Faith in Democracy: Framing a Politics of Deep Diversity

By Jonathan Chaplin

What is the place of faith in public life in the UK? Beyond ‘secularism’ that seeks to relegate faith to the margins of public life, and a ‘Christian nation’ position that seeks to retain, or even regain, Christian public privilege, there is a third way. Faith in Democracy: Framing a Politics of Deep Diversity calls for an approach that maximises public space for the expression of faith-based visions within democratic fora while repudiating all traces of religious privilege.







It argues for a truly conversational space, reflecting theologically on the contested concepts at the heart of the current debate about the place of faith in British public life: democracy, secularism, pluralism and public faith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SCM Press
• Release date: Apr 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9780334060253

Jonathan Chaplin

Jonathan Chaplin is a member of the Centre for Faith in Public Life at Wesley House, Cambridge, and of the Cambridge University Divinity Faculty.

Book preview

Faith in Democracy

Faith in Democracy

Framing a Politics of Deep Diversity

Jonathan Chaplin

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© Jonathan Chaplin 2021

Published in 2021 by SCM Press

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction: Faith and Democracy – Defining the Questions Before We Shout Out the Answers

Part 1 Democracy: As If Faith Mattered

1. Defining and Defending Democracy

2. Recasting Constitutional Democracy

Part 2 Secularism: Rights and Wrongs

3. Secularism or Pluralism?

4. Beyond Secular Esperanto

Part 3 Public Faith: Neither Privileged Nor Pliant

5. Faithful Speech

6. Faithful Conscience

7. Faithful Association

8. Faithful Power

Conclusion: Restoring Faith in Democracy

Theos is the UK’s leading religion and society think tank. It exists to bring a thoughtful, non-tribal Christian perspective to the public square and stimulate better conversations about the role of faith and belief in society through research, events, and media commentary.

Theos hosts conversations, debates and lectures on religion, politics and society, and provides commentary and analysis on current affairs and popular culture.

At the core of Theos’ work is an extensive programme of research exploring the big issues impacting UK society, from the ethics of debt to the phenomenon of religiously-inspired violence, from the increasing religiosity of our capital city to faith–based social action and multiculturalism.

Find out more at www.theosthinktank.co.uk

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to Theos, one of the leading practitioners of ‘faith in democracy’ in the UK, for their congenial partnership in this project (which is not to say they endorse everything in this book). The following colleagues commented on all or parts of the manuscript: Paul Bickley, Jonathan Boston, Andrew Bradstock, Julian Rivers, Nick Spencer and Nicholas Townsend. The usual disclaimer applies, but their critical insights have, I think, made the book much better and I am indebted to them. Barnabas Elbourn helped get my legal case citations in order but, again, any remaining errors are my own. Chapter 3 draws on material first published in Thomas Schirrmacher and Jonathan Chaplin, ‘European Religious Freedom and the EU’, in Jonathan Chaplin and Gary Wilton, eds, God and the EU: Faith in the European Project (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016), pp. 151–74. Chapters 4 and 5 draw extensively on Talking God: The Legitimacy of Religious Public Reasoning (London: Theos, 2008). I am grateful to the publishers for permission to use this material here.

During the final months of writing, Aldo our two-year-old grandson was hurtling around our house while his parents, our son Paul and his American wife Laura, lived with us, awaiting new accommodation. His presence slightly delayed its completion, but kept me focused on what it was all about. The virtues of ‘democratic pluralism’ are, at this point in his life, a work in progress. My hope is that he will grow up to be not only a person of faith but – as possessor of both British and American passports – one who finds reasons for, perhaps even contributes to, ‘faith in democracy’. The book was completed days before the November 2020 US presidential election. I dedicate the book to Aldo – and to the future of his generation.

