals, and a willingness to empathize, to persuade, and to be persuaded. This also means an acknowledgement of histories of inequality and disempowerment, and an interest in pursuing a restoration of equity for our fellow citizens that can allow us to enjoy the wholeness of our nation. And Allen implores us to make this part of our everyday civic practice.
Starting with the iconic 1957 photograph of Black high school student Elizabeth Eckford being cursed by a white woman in front of Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas, Allen illustrates how the civil rights movement marked a change in the experience of democratic citizenship among Americans. Brown v. Board of Education and later the Civil Rights Act and Voting Rights Act upset a status quo preserving de facto and de jure White dominance. This represented a clear loss of power for Whites, especially in the South. The new law of the land demanded that Whites respect the rights of their fellow Black citizens and curb their deep-set norms of racial inequality. Arguing the Civil Rights Movement was effectively a civil war in the South, Allen suggests that social trust and political friendship at the core of democratic citizenship never recovered. Trust in the federal government declined after it was seen as usurping state and local control by Whites, and trust in fellow citizens declined as the polity was recast as the heterogenous and equal mix it was always meant to be.
In this same historical moment, Allen notes that the Pledge of Allegiance was revisited adding “under God” after “one nation,” emphasizing the idea of oneness. The success of this re-wording effort is more than just about religion, Allen argues, it put forward a strong vision of a homogeneous nation. (In the same way, the original pledge was developed to spur national identity during the rise of immigration in the 1890s.) Allen argues that the American predilection for oneness (cf. E Pluribus Unum) ultimately hurts the cause of democratic citizenship and interracial distrust. Because it matters “how democratic citizens imagine ‘the people’ of which they are a part” (p. 17). Customs and practices follow from this imagined body. Allen prefers “wholeness” as the metaphor we should be striving for because it allows for multiplicity, heterogeneity. The toxic reaction to Eckford’s attempt to attend her desegregated school illustrates a desire to reassert oneness.
Part the practice of citizenship as either oneness or wholeness is sacrifice. Voluntary sacrifice is a virtue of democratic citizenship. We give some of our liberty to the state for protection and accept policies and decisions that serve a majority we may not be a part of. To paint this picture in the age of oneness, Allen dives deeply into Ralph Ellison’s novel Invisible Man, reading its political philosophy as a meditation on Black political sacrifice. Eckford’s ordeal in Little Rock represents this same type of sacrifice. In her case, she gives her dignity in that moment to the cause of the larger civil rights movement. There is a long tradition of such sacrifice in the Black community. During Jim Crow, it took the form of subjugation to the domination of Whites. This is an involuntary sacrifice. In this form of citizenship, oneness is preserved through the unequal treatment of the minority. But as Allen argues, sacrifice should be seen as a virtue; it should be respected. A more just and productive form of democratic citizenship respects the sacrifices of others in a polity. Citizens in this case should let sacrifice be a guide to a more mindful politics; they should honor it by finding solutions that listen to the voice of the minority and seek justice for them too.
This is the foundation of trust and what Allen calls political friendship. She suggests that friendship should be our guide to what citizenship ought to look like. A friend would listen to another friend even though they don’t agree with them. A friend would consider their friend’s feelings and well-being when making a decision. When a citizen can generally count on another citizen to look out for their interests, this reciprocity is the foundation for social trust and for democracy. This requires that we change our cultural norms to embrace this ideal of citizenship. It also requires that we transform our institutions to enshrine this respect for the wholeness of our nation. Unfortunately, America has yet to change its norms and transform its institutions in the wake of the Civil Rights Movement. Instead, we have retreated to ideological, and in many cases geographical, enclaves and maintained or developed postures of lost oneness.
Between these bookends, Allen develops a cogent philosophical critique of the underpinnings of American democracy. She finds a fatal flaw in Hobbes’s formula for government of the people and goes back to the Greeks and to rehabilitate rhetoric from its ambivalent reputation. Across his various writings, Hobbes successfully diagnosed the problems of human nature and politics and even points to how a culture of reciprocity might aid the effort of political agreement (p. 97). However, his prescription for the Leviathan form of government oriented citizens toward the sovereign institution of the state rather than toward one another, which is clearly illustrated in the frontispiece from his publication, wherein citizens' heads are turned toward the sovereign.
This conception of the people—subjugating their own power to the sovereign in the interest of security and stability—contrasts with a one of equal, empowered citizenship. In American democracy we imagine the will of the people arising from equitably powered citizens themselves rather than the unitary voice provided by monarch or court. Locke and the founding fathers rejected this form of the social compact in which the people are ruled by the sovereign, and instead adopted a system of limited government. However, the perfectibility of Hobbes's system is still seductive in light of his social analysis that consensus of the multitude’s wills is impossible. For Hobbes, stability and security can be achieved through repression. Alternatively, the promise of American democracy is that popular engagement may secure trust between the multitude and the institutions of government. And most often we see this as being through pure rational discourse among equals.
