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|| <[Kaum beachtet von der Weltöffentlichkeit, bahnt sich der erste internationale Strafprozess gegen die Verantwortlichen und Strippenzieher der Corona‑P(l)andemie an. Denn beim Internationalem Strafgerichtshof (IStGH) in Den Haag wurde im Namen des britischen Volkes eine Klage wegen „Verbrechen gegen die Menschlichkeit“ gegen hochrangige und namhafte Eliten eingebracht. ((https://unser-mitteleuropa.com/corona-impfung-anklage-vor-internationalem-strafgerichtshof-wegen-verbrechen-gegen-die-menschlichkeit/ Corona-Impfung: Anklage vor Internationalem Strafgerichtshof wegen Verbrechen gegen die Menschlichkeit! – UPDATE)) ]> | <# <iframe width="100%" height="215" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1369730806&color=%234c4c54&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/radiomuenchen" title="Radio MĂŒnchen" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Radio MĂŒnchen</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/radiomuenchen/das-corona-unrecht-und-seine-tater" title="Das Corona-Unrecht und seine TĂ€ter: Die Aufarbeitung beginnt." target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Das Corona-Unrecht und seine TĂ€ter: Die Aufarbeitung beginnt.</a></div> #> ===Corona Transition== XML

Feed Titel: Transition News


Konzentrationskrise bei Kindern: Nicht nur das Smartphone ist schuld, sondern auch fehlende Freiheit

Viele Eltern und PĂ€dagogen beobachten mit Sorge, dass Kinder und Jugendliche zunehmend Schwierigkeiten haben, sich lĂ€nger zu konzentrieren – sei es im Unterricht, bei Hausaufgaben oder beim Lesen. Schnell wird der Verdacht auf Smartphones und Social Media gelenkt. Doch laut Experten wie dem Psychologen Simon MĂŒller und der Erziehungswissenschaftlerin Renate Zimmer liegt ein wesentlicher Teil des Problems auch woanders: in einem durchgetakteten Alltag, der Kindern kaum Raum fĂŒr freies Spiel, Langeweile und selbstgesteuerte Aufmerksamkeit lĂ€sst. Das berichtet die Frankfurter Rundschau.

MĂŒller erklĂ€rt, dass eine echte Kindheit einer natĂŒrlichen Entwicklungslogik folge, die vor allem aus freiem Spiel, Wiederholung und dem selbststĂ€ndigen Entwickeln von Ideen bestehe. Kinder lernen Aufmerksamkeit vor allem dadurch, dass sie diese selbst halten und lenken dĂŒrfen. Ein stĂ€ndig von außen strukturierter und reizintensiver Alltag – mit mehreren Terminen pro Woche – fĂŒhre dazu, dass Aufmerksamkeit «von außen gesteuert» werde, statt sich von innen zu entwickeln.

Langfristig leide darunter innere Motivation, Frustrationstoleranz und die FĂ€higkeit, sich aus eigenem Antrieb mit einer Sache zu beschĂ€ftigen. Auch Zimmer warnt: Kinder gewöhnen sich daran, stĂ€ndig unterhalten oder angeleitet zu werden. Langeweile werde dann nicht mehr als Chance fĂŒr KreativitĂ€t gesehen.

Experten empfehlen daher maximal zwei bis drei geplante AktivitĂ€ten pro Woche und viel freie, begleitete, aber nicht stĂ€ndig eingreifende Zeit (siehe dazu auch den TN-Artikel «Mentale StĂ€rken einer vergangenen Ära: Was die Generation der 60er- und 70er-Jahre durch fehlende Technik lernte»).

Diese Erkenntnisse relativieren die oft pauschale Schuldzuweisung an digitale Medien. Dennoch bleibt die Debatte um die Auswirkungen von Social Media hochaktuell. Politiker wie Schleswig-Holsteins MinisterprĂ€sident Daniel GĂŒnther (CDU) fordern ein Verbot sozialer Netzwerke fĂŒr Unter-16-JĂ€hrige, um Kinder vor Cybermobbing, Sucht und psychischer Belastung zu schĂŒtzen, und verweisen dabei auf Modelle wie in Australien (TN berichtete).

Kritiker halten solche Verbotsforderungen jedoch fĂŒr unangebracht und verlogen. Wissenschaftliche Stimmen, darunter Analysen des britischen South West Grid for Learning (SWGfL) und des Science Media Centre, betonen, dass die Evidenz fĂŒr positive Effekte eines pauschalen Verbots fehle. Zugleich wĂŒrden potenzielle Vorteile sozialer Medien – wie soziale Teilhabe, Informationszugang und Ausdrucksmöglichkeiten – ĂŒbersehen.

Ein Verbot könne Kinder von wichtigen Chancen abschneiden und sie daran hindern, digitale Kompetenzen zu erlernen. Zudem werde Social Media oft als alleiniger Verursacher von Problemen wie Einsamkeit, Angst oder Konzentrationsstörungen dargestellt, obwohl familiÀre, schulische und gesellschaftliche Faktoren mindestens ebenso bedeutsam seien.

Hinzu kommt die Inkonsequenz der Politik: WĂ€hrend Verbote gefordert werden, treibt Deutschland weiterhin den «DigitalPakt Schule» mit Milliardeninvestitionen in Hardware voran – ein Ansatz, dessen Nutzen fĂŒr das Lernen begrĂŒndet bezweifelt wird. Experten wie Ralf Lankau sehen darin eher einen Irrweg, der die Digitalisierung in Schulen ĂŒberbetont.

Statt simpler Verbote plĂ€dieren viele Fachleute fĂŒr nuanciertere AnsĂ€tze: bessere Plattformregulierung, Förderung von Medienkompetenz, datenschutzkonforme Altersverifikation und vor allem die StĂ€rkung von SelbststeuerungsfĂ€higkeiten durch ausreichend freie Zeit im echten Leben. Denn ob mit oder ohne Smartphone – Kinder brauchen vor allem Raum, um ihre Aufmerksamkeit selbst zu lenken.

Die NDR-Journalistin Annika Feldmann hat den Spieß in einem Kommentar sogar einmal umgedreht und meint:

«Social-Media-Verbot? Lieber fĂŒr Erwachsene statt fĂŒr Kinder!»

Feldmann plĂ€diert also fĂŒr einen Perspektivwechsel in der Debatte um Social-Media-Verbote, um die Debatte umzukehren und die eigentlichen Verantwortlichen in den Fokus zu rĂŒcken. Nicht nur widerspreche ein solches Verbot fĂŒr Kinder dem Recht auf digitale Teilhabe.

Auch sollten stattdessen die Plattformbetreiber stĂ€rker in die Verantwortung genommen werden, die vor allem auch Erwachsene in die Bredouille bringen, indem sie sie durch Desinformationen, KI-Fakes, Verschwörungstheorien und Love Scamming* gefĂ€hrdeten und sie dazu veranlassten, sich stundenlang durch «MĂŒll» zu scrollen, wĂ€hrend die Algorithmen der Plattformen gezielt suchterzeugende und extreme Inhalte pushen – rein aus Gewinninteresse. Der Algorithmus bestimme, was Nutzer sehen, und kenne eben keine Moral, sondern nur Aufmerksamkeitsmaximierung.

ZusĂ€tzlich argumentiert sie mit einer TĂ€ter-Opfer-Umkehr: Kinder mĂŒssten vor allem vor Erwachsenen geschĂŒtzt werden, die sie online belĂ€stigen, zu freizĂŒgigen Fotos auffordern oder zu Treffen locken. Statt die TĂ€ter (Erwachsene) zur Verantwortung zu ziehen, wolle man lieber die Opfer (Kinder) aussperren – deshalb ergebe ein Verbot fĂŒr «Boomer» ironischerweise mehr Sinn als eines fĂŒr Jugendliche.

* Ein Love Scammer (deutsch: LiebesbetrĂŒger) ist ein Krimineller, der auf Dating-Plattformen oder in sozialen Netzwerken gefĂ€lschte Profile nutzt, um Opfer emotional zu manipulieren und ihnen Geld zu entlocken. Die BetrĂŒger tĂ€uschen wahre Liebe vor, um Vertrauen aufzubauen, und bitten spĂ€ter unter VorwĂ€nden wie Notsituationen um finanzielle Hilfe.

«Europas Vorstoß fĂŒr eine EU-Armee signalisiert den Beginn der Zersplitterung der NATO»

Der spanische MinisterprĂ€sident Pedro SĂĄnchez hat offen die Schaffung einer europĂ€ischen Armee gefordert und gewarnt, dass Europa angesichts zunehmender geopolitischer Spannungen seine kollektiven VerteidigungsfĂ€higkeiten stĂ€rken mĂŒsse. Laut dem US-Finanzanalytiker Martin Armstrong ist dies «Teil eines viel umfassenderen Wandels, der sich hinter den Kulissen vollzieht, wĂ€hrend sich Europa still und leise auf eine Welt vorbereitet, in der die NATO in ihrer derzeitigen Form möglicherweise nicht mehr funktionieren wird». Diese vor wenigen Jahren politisch undenkbare Debatte habe an Dynamik gewonnen, da das Vertrauen in die Nachkriegsordnung bröckle. Armstrong erlĂ€utert:

«Ich habe wiederholt davor gewarnt, dass die NATO nie dafĂŒr gedacht war, auf unbestimmte Zeit zu bestehen. Sie war ein BĂŒndnis des Kalten Krieges, das um die sowjetische Bedrohung herum aufgebaut und ĂŒberwiegend von den Vereinigten Staaten finanziert wurde. Nach dem Zusammenbruch der Sowjetunion verlor die NATO ihren ursprĂŒnglichen Zweck. Anstatt sich aufzulösen, dehnte sie sich nach Osten aus und wandelte sich von einem VerteidigungsbĂŒndnis zu einem geopolitischen Instrument, das dazu dient, Einfluss in ganz Europa und darĂŒber hinaus auszuĂŒben.»

Die USA wĂŒrden sich zunehmend auf China und innenpolitische InstabilitĂ€t konzentrieren, so der Finanzanalytiker weiter. Europa sehe sich gleichzeitig mit wirtschaftlicher Stagnation, Migrationskrisen, Staatsschuldenproblemen und Energieknappheit konfrontiert. Den europĂ€ischen Regierungen werde zudem bewusst, dass sie sich möglicherweise nicht mehr auf Washington als unangefochtenen Garanten ihrer Sicherheit verlassen können. Diese Erkenntnis sei der Grund fĂŒr die Forderungen nach einer europĂ€ischen MilitĂ€rstruktur.