Introduction: Faith and Democracy – Defining the Questions Before We Shout Out the Answers¹

In the contest between the principles of modern democracy and doctrines of faith, democracy and the rule of secular law must always win. Janet Daley²

The question is sometimes raised, whether Catholicism is compatible with American democracy. The question is invalid as well as impertinent … It must … be turned round to read, whether American democracy is compatible with Catholicism. John Courtney Murray³

It would be hard to find two more starkly opposed judgements than these about the place of religious faith in a modern liberal democracy. The first was delivered in 2008 by Janet Daley in the Daily Telegraph in response to Archbishop Rowan Williams’ proposal that aspects of Islamic law might be accommodated within the English legal system – a prospect that unleashed a firestorm of tabloid outrage that has left permanent scorch-marks on British public discourse about faith.⁴ The second, published over half a century ago, was penned by Jesuit philosopher John Courtney Murray in We Hold These Truths: Catholic Reflections on the American Proposition, a book written to overcome deep suspicions still existing between Roman Catholics and political liberals in the USA. It was on account of such suspicions that presidential candidate John F. Kennedy felt bound to insist in 1960 that he believed in an America ‘where no religious body seeks to impose its will directly or indirectly upon the general populace or the public acts of its officials’.⁵

No one needs reminding that the relationship between religion and democracy in many liberal democracies today remains fraught with profound anxieties. This is true also in Britain, the principal focus of this book. Even setting aside fears about violent Islamist extremism, persisting concerns about the apparent threat of Islam as such to British democracy surfaced again in The Casey Review on integration in 2016, which warned that some religious devotees are ‘keen to take religion backwards and away from 21st Century British values and laws on … gender equality and sexual orientation, creating segregation and pulling communities apart’.⁶ While the role of religion in the Brexit trauma is not yet easy to specify, the acrimonious divisions Brexit has unleashed pose acute additional challenges to the capacity of British democracy to reckon with deep diversity.⁷

In the USA, even before the headlong evangelical embrace of Donald Trump,⁸ alarms about religious ‘imposition’ were reignited by the latest wave of the ‘religious right’, from which emerged in 2015 ‘Project Blitz’, a carefully orchestrated campaign to encourage the sponsorship of ‘Christian’ bills in state legislatures across the USA. The project has been described as reflecting ‘a Christian supremacist agenda, the idea that God intended and mandates Christians to lead and control the United States for the religious vision that they hold and the policy implications that flow from it’.⁹

The current debate is often framed in a way that is unhelpfully polarizing. Many religious believers profess themselves appalled by the bald assertion that democracy must always win against religion, just as many secular-minded people react viscerally to the claim that democracy must be subordinated to the demands of religion. Each assertion seems to offend against a deep and seemingly non-negotiable conviction held by the other side. The declaration that democratic principles must always defeat religious doctrines whenever they clash strikes many religious believers as a dangerously arrogant vaunting of human political power over divine authority – one that could, at best, leave ‘theology on mute’ in public life, or, at worst, legitimize the kind of systematic suppression of religion witnessed in the ‘people’s republic’ of China. Equally, the suggestion that the legitimacy of democracy might depend on its compatibility with religious doctrine sounds to many secular observers like a reactionary throwback to an age of religious supremacy – potentially unleashing just the sort of ‘theocratic’ adventurism apparently at work in Project Blitz.

This book places itself squarely in the force-field opening up between these contending assertions. It takes the risk of simultaneously addressing two normally distinct audiences. It does so in the hope of kick-starting some productive exchanges between advocates who seem to talk at – or past – each other more than they converse with each other. It is intended, first, for secular-minded citizens who may be troubled by the marked upsurge of public religion in liberal democracies like the UK and anxious that newly assertive public religions might undermine what they take to be the unique achievements of a ‘secular democracy’. The second audience is religious citizens concerned about how their faith might properly inform and guide their participation in democracy, and who may be perturbed by a revived ‘exclusivist secularism’ seemingly bent on keeping them on the margins, or, at least, insisting on their religious anonymity in public life.¹⁰ A book on ‘faith in democracy’ might, however, be tempted to rush straight into an examination of how religious groups can legitimately insert themselves into our existing democratic order, taking for granted the basic legitimacy and design of the system. But confusions about the proper role of faith in democracy, already rife, will only proliferate if there is insufficient clarity about what is actually meant by ‘democracy’, how it might be evaluated from the standpoint of a religious faith, and whether, and how, religiously motivated interventions subvert or enhance it.

The book is not aimed in the first instance at scholars, although I hope it will be of interest and use to them.¹¹ It is aimed primarily at reflective practitioners who hold democracy in their hands – political office-holders and activists, campaigners, faith leaders, journalists and many other professionals engaged in public life – and no less at students and young people on whose commitment to a healthy form of democracy the future of all our political communities depends.