At this point, Allen goes on to propose a possible antidote to distrust and Hobbes's view of the people. She defends the art of rhetoric, following Aristotle’s rejection of Plato’s model of a perfectible republic, arguing for the fundamental imperfect nature of politics among individual citizens. In this, Allen also critiques of Habermas’s ideal of dispassionate, consensus-based political discourse. While having such a utopian vision is an important goal to strive toward, Allen notes that unanimity in consensus “idealizes the wrong thing and fails to establish evaluative criteria for a crucial democratic practice—the attempt to generate trust out of distrust” (p. 85).
Aristotle offers a favorable comparison between a rhetoric and medicine: “a doctor aims not only to cure as many patients as possible but also to treat properly ‘even those who recovery is impossible.’” “So, too, a rhetorician seeks not perfect consensus but maximal agreement coupled with satisfactory treatment of residual disagreement and those emotions in which it is often registered: anger, disappointment, and resentment” (p. 91). Allen concedes, that the utility of rhetoric can be used for good as well as for ill, just like medicine can be—the Greek debate over sophistry comes from concern over how rhetoric can exploit trust and distrust. However, without rhetoric we lack the foundation for an intersubjective experience of democracy—for reciprocity—whereby we consider the interests of others and appeal to both majority and minority, crafting our arguments through negotiation and affective feedback.
In practice, this is a citizenship of political friendship—an orientation toward each other, viewed as equals, and a willingness to empathize, to persuade, and to be persuaded. This also means an acknowledgement of histories of inequality and disempowerment, and an interest in pursuing a restoration of equity for our fellow citizens that can allow us to enjoy the wholeness of our nation. And Allen implores us to make this part of our everyday civic practice.
February 11, 2020
Impressed by an Atlantic article by Allen, I found this book and, intrigued by the title, borrowed it from the library. My rating of it reflects more my struggle with the depth of the book and not a critique of the main arguments, though I was disappointed it didn't not have more accessible, applicable guidance for civic interaction (it's not that kind of book).
'Talking to Strangers' concerns the promise of the Brown v Board ruling to lead way to a new concept of citizenship allowing a negotiation of the loses inherent in democracy (the minority must sacrifice to majority rule). Since there will always be losers in democracy, it is important for them to trust that their participation will result in a greater common good. This faith is engendered by interactions - ‘talking to strangers.’ Beyond this, the book delves into political philosophy - employing words such as ‘imbricated’ and ‘aphastic,’ (while at other times using ‘dog’ as a verb). I did get a greater appreciation for the meanings of Ellison's 'Invisible Man' from reading this. I managed to read past what the author warned to be a particularly deep chapter 5.
Some observations:
-she prescribes seeking ‘winner take nothing’ outcomes in politics (that the majority never win so much that something is seen as lost for all in the process),
-‘political friendship,’ if cultivated, equalizes benefits and burdens and shares power across winners and losers,
-friendship is a good metaphor because friends do not keep score, but see the long-term interests of maintained good relations as paramount,
-more practically, politicians should employ rhetoric to convert negative emotions to mildness (through acknowledging loss), then move from mildness to goodwill (which should be demonstrated by the speaker and reciprocated),
-political audiences are asked to not judge only claims of fact but principles, identify who is being asked to sacrifice by the politician and whether that sacrifice can be reciprocated, and assess whether the speaker is speaking as a friend (as opposed to a condescending authority figure).
A lot to think about.
'Talking to Strangers' concerns the promise of the Brown v Board ruling to lead way to a new concept of citizenship allowing a negotiation of the loses inherent in democracy (the minority must sacrifice to majority rule). Since there will always be losers in democracy, it is important for them to trust that their participation will result in a greater common good. This faith is engendered by interactions - ‘talking to strangers.’ Beyond this, the book delves into political philosophy - employing words such as ‘imbricated’ and ‘aphastic,’ (while at other times using ‘dog’ as a verb). I did get a greater appreciation for the meanings of Ellison's 'Invisible Man' from reading this. I managed to read past what the author warned to be a particularly deep chapter 5.
Some observations:
-she prescribes seeking ‘winner take nothing’ outcomes in politics (that the majority never win so much that something is seen as lost for all in the process),
-‘political friendship,’ if cultivated, equalizes benefits and burdens and shares power across winners and losers,
-friendship is a good metaphor because friends do not keep score, but see the long-term interests of maintained good relations as paramount,
-more practically, politicians should employ rhetoric to convert negative emotions to mildness (through acknowledging loss), then move from mildness to goodwill (which should be demonstrated by the speaker and reciprocated),
-political audiences are asked to not judge only claims of fact but principles, identify who is being asked to sacrifice by the politician and whether that sacrifice can be reciprocated, and assess whether the speaker is speaking as a friend (as opposed to a condescending authority figure).
A lot to think about.
March 27, 2007
I've read FOUR chapters and I'm excited.
The book reads like a series of well-integrated lectures, and that's a compliment. My ears perked when I realized she was redefining (as in, again defining) citizenship as a relationship between citizens, as well as one between an individual and the state.
NEW Questions I'm asking my margins:
How can we revive "good citizenship" in its most robust meaning?
OTHER questions:
Does tolerance as an "ethical norm" exacerbate social, especially interracial, distrust? Does strategic diversity?