Der Zeitpunkt sei entscheidend: Die MilitĂ€rausgaben auf dem gesamten Kontinent steigen explosionsartig. Die NATO-Mitglieder stĂŒnden unter Druck, ihre Verteidigungsausgaben auf 3,5 Prozent des BIP anzuheben. Armstrong gibt zu bedenken:

«Was dies besonders gefĂ€hrlich macht, ist, dass es Europa an politischer Einheit mangelt, wĂ€hrend es ĂŒber militĂ€rische Einheit spricht. Spanien selbst hat sich im Iran-Konflikt bereits öffentlich von Teilen der NATO distanziert, indem es eine offensive Beteiligung ablehnte und sich von Washingtons Position abgrenzte. Das offenbart die zentrale SchwĂ€che innerhalb des BĂŒndnisses. Sobald die Mitgliedstaaten bei großen Konflikten unterschiedliche Positionen einnehmen, beginnt der Zusammenhalt zu bröckeln.
Frankreich strebt nach strategischer Autonomie. Deutschland will die militĂ€rische FĂŒhrungsrolle ĂŒbernehmen. Osteuropa wĂŒnscht sich eine maximale Konfrontation mit Russland. SĂŒdeuropa ist eher besorgt ĂŒber wirtschaftliche InstabilitĂ€t und Migration. Großbritannien bleibt Washington verbunden, hat aber selbst mit wirtschaftlichen Schwierigkeiten zu kĂ€mpfen. Das sind keine einheitlichen Ziele. Es handelt sich um konkurrierende Interessen, die vorĂŒbergehend durch Angst und Unsicherheit zusammengehalten werden.»

Der Finanzanalytiker weist darauf hin, dass sich Europas wirtschaftliche Grundlage gleichzeitig abschwĂ€cht. Die Netto-Null-Politik habe die Energiepreise in die Höhe getrieben, die Industrie wandere ab, die Verschuldung steige weiter an und das Wachstum stagniere in weiten Teilen des Kontinents. Dennoch wĂŒrden die Regierungen gleichzeitig eine massive militĂ€rische AufrĂŒstung diskutieren. Historisch gesehen fĂŒhre diese Kombination eher zu innerer InstabilitĂ€t als zu langfristiger StĂ€rke.

Die Ironie sei, dass Europa Jahrzehnte damit verbracht habe, Grenzen abzubauen, nationale Armeen zu verkleinern und die Idee zu fördern, dass Krieg zwischen GroßmĂ€chten ĂŒberholt sei. Nun diskutiere dieselbe politische Klasse ĂŒber «MilitĂ€r-Schengen»-Systeme, um Truppen schnell durch Europa zu verlegen, und debattiere offen ĂŒber nukleare Abschreckung unabhĂ€ngig von den USA. Armstrong stellt fest:

«Der Kriegszyklus dreht sich schon seit Jahren, und was Sie derzeit beobachten, ist die Reaktion der Institutionen darauf. Die Regierungen spĂŒren, dass sich das geopolitische Umfeld verschlechtert, und versuchen daher, die militĂ€rische Macht zu zentralisieren, bevor die Krise voll ausbricht. Historisch gesehen fĂŒhrt die Schaffung grĂ¶ĂŸerer supranationaler MilitĂ€rstrukturen jedoch oft zu einer VerschĂ€rfung der Spannungen, da sie die Ängste unter den Rivalen schĂŒrt und die FlexibilitĂ€t der Mitgliedstaaten einschrĂ€nkt.»

Das grĂ¶ĂŸere Problem sei, dass eine europĂ€ische Armee die NATO selbst schwĂ€chen wĂŒrde. Mit eigenen Kommandos und unabhĂ€ngigen MilitĂ€rstrukturen wĂŒrde Europa sich von Washington lösen – und die NATO verliere nach und nach an Bedeutung. Armstrong schließt:

«Was Politiker nun öffentlich zugeben, ist, dass sie nicht mehr voll und ganz darauf vertrauen, dass die bestehende Struktur die nĂ€chste große Krise ĂŒberstehen wird. Sobald Allianzen beginnen, ihre eigene Zukunft offen infrage zu stellen, hat die Fragmentierung hinter den Kulissen bereits begonnen.»

«Methodisches Fundament von â€čHantavirusâ€ș-Nachweis ist – bei allem Respekt – erbĂ€rmlich schwach»

In diesen Tagen beherrscht das sogenannte «Hantavirus» die Schlagzeilen. Ein Cluster von Erkrankungen auf dem Expeditionsschiff MV Hondius hat weltweit fĂŒr Aufregung gesorgt. Die WHO informierte ĂŒber den angeblichen «Ausbruch», QuarantĂ€nemaßnahmen wurden eingeleitet – und die Systemmedien schalteten in den Krisenmodus. Und das mRNA-«Impf»-Projekt dazu lĂ€uft schon seit 2023 (TN berichtete).

Das Ganze erinnert arg an die Corona-Inszenierung, und auch hier stellt sich – genau wie bei SARS-CoV-2* – die Frage: Wurde das, was da als Hantavirus prĂ€sentiert wird, ĂŒberhaupt als ein solches solide nachgewiesen? Dieser Frage ist NEXT LEVEL jetzt nachgegangen. Ergebnis:

«Die berĂŒhmte Arbeit von Lee et al. aus dem Jahr 1978 gilt bis heute als PrimĂ€rpublikation zum â€čHantavirusâ€ș. Und wenn man diese Studie genau liest, bleibt von einem Virusnachweis nichts ĂŒbrig. Das methodische Fundament ist – bei allem Respekt – erbĂ€rmlich schwach.»

So gingen die Forscher um Ho Wang Lee folgendermaßen vor: Sie nahmen Lungenhomogenat (zerstampfte Lunge) von wild gefangenen FeldmĂ€usen oder einen Mix aus Patienten-Serum und Maus-Material. Dieses Material wurde intraperitoneal (in die Bauchhöhle) oder auch in andere Bereiche injiziert. Ziel war es, den vermeintlichen Erreger in diesen MĂ€usen zu vermehren.

Danach wurden diese inokulierten MĂ€use nach einigen Wochen getötet, ihre Lungen entnommen, diese in Scheiben geschnitten und als Antigen-PrĂ€paration fĂŒr den Immunfluoreszenz-Test verwendet. Hintergrund: Man ging davon aus, dass die gestreiften FeldmĂ€use das natĂŒrliche Reservoir des Erregers sind. Daraufhin wurden diese Proben mit Patientenseren (als Antikörper-Quelle) vermengt. Die Autoren gingen davon aus, dass diese Seren spezifische Antikörper gegen den hypothetischen Erreger enthalten.

Anschließend wurde ein fluoreszenzmarkierter SekundĂ€rantikörper (anti-human-IgG, chemisch gekoppelt mit einem Fluorochrom, klassischerweise Fluorescein-Isothiocyanat, kurz FITC) hinzugefĂŒgt. Dieser bindet an die menschlichen Antikörper, die sich zuvor an das «Antigen» im MĂ€usegewebe gebunden haben. Unter dem Fluoreszenzmikroskop (mit UV-Licht angeregt) leuchtet dann das gebundene FITC gelb-grĂŒn auf.

Anschließend untersuchten sie die Organe der Versuchstiere mithilfe der Immunfluoreszenz – einer Technik, die im Mikroskop kĂŒnstliche Lichtsignale produziert, wenn bestimmte Antikörper binden.

Das zentrale Problem: Ein echter Virusnachweis im klassischen Sinne gelang nicht. Die Autoren rĂ€umen selbst ein, dass sich der vermeintliche Erreger weder in verschiedenen Zellkulturen noch in Labortieren kultivieren ließ. Und obwohl die MĂ€use mit dem angeblichen «Hantavirus-Material» inokuliert wurden, wurden sie nicht krank. Weder die wild gefangenen noch die experimentell behandelten Tiere entwickelten jemals sichtbare Anzeichen einer Erkrankung – was die Autoren selbst explizit erwĂ€hnen. Es wurde also keine ĂŒbertragbare Krankheit, sondern lediglich ein Labor-Signal erzeugt.

Das HerzstĂŒck der Studie bildet also ein immunfluoreszenzbasiertes «Nachweis»system. Gewebe aus den MĂ€uselungen diente als «Antigen», die Patientenseren als Quelle fĂŒr «Antikörper». Das dabei entstehende Leuchten im Mikroskop wurde als Beleg fĂŒr die Anwesenheit des Erregers interpretiert. Die Autoren selbst beschreiben dieses Vorgehen jedoch offen als «admittedly circular skeleton» – also als zugegebenermaßen zirkulĂ€res GerĂŒst. Denn man verwendete das Signal, um die Existenz des Erregers zu belegen, und definierte den Erreger zugleich ĂŒber eben dieses Signal. Ein klassischer Zirkelschluss.

Hinzu kommen erhebliche Schwierigkeiten bei der Interpretation: Die IntensitĂ€t und Ausdehnung der Fluoreszenz ließen sich nur schwer bewerten, wie die Forscher einrĂ€umen. Auch bei den angeblichen Isolaten aus Patientenseren bleiben Zweifel. Die Autoren schreiben, dass sie diesen nicht mit «unequivocal security» (uneingeschrĂ€nkter Sicherheit) vertrauen könnten, weil fĂŒr die Versuche Tiere vom koreanischen Festland verwendet wurden – aus Regionen, in denen solche Fluoreszenzsignale bei WildmĂ€usen bereits natĂŒrlich vorkommen.

Belastbare Negativkontrollen mit garantiert signalfreien Tieren waren damit nicht gewĂ€hrleistet. Trotz dieser EinschrĂ€nkungen – fehlende Kultivierung, ausbleibende Krankheitssymptome bei den Versuchstieren und ein zirkulĂ€res Nachweissystem – wurde diese Arbeit zum Grundstein des Hantavirus-Konzepts. Sie legte den Grund fĂŒr spĂ€tere Forschungen und die Einordnung des Erregers in die heutige Virologie.

Statt eines klar definierten, isolierbaren Partikels, das bei gesunden Tieren oder Menschen reproduzierbar typische Symptome auslöst, bleibt nur ein indirektes Labor-Signal. Die Debatte um die Hantavirus-Studie von Lee et al. zeigt exemplarisch, wie sehr etablierte virologische Konzepte auf Interpretationen und technischen Signalen beruhen.

* Siehe dazu den OffGuardian-Artikel «Phantom Virus: In search of Sars-CoV-2» von Konstantin Demeter, Stefano Scoglio und mir sowie den TN-Beitrag «Virusnachweis, wo bist du? Teil II – eine Replik auf Michael Palmer» von Marvin Haberland, Konstantin Demeter und mir.

