The rebirth of citizenship: public work for common goals

What has happened to the nation's common identity and vision of a shared future? More precisely, what has happened to the understanding of ourselves as the bearers of a great and noble mission - to keep democracy alive and well - that comes through so vividly in historical accounts such as Stephen Ambrose's "citizen-soldiers" (see, Commonweal, April 24)? To such questions of national purpose, the biblical narrative of Nehemiah might serve as a parable. It describes the reconstruction of a fractured, exiled people in the fifth century B.C. and how they rebuilt not only their city, but also their sense of destiny.

In 446 B.C., Nehemiah, a leader of the Jews living in exile in Persia, sought and obtained permission from King Artaxerxes to return to Jerusalem to rebuild the walls of the city which had lain in ruins for a century. Under Nehemiah's leadership, the returning exiles reconstructed the city and built a commonwealth relatively autonomous for its time.

The practical work of restoring Jerusalem's walls and rebuilding the Temple is key to the story. Ezra, the priest and scribe who immediately preceded Nehemiah to Jerusalem, admonished the people to rededicate themselves to the Jewish Law. But it was Nehemiah who called them to a work with large purpose. That work helped renew their bond to the ancient Covenant and reawakened their sense of themselves as creators of a living history. Together, the Covenant and common work constituted the religious and civic foundations of what has been called the "Second Commonwealth."

The Nehemiah story, however, also makes numerous other points, among them that even divinely inspired work projects are messy, complex, and full of human intrigue. How do you get forty disparate groups to cooperate in a single project: merchants, guilds, tribes, priests, all with their distinct constituencies and interests? And what happens when the whole thing goes off the track? Nehemiah had to craft a public process and hold selfish factions to account. When he learned that the nobles, for example, were making excessive profits from the poor, he called for a public assembly and challenged the leaders: "To the best of our power we have redeemed our brother Jews...and now you in turn are selling our brothers...." The nobles fell silent, but then replied: "We will make restitution" (5:6-12).

Current discussions of American democracy - and they seem to be legion - neglect such work-centered public involvement as a means of restoring public spiritedness and purpose. As a result, critics of our fragmented civil society often strike a hortatory tone, calling for a "return to family values." But historically, American identity - far more fractured by divisions of faith, culture, and ethnicity than the Jerusalemites - was tied to gritty, down-to-earth work for the public benefit. Such work created a practical quality to democracy and an expansive ideal that was able to bridge great differences. America's democratic spirit grew from the sense that the citizenry as a whole is responsible for the democratic experiment.

What we now call "volunteerism" was once understood as work for a common purpose, not merely noblesse oblige. In the past, ordinary people created and sustained American public goods, and institutions - from libraries to schools to fire departments. Government, rather than being seen primarily as a service provider, was understood as a catalyst for citizen initiative. In recent decades, this understanding of citizenship, which sprang from common projects, has sharply declined.

In his Outgrowing Democracy (University Press of America, 1984), John Lukacs argued that the 1950s was a critical decade in which America changed from a "democratic order," with a generous, if somewhat facile, estimation of the capacities of ordinary people, to a "bureaucratic state" whose cultural orientation underestimates the capacities of "the democratic masses." Today's comic strip character Dilbert - lost in a maze of endless human-relations jargon - serves as a model of this new culture.

The Nehemiah story suggests a path to civic and moral renewal that challenges the "specialized" and fragmented notion of work characteristic of our time. Democracy depends on the sort of work that creates a public identity. The question we face today is: How do citizens, in an increasingly stratified, consumer-oriented, depersonalized society reconnect with a vibrant vision of democracy?

Catholic social teaching is a resource. It stresses that the common good is constituted and enriched through the work of individuals who co-create their world. In his 1981 encyclical, On Human Work, John Paul II writes that society "is a great historical and social incarnation of the work of all generations." Human beings combine their deepest personal identity with membership in a people, and intend their work to increase the common good. Catholic social teaching can thus make an important contribution to contemporary democratic movements by encouraging citizens and institutions to reclaim their public purpose.

For the past decade, the Center for Democracy and Citizenship at the University of Minnesota's Humphrey Institute has drawn on such teachings, as well as other democratic traditions, in its focus on promoting "productive citizenship." The Center, working on the premise that substantial change in society depends on civic renewal of service-based institutions, has joined with schools, a nursing home, cooperative extension systems, an African-American hospital, public health departments, and a settlement house to promote grassroots civic involvement and change in institutional cultures. Two concepts are central: "public work" and "commonwealth."