Will interracial distrust be matched or superseded by religious vs secular distrust sometime in the future?
Does nostalgia--as the experience of shared experience--have any importance in democratic life?
What is the place of shame in democratic life?
The great thing about Danielle Allen: I can tell she's questioned my questions and then some.
The book reads like a series of well-integrated lectures, and that's a compliment. My ears perked when I realized she was redefining (as in, again defining) citizenship as a relationship between citizens, as well as one between an individual and the state.
NEW Questions I'm asking my margins:
How can we revive "good citizenship" in its most robust meaning?
OTHER questions:
Does tolerance as an "ethical norm" exacerbate social, especially interracial, distrust? Does strategic diversity?
Will interracial distrust be matched or superseded by religious vs secular distrust sometime in the future?
Does nostalgia--as the experience of shared experience--have any importance in democratic life?
What is the place of shame in democratic life?
The great thing about Danielle Allen: I can tell she's questioned my questions and then some.
October 10, 2025
The best book of my 2025 reading list so far. I’ve enjoyed some of Danielle Allen’s other work — Education and Equality, Justice by Means of Democracy — and this one is the best yet (though the oldest of the three).
Danielle Allen begins her book with a problem: distrust among citizens, especially interracial distrust. Allen argues that distrust is ultimately corrosive for democracy, because if a minority (whether a political minority or a racial minority) does not believe they will ever be a meaningful part of decision-making, they will leave the polity entirely. Such distrust enables destruction of the polity—why pursue nonviolent means of change, for example, if you know that no one will listen to you?
Many liberal political theorists would begin with theories of institutional change, but Allen is not primarily concerned with institutions in this book. Rather, Allen is concerned with everyday interactions between citizens. She sees interracial distrust as a symptom of a broader problem of citizenship: we do not have habits of citizenship that convert distrust into trust. Instead, we have habits of citizenship that begin at an early age: “Don’t talk to strangers.” Distrust your fellow citizens.
Why is that the case? And what habits of citizenship might be possible if we took trust seriously?
In part 1, Allen starts her argument reckoning with the reality of democratic loss, beginning with a close reading of the Central High School integration fight in 1957. Integration anxiety was a sign that the United States had entered into a new “founding.” Each “founding” of the United States increased the reach of the polity: Reconstruction (universal white male suffrage), women’s suffrage (all white people can vote), and the Civil Rights movement from roughly 1954 (Brown v Board) to 1965 (Voting Rights Act). But to understand interracial distrust is to understand that, pre-1954, Black Americans and white Americans had habits of citizenship with unspoken rules of domination. Elizabeth Eckford’s harassment at Central High exemplified these habits of citizenship (pictured below).
Allen reads in Eckford’s story a decision of extraordinary sacrifice, and argues that sacrifice — a loss that someone endured for the sake of maintaining a community — is a central democratic fact. All democracy involves losing out on some of your preferred outcomes. The key task of a just democracy is to ensure that it’s not the same people who lose over and over again. This inequity is precisely what dominating habits of citizenship enable. And extraordinary sacrifice can be a way to jolt the polity and generate trust and solidarity where there is none — which was exactly the result of the Little Rock standoff. It was the old and dominating habits of citizenship on full display, enabled by the Black citizens’ sacrifice, that turned the tide of public opinion.
Why do we have such bad habits of citizenship? In part 2 of her book, Allen argues that the idealization of unanimity — a long liberal tradition from Locke and Hobbes to Habermas — is at the root of our bad habits. Idealizing unaniminty excises uncertainty and subjectivity from citizenship. Allen says that we idealized unanimity because we thought it was the only way to be “one people.” She traces this idea back to Thomas Hobbes, who famously sought to define “the people” in his book Leviathan. The classic problem was expressed by Oliver Cromwell: “I am much for government by consent as any man, but where shall we find that consent?”
The “people,” in other words, is an unstable concept; we differ in our opinions and perspectives. How can “the people” rule if “the people” don’t speak in one voice? Hobbes suggested that the “people” yield their power to institutions, and institutions create unanimity. (Hobbes had in mind the institution of the sovereign. The cover of Leviathan famously features a crowned man holding a sword. The torso of the man is made up of the many faces of the masses, turned toward him. The image is clear: The sovereign IS the “people.”) The institutions of government express a singular will that rules the masses—the very unanimity that can lead to civic stability. Distrust and dissent are unfortunate but can be dealt with through repression, because the alternative (according to Hobbes) is worse: the brutality of civil war and the “state of nature.” We can see here the root of the dominating habits of citizenship at the core of Jim Crow: Winners (in this case, white people) dictate the rules, and losers are brutally repressed for the sake of maintaining stability and unaniminity.
Lest you think this is a technical aside, Hobbes’s ideas have staying power. In fact, they are embedded in the very motto of the United States: “E Pluribus Unum.” Out of many, one. However, Allen suggests an alternative framing. We should seek to make our country whole, not one. The people should not be perfectly homogenous (like Hobbes’ Leviathan), but rather imperfectly coherent and integrated. Allen gives the example of harmonizing singers: they are singing different notes and have different ranges, but their heterogenity makes a coherent whole.