Die NeutralitÀt als Errungenschaft der AufklÀrung

Nach dem 30-jĂ€hrigen Krieg setzte der WestfĂ€lische Friede 1648 unter anderem mit den GrundsĂ€tzen der Amnestie hinsichtlich der Kriegsbeteiligten und der Toleranz gegenĂŒber der Religion wichtige friedenspolitische Akzente. Dies waren auch zentrale Elemente einer FrĂŒhaufklĂ€rung, die spĂ€ter mit der Ausarbeitung des Völkerrechts (u.a. Emer de Vattel als Vertreter der Westschweizer Naturrechtsschule) und mit dem Menschenrechts-Diskurs fortgesetzt wurde.

Solche Elemente waren auch fĂŒr die neutrale Eidgenossenschaft wichtig, die in die kriegerischen Auseinandersetzungen, vor allem mit den «BĂŒndner Wirren», einbezogen wurde. Die Schweiz wurde zudem mit dem WestfĂ€lischen Frieden ein souverĂ€nes Land. 26 Jahre danach, nĂ€mlich 1674, bezeichnete die eidgenössische Tagsatzung die Schweiz erstmals offiziell als «neutrales Land». Allerdings war der Abschluss von DefensivbĂŒndnissen nach wie vor zulĂ€ssig und die Eidgenossenschaft war in zahlreiche Allianzen verstrickt. Das fĂŒhrte zu WidersprĂŒchen und machtpolitische Interessen lĂ€hmten immer wieder eine friedliche Entwicklung. Trotzdem brachte die erklĂ€rte NeutralitĂ€t der multikulturellen und multireligiösen Schweiz zunehmend die angestrebte Einheit.

Der Eidgenossenschaft gelang es dann auch gut, sich aus den europĂ€ischen Glaubens-, Eroberungs- und Erbfolgekriegen der frĂŒhen Neuzeit herauszuhalten. 1647 hatte auch mit der «Defensionale von Wil», der ersten eidgenössischen Wehrordnung, die bewaffnete NeutralitĂ€t immer mehr Gestalt angenommen. Die Eidgenossenschaft regte auch dank der NeutralitĂ€t im Rahmen der Außenpolitik umfassende Schiedsgerichtsverfahren an und machte sich als Vermittlerin einen Namen. Auch die Solddienste wurden immer mehr kritisiert und schließlich verboten.

Was bedeutet die Schweizer NeutralitÀt?

Der Wiener Kongress 1815 und die GrĂŒndung des Bundesstaates 1848 waren wichtige Wegmarken, um die schweizerische NeutralitĂ€t national und international zu stĂ€rken. Die Haager Friedensordnung von 1907 ergĂ€nzte das neutrale Fundament der Eidgenossenschaft entscheidend. Auch wenn ĂŒber 100 Jahre alt, gilt diese Friedensordnung heute immer noch als Völkergewohnheitsrecht. Darin werden die Rechte und Pflichten eines neutralen Landes festgehalten.

Das sind GrundsĂ€tze, die auf die Errungenschaften der AufklĂ€rung und des modernen Naturrechts hinweisen. Das bedeutet im Kern die Nichtbeteiligung der Schweiz an einem Krieg anderer Staaten (heute zusĂ€tzlich flankiert von einer möglichst strengen Kriegsmaterialgesetzgebung). Sie darf niemanden angreifen und an keinen militĂ€rischen BĂŒndnissen (zum Beispiel heute die NATO) teilnehmen. Die Schweiz muss weiter im Rahmen der bewaffneten NeutralitĂ€t ihre Selbstverteidigung sicherstellen und sie muss die KriegsfĂŒhrenden gleichbehandeln. Sie darf keine Söldner fĂŒr Kriegsparteien stellen. In diesem Zusammenhang sollten auch die «modernen Solddienste» der Swisscoy im Kosovo im Rahmen der NATO endlich hinterfragt werden. Eine weitere Pflicht des neutralen Landes ist es, das eigene Territorium nicht fĂŒr die Kriegsparteien zur VerfĂŒgung zu stellen. Zudem hat es das Recht auf die Unverletzlichkeit des eigenen Territoriums.

Die NeutralitĂ€t fußt auf der Erfahrung, dass sich Konflikte nicht mit Gewalt, sondern nur durch KlĂ€rung der Ursachen lösen lassen. NeutralitĂ€t verlangt, Konflikte aufmerksam zu verfolgen, zu verarbeiten und nicht «wegzuschauen». Nur die konsequente Haltung des Neutralen kann die Schweiz aus Konflikten heraushalten. Der neutrale Staat muss auf den Konflikt an sich zielen und nicht auf einen bestimmten Beteiligten eines Konfliktes. Indem die neutrale Schweiz nicht einseitig eine Konfliktpartei unterstĂŒtzt, kann sie mit dem Angebot der Vermittlung zur Konfliktlösung beitragen und ihre Rolle als Schutzmacht bekrĂ€ftigen.

Bundesrat und Parlament mĂŒssen Gewalt, Krieg und Terror von allen Seiten klar ablehnen, GesprĂ€che einfordern und auf diese Weise den Frieden am besten zu fördern. Die kompromisslose Haltung der neutralen Schweiz ist auch zentral fĂŒr den inneren Zusammenhalt unseres Landes. Anstatt zu moralisieren, muss die Schweiz, also der Bundesrat und das Parlament, konsequent auf Machtpolitik verzichten. Dabei mĂŒssen die Schweizer BĂŒrger sowie die Medien nicht gesinnungsneutral bleiben, sondern können sich eine kritische Meinung zu jedem Konflikt bilden und diese auch öffentlich vertreten. Auf diese Weise schĂŒtzt die NeutralitĂ€t auch die Meinungsfreiheit eines Landes.

Die NeutralitÀt unter Druck

Kriegsparteien, die ihre Übermacht durchsetzen wollen, lehnen es ab, Entstehung und Ursachen der Konflikte als Prozesse zu sehen. Aus diesen GrĂŒnden haben Kriegsparteien, die auf ihre Übermacht zĂ€hlen, kein Interesse an neutralen Standpunkten, die ihren Herrschaftsanspruch argumentativ oder auch territorial relativieren könnten. Nach Vormacht strebende Kriegsparteien werden deshalb den neutralen Standpunkt offen oder verdeckt bekĂ€mpfen. Die fortlaufenden, vielfĂ€ltigen Angriffe der USA auf die Schweiz sind auch in diesem Kontext einzuordnen.

Die Hegemonie besonders der USA formt die Medienberichterstattung, so dass von den zeitlichen und rĂ€umlichen Dimensionen der Konfliktprozesse zunehmend abgelenkt wird. Dadurch wird der Konflikt in Bezug auf die Entstehung, die Ursachen sowie seine Entwicklung zunehmend unkenntlich gemacht, die Überschaubarkeit des Herganges wird verschleiert. Somit bleiben die Konfliktursachen im Dunkeln und sichtbar bleibt nur, was der entsprechende Hegemon medienwirksam arrangiert, ohne nennenswerte Opposition beschließt und mehr oder weniger rĂŒcksichtslos durchfĂŒhrt.

Die Dekonstruktion der NeutralitÀt

Kriegsparteien, die ihre Macht durchsetzen wollen, empfinden die neutrale Position als potenzielle EinschrĂ€nkung. Sie werfen deshalb der neutralen Position vor, im Interesse der Gegenpartei zu handeln. Die Dekonstruktionsversuche der NeutralitĂ€t als wegschauende Trittbrettfahrerin bis zur heimlichen BĂŒndnispartnerin der gegnerischen Kriegspartei liegen im Interesse der Kriegswilligen und sollten besser verstĂ€ndlich gemacht werden.

«Wir mĂŒssen uns eben die Tatsache vor Augen halten, dass im Grunde kein Angehöriger einer kriegsfĂŒhrenden Nation eine neutrale Gesinnung als berechtigt empfindet. Er kann das mit dem Verstande, wenn er ihn gewaltig anstrengt, aber er kann es nicht mit dem Herzen.»

Das sagte Carl Spitteler schon vor mehr als 100 Jahren. Hier haken die NeutralitĂ€tsgegner auch heute mit ihrer Propaganda und ihren unsinnigen Unterstellungen ein. Das ist nicht «Mainstream», sondern Manipulation der öffentlichen Meinung: NeutralitĂ€t wird als Fehlverhalten, als Spionage fĂŒr die andere Kriegspartei verunglimpft. Doch der VerrĂ€ter ist nicht der Neutrale, sondern derjenige, der die Schweiz hinterrĂŒcks an kriegerische fremde BĂŒndnisse verschachern will. Die sicherheitspolitische Strategie des Bundesrates vom 12. Dezember 2025 legt dazu ein beredtes Zeugnis ab. Auf rund 60 Seiten sind nur eineinhalb Seiten der NeutralitĂ€t gewidmet. Auch die nationalrĂ€tliche Debatte wĂ€hrend der FrĂŒhlingssession zum Thema NeutralitĂ€t kam mehr als bescheiden daher und im Gegensatz zum StĂ€nderat war sie flach und inhaltsleer.

Auch Thomas Cottier (siehe NZZ vom 30. MĂ€rz 2026) und RenĂ© Rhinow (siehe NZZ vom 7. April 2026) sind «Architekten» solcher Dekonstruktion. Sie wollen offenbar hinter die AufklĂ€rung zurĂŒck, reden von «situativer NeutralitĂ€t» (Rhinow) und versuchen so eine unsĂ€gliche «Rosinenpickerei» der Schweiz zu fördern. Rhinow weiter:

«Im Klartext: neutral zu sein und zu bleiben, wenn es unserer Sicherheit nĂŒtzt, sie zu verlassen, wenn gewichtige außen-, wirtschafts- und sicherheitspolitische GrĂŒnde Vorrang genießen.»

Cottier und Rhinow frönen damit als Juristen einem Rechtspositivismus und fordern unverblĂŒmt das Einbinden der Schweiz in die zentralistischen Fehlkonstruktionen der EU und der NATO. Beide Organisationen fordern ein «kriegstĂŒchtiges Europa» und wollen dies mit BĂŒndnispolitik und AufrĂŒstung erreichen – ganz so wie am Vorabend des Ersten Weltkrieges.

