‘The Earth does not belong to us; we belong to the Earth. What befalls the Earth befalls all the sons and daughters of the Earth.’
Chief Seattle’s 1854 speech
When Louis XIV’s advisor, Philippe, duc d’Orleans, in a historic council meeting at Versailles, once suggested that the state should issue tax reductions to ease peasant discontent, the French king’s response was stark: “L’État, c’est moi” (I am the state), asserting his absolute authority over the realm’s affairs. This anecdote, commonly taught in schools, is designed to instill a sense of democratic repugnance towards the notion of one person embodying the state. Yet, as I mature, I question: Who truly owns the state? And what is the real purpose of the constitution? To regulate the state itself, or its relationship with the people?
In contemporary times, the state seems increasingly detached from the populace, diverging from Abraham Lincoln’s vision of government as “of the people, by the people, for the people.” It now appears more accurate to say that the state governs the people, by the elite, for the banks and corporations. But was it ever truly ours? Has the state ever truly belonged to its people?
Historically, there have been moments when the people seemed to hold sway. During revolutions, such as those in France and America, citizens momentarily grasped control. The French Revolution brought the Jacobins to power, who, for approximately 420 days, embodied the state in its most radical form. However, their reign was brief, giving way to Napoleon’s consolidation of power, where he, much like Louis XIV, became the state, ultimately declaring himself emperor.
Similarly, in America, the spirit of the Revolution suggested the people were the state, a notion solidified by the Declaration of Independence but diluted by the subsequent Constitution.
The Bolshevik Revolution promised to transfer power to the proletariat, yet ultimately, power concentrated in the hands of a few, through mechanisms not fully understood even by Russians today. This evolution suggests a transformation of the state into an entity apart from its citizens, resembling a corporation where people are stakeholders, not shareholders.
This brings us to a critical reflection on the dichotomy between “public space and land” and “nobody’s space and land.” While “public” implies communal ownership and use, in practice, the rules governing these spaces and resources aren’t decided through a democratic process that reflects the will of the people. Rather, decisions about public resources—extending far beyond parks and streets to encompass the state’s entire wealth—are often made by a select few, without clear accountability or transparency about whose interests they serve.
This ambiguity extends to the very essence of the republic, or “res publica,” which suggests a public affair. However, the decision-making regarding these public affairs hardly seems to align with the broader public interest. It raises questions about the democratic foundation of our decisions on public resources, highlighting a disconnect between the supposed stewards of the state and the beneficiaries of its wealth.
The state, as it operates today, feels more like an entity separate from the people it is meant to serve, functioning as a corporation with citizens relegated to the role of stakeholders rather than shareholders. The profound question of who truly owns the state and its resources remains obscured by layers of bureaucracy and political maneuvering.
The relationship between ownership and debt further complicates this picture. Just as a bank holds ownership over a house until the mortgage is repaid, debt holders who seem to have the real grip on the state. They’re the ones calling the shots, which explains the political circus of budgeting far beyond our means for things like, let’s not even get started on, wars with reasons as clear as mud. This dynamic sheds light on why political leaders might prioritize spending that benefits banks and corporations over the needs of the populace, leading to policies and projects that strain public resources and deepen state indebtedness.
The 2008 bailout starkly exemplified this, as banks, acting as if they were the state’s true owners, were rescued with taxpayer money—a move that did not reflect the democratic will or serve the public interest.
So, what does “res publica” really mean today? The decision-making around public resources and spaces, shrouded in opacity, suggests that the state and its wealth are not truly of or for the people. The constitution, while laying out the framework for governance, sidesteps the crucial issue of ownership, leaving us to ponder: If the state is not ours, whose is it?
Until we address these fundamental discrepancies and reclaim the state as a vehicle for the public good, it remains someone else’s domain—a domain where decisions are made, resources allocated, and futures determined with little genuine input from those it’s supposed to serve.
For more on this topic and a deeper exploration of the state’s complexities, my new book, Flawed Democracy, delves into these issues, offering insights and reflections on our journey towards a truly democratic society.