The goal in a democracy, then, is not to come to a perfect agreement. Rather, Allen argues that we should aim to maximize agreement and then attend carefully to the “dissonant remainders” so that distrust can be converted into trust. Rather than idealizing unanimity, we should idealize the “proper treatment of disagreement,” ways of relating to one another that can lead to trust. The art of treating disagreement properly, Allen says, goes by the name of rhetoric. Rhetoric is how we express what we think of our fellow citizens and whether we will engage in reciprocity—showing willingness to sacrifice some power for the sake of the community’s wholeness.
In part 3, Allen returns to the twentieth century—specifically, Ralph Ellison—to describe what distinguishes legitimate from illegitimate sacrifice. After all, for sacrifice to make the community whole, it needs to be reciprocal. Those who lose out should win at some point, and those who win should lose out at some point. The problem in American history is that white Americans consistently won out at the expense of Black Americans. Yet there is a lesson on citizenship here: Sometimes sacrifice can obligate reciprocity. “Agree ‘em to death,” says the grandfather of the Invisible Man in Ralph Ellison’s novel. Reciprocal sacrifice, says Allen, can lead to what Ellison calls “brotherhood.”
Allen calls brotherhood by a different term and reads Aristotle closely to get there: “political friendship.” Specifically, she calls for political friendship based on “equitable self-interest.” Where rilvalrous self-interest would seek to get ahead, wanting to get more than one’s fair share, equitable self-interest means that a person moderates their interests (that is, sacrifices) for the sake of preserving the relationship with others. Equity is a key word here. Political friendship depends upon equity: that is, it rests upon equality, agency, and reciprocity. Just as a friend will treat you as an equal, respect your choices, and return your favors, political friendship will do the same for other members of the polity. And where there is distrust, a “signal sacrifice” like that of Elizabeth Eckford can be the catalyst for converting distrust into trust.
At the end of the book, Allen returns to rhetoric as the key means of political friendship. Unlike actual friendship, political friendship does not mean that you know and like the other person. It is not an emotion, but a practice: political friendship describes a default way of acting toward another person, and rhetoric provides those means of action. To be a political friend, you must provide logical reasons for a course of action. But in those times where there are logical arguments on both sides (and there are many of those times), you must show that you have trustworthy character. You can build trust in your character by showing how you have acted in the past and describing what ethical principles guide you. And, perhaps most crucially, political friends negotiate the negative emotions of the polity, emotions like pain, anger, and fear. To be a political friend is to convert those emotions into goodwill, by accurately naming those emotions and assuaging them through a willingness to share power or moderate your own interests.
Rhetoric provides the toolbox for these new habits of citizenship. Where the old habits idolized unanimity and led to domination, the new habits prioritize accommodating disagreement and preserving trust. This new habit of citizenship, Allen writes, rejects the old adage: “Don’t talk to strangers.” That, she argues, is a lesson for four-year-olds, not citizens: “Eyes that drop to the ground when they bump up against a stranger’s gaze belong to those still in their political minority…. The more fearful we citizens are of speaking to strangers, the more we are docile children and not prospective presidents; the greater the distance between the president and us, the more we are subjects, not citizens. Talking to strangers is a way of claiming one’s political majority” (p. 161).
We may not be able to fix our democratic institutions, at least not right away. But as Allen shows us, we can cultivate different habits of citizenship, habits that take pain, loss, and sacrifice seriously. We can do our best to talk to strangers.
Danielle Allen begins her book with a problem: distrust among citizens, especially interracial distrust. Allen argues that distrust is ultimately corrosive for democracy, because if a minority (whether a political minority or a racial minority) does not believe they will ever be a meaningful part of decision-making, they will leave the polity entirely. Such distrust enables destruction of the polity—why pursue nonviolent means of change, for example, if you know that no one will listen to you?
Many liberal political theorists would begin with theories of institutional change, but Allen is not primarily concerned with institutions in this book. Rather, Allen is concerned with everyday interactions between citizens. She sees interracial distrust as a symptom of a broader problem of citizenship: we do not have habits of citizenship that convert distrust into trust. Instead, we have habits of citizenship that begin at an early age: “Don’t talk to strangers.” Distrust your fellow citizens.
Why is that the case? And what habits of citizenship might be possible if we took trust seriously?
In part 1, Allen starts her argument reckoning with the reality of democratic loss, beginning with a close reading of the Central High School integration fight in 1957. Integration anxiety was a sign that the United States had entered into a new “founding.” Each “founding” of the United States increased the reach of the polity: Reconstruction (universal white male suffrage), women’s suffrage (all white people can vote), and the Civil Rights movement from roughly 1954 (Brown v Board) to 1965 (Voting Rights Act). But to understand interracial distrust is to understand that, pre-1954, Black Americans and white Americans had habits of citizenship with unspoken rules of domination. Elizabeth Eckford’s harassment at Central High exemplified these habits of citizenship (pictured below).