Die Schweizer NeutralitÀt jenseits von VasallitÀt

Der Weg Europas aus dieser heillos verfahrenen Situation heraus und zurĂŒck zum universalen Auftrag der AufklĂ€rung fĂŒhrt ĂŒber die NeutralitĂ€t. Das muss der Beitrag der Erneuerung der Schweizer NeutralitĂ€t sein und deshalb muss eine klare Definition derselben mithilfe der NeutralitĂ€tsinitiative in der Bundesverfassung verankert werden. Denn die Schweizer NeutralitĂ€t ist das Ergebnis ihrer besonderen gesellschaftlichen und wirtschaftlichen Entwicklung, die sich frĂŒhzeitig am gegenseitigen wirtschaftlichen Vorteil und nicht an den kolonialen Übergriffen orientierte. Die Wiedererlangung der Errungenschaften der AufklĂ€rung, und dazu gehört die NeutralitĂ€t, fĂŒhrt letztlich zum Ziel eines eidgenössischen Europas.

Die Schweiz muss außerhalb von sklavischen BĂŒndnispflichten und VasallitĂ€t stehen. Sie leistet sich so eine eigenstĂ€ndige, wohl begrĂŒndete Meinung und bleibt mit allen in einem dialogischen Kontakt. Die Schweizer NeutralitĂ€t ist ĂŒber alle Parteien hinweg ein politischer Auftrag der Schweiz. Das BedĂŒrfnis der Menschen nach Frieden muss ĂŒber die machtpolitischen Interessen gestellt werden. Nur falls die politische UnabhĂ€ngigkeit der Schweiz verteidigt werden kann, ist es möglich, die Errungenschaft eines aufgeklĂ€rten, freiheitlichen Menschenbildes zu sichern und weiterzuentwickeln.

Jene, die bisher das Narrativ der «SVP»- oder «Putin-Initiative» vorschieben, weichen damit nur der Frage nach den Ursachen der zunehmenden Konflikte aus. Dadurch akzeptieren sie teilweise unbewusst oder resignierend den laufenden Prozess der EntmĂŒndigung.

Hans Bieri, Schweizerische Vereinigung fĂŒr Landwirtschaft und Industrie (SVIL), Mitglied im Komitee der NeutralitĂ€tsinitiative.

René Roca, Forschungsinstitut direkte Demokratie (FIDD), Mitglied im Komitee der NeutralitÀtsinitiative.

Eine gekĂŒrzte Version des Artikels erschien in der NZZ vom 30. April 2026.

Imperium in Schutt und Asche (Teil 4): Reform eines zerstörerischen Systems reicht nicht

Ich sage, dass Menschen keine wirksame Massenbewegung genau in dem Moment aufbauen können, in dem sie diese plötzlich brauchen. Vertrauen, Beziehungen, organisatorische Erfahrung und soziale Infrastruktur entstehen nicht spontan. Sie mĂŒssen bereits existieren. Genau diese Grundlagen hat die USA nach meiner Auffassung in den letzten Jahrzehnten systematisch zerstört.

Nun brauchen die Menschen SolidaritĂ€t und kollektive StĂ€rke, aber die Voraussetzungen dafĂŒr fehlen. Die Menschen wissen nicht mehr, wie sie tragfĂ€hige Gemeinschaften aufbauen, und oft wollen sie die dafĂŒr notwendige Arbeit auch nicht leisten. Sie wĂŒnschen sich die Vorteile von Organisation und Zusammenhalt, ohne Opfer zu bringen, Konflikte auszuhalten oder langfristig Verantwortung fĂŒreinander zu ĂŒbernehmen.

Ich erklÀre, dass das US-amerikanische System nicht versagt. Es funktioniert vielmehr genau so, wie seine Kultur es hervorbringt. Viele Menschen fragen mich stÀndig nach einer Lösung. Doch ich antworte: Niemand kann eine Lösung finden, solange das eigentliche Problem nicht benannt wird.

Die Frage lautet: Welche Menschen bringt das System hervor?

Die Frage lautet nicht einfach: Wie reparieren wir das politische System? Die tiefere Frage lautet: Welche Kultur bringt dieses System hervor, und welche Art von Menschen erzeugt diese Kultur? Ich argumentiere, dass Amerika zuerst verstehen muss, was es tatsĂ€chlich ist – nicht, was es vorgibt zu sein. Zwischen Selbstbild und Wirklichkeit besteht aus meiner Sicht eine gewaltige LĂŒcke.

Um das zu erklĂ€ren, spreche ich ĂŒber das Milgram-Experiment. Dort verabreichten ganz normale Menschen, die glaubten, an einer wissenschaftlichen Studie teilzunehmen, auf Anweisung einer AutoritĂ€tsperson vermeintlich immer stĂ€rkere StromschlĂ€ge an eine andere Person. Obwohl die angeblich Betroffenen um Hilfe schrien, Schmerzen Ă€ußerten und schließlich verstummten, machten die meisten weiter.

Viele Menschen deuten dieses Experiment so, als zeige es nur, wie manipulierbar Menschen seien oder wie stark sozialer Druck wirke. Ich widerspreche dieser Lesart. FĂŒr mich zeigt das Experiment etwas anderes: Es offenbart eine Kultur, in der Macht selbst LegitimitĂ€t erzeugt.

Menschen respektieren brutale AutoritĂ€t nicht trotz ihrer HĂ€rte, sondern gerade wegen ihr. Wer Macht besitzt, erscheint legitim. Wer verliert, gilt als selbst verantwortlich fĂŒr sein Leid. Ich argumentiere, dass sich diese Haltung durch die gesamte amerikanische Kultur zieht. Gewinnen steht ĂŒber allem.

Erfolg bedeutet Dominanz. Sprache verrÀt diese Werte: Unternehmen wollen Konkurrenten vernichten, MÀrkte beherrschen und Gegner zerstören. Wenn ein Konzernchef riesige Vermögen anhÀuft, wÀhrend Angestellte kaum leben können, sehen viele darin keinen moralischen Widerspruch. Im Gegenteil: Es erscheint als Beweis erfolgreichen Handelns. Der Gewinner bekommt alles.

Dasselbe gilt fĂŒr politische Korruption. Wenn MilliardĂ€re Macht kaufen, interpretieren viele Menschen dies nicht als Verrat am System, sondern als Ausdruck von Erfolg innerhalb des Systems.

Ich sage, dass die Gewalt und Ausbeutung, die westliche Staaten und Eliten ĂŒber Jahrzehnte in anderen LĂ€ndern betrieben haben, nicht im Gegensatz zu westlichen Werten stehen. Sie folgen denselben kulturellen Grundlagen.

Menschen identifizieren sich mit den Gewinnern

Die amerikanische Ursprungsgeschichte handelt vom Siedler, der Land nimmt, indigene Menschen verdrĂ€ngt oder vernichtet und seine Expansion moralisch rechtfertigt. Solche Ursprungsgeschichten verschwinden nicht. Sie formen Generationen. Sie lehren Menschen, was als StĂ€rke gilt und wer moralische Berechtigung besitzt. Wer gewinnt, gilt als ĂŒberlegen. Wer verliert, hat nach dieser Logik versagt.

Deshalb organisieren sich Menschen selbst dann kaum, wenn Nachbarn ihr Zuhause verlieren oder wenn Arbeiter gegen ihre eigenen Interessen stimmen. Viele identifizieren sich nicht mit anderen Menschen in Àhnlicher Lage. Sie identifizieren sich mit den Gewinnern. Sie hoffen, selbst irgendwann reich, mÀchtig und unangreifbar zu werden. Deshalb wollen sie Regeln nicht verÀndern. Sie hoffen, eines Tages selbst von denselben Regeln zu profitieren. Diese Lotterie-MentalitÀt verhindert SolidaritÀt.

Ich sage, dass dieselbe Kultur sowohl die Eliten als auch die UnterdrĂŒckten prĂ€gt. Gewalt, Dominanz und Ausbeutung werden von oben und unten verinnerlicht. Wenn Menschen dann selbst unter Druck geraten, reagieren sie oft mit derselben Denkweise, die das Problem ĂŒberhaupt hervorgebracht hat: Wut, Schuldzuweisung und der Wunsch nach schneller Zerstörung statt langfristigem Aufbau.

Ich erklĂ€re außerdem, dass Menschen nur zu dem fĂ€hig sind, worauf ihre Gesellschaft sie vorbereitet. Deshalb spreche ich ĂŒber staatsbĂŒrgerliche Bildung. Millionen Menschen wissen kaum etwas darĂŒber, wie ihre Regierung funktioniert, welche Rechte sie besitzen oder wie politische Prozesse ablaufen. Viele SchĂŒler können grundlegende Fragen zum politischen System nicht beantworten. Manche erklĂ€ren dies mit unterfinanzierten Schulen oder schlechten LehrplĂ€nen.

Ich erkenne diese Faktoren an, stelle aber eine andere Frage: Warum akzeptiert eine Gesellschaft, die sich demokratisch nennt, ĂŒberhaupt, dass staatsbĂŒrgerliche Bildung verschwindet? Wenn Demokratie tatsĂ€chlich ein Kernwert wĂ€re, hĂ€tte diese Entwicklung massiven Widerstand ausgelöst. Dass dies nicht geschieht, zeigt mir, dass Demokratie oft eher eine symbolische Rolle spielt.

Bildung dient in der amerikanischen Vorstellung vor allem dazu, Menschen wirtschaftlich verwertbar zu machen. Schulen bereiten auf Arbeit vor, nicht auf politische Selbstregierung. Menschen lernen, wie sie erfolgreich konkurrieren, aber nicht, wie sie gemeinsam handeln oder Institutionen kontrollieren. Das Ergebnis ist eine Bevölkerung, die politische Macht kaum versteht und deshalb Schwierigkeiten hat, ihr wirksam entgegenzutreten.

Soziales Vertrauen erodiert

Dazu kommt der Zusammenbruch sozialen Vertrauens. Ich verweise auf Umfragen, die zeigen, dass immer weniger Menschen glauben, anderen vertrauen zu können. Das Misstrauen gegenĂŒber Medien, Unternehmen, religiösen Institutionen, Banken, Politik und selbst Nachbarn nimmt zu. Mich ĂŒberrascht das nicht.

Eine Gesellschaft, die Menschen stÀndig vermittelt, dass jeder zuerst an sich selbst denken muss, zerstört die Grundlage gegenseitigen Vertrauens. Vertrauen entsteht nur, wenn Menschen glauben, dass andere ihr Wohlergehen ebenfalls ernst nehmen. Doch die kulturelle Botschaft lautet hÀufig: Jeder kÀmpft allein.