Its aims are twofold: the first is clarificatory, the second programmatic. The clarificatory aim is to shed light on what is really at issue in the case of Daley v Murray. Are religion and democracy essentially at odds with each other, engaged in a zero-sum game in which advance for one must mean retreat for the other? Given that they inevitably interact, how can we negotiate the rising tensions appearing between ‘the obligations of citizenship and the demands of faith’?¹² Are such tensions always destructive, or might they at least sometimes be constructive for democracy? Are certain kinds of religion – or certain strands within one or other religion – more conducive, or obstructive, to democracy than others? What might we make of claims, made mostly but not always by Christians, that Christianity has been a necessary historical condition for the emergence of Western democracy, without which democracy’s long-term future is in jeopardy? And whatever we make of those substantive questions, can we construct a principled modus vivendi to ‘frame’ the relationship between religion and democracy, one that might cause a workable peace to break out, or even nurture a shared vision of the common good?¹³

What follows proceeds from the assumption that religion and democracy cannot be assigned to separate compartments of human life but necessarily impact upon each other, and that such interaction, while inescapably risky, can often be productive for both. It will also argue that these risks and opportunities arise in the relationship between democracy and non-religious ultimate visions of the human good – ‘secular faiths’. In this book, what is typically thought of as ‘religion’ will be viewed as one species of ‘faith’, a category including a range of non-religious world views that are not held purely on the basis of ‘reason’ alone but rest on some prior, pre-rational commitments. I realize the term ‘secular faith’ will be resisted by some; I explain what I mean by it in Chapter 3.

The book also acknowledges that what counts as a ‘productive’ exchange between religion and democracy is itself deeply contested. While religion and democracy will often be mutually supportive, a truly productive relationship, it is argued here, will inevitably involve recurrent tensions between ‘religious’ claims and ‘democratic’ claims, sometimes of a dramatic and disturbing nature – as the US civil rights movement made clear when it deployed religious claims of momentous political potency to expose the racism in the ‘voice of the people’ in the American South. At least that will be so, insofar as adherents to those religions which, like Christianity, have ‘public theologies’, seek to live consistently with their principles and not treat their faith as a matter of purely private concern.

Such authentic living out will (often) also ultimately be good for any kind of democracy worth defending, even if it makes for a rough ride along the way. To pit ‘religion’ and ‘democracy’ straightforwardly against each other would thus be both simple-minded and dangerous. But religious stances – just like stances motivated by any deep and wide set of moral or spiritual convictions – will sometimes collide with what some hold to be core tenets of ‘democracy’. This is evident from the responses of various political establishments to faith-based activists as diverse as Mahatma Gandhi, Elizabeth Cady Stanton (a nineteenth-century American Christian feminist), Mohamed Morsi (Muslim Brotherhood candidate for President of Egypt, elected in 2012, deposed in 2013) and Edward Miall (Nonconformist founder of the Liberation Society in 1844, which campaigned for the disestablishment of the Church of England).

While the outcomes of such public contests cannot always be safely managed, and some will indeed be damaging to one or both sides (the case of Egypt is not encouraging), I argue that we would be in a far worse plight if we tried to construct a system in which they could never occur. We would be on the road to a totalitarian state – even if under a ‘democratic’ guise. Yet the terms of public engagement between ‘religion’ (or other ultimate visions) and ‘democracy’ cannot be determined by a mere power play between contending interests. They must where possible be ‘framed’ – meaning both facilitated and limited – by clear and widely endorsed political principles. This book is an attempt at such a ‘framing’.

In pursuing its clarificatory aim, I will be pleased if people on opposing sides end up not only understanding each other better but also agreeing on more than they currently do. But I have no illusions about how deep the differences can be over the place of religion in democracy, nor about how taxing it may be to resolve them. Yet if it is true that (as John Courtney Murray also observed) disagreement is itself an achievement – because it implies the attainment of mutual understanding – then my first goal is simply to achieve a better disagreement between the various protagonists in the debate.