Allen reads in Eckford’s story a decision of extraordinary sacrifice, and argues that sacrifice — a loss that someone endured for the sake of maintaining a community — is a central democratic fact. All democracy involves losing out on some of your preferred outcomes. The key task of a just democracy is to ensure that it’s not the same people who lose over and over again. This inequity is precisely what dominating habits of citizenship enable. And extraordinary sacrifice can be a way to jolt the polity and generate trust and solidarity where there is none — which was exactly the result of the Little Rock standoff. It was the old and dominating habits of citizenship on full display, enabled by the Black citizens’ sacrifice, that turned the tide of public opinion.
Why do we have such bad habits of citizenship? In part 2 of her book, Allen argues that the idealization of unanimity — a long liberal tradition from Locke and Hobbes to Habermas — is at the root of our bad habits. Idealizing unaniminty excises uncertainty and subjectivity from citizenship. Allen says that we idealized unanimity because we thought it was the only way to be “one people.” She traces this idea back to Thomas Hobbes, who famously sought to define “the people” in his book Leviathan. The classic problem was expressed by Oliver Cromwell: “I am much for government by consent as any man, but where shall we find that consent?”
The “people,” in other words, is an unstable concept; we differ in our opinions and perspectives. How can “the people” rule if “the people” don’t speak in one voice? Hobbes suggested that the “people” yield their power to institutions, and institutions create unanimity. (Hobbes had in mind the institution of the sovereign. The cover of Leviathan famously features a crowned man holding a sword. The torso of the man is made up of the many faces of the masses, turned toward him. The image is clear: The sovereign IS the “people.”) The institutions of government express a singular will that rules the masses—the very unanimity that can lead to civic stability. Distrust and dissent are unfortunate but can be dealt with through repression, because the alternative (according to Hobbes) is worse: the brutality of civil war and the “state of nature.” We can see here the root of the dominating habits of citizenship at the core of Jim Crow: Winners (in this case, white people) dictate the rules, and losers are brutally repressed for the sake of maintaining stability and unaniminity.
Lest you think this is a technical aside, Hobbes’s ideas have staying power. In fact, they are embedded in the very motto of the United States: “E Pluribus Unum.” Out of many, one. However, Allen suggests an alternative framing. We should seek to make our country whole, not one. The people should not be perfectly homogenous (like Hobbes’ Leviathan), but rather imperfectly coherent and integrated. Allen gives the example of harmonizing singers: they are singing different notes and have different ranges, but their heterogenity makes a coherent whole.
The goal in a democracy, then, is not to come to a perfect agreement. Rather, Allen argues that we should aim to maximize agreement and then attend carefully to the “dissonant remainders” so that distrust can be converted into trust. Rather than idealizing unanimity, we should idealize the “proper treatment of disagreement,” ways of relating to one another that can lead to trust. The art of treating disagreement properly, Allen says, goes by the name of rhetoric. Rhetoric is how we express what we think of our fellow citizens and whether we will engage in reciprocity—showing willingness to sacrifice some power for the sake of the community’s wholeness.
In part 3, Allen returns to the twentieth century—specifically, Ralph Ellison—to describe what distinguishes legitimate from illegitimate sacrifice. After all, for sacrifice to make the community whole, it needs to be reciprocal. Those who lose out should win at some point, and those who win should lose out at some point. The problem in American history is that white Americans consistently won out at the expense of Black Americans. Yet there is a lesson on citizenship here: Sometimes sacrifice can obligate reciprocity. “Agree ‘em to death,” says the grandfather of the Invisible Man in Ralph Ellison’s novel. Reciprocal sacrifice, says Allen, can lead to what Ellison calls “brotherhood.”
Allen calls brotherhood by a different term and reads Aristotle closely to get there: “political friendship.” Specifically, she calls for political friendship based on “equitable self-interest.” Where rilvalrous self-interest would seek to get ahead, wanting to get more than one’s fair share, equitable self-interest means that a person moderates their interests (that is, sacrifices) for the sake of preserving the relationship with others. Equity is a key word here. Political friendship depends upon equity: that is, it rests upon equality, agency, and reciprocity. Just as a friend will treat you as an equal, respect your choices, and return your favors, political friendship will do the same for other members of the polity. And where there is distrust, a “signal sacrifice” like that of Elizabeth Eckford can be the catalyst for converting distrust into trust.
At the end of the book, Allen returns to rhetoric as the key means of political friendship. Unlike actual friendship, political friendship does not mean that you know and like the other person. It is not an emotion, but a practice: political friendship describes a default way of acting toward another person, and rhetoric provides those means of action. To be a political friend, you must provide logical reasons for a course of action. But in those times where there are logical arguments on both sides (and there are many of those times), you must show that you have trustworthy character. You can build trust in your character by showing how you have acted in the past and describing what ethical principles guide you. And, perhaps most crucially, political friends negotiate the negative emotions of the polity, emotions like pain, anger, and fear. To be a political friend is to convert those emotions into goodwill, by accurately naming those emotions and assuaging them through a willingness to share power or moderate your own interests.