Parallel dazu zerfallen Organisationen und gemeinschaftliche Strukturen. Gewerkschaften verlieren Mitglieder, Vereine verschwinden, Nachbarschaften lösen sich auf. Menschen verbringen selbst ihre Freizeit zunehmend isoliert. Ich greife das Bild des «Bowling Alone» auf: Menschen gehen zwar noch bowlen, aber nicht mehr gemeinsam. Das klingt zunĂ€chst unbedeutend, ist fĂŒr mich aber ein Symbol kultureller Vereinzelung. Wer nie gemeinsam handelt, lernt keine SolidaritĂ€t. Wer keine Teams bildet, entwickelt keine FĂ€higkeit zu langfristiger Organisation.

Ich betone, dass jede erfolgreiche Widerstandsbewegung auf bereits vorhandenen Strukturen aufbaute. Die BĂŒrgerrechtsbewegung entstand nicht aus dem Nichts. Arbeiterbewegungen entstanden nicht spontan. Antikoloniale KĂ€mpfe bauten auf Gemeinschaften, religiösen Netzwerken, Organisationen und LoyalitĂ€ten auf, die bereits vorhanden waren.

Niemand erschafft eine belastbare Massenbewegung in dem Augenblick, in dem sie dringend gebraucht wird. Vertrauen muss wachsen. Beziehungen mĂŒssen bestehen. Organisatorische FĂ€higkeiten mĂŒssen vorher entwickelt werden. Genau diese Grundlagen fehlen heute.

Ich sage zudem, dass sogar die FĂ€higkeit zum konzentrierten Denken geschwĂ€cht wird. Digitale Plattformen profitieren davon, Aufmerksamkeit einzufangen und Menschen stĂ€ndig neuen Reizen auszusetzen. Kurze Videos, endloses Scrollen und dauernde emotionale Trigger zerstĂŒckeln Aufmerksamkeit. Menschen wechseln permanent zwischen Bildschirmen, Themen und Reizen. Die FĂ€higkeit, lĂ€ngere Zeit ĂŒber komplexe Fragen nachzudenken, geht verloren.

Doch echte politische Organisation verlangt genau das Gegenteil. Menschen mĂŒssen lange Texte lesen, komplexe Probleme durchdenken, Besprechungen aushalten, Frustration ertragen und ĂŒber Jahre auf Ziele hinarbeiten, ohne unmittelbare Ergebnisse zu sehen. Langfristige Bewegungen entstehen aus Geduld, Konzentration und Disziplin. Wenn Aufmerksamkeit systematisch zerstört wird, verliert die Gesellschaft eine zentrale Voraussetzung kollektiven Handelns.

Hinzu kommt eine fragmentierte Informationswelt. Menschen leben zunehmend in voneinander getrennten Wirklichkeiten. Algorithmen zeigen Inhalte, die bestehende Überzeugungen bestĂ€tigen, statt gemeinsame Grundlagen zu schaffen. Es geht nicht nur um unterschiedliche politische Meinungen. Menschen teilen oft nicht einmal dieselbe Vorstellung davon, was RealitĂ€t ist. Ohne ein Mindestmaß gemeinsamer Wirklichkeit können keine stabilen Koalitionen entstehen.

Gewaltfreie Bewegungen waren ĂŒber lange Zeit erfolgreicher

Ich spreche auch ĂŒber historische Forschungen zu Widerstandsbewegungen. Gewaltfreie Bewegungen waren ĂŒber lange Zeit erfolgreicher als gewaltsame. Doch ihre Erfolgsquote sinkt. Ein Grund liegt darin, dass Staaten raffiniertere Mittel der Repression entwickeln: Überwachung, digitale Kontrolle, finanzielle Sanktionen, juristische Verfolgung und Infiltration.

Ein zweiter Grund liegt fĂŒr mich in der OberflĂ€chlichkeit moderner Bewegungen. Menschen mobilisieren sich schnell ĂŒber soziale Medien, versammeln sich fĂŒr kurze Zeit und lösen sich wieder auf. Es fehlt strategische Tiefe. Aktivismus wird emotional, symbolisch und performativ.

Ich argumentiere, dass Amerika keinen eigentlichen moralischen Verfall erlebt. Vielmehr fĂ€llt die Maske. Die Gesellschaft wird nicht barbarisch – sie zeigt offener, was sie immer war. Werte wie Moral, Demokratie oder AufklĂ€rung verlieren ihre dekorative Funktion, wĂ€hrend Macht direkter ausgeĂŒbt wird. Gewalt bleibt ein grundlegender Bestandteil der politischen Kultur.

Deshalb kritisiere ich impulsive Zerstörung als Form von Widerstand. Wenn ein frustrierter Arbeiter ein GebĂ€ude anzĂŒndet, richtet sich die Wut oft gegen Menschen in Ă€hnlicher Lage statt gegen tatsĂ€chliche Machtzentren. Solche Handlungen machen Eliten nicht nervös. FĂŒr sie wirken sie wie ein Zeichen dafĂŒr, dass die Bevölkerung desorganisiert, strategielos und ungefĂ€hrlich bleibt.

Was Machtstrukturen tatsĂ€chlich bedroht, ist nicht spontane Wut, sondern geduldiger Aufbau lokaler Alternativen, gemeinschaftlicher Strukturen und paralleler Institutionen. Doch genau jene FĂ€higkeiten – Vertrauen, langfristiges Denken, kollektive Orientierung – sind kulturell abgebaut worden.

Meine Schlussfolgerung lautet, dass eine rÀuberische Kultur zwangslÀufig ein System hervorbringt, das Menschen produziert, die diesem System nicht wirksam widerstehen können.

Die Gesellschaft erschafft Menschen, die fragmentiert, misstrauisch, politisch ungebildet und organisatorisch schwach sind. Das System versagt nicht, sondern reproduziert sich erfolgreich.

Am Ende vertrete ich die Position, dass es nicht darum gehen soll, ein zerstörerisches System zu retten oder zu reformieren. Wer nur reformieren will, verlĂ€ngert das Leiden derjenigen, die weltweit unter dessen Folgen litten. Ich verwende das Bild eines sinkenden Schiffes: Die Aufgabe besteht nicht darin, die Titanic zu flicken, sondern etwas Neues aufzubauen – auf anderem Boden und mit anderen Werten.

***

Dieser vierte und letzte Teil ist in ausfĂŒhrlicher deutscher Übersetzung am 1. Mai auf Seniora.org erschienen. Teil 1 «Falsche Flammen des Widerstands», Teil 2 «Der Zusammenbruch in Zahlen» und Teil 3 «Der Ausverkauf Amerikas – Wie die Elite das Land ausschlachtet» hat TN auch in kompakter Form veröffentlicht.

Shahed Bolsen ist ein politischer Autor und Analyst, der sich kritisch mit Kapitalismus, Machtstrukturen, AufstandsbekĂ€mpfung und staatlicher beziehungsweise unternehmerischer Überwachung auseinandersetzt. Der in den USA Geborene versteht sich selbst als Muslim und formuliert seine politischen Analysen teilweise aus einer Perspektive, die Erfahrungen aus muslimischen Gesellschaften (unter anderem Nahost/Ägypten-Kontext nach dem Arabischen FrĂŒhling) einbezieht.

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The Seduction of Constitutional Anti-Orthodoxy

American constitutional law treats “orthodoxy” as verboten. The concept has become a shorthand for the state imposition of belief that the First Amendment most centrally forbids. This hostility traces back decades, finding its most famous expression in West Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette (1943). The decision, delivered as Nazi Germany occupied much of continental Europe, carries the shadow of a nation battling fascism abroad. “If there is any fixed star in our constitutional constellation,” Justice Jackson wrote, “no official, high or petty, can prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, nationalism, religion, or other matters of opinion.”

Similar anti-orthodoxy language pervades recent First Amendment decisions of the Roberts Court. This spring, in Chiles v. Salazar, Justice Gorsuch quoted parts of Justice Jackson’s Barnette dictum and added an elaboration of his own: “the First Amendment stands as a shield against any effort to enforce orthodoxy in thought or speech in this country.” He used that shield to strike down a Colorado law prohibiting licensed mental health professionals from practicing some forms of conversion therapy.

A Malleable, Resonant Pejorative

This anti-orthodoxy rhetoric is potent. It is also conceptually confused and increasingly destabilizing to contemporary First Amendment doctrine. This is especially acute in the undifferentiated and imprecise form it has assumed in cases like Chiles. Two related problems explain why.

The first is that anti-orthodoxy language is malleable. Orthodoxy is a classificatory judgment, not a description of reality. Whether a legal or social rule counts as “orthodoxy” depends on the level of generality at which one describes it, the cultural norms through which one measures it, and the referential community one uses to evaluate it. Shift any of those variables and the label can shift accordingly. “Orthodoxy” as modern judges have synthesized it functions more as an abstract talking point than a coherent legal principle. Its rhetorical gravitas, borrowing from associations with individualism and anti-totalitarianism, has a talismanic luster but distracts more than it illuminates.

The second problem follows from the first: the undifferentiated anti-orthodoxy rhetoric obscures that not every legally enforced norm is compelled indoctrination. Some enforced norms are the legitimate output of democratic self-governance: law shaping behavior, as law invariably does, in ways that reflect contested but democratically settled resolutions and morally aspirational values inherent to a constitutional project. Some encode the procedural and substantive preconditions that make democratic self-governance possible. And some reflect expert consensus within professional and scientific communities. Collapsing these categories—and, worse, tarring them all with a freighted pejorative of constitutional law—makes it impossible to reason carefully about what the First Amendment prohibits, protects, and says nothing.

Disentangling Orthodoxies

What invocation of orthodoxy requires, by contrast, is jurisprudential attention to differences flattened by a monolithic application. Three categories are worth distinguishing. The first—and the one Barnette (properly understood) addressed—is compelled indoctrination and idea espousal. There, the state required unwilling children of Jehovah’s Witnesses to salute the American flag and recite the pledge of allegiance as the price of attending public school. Rather than conditioning a discretionary benefit in a neutral and justifiable manner, the state coerced affirmative ideological incantation and performance.

The second category is democratic value-formation and preservation. It can superficially resemble the first, as both categories involve law molding belief and action. But the resemblance is illusory. Pluralistic democracy requires that state services, public institutions, and legal rules internalize and proceed from universal commitments about citizens’ equal worth and underlying procedural and substantive structure of self-government. All laws reflect values and most impose them. The question is not whether law has normative content but which content it has, and whether institutional ordering on that content accomplishes legitimate state ends while preserving space for dissenters to structure private life as they wish.