The second aim of the book is programmatic: to defend a particular model of energetic and constructive faith-based engagement in contemporary democratic politics – to propose the seemingly paradoxical idea of ‘Christian democratic pluralism’. This is a vision, inspired by Christian faith, for a democracy that does justice to all faiths. ‘Pluralism’ refers not to a faith or an ideology but to a condition in which plural faiths are treated even-handedly by the democratic state. Christian democratic pluralism is obviously not something to be ‘imposed’ upon a largely non-Christian society. Rather it is ‘proposed’ as one contribution to a new democratic settlement, which could only emerge and win sustainable agreement out of a dialogue that involved multiple voices and in which no one would get all they wanted. I will show how being committed to democracy, whatever one’s faith, confers many benefits but also means being prepared to live with loss. I argue that the search for a just settlement of the place of faith in democracy, and the necessary compromises it entails, are themselves theologically mandated (in Christianity, at least).

On such a model, the democratic system will remain as open as possible to constructive contributions from a wide range of moral, philosophical and religious convictions, even while remaining firmly committed to a baseline of core constitutional principles without which it will risk permanent instability and injustice (democracy must thus sometimes win against some ‘doctrines of faith’). The model defends space for maximal representation of a plurality of faith-based political visions, especially those held by the democratically marginalized – the ‘politically poor’. It will encourage an open deliberative forum, allowing for boisterous, noisy and often fractious political debate. This will sometimes make for ‘slow democracy’. Yet it can also sometimes make the attainment of a broad political consensus on important matters of public policy more likely – certainly more likely than either a ‘theocratic’ or an ‘exclusivist secularist’ system would.

Defenders of such a forum will not champion diversity for its own sake, as if just any kind of ‘difference’ or any source of contestation were intrinsically valuable. The book utilizes insights of the school known as ‘agonistic’ political thought (from the Greek word agon, meaning ‘struggle’).¹⁴ It resists the lure of an easy consensus that risks silencing dissenting minorities. But it repudiates the idea that we should luxuriate in conflict itself or suspect that behind every manifestation of ‘consensus’ is the veiled fist of hegemonic power. Democratic pluralists need not hold that the mere manifestation of a view, however abhorrent, somehow helps preserve the long-term health of democracy by keeping its adherents ‘inside the tent’. The presence in the UK of the English Defence League or Hizb ut-Tahrir (a radical Islamist organization opposed to democracy) are not forms of diversity to be celebrated as part of a ‘rich texture of public life’. Rather, the open, diverse democracy I will commend will be animated, and simultaneously constrained, by a shared search for justice and the common good. Plural voices will be facilitated and encouraged insofar as they can make out a plausible case that they are intentionally engaged in such a search, and discouraged to the extent that they cannot. Political engagement should not be seen as merely expressive, as if the point were only to put one’s tribal convictions on public display and then walk away satisfied.¹⁵

Rather, such engagement must be constructive and policy-focused: its goal must be to work towards the establishment of just laws conducive to the common good. That expectation, I suggest, ‘comes with the territory’ of participation in the polity. It is not a counsel of perfection, nor does it assume unattainable levels of public altruism. Participation in such a project inevitably involves not only vigorous argumentation and mobilization but also a firm commitment to deliberation, negotiation, expertise, civic respect, the striking of workable agreements and the renunciation of all hegemonic ambitions – religious or secular. Moreover, principled democratic pluralists do not regard such political virtues as merely strategic – as tools in a long game in which a position of political dominance might in time be seized once their own supporters can muster an electoral majority; or, ‘blitz-like’, can put a determined minority to work to exploit the system for partisan ends.

I noted that allowing a more open democratic forum could make for a ‘rough ride’. This is because the goals of such a forum can only be realized if at least some among the plural voices heard are prepared to engage in rigorously critical, dissenting and sometimes destabilizing interventions – to project radical (‘prophetic’) visions of justice and the common good into the democratic arena. Some of those will inevitably be religious, or otherwise faith-based. Some such interventions will be destructive of that very democratic forum and will need to be firmly resisted, sometimes by law. Not all of them, even those thoroughly committed to democracy, will look pretty – at least through the (sometimes distorting) lens of whatever happens to be the prevailing political consensus. Consider the patronizing scorn heaped a century ago upon the suffragettes, now widely hailed as transformative agents of political justice.