Rhetoric provides the toolbox for these new habits of citizenship. Where the old habits idolized unanimity and led to domination, the new habits prioritize accommodating disagreement and preserving trust. This new habit of citizenship, Allen writes, rejects the old adage: “Don’t talk to strangers.” That, she argues, is a lesson for four-year-olds, not citizens: “Eyes that drop to the ground when they bump up against a stranger’s gaze belong to those still in their political minority…. The more fearful we citizens are of speaking to strangers, the more we are docile children and not prospective presidents; the greater the distance between the president and us, the more we are subjects, not citizens. Talking to strangers is a way of claiming one’s political majority” (p. 161).
We may not be able to fix our democratic institutions, at least not right away. But as Allen shows us, we can cultivate different habits of citizenship, habits that take pain, loss, and sacrifice seriously. We can do our best to talk to strangers.
July 4, 2009
Trust, democracy, ethics...right up m'alley. Also, I had a dream about D-Allen once (no MLK joke).
January 7, 2023
This is the philosophical, historical, and intellectual history to her principles of nondomination and difference without domination, which are ideals of justice and politics for a democratic society.
She situates this political science narrative in what she describes as a 'reconstituting' of America in 1954 with the landmark Brown v. Board of Education decision and to the famous photograph of Elizabeth Eckford, one of the Little Rock Nine, being cursed by fellow "citizen" Hazel Bryan. She unfolds a rich history of America around those events, tracing the philosophical underpinnings of American democracy and citizenship that are undeniably on display in the photograph.
Habits of citizenship begin with how citizens imagine their political world. So she reveals the philosophical makings of our American citizenship, tying them to the two-pronged dynamic of domination and acquiescence that the photo shows. From those existing makings, she reimagines democratic practices and citizenship to cultivate wholeness (as distinctly opposed to 'oneness'). Among the principles of this remaking are: methods for dealing with the inevitability of political loss, sacrifice in democratic life, developing counervailing habits of talking to strangers, generating trust out of distrust, and, above all, a commitment to the imperfect art of democracy and citizenship in perpetuity.
A question that will stay with me, "How to invent a citizenship of trust generation?"
It is informationally dense in a wonderful way, an important read, and a fantastic accompaniment to the collection of essays that followed "Difference without Domination."
She situates this political science narrative in what she describes as a 'reconstituting' of America in 1954 with the landmark Brown v. Board of Education decision and to the famous photograph of Elizabeth Eckford, one of the Little Rock Nine, being cursed by fellow "citizen" Hazel Bryan. She unfolds a rich history of America around those events, tracing the philosophical underpinnings of American democracy and citizenship that are undeniably on display in the photograph.
Habits of citizenship begin with how citizens imagine their political world. So she reveals the philosophical makings of our American citizenship, tying them to the two-pronged dynamic of domination and acquiescence that the photo shows. From those existing makings, she reimagines democratic practices and citizenship to cultivate wholeness (as distinctly opposed to 'oneness'). Among the principles of this remaking are: methods for dealing with the inevitability of political loss, sacrifice in democratic life, developing counervailing habits of talking to strangers, generating trust out of distrust, and, above all, a commitment to the imperfect art of democracy and citizenship in perpetuity.
A question that will stay with me, "How to invent a citizenship of trust generation?"
It is informationally dense in a wonderful way, an important read, and a fantastic accompaniment to the collection of essays that followed "Difference without Domination."
July 7, 2023
I was really conflicted between 3 or 4 stars but settled on 3 (might change my mind later though). Don’t get me wrong, great analysis on what it means to be a citizen and who we can interact in positive ways with each other even when having various opinions and backgrounds. Allen focuses her reasoning on being a “whole” society and not “one”. Whole allows for integration and not the ploy of assimilation where we must abandon ourselves for the group.
The primary reason for the 3 stars is that this is a heavy academic read. At times it feel more like a doctorate thesis on political theory. Definitely can weigh on a casual reader and at times the point gets lost in the weeds. She does actually warn of this in the beginning though.
The primary reason for the 3 stars is that this is a heavy academic read. At times it feel more like a doctorate thesis on political theory. Definitely can weigh on a casual reader and at times the point gets lost in the weeds. She does actually warn of this in the beginning though.
April 12, 2023
Allen provides a very thoughtful and compelling theoretical framework to understand the current dysfunction in our political culture and what practical steps people can take to begin rebuilding political trust. I found the overall role of sacrifice in the framework particularly interesting and persuasive in explaining how political systems are at constant risks of being overrun by political mistrust. The tone of the writing is very academic but not impenetrable and I found the structure and the discussion very engaging for a work of political philosophy. I would have liked to see an application of some of these concepts to a more complex example.
February 14, 2023
I don't think it's a perfect 5 stars -- probably a 4.5. I liked Part I and Part III the best, which were the parts focused on Little Rock and Invisible Man (Ralph Ellison) respectively. The middle part was heavy on Hobbes-Habermas-Austin-political theorist #4... in conversation. Overall, this has been one of the easiest-to-read political theory texts I've been assigned so far, and that's a good thing. I got a ton out of it.
April 19, 2018
An eloquent and important plea for the development of “muscular habits of trust production.” Applicable lessons for every sort of community and institution.