Public work means sustained public effort - whether paid or unpaid - by a mix of people who undertake projects of civic usefulness. Public work highlights stake holding, ownership, accountability, and cooperative work. Expertise is important, but the experts do not dominate. Rather, they are part of a broad undertaking which draws out the talents of the community.

Commonwealth is the notion that a society's richness is related to its "public infrastructure" - such things as parks, libraries, roads, bridges - but also to government and other institutions that serve public purposes. There are many examples of public-spirited institutions in American history, including Catholic ones. They provide a sort of social and civic connecting tissue.

Since 1990, Public Achievement, the Center's civic-education effort with young people, has been working at Saint Bernard's School in a working-class neighborhood of Saint Paul, involving students in public-work projects. Teams of students between the ages of eight and eighteen, assisted by adult coaches, have designed and implemented a variety of civic programs; and almost all Saint Bernard's students have chosen to participate in Public Achievement. One group of fifth and sixth graders has been creating a safe neighborhood playground in an area that because of gang presence was thought to be "too dangerous." The students negotiated use of a lot from the parish, worked with the city for rezoning and street changes, and raised more than $40,000 to create the park. Another group, composed of seventh-grade girls, designed a curriculum about sexual harassment that has helped improve the culture of the neighborhood. The archdiocesan paper, The Catholic Spirit, reported that Public Achievement's dual emphases - "the secular portion (teaching democratic action) and the religious side (living out faith-based principles) - make up the real story at Saint Bernard's: the demands of faith are not met solely within the walls of one's church."

Moreover, schools themselves are changed through their involvement with Public Achievement. According to Dennis Donovan, a past principal at Saint Bernard's, "faculty meetings have become public meetings; teachers help to create agendas and they do regular public evaluations." A number of teachers have become involved with educational issues affecting the larger community, adding a deeper civic dimension to their individual and institutional identities.

On the college level, the institutions themselves have lost a robust sense of civic identity and involvement. The dominant understanding of citizenship has generally been exercised through community-service programs. But these are often at a far remove from the institution's core priorities. Thus for the concept of civic renewal to really take hold in such an environment, a substantial cultural change is needed.

In recent years, the College of Saint Catherine in Saint Paul has undertaken such a process, promoting the concepts of public work and citizenship. It has revised its core curriculum, added a common social justice course, and spawned a number of innovative partnerships with the broader community.

One example is its work with the Jane Addams School for Democracy in the West Side neighborhood of Saint Paul. The Addams School grew out of a partnership among Neighborhood House (a settlement house), the Center for Democracy and Citizenship, and the college. Students, faculty, and new immigrants - Hmong and Latinos - are working to create a "school" where mutual learning about language, culture, and citizenship occurs. Public work is a central element. Rather than simply provide services to needy groups, students are engaged with a mix of people in common projects. According to Mary Broderick, at the time Saint Catherine's interim president, this involvement is emblematic of the type of education the college is developing: "We link students to collaborative community work where they can experience their own potential for renewing society. Rather than focus on career preparation, we aim for learning that deepens professional identity and prepares for a life of meaning and purpose."

In a managerial world dominated by the values of the marketplace, it is daunting to imagine a vibrant, citizen-centered democracy. Calls for "community spirit" in a fragmented, unequal society sound quixotic. Yet the changes at both Saint Bernard's and Saint Catherine's suggest the powerful lesson of the Nehemiah story: Common work for large purpose, drawing upon the talents and capacities of ordinary people, can rebuild civic cultures. If similar acts of civic renewal were to take place widely, as the National Commission for Civic Renewal, chaired by Sam Nunn and William Bennett, has suggested, Americans would be able to regenerate an understanding of democracy worthy of our great history. One thing is certain: Only if Americans learn again that democracy is the work of everyone can we hope to reclaim our collective identity as a free, creative people for whom "democracy" forms a common bond.

Harry C. Boyte and Nancy N. Kari are co-authors of Building America: The Democratic Promise of Public Work (Temple, 1996). Boyte is senior fellow and co-director of the Center for Democracy and Citizenship at the Humphrey Institute of Public Affairs. Kari is director of faculty development at the College of Saint Catherine.

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