Obviously, the terms ‘justice’ and ‘common good’ will need to be carefully specified for them to serve as meaningful guides to how democracy should operate and what the goals of public policy should be. I begin that task in Chapter 1. Any proposal regarding the goals democracy should pursue will, of course, be the focus of continuing debate and disagreement in democratic forums. This presents a serious challenge for any political system, but especially a democratic one in which principles of public governance are not handed down from on high (whether from hereditary rulers, religious leaders, bureaucratic mandarins or, more recently, senior judges) but – on a good day – forged out of open, reasoned contestation; or, at least, out of a fair tussle between rival democratic interests.

This contest operates at two levels. One is the level of familiar ‘ideological’ political debate. Does ‘justice’ mean a shrinking state and a deregulated capitalist economy, as a libertarian vision mandates? Does it call for an ever-expanding regime of equality rights engaged in a ‘long march through the institutions’, as many secular liberal egalitarians hold? Does ‘the common good’ demand extensive state intervention in response to the ecological crisis, as a Green conception insists? Does it imply commitment to, or retreat from, transnational political authorities, such as the European Union, that constrain the exercise of national sovereignty?

What makes the contest even more demanding is the deeper level: ‘justice’ and ‘the common good’ have implications for the core constitutional principles on which the regime as a whole rests. In any democracy, such principles are themselves subject to contestation (not every month or year but over time), so that there can never be a final or closed settlement of the foundations of the system. That may seem disturbingly open-ended. It is, however, a prospect for which we must be profoundly grateful and over which we must be continually vigilant. For it allows the possibility that grievous political injustices – such as the exclusion of women, or propertyless citizens, or people of colour, from the franchise; or Jews and Roman Catholics from political office; or gay, lesbian and transgender citizens from legal protection against discrimination – can eventually be overcome. This book offers an outline of such an ‘open, plural democracy’ and an explicitly faith-based justification for one: a sketch of ‘Christian democratic pluralism’.

I should make clear that to defend ‘Christian democratic pluralism’ is not to endorse ‘religious pluralism’ in one important sense of that term: the confident assertion that all religions are, in some sense, equally valid destinations to ‘the divine’. Although I find this view problematic (from what vantage point could we know it is true?), I strongly affirm the importance of interfaith respect, dialogue, learning and partnership. But such a doctrine is not necessary for the kind of political, democratic pluralism I defend here. In my theology of democratic pluralism, defending public space for the expression of religious plurality does not mandate the ‘affirmation’ or ‘celebration’ of a plurality of faiths, or any particular faiths, either by individual citizens or by the state. I will argue in any case that, while most state acts cannot be morally neutral,¹⁶ the state should remain religiously impartial, not claiming for itself the authority to take an official view on matters of faith, whether religious or secular.

The book discusses a number of issues typically addressed under the heading of ‘multiculturalism’.¹⁷ Evidently, faith is inescapably bound up with questions of ethnicity, race and culture.¹⁸ For example, one cannot understand the contested politics of Islam in the UK without appreciating that two-thirds of British Muslims originate from traditional South Asian cultures marked by powerful kinship loyalties and hierarchical gender roles from which many younger Muslims are trying to break free.¹⁹ For many believers and for the social scientists who study them, it is often difficult to disentangle these different strands of personal or communal identity. Sociologists speak, for example, of ‘ethno-religious communities’ (a term that arguably also applies to sections of the English Christian community, or, indeed, the English secularist community). Theorists of multiculturalism have observed that, since the 1960s, issues arising from religious difference have increasingly been moving to the centre of debates about multiculturalism.²⁰ This book, however, limits itself strictly to questions where faith, rather than culture, ethnicity or race, is to the fore of debates about deep diversity.

While the book will not meet all the objections it will undoubtedly evoke from various sides, it does seek to navigate a distinctive pathway between two increasingly influential alternative positions: on the one hand, a newly assertive ‘exclusivist secularism’, and, on the other, a ‘Christian nation’ response to this assertiveness. Advocates of exclusivist secularism hold that the only way to secure a neutral state – one that is fair to all citizens and protects their rights equally – is for the state to be ‘secular’. This means not only a state with no special privileges for religion but also the thoroughgoing secularization of democratic debate and decision-making. Advocates of a ‘Christian nation’ position argue the opposite: that the state requires an official public acknowledgement of Christianity. Liberal democracy, they argue, itself grew organically out of distinctive elements of Christian (or ‘Judeo-Christian’) culture and its future sustenance depends on contemporary culture being replenished by these sources. There are valid insights in both positions, but I argue that, in important respects, each misconstrues the proper place of faith in democracy.