When Congress enacted landmark civil and voting rights statutes in the mid-1960s, it was not registering a neutral normative preference. It was deliberately seeking to supplant one prevailing social arrangement with another. As Justice Sotomayor observed in her Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard dissent, Jim Crow regulations punished “dissent from racial orthodoxy,” the dominant and oppressive racial hierarchy of the postbellum white South. These civil rights laws sought to replace this reactionary social arrangement with a more egalitarian one ensuring black citizens’ access to democratic representation, public accommodations, and economic opportunity.

Civil rights laws are values settlements of contested social questions enforced through law. These questions remain bitterly contested, as made plain over the past two weeks by the Supreme Court’s dismantling of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 and the resulting febrile stampede among southern states to extinguish black political power. Here, that meant legislating to ensure black citizens have the equal opportunity to elect a candidate of their choosing, even if white majorities objected to the purpose, implementation, and results of this principle.

These civil rights protections “prescribe what shall be orthodox” in the shared and important provinces of public life. Yet enforcing values settlements within these provinces is exactly what democratic self-governance looks like when it fulfills its normative commitments to pluralism and equal citizenship. Laws like the Voting Rights Act expanded access and participation for black people in our polity and economy while preserving space for other citizens to hold contrary views about the equal worth of black citizens, so long as they did not act on those views to harm others. Colorado’s effort to ensure just treatment of children in state-funded preschool does the same.

The third category is expert consensus. Substantive scientific and empirical consensus is not simply another form of opinion. Colorado’s regulation of conversion therapy, at issue in Chiles, rested on the judgment of the professional bodies that such practices are harmful and ineffective. Requiring licensed practitioners to operate within the parameters of medical agreement when working in a particular professional capacity is categorically different from requiring citizens to affirm a political creed.

A Shield Becomes a Sword

To see the problems of nebulous orthodoxy rhetoric, consider another case out of Colorado: St. Mary Catholic Parish v. Roy, in which the Court granted certiorari recently and which will be argued next term. Catholic preschools that refuse to enroll four-year-olds with LGBT parents claim the First Amendment entitles them to funds from a relatively new Colorado preschool program. Their certiorari petition characterizes the program’s nondiscrimination requirement—unexceptional language common across civil rights laws that bars discrimination based on sexual orientation, gender identity, race, and ethnicity, among other protected characteristics—as enforcing “orthodoxies about marriage and sexuality.”

From the vantage point of conservative Christians who successfully petitioned the Court, Colorado’s requirement is the enforcement of sexual and marital dogma. Yet from the vantage point of LGBT parents seeking equal access to a state program for their children, the same requirement is anti-orthodoxy, a refusal to let Christian nationalism shut the schoolhouse door in Dolores, Colorado (population 937) as readily as in Denver. Framed from this reference point, permitting state-funded programs to discriminate entrenches an orthodoxy of LGBT inferiority.

Orthodoxy as a concept does not resolve that classificatory choice; it merely ratifies whichever the speaker has already made. In so doing, orthodoxy talk distracts from the pressing question of why a society would want to prefer one legal arrangement over the other. In Roy, that question demands reckoning with the practical and stigmatic harms of the state subsidizing discrimination against young children because of their parents’ immutable characteristics—a question entirely erased by framing the dispute as one over “orthodoxies about marriage and sexuality.”

Cabining Anti-Orthodoxy

Barnette’s core prohibition—that the state may not compel affirmation of belief—remains sound. The error is thoughtless judicial expansion of this idea beyond the originating forced indoctrination context. In so doing, the Court has undermined pluralism with the very language most associated with enshrining it in the American “constitutional constellation.”

Barnette protected a minority’s children from state compulsion and, by extension, access to a public good. The Roy plaintiffs invoke this principle forged in that protection to authorize excluding another minority’s children from the same public good. Colorado does not require Catholic preschools to affirm anything about LGBT families; it merely requires all providers that voluntarily participate in a state program treat children the same.

Chiles follows a similarly inverted logic to the same destination. Colorado’s law prohibiting certain types of conversion therapy regulated a narrow class of state-credentialed actors whose conduct, not their beliefs or political speech, fell within the scope of professional oversight. The law left licensed practitioners entirely free to hold whatever views they wish about LGBT people and speak accordingly.

Orthodoxy talk extends well beyond recent cases, heightening the costs of its conceptual confusion. Conservative justices have marshaled Barnette’s arresting language to turn the First Amendment against civil rights enforcement, labor unions, and campaign finance regulations. Anti-orthodoxy language echoing Barnette also appears in the individual writings of Justice Thomas pressing for sweeping prerogatives for conservative Christians, in Justice Gorsuch’s inveighing against vaccination requirements, and in Justice Alito’s Obergefell dissent, which warned that constitutional recognition of the right to same-sex marriage “will be used to vilify Americans who are unwilling to assent to the new orthodoxy.”

Rather than asking whether an enactment creates a “new orthodoxy,” constitutional reasoning requires a more disciplined set of questions to analytically situate dominant belief systems in relation to constitutional values and operationally aid judges to balance competing interests and harm allegations. Is the alleged orthodoxy the product of authoritarian imposition or democratic deliberation? Does the law leave dissenters meaningful space to hold contrary convictions without conscripting others into bearing the cost? Does exclusionary power run from state to individual in the pursuit of important ends, or from private institutions to vulnerable groups in pursuit of sectarian privilege or ideological exclusion?

None of this requires abandoning Barnette. It requires reading it for what it is: a limit on state-compelled ideological conformity targeting dissidents, not a warrant to capitalize on galvanizing rhetoric to opt out of neutral law, erode civil rights enforcement, or insulate professional harm from democratic regulation.

The post The Seduction of Constitutional Anti-Orthodoxy appeared first on Verfassungsblog.

Why the European Defence Community Can Be Revived

How can Europe respond to the rupture in transatlantic relations resulting from Donald Trump’s return to the US Presidency and take defence seriously? The European Defence Community (EDC) could be an answer. As it will be remembered, the EDC was conceived in the early 1950s, at a time when Europe faced a Russian threat, uncertainty about US commitments towards European defence (as the US were busy fighting a war in Korea), and the question of German rearmament. The EDC addressed those questions by creating a common army, with a common budget, a common defence industrial policy, and a common government. The EDC was designed to be the European pillar in NATO, with SACEUR acting as the commanding officer of the European army in case of aggression, and the EDC was open to the accession of new member states.

From a legal viewpoint, the EDC Treaty was concluded in May 1952 by six states – Belgium, France, Germany, Italy, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands – with the external support of the US and the UK. Crucially, between 1953 and 1954, the EDC Treaty was fully ratified by four states – Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Germany – in this case through a process that defined the foreign policy of the Adenauer government and included a revision of the German Basic Law. In August 1954, the Parliament of the French Fourth Republic, with a procedural motion, voted to postpone ratification of the EDC Treaty. France thus did not technically reject the EDC, but the vote had political repercussions which are well known. The next year, in 1955, Germany was integrated into NATO, and since then, the job of securing European security has fallen on the US. But with Trump, this assumption has crumbled, and so we are back at square one.

In 2024, one of us (Fabbrini 2024) advanced at the academic level the idea that it is legally feasible to revive the EDC as a way to integrate European defence after Trump. He then further disseminated it (Fabbrini 2025, 2025) and established a project called ALCIDE (an acronym for “Activating the Law Creatively to Integrated Defence in Europe”, but also a nod to Alcide De Gasperi, one of the founding fathers of the project of European integration), which brought together a distinguished group of scholars and thought leaders. ALCIDE further explored at the policy level the potential of the EDC, while shedding light also on its challenges. ALCIDE had a remarkable impact: legislators in the Italian Parliament have in fact now taken up the idea, with bills proposed in both the lower House and the Senate calling for Italy to ratify the EDC Treaty today.

In a recent blog, Robert SchĂŒtze has criticized the idea of reviving the EDC, claiming that a) the EDC Treaty is no longer valid under international law; b) the EDC Treaty is incompatible with EU law; and c) at the political level, reviving the EDC is not desirable. He is wrong on the legal grounds, and his political stance is questionable. So, as the senior jurists involved in the ALCIDE project, we felt compelled to respond.

The EDC Treaty Is Compatible with International Law

SchĂŒtze advances a main argument from an international law viewpoint to claim that the EDC Treaty can no longer be ratified. Specifically, he invokes article 59 of the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, entitled “Termination or suspension of the operation of a treaty implied by conclusion of a later treaty”, to maintain that the EDC Treaty was terminated because states moved on in 1954-5 to conclude new agreements, establishing the Western European Union and integrating Germany into NATO.

Yet, SchĂŒtze claims that the EDC was killed, but cannot point to any smoking gun. In the process of European integration, with multiple overlapping treaties, when states want to kill a treaty, they do so explicitly. Notably, after negative referenda in the Netherlands and France against the Treaty establishing a European Constitution in 2005, the heads of state and government in the June 2007 European Council formally declared that the “Constitution is abandoned” – paving the way to the adoption of a different reform treaty (the Lisbon Treaty).  This was never done for the EDC. The states never formally decided to abandon the EDC Treaty. In fact, legislation ratifying the EDC Treaty is still easily accessible in the online law books of, e.g. the Netherlands or Luxembourg. And it is most ironic that SchĂŒtze claims that the EDC was killed by the approval of the Modified Brussels treaty on the WEU, which was terminated by its members in March 2010 – again with explicit words.

Ultimately, public international commitments cannot be assessed without taking into account political will. Thus, SchĂŒtze’s argument may have been overtaken by recent political developments. As mentioned above, legislation has now been introduced in the Parliament of one of the signatory states, Italy, with the aim of ratifying the Treaty. This draft legislation was vetted by the legal services of the two houses of Parliament, which approved it. States as sovereign actors in international law are the relevant interpreters of whether a treaty is dead or alive. And it is certainly in the powers of an institution representing the sovereign people to assume that a Treaty can still be ratified.

The EDC Is Compatible with EU law

The second argument that SchĂŒtze makes is that the EDC Treaty would be incompatible with EU law. Alas, he provides no evidence to make this claim. As is well known, under consolidated law reaffirmed by the ECJ in Pringle, member states remain free to conclude inter-se agreements, provided these do not conflict with an EU norm. Yet, the field of defence and security is an area of EU law subject to a very limited degree of integration. According to Article 24 TEU, the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), of which the Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP) is a part, is “subject to specific rules and procedures”, which reflect its intergovernmental nature, in which member states remain in control.