September 5, 2020
Got this book for my COMM class
November 23, 2020
too hard brain hurt
January 21, 2023
Type of book that makes you write an undergraduate thesis about it. thank you danielle allen for my life.
March 25, 2024
Did not finish
July 18, 2024
Heavy on the theory and philosophy—not a complaint but an observation—this book considers trust and friendship as the basis for political life. A well-made argument.
Read
December 7, 2024i do not love poli sci non fiction
June 21, 2025
Allen is brilliant and the arguments made in the book will have me pondering for years.
March 15, 2013
I read this back in 2005 or 2006 for the first time and it left a deep impression. Returning to it eight years later I was captivated all over again.
Allen draws from the integration of Central High in Little Rock, Ralph Ellison (especially the enigmatic Invisible Man), Aristotle, and Thomas Hobbes among others to construct her argument. In sum, Allen argues that the everyday practices of individual citizens are the bedrock of a functioning democracy and lays out the practices that constitute political friendship, a way of being that generates trust among citizens in preparation for equitably sharing and compensating the sacrifices necessary to keep the community whole.
Someone below noted that the chapters feel like a series of lectures- this is very true. Each chapter, focused on a few core texts, builds upon the one before, taking up questions that the previous text could not answer. My favorite is chapter 8, a lovely and compelling reading of Invisible Man.
In her last chapter Allen applies her conclusions to the operations of her home institution of the time, the University of Chicago, in a (still-unrealized) call for the university to engage its neighbors through practices that build trust and a sense of community.
This book exerted great influence over me, especially in the thought that in our democracy ordinary people every day are asked to make sacrifices for the good of the whole. The problem is not sacrifice per se, but rather when things fall out of balance- we should ask (per Ellison) "Who sacrifices for whom? Are sacrifices voluntary? Are they honored? And are they reciprocated?" If things are in balance then sacrifices are gifts a citizen gives to the broader whole; without balance we fall into patterns of domination and subjugation.
"Citizens' distrust not of government but of each other leads the way to democratic disintegration."
Allen draws from the integration of Central High in Little Rock, Ralph Ellison (especially the enigmatic Invisible Man), Aristotle, and Thomas Hobbes among others to construct her argument. In sum, Allen argues that the everyday practices of individual citizens are the bedrock of a functioning democracy and lays out the practices that constitute political friendship, a way of being that generates trust among citizens in preparation for equitably sharing and compensating the sacrifices necessary to keep the community whole.
Someone below noted that the chapters feel like a series of lectures- this is very true. Each chapter, focused on a few core texts, builds upon the one before, taking up questions that the previous text could not answer. My favorite is chapter 8, a lovely and compelling reading of Invisible Man.
In her last chapter Allen applies her conclusions to the operations of her home institution of the time, the University of Chicago, in a (still-unrealized) call for the university to engage its neighbors through practices that build trust and a sense of community.
This book exerted great influence over me, especially in the thought that in our democracy ordinary people every day are asked to make sacrifices for the good of the whole. The problem is not sacrifice per se, but rather when things fall out of balance- we should ask (per Ellison) "Who sacrifices for whom? Are sacrifices voluntary? Are they honored? And are they reciprocated?" If things are in balance then sacrifices are gifts a citizen gives to the broader whole; without balance we fall into patterns of domination and subjugation.
"Citizens' distrust not of government but of each other leads the way to democratic disintegration."
June 21, 2015
I am so thankful to have stumbled upon Danielle Allen - her writing is interdisciplinary, relevant, and accessible. In this book, Allen argues that the language we have been using in our conversations about race is wholly ineffective. Since our nation's founding, our culture has held the idea of a united nation ("one nation") as the ultimate goal. Allen reimagines what our society might be like if we, instead, strived to be a "whole nation."
Allen argues that we need a diverse politics, one that doesn't result in citizens who are regularly dominant and citizens who are regularly having to acquiesce. Our society isn't accepting of the dominance/acquiescent politics anymore and hasn't been since the Civil Rights Era. Allen does a thorough close reading of Ralph Ellison's "The Invisible Man" in the middle sections of the book to support her ultimate thesis: political friendship ought to direct our political actions with one another, thereby replacing our broken habits of relating to one another in a domineering/submissive way. She defines this idea of political friendship with great help from Aristotle. As she lays it out, it involves a reciprocal relationship between citizens where each party takes turns surrendering their rights for the betterment of the larger group while being able to trust that eventually, others will sacrifice while they gain. This is how most friendships work -- responsibilities are shared, and individuals are accountable to and vulnerable to one another. Importantly, Allen doesn't suggest that these "political friendships" have to FEEL like friendships -- they don't have to involve mutual affection for one another. But, for the perpetuation of our democracy, they ought to LOOK like friendships. Near the end of the book, she outlines some practical ways of putting this theory into practice.
I would recommend this book to everyone!