While the book addresses both secular and religious audiences, it makes no pretence of neutrality. Throughout, it draws on insights from Christian political thought and seeks to demonstrate their relevance for contemporary democracy. It proceeds from the assumption that the sooner we all put behind us the illusion that public debate can be governed by a detached ‘objectivity’ – a ‘view from nowhere’ – the more likely we are to edge towards mutual understanding; or, at least, towards better disagreement. My hope is that by offering an openly Christian model of democratic pluralism I will encourage those of other faiths to make explicit the deeper groundings of their own accounts of democracy. This might generate a rich, multi-sided exchange in which a more durable political consensus on the place of faith in British democracy could begin to swing into view.

The process is, of course, already under way, as seen, for example, in the fruits of several dialogues and projects over the last decade or so: Faith in the Nation: Religion, Identity and the Public Realm in Britain Today, published by the Institute for Public Policy Research (2008);²¹ British Secularism and Religion: Islam, Society and the State (2011), sponsored by the Islamic Foundation and the Markfield Institute for Higher Education;²² The Faith Collection on the role of faith in public life, published by Demos (2013);²³ Living with Difference; Community, Diversity and the Common Good (2015), the report of the Commission on Religion and Belief in British Public Life convened by the Woolf Institute, Cambridge,²⁴ and the House of Lords debate occasioned by it in 2014;²⁵ A Secularist Response to the Commission on Religion and Public Life, published by the University of Warwick (2016);²⁶ Cohesive Societies: Faith and Belief, published by the British Academy and the Faith and Belief Forum (2020). I hope this book casts further light on the proper role of, potential for, pitfalls of, and genuine threats from, faith-based democratic activity – and, indeed, on ‘democracy’ itself, now rendered even more vulnerable than it already was in the UK through the profound and lasting damages of the Brexit process. We are in urgent need of better public dialogues about how to attain a more sustainable ‘framing’ of the relationship between faith and democracy in the UK, and we will need a wide array of constructive partners at the table if such dialogues are to succeed.

Notes

1 After Julia Stronks, ‘Christians, Public Policy and Same-Sex Marriage: Framing the Questions Before We Shout Out the Answers’, Christian Scholar’s Review 26.4 (1997), 540–62.

2 ‘Removing the State from Dr Rowan Williams’, The Sunday Telegraph (11 February 2008).

3 We Hold These Truths: Catholic Reflections on the American Proposition (Kansas City, MO: Sheed & Ward, 1960), ix–x.

4 The proposal came in a lecture now included in Robin Griffith-Jones, ed., Islam and English Law: Rights, Responsibilities and the Place of Shari’a (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). See also Samia Bano, ‘In Pursuit of Religious and Legal Diversity: A Response to the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Sharia Debate in Britain’, Ecclesiastical Law Journal 10.3 (2008), 283–309; Jonathan Chaplin, ‘Legal Monism and Religious Pluralism: Rowan Williams on Religion, Law and Loyalty’, International Journal of Public Theology 2.4 (2009), 1–24.

5 Remarks to the Greater Houston Ministerial Association, 12 September 1960. See www.nationalreview.com/2010/09/jfks-religion-speech-fred-schwarz/ (accessed 1/12/20).

6 Dame Louise Casey, The Casey Review: A Review into Opportunity and Integration (London: DCLG, 2016), 128.

7 See John Curtice, N. Hudson and Ian Montague, eds, Political Consequences of Brexit: Has Brexit Damaged Our Politics?, British Social Attitudes: The 37th Report (London: The National Centre for Social Research, 2020). On Anglican divisions over Brexit, see Jonathan Chaplin and Andrew Bradstock, eds, The Future of Brexit Britain: Anglican Reflections on National Identity and European Solidarity (London: SPCK, 2020).

8 John Fea, Believe Me: The Evangelical Road to Donald Trump (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2018).

9 David Taylor, ‘Project Blitz: The Legislative Assault by Christian Nationalists to Reshape America’, The Guardian (4 June 2016), www.theguardian.com/world/2018/jun/04/project-blitz-the-legislative-assault-by-christian-nationalists-to-reshape-america (accessed 1/12/20).

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