As a result, states have concluded dozens of bilateral and multilateral treaties among themselves in the field of defence, deciding to do more than what EU law foresees, for example, in matters of mutual protection, procurement, or coordination. Among the various examples of bilateral agreements, one should especially recall the Lancaster House Treaty, concluded in London, in November 2010 between France and the United Kingdom (a Member State at the time), through which the parties committed to deepening their military, industrial, and strategic cooperation; and the Treaty of Aachen concluded in January 2019 between France and Germany, by which the parties entered into a mutual defense pact in the event of an armed attack. Above all, it is also necessary to mention the Treaty of Strasbourg, which established Eurocorps: this international agreement – initially concluded by five member states: France, Germany, Belgium, Luxembourg, and Spain in November 2004, and entered into force in February 2009 – created a common military capability that has been made available to both NATO and the EU. Specifically, the Treaty of Strasbourg regulates the functioning of Eurocorps, assigning it the role of carrying out common defense missions and other so-called Petersberg tasks. The Treaty also established a common headquarters in Strasbourg, which serves to command operational missions.

All this is unsurprising. Jean-Claude Piris, the former Jureconsult to the Council of the EU and one of the “fathers” of the Treaty of Lisbon, among others, stated that the CSDP “is an area where neither the EU treaties, nor other international commitments [
] present obstacles” to legally binding cooperation between an avant-garde of member states (Piris 2012, p 124). And that of course applies to the EDC too.

What is surprising instead, is that the only hint that SchĂŒtze makes to claim that the EDC would violate EU law is the role of the Court of Justice. Under Article 24 TEU, the ECJ does not have competence in CFSP, save for the review of sanctions. But Article 273 TFEU allows member states to attribute jurisdiction to the ECJ in any additional dispute that relates to the subject matter of the TEU and TFEU through a special agreement between the parties. The EDC Treaty created a Court of Justice, and it is therefore possible for EDC states to assign to the current ECJ the judicial function of the EDC treaty. After all, also the Fiscal Compact and the ESM Treaty – two recent inter-se agreements concluded between a group of EU member states only – attributed to the ECJ functions that go beyond what the ECJ has according to the TEU/TFEU (including e.g. the task to verify the transposition of balanced budget rules in national constitutions). So why would it now be impossible to assign to ECJ the judicial functions envisaged by the EDC, as distinct from the CFSP, including full judicial oversight on the use of the European defence forces?

Political Conclusion

In conclusion, SchĂŒtze’s legal criticisms against the EDC do not stand. But of course, the entire idea to re-animate the EDC is not just a legal issue. The ALCIDE project was also driven by the need to contribute out-of-the-box ideas on how to develop European defense further. On the political level, SchĂŒtze also wonders whether reviving the EDC may be politically desirable, taking into account that the EDC was due to be, by design, the European pillar in NATO, and thus connected to the USA, with SACEUR acting as the ultimate military authority for the EDC forces. SchĂŒtze essentially argues that Europe should sever its umbilical cord with the US and develop fully autonomous strategic capabilities. Our position on this matter is more nuanced. We see the risks resulting from the connection between the EDC and NATO. But we think that the majority of European states and their citizens would rather want to preserve a form of transatlantic relationship and benefit of the muscle memory developed over seven decades within NATO. After all, the NATO Treaty does not require SACEUR to be a US general, and it is well conceivable that Europeans could increasingly populate NATO structures, with the EDC greatly facilitating doing so.

The sad truth is that SchĂŒtze’s plea for strategic autonomy – something he seeks to present as a more desirable option than reviving the EDC – risks being a red herring. The EU has had a CFSP since 1992, but the results have been totally underwhelming. In fact, what is happening at the moment is not some leap towards the integrated EU defence capabilities craved by SchĂŒtze (and which we would also support), but rather an EU-enabled asymmetric process of national rearmament. History cannot be washed away easily, and the historical reasons that led to the EDC –  the Russian threat, US disengagement and the question of the rearmament of Germany (where the AfD is in ascendancy) – are coming back with a vengeance. If Europe wants to get serious about European defence integration, it has to look at the most ambitious model: this is the EDC, and it is still legally possible to revive it today.

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Federalism Against Democracy

India, as the world’s largest democracy, is facing a unique challenge in the twenty-first century in managing the relationship between democracy and federalism. This challenge is most pronounced in the recent debates on delimitation – redrawing the boundaries of electoral constituencies for legislatures and fixing their numbers in tune with the latest census data. As stipulated in Art. 82 of the Indian Constitution, this exercise was conducted after every census until the 1971 census, when the strength of the Lok Sabha, or the lower chamber of the parliament, was raised to 543. In 1976, to promote population control measures, the Indira Gandhi government froze the constitutional provision mandating decennial adjustment of electoral seats until 2000, and in 2001 the Atal Bihari Vajpayee government extended the freeze until 2026. Both the 1976 and 2001 freezes required constitutional amendments (the 42nd and 84th amendments, respectively), pointing to a political consensus on this issue even as India’s population exploded in these decades with some obvious regional imbalances between the Northern and Southern regions of the country.

Recently, the Indian government led by Narendra Modi proposed the Constitution (131st Amendment) Bill, 2026, which provides for, inter alia, delimitation and about 50% increase (from 543 to 850) in the strength of the Lok Sabha. At one level, it cannot be gainsaid that the most populous country in the world should have a more representative parliament, rather than be stuck with the current levels of representation based on the 1971 census. The new Indian Parliament building, inaugurated in 2023 with a seating capacity for over 1200 legislators, makes the expansion of democracy in India less logistically challenging.  At another level, there is a palpable fear that delimitation will further erode the regional balance between less populous and advanced Southern states and more populous and poor Northern states. It is also feared that this move will further corrode whatever federal guarantees remain in a constitution and polity that have a unitary tilt. How do we historically approach this face-off between the imperatives of democracy and federalism in India today? I suggest that the constitutional and political debates in late colonial India on questions of democracy and federalism show a similar face-off, which fundamentally defined postcolonial India’s shaky tryst with federalism.

Two hundred years of British colonialism in the subcontinent and the resultant social and political fissures made democracy an unalloyed good for the anticolonial nationalists. So much so that what mattered to the Indian nationalists like Jawaharlal Nehru and Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel was the preservation of Indian unity and embrace of a parliamentary democracy to safeguard Indians’ right to rule themselves over and above entrenching federalism as indisputably suitable for India’s postcolonial trajectory.

Neither democracy, nationalism, nor federalism were above debate in late colonial India or the rest of the world. Many observers of the time, including thinkers like Hannah Arendt, saw the World Wars as a tragedy inflicted by the ills of nationalism and the nation-state that privileged the idea of statehood for ethnically or linguistically defined homogenous nations.

Critique of Parliamentary Democracy

Late colonial India too saw a range of critiques on democracy and federalism from different groups. One such group was the Indian Princely States, which were semi-independent native states that were indirectly ruled by the British through treaties and formed a third of colonial India’s landmass. These states and their rulers, by virtue of their unique relationship with the British, remained indifferent to democracy for most of India’s colonial history. Theoretically, the princely states were not parts of British India and formed a separate entity by themselves, which the Indian States Committee Report of 1928, a committee appointed by the British government to study their relationship with the princely states, referred to as “Indian India.” The Indian Muslims for the most part also remained skeptical of democracy as an indisputable good for the possibility of a Hindu-majority rule loomed large over them. This fear of the majority rule, something that parliamentary democracy considers to be its ideal, made sense only in places where the cultural, linguistic, and ethnic diversity was not too complex to be encapsulated in a simple formula for a first-past-the-post system of rule. It is precisely on this ground that we see a convergence of Muslim and princely political thinking on the question of India’s future. A simple parliamentary democracy would not serve the interests of either the princes or the minorities like the Muslims. This realization shaped their attitude toward constitutional debates in India from the late 1920s through the demission of the British Empire in India.

One example of this thinking may be seen in the influential book Federal India (1930), written by K. M. Panikkar and K. N. Haksar, two leading statesmen from the princely states, on the eve of the Round Table Conferences in London. These conferences convened from 1930 to 1932 were attended by representatives from all major Indian parties and debated a single question: should the future constitution of India be federal or unitary? Panikkar and Haksar’s book categorically rejected parliamentary or Westminster-style government as suitable for India. The power of this critique had a real lasting impact among many princely leaders and is best instantiated by the attempts led by C. P. Ramaswamy Aiyar, the last prime minister of the princely state of Travancore (part of present-day Kerala), to keep the state independent in 1947 on the ostensible ground that in a unitary, parliamentary India, states like Travancore would not be able to remain independent or exercise its historical sovereignty. The advocacies of the Indian princely states, the liberals, and the Muslims were a major reason why there was a political consensus on the desirability of an Indian federation, consisting of both British and princely India, after the London conferences.

Decline of Provincial Autonomy

When the Government of India Act was legislated in 1935 (at the time, arguably, the longest constitution the British parliament enacted) to provide for an Indian federation comprising of both British and princely India, the constitutional thinking on India’s future looked very different. Even as the Act was roundly criticized by Indian nationalists, including Mahatma Gandhi, its jurisprudence was based on the idea that people were not the only repositories of sovereignty in India; states were to be sovereigns too. At one level, it did make sense that the radical ideal of popular sovereignty would not appeal to a considerable section of Indians, and it would be too abrupt a break with India’s history of layered and federated forms of sovereignty, where sovereignty was not understood as invested only in one entity, even if it were the people.

The Act of 1935 proposed a decentralized approach to elections and delimitations, where provinces had the right to shape their own constituencies and electoral rolls. Thus, we see in Schedule VI of the Act, for example, Madras and Bombay provinces were to have different laws of residency requirement (120 and 180 days of residency in the previous year, respectively) for voters. The idea of an Indian federal government regulating elections at all levels was quite alien at the time, as the states/provinces were understood to have residual powers. This line of thinking continued throughout the 1930s and well into the late 1940s. When Jawaharlal Nehru made his famous speech on the Objective Resolution in the Constituent Assembly in December 1946, he made a discomfiting concession to the princes and Muslims. Even as popular sovereignty for him was the zeitgeist of the time, he grudgingly envisioned a constitution that was bottom-up, rather than top-down, wherein the provinces/states enjoyed residual powers.

In the early years of the Constituent Assembly Debates (1946–50), there was a general acceptance that the units of the federation would have inviolable rights. This is best evidenced in the work of the Provincial Constitution Committee, set up under the chairmanship of Sardar Vallabhai Patel, to examine the structure and powers of the provinces. Clause 22 of the report of this committee laid down that delimitation of the territorial constituencies was to be a provincial matter. But in the next few years, the debates in the Assembly would change drastically, no less due to political convulsions of the time, like the creation of Pakistan and the integration of 560-odd Indian princely states after the British made a hasty exit from India in August 1947 unilaterally renouncing their treaty relationships with the states.

Against Federalism

The increasing attrition of federal elements and the fear of balkanization would direct Indian Constitution-making into a more unitary path so much so that the final text of the Indian Constitution of 1950 did not even mention the word federation. B. R. Ambedkar, the chief author of the Indian Constitution, free India’s first Law Minister, and a Dalit icon, had deep-seated reservations about federalism at least from 1939, when he wrote his book Federation versus Freedom. As the title itself suggests, he considered federalism as curbing India’s political freedom, which he believed would be compromised by the princely states, a traditionally conservative group that stood to gain the most from a federal structure. Ambedkar would persuade B.N. Rau, another key author of the Constitution, to make amends to a draft Rau wrote and remove the words “federation” and “federal” from it and replace them with “Union,” signifying a tightly knit, top-down polity.

The eventual shape of the Constitution proved to be more unitary, with very few safeguards given to preserve provincial autonomy. In Indian nationalist thought, the fear that provincial autonomy would only have a deleterious impact on India’s fragile unity became axiomatic. Jawaharlal Nehru, the first prime minister of India, while addressing a group of provincial ministers, said that history teaches us two things: “One is that territorial integrity should be preserved in India and the other that people should be allowed to grow according to their own genius. But that, if allowed to remain by itself, may lead to the strengthening of the disruptive forces in the country.” This constant tussle between unity and disintegration is emblematic of Nehruvian political thought in many respects at least from the mid-1930s.

Thus, it was no surprise that matters of delimitation and electoral rolls would be taken away from the purview of provincial governments. By virtue of Article 327, the Constitution invested the exclusive right of delimitation with the federal parliament. Of course, this was a corollary of the fact that the Indian states/provinces were to be divested of the right to secede or enjoy residual powers or have territorial inviolability. By contrast, the United States Constitution (Art. 1 Sec. 4) invests the power to delimit or redistrict the electoral constituencies with the states, which also enjoy residual or unenumerated powers.

Reconciling Federalism and Democracy

This history should be salutary for the present face-off between democracy and federalism in India today. If democracy as championed by the Indian anticolonial nationalists foiled the attempts to inscribe a more robust federal structure for India wherein units could exercise certain inviolable rights and make them equal partners in governance, today we are seeing the opposite. The states that will get fewer seats through the delimitation fear that federalism will be the casualty and are standing in the way of India being a truly descriptive or representative democracy.

The delimitation move has been interpreted by its detractors as a punishment for Southern states that succeeded in controlling population growth and ensuring higher economic growth in comparison to the poorer and populous states in the North like Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, and Madhya Pradesh. At one level, this is a profoundly anti-democratic argument, yet the argument has power in the context of southern states like Kerala and Tamil Nadu, which were historically strong advocates of federalism and the fear that their federal bargain is being compromised now. Not only do these advanced states contribute more to the federal coffers, but in the face of delimitation they will also have less control over the levers of power in Delhi.

The strong opposition based on federal grounds resulted in the Constitution Amendment Bill failing to garner 2/3 votes in the lower house. It is one of the tragedies of postcolonial India that democracy and federalism have come into conflict when they both should serve the interests of the people. Perhaps this conflict is a symptom of the peculiar historical trajectory of India, where rather than a compromise, the imperatives of democracy overshadowed the needs of federalism for a country of India’s size and diversity.

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The Seduction of Constitutional Anti-Orthodoxy

American constitutional law treats “orthodoxy” as verboten. The concept has become a shorthand for the state imposition of belief that the First Amendment most centrally forbids. This hostility traces back decades, finding its most famous expression in West Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette (1943). The decision, delivered as Nazi Germany occupied much of continental Europe, carries the shadow of a nation battling fascism abroad. “If there is any fixed star in our constitutional constellation,” Justice Jackson wrote, “no official, high or petty, can prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, nationalism, religion, or other matters of opinion.”

Similar anti-orthodoxy language pervades recent First Amendment decisions of the Roberts Court. This spring, in Chiles v. Salazar, Justice Gorsuch quoted parts of Justice Jackson’s Barnette dictum and added an elaboration of his own: “the First Amendment stands as a shield against any effort to enforce orthodoxy in thought or speech in this country.” He used that shield to strike down a Colorado law prohibiting licensed mental health professionals from practicing some forms of conversion therapy.

A Malleable, Resonant Pejorative

This anti-orthodoxy rhetoric is potent. It is also conceptually confused and increasingly destabilizing to contemporary First Amendment doctrine. This is especially acute in the undifferentiated and imprecise form it has assumed in cases like Chiles. Two related problems explain why.

The first is that anti-orthodoxy language is malleable. Orthodoxy is a classificatory judgment, not a description of reality. Whether a legal or social rule counts as “orthodoxy” depends on the level of generality at which one describes it, the cultural norms through which one measures it, and the referential community one uses to evaluate it. Shift any of those variables and the label can shift accordingly. “Orthodoxy” as modern judges have synthesized it functions more as an abstract talking point than a coherent legal principle. Its rhetorical gravitas, borrowing from associations with individualism and anti-totalitarianism, has a talismanic luster but distracts more than it illuminates.

The second problem follows from the first: the undifferentiated anti-orthodoxy rhetoric obscures that not every legally enforced norm is compelled indoctrination. Some enforced norms are the legitimate output of democratic self-governance: law shaping behavior, as law invariably does, in ways that reflect contested but democratically settled resolutions and morally aspirational values inherent to a constitutional project. Some encode the procedural and substantive preconditions that make democratic self-governance possible. And some reflect expert consensus within professional and scientific communities. Collapsing these categories—and, worse, tarring them all with a freighted pejorative of constitutional law—makes it impossible to reason carefully about what the First Amendment prohibits, protects, and says nothing.

Disentangling Orthodoxies

What invocation of orthodoxy requires, by contrast, is jurisprudential attention to differences flattened by a monolithic application. Three categories are worth distinguishing. The first—and the one Barnette (properly understood) addressed—is compelled indoctrination and idea espousal. There, the state required unwilling children of Jehovah’s Witnesses to salute the American flag and recite the pledge of allegiance as the price of attending public school. Rather than conditioning a discretionary benefit in a neutral and justifiable manner, the state coerced affirmative ideological incantation and performance.

The second category is democratic value-formation and preservation. It can superficially resemble the first, as both categories involve law molding belief and action. But the resemblance is illusory. Pluralistic democracy requires that state services, public institutions, and legal rules internalize and proceed from universal commitments about citizens’ equal worth and underlying procedural and substantive structure of self-government. All laws reflect values and most impose them. The question is not whether law has normative content but which content it has, and whether institutional ordering on that content accomplishes legitimate state ends while preserving space for dissenters to structure private life as they wish.

When Congress enacted landmark civil and voting rights statutes in the mid-1960s, it was not registering a neutral normative preference. It was deliberately seeking to supplant one prevailing social arrangement with another. As Justice Sotomayor observed in her Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard dissent, Jim Crow regulations punished “dissent from racial orthodoxy,” the dominant and oppressive racial hierarchy of the postbellum white South. These civil rights laws sought to replace this reactionary social arrangement with a more egalitarian one ensuring black citizens’ access to democratic representation, public accommodations, and economic opportunity.

Civil rights laws are values settlements of contested social questions enforced through law. These questions remain bitterly contested, as made plain over the past two weeks by the Supreme Court’s dismantling of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 and the resulting febrile stampede among southern states to extinguish black political power. Here, that meant legislating to ensure black citizens have the equal opportunity to elect a candidate of their choosing, even if white majorities objected to the purpose, implementation, and results of this principle.

These civil rights protections “prescribe what shall be orthodox” in the shared and important provinces of public life. Yet enforcing values settlements within these provinces is exactly what democratic self-governance looks like when it fulfills its normative commitments to pluralism and equal citizenship. Laws like the Voting Rights Act expanded access and participation for black people in our polity and economy while preserving space for other citizens to hold contrary views about the equal worth of black citizens, so long as they did not act on those views to harm others. Colorado’s effort to ensure just treatment of children in state-funded preschool does the same.

The third category is expert consensus. Substantive scientific and empirical consensus is not simply another form of opinion. Colorado’s regulation of conversion therapy, at issue in Chiles, rested on the judgment of the professional bodies that such practices are harmful and ineffective. Requiring licensed practitioners to operate within the parameters of medical agreement when working in a particular professional capacity is categorically different from requiring citizens to affirm a political creed.

A Shield Becomes a Sword

To see the problems of nebulous orthodoxy rhetoric, consider another case out of Colorado: St. Mary Catholic Parish v. Roy, in which the Court granted certiorari recently and which will be argued next term. Catholic preschools that refuse to enroll four-year-olds with LGBT parents claim the First Amendment entitles them to funds from a relatively new Colorado preschool program. Their certiorari petition characterizes the program’s nondiscrimination requirement—unexceptional language common across civil rights laws that bars discrimination based on sexual orientation, gender identity, race, and ethnicity, among other protected characteristics—as enforcing “orthodoxies about marriage and sexuality.”

From the vantage point of conservative Christians who successfully petitioned the Court, Colorado’s requirement is the enforcement of sexual and marital dogma. Yet from the vantage point of LGBT parents seeking equal access to a state program for their children, the same requirement is anti-orthodoxy, a refusal to let Christian nationalism shut the schoolhouse door in Dolores, Colorado (population 937) as readily as in Denver. Framed from this reference point, permitting state-funded programs to discriminate entrenches an orthodoxy of LGBT inferiority.

Orthodoxy as a concept does not resolve that classificatory choice; it merely ratifies whichever the speaker has already made. In so doing, orthodoxy talk distracts from the pressing question of why a society would want to prefer one legal arrangement over the other. In Roy, that question demands reckoning with the practical and stigmatic harms of the state subsidizing discrimination against young children because of their parents’ immutable characteristics—a question entirely erased by framing the dispute as one over “orthodoxies about marriage and sexuality.”

Cabining Anti-Orthodoxy

Barnette’s core prohibition—that the state may not compel affirmation of belief—remains sound. The error is thoughtless judicial expansion of this idea beyond the originating forced indoctrination context. In so doing, the Court has undermined pluralism with the very language most associated with enshrining it in the American “constitutional constellation.”

Barnette protected a minority’s children from state compulsion and, by extension, access to a public good. The Roy plaintiffs invoke this principle forged in that protection to authorize excluding another minority’s children from the same public good. Colorado does not require Catholic preschools to affirm anything about LGBT families; it merely requires all providers that voluntarily