Allen argues that we need a diverse politics, one that doesn't result in citizens who are regularly dominant and citizens who are regularly having to acquiesce. Our society isn't accepting of the dominance/acquiescent politics anymore and hasn't been since the Civil Rights Era. Allen does a thorough close reading of Ralph Ellison's "The Invisible Man" in the middle sections of the book to support her ultimate thesis: political friendship ought to direct our political actions with one another, thereby replacing our broken habits of relating to one another in a domineering/submissive way. She defines this idea of political friendship with great help from Aristotle. As she lays it out, it involves a reciprocal relationship between citizens where each party takes turns surrendering their rights for the betterment of the larger group while being able to trust that eventually, others will sacrifice while they gain. This is how most friendships work -- responsibilities are shared, and individuals are accountable to and vulnerable to one another. Importantly, Allen doesn't suggest that these "political friendships" have to FEEL like friendships -- they don't have to involve mutual affection for one another. But, for the perpetuation of our democracy, they ought to LOOK like friendships. Near the end of the book, she outlines some practical ways of putting this theory into practice.
I would recommend this book to everyone!
July 11, 2013
The first point of interest about this book is its genre. It begins as something of a historical narrative, going over in depth the story of the Little Rock Nine, and discussing the repercussions of that event (including, Allen claims, the reconstituting of the United States). As the book moves on, it becomes more and more of a treatise on political philosophy. Which was great. I love political philosophy.
There are two main works, I would say, which we’ll say influenced heavily her writing. The first is Ellison’s Invisible Man, which she discusses in depth. She uses the book’s discussion of the sacrifices made by the Black community to talk about what kind of sacrifices are acceptable, and even necessary to democracy, and what kind result in the perpetuation of distrust between different parts of a community.
The second is not one book, but rather the works of Aristotle as they relate to friendship and citizenship. She believes that certain types of friendship are necessary in citizenship to ensure the continued building of trust.
When an author discusses other authors as extensively as Allen does Ellison and Aristotle, I expect to find some criticism, or at least a place where the author turns from the path laid by those they’re examining to make their own point. And I didn’t really find that here. It’s definitely the case that neither Ellison nor Aristotle were making the points Allen was making about our country, and certainly not as eloquently. I understand that she was corralling others’ opinions and thoughts into a sort of solution for the problem she was looking at, but I would have preferred if she had been more assertive in presenting her own result.
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There are two main works, I would say, which we’ll say influenced heavily her writing. The first is Ellison’s Invisible Man, which she discusses in depth. She uses the book’s discussion of the sacrifices made by the Black community to talk about what kind of sacrifices are acceptable, and even necessary to democracy, and what kind result in the perpetuation of distrust between different parts of a community.
The second is not one book, but rather the works of Aristotle as they relate to friendship and citizenship. She believes that certain types of friendship are necessary in citizenship to ensure the continued building of trust.
When an author discusses other authors as extensively as Allen does Ellison and Aristotle, I expect to find some criticism, or at least a place where the author turns from the path laid by those they’re examining to make their own point. And I didn’t really find that here. It’s definitely the case that neither Ellison nor Aristotle were making the points Allen was making about our country, and certainly not as eloquently. I understand that she was corralling others’ opinions and thoughts into a sort of solution for the problem she was looking at, but I would have preferred if she had been more assertive in presenting her own result.
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January 25, 2008Allen takes the Little Rock, Arkansas debacle of 1957 as a point of departure to show that no matter what laws are passed by congress or decided by the Supreme Court, unless you change the customary habits of citizenship of the people involved, one can only ever win a hollow victory for civil rights. The problem is that changing the customary habits of the citizenry is harder than passing a law. Changing the habits of citizenship requires that everyone become an enlightened citizen, willing to treat all others as equals while leaving themselves vulnerable to the other's ideas and culture, even when one doesn't have to. This sort of selfless citizenship can be construed as down right UnAmerican.
July 1, 2009
I read this at my friend Mike's urging, and I'm glad I did, but more because it helped round out the ideas he and I have been discussing for the past few months and less for the writing itself. Building a trust-based democracy of full citizens instead of the fearful country we currently have is important work, and I liked Allen's ideas on how we got here and how we get there.
Want to read
March 21, 2007When I discovered this book at Ruth's house, I read the first ten pages and am now hooked. I shall read. Oh, and one would do well to take Ruth's book recommendations, except about Crime and Punishment!!
April 16, 2016
Lovely prose, impressive command of a wide range of topics and texts, and a compelling recommendation for political friendship as a normative ideal in democratic society. Difficult to evaluate, and at times bordering on the utopian, but an excellent read regardless.
October 25, 2016
Another for the American Citizenship and Politics group. I found this the most readable of the texts so far, although some in the group found her premise to be too simplistic, I found it to actually be uplifting and motivational.
January 9, 2012
I did start this at one point, but was derailed somewhere around chapter 5 or 6. Armed with a new copy, I think it's time to pick it back up.
February 20, 2010
what's up civic knowledge project!!!
December 19, 2011
I read this for my publics theories class. It was the most interesting read: a blend of rhetoric, politics, and critical race theory.
November 12, 2012
The book was an incredible commentary on citizenship and provides a wonderful expansion of collective ritual ideas.
May 10, 2014
Very interesting analysis of a post-civil rights movement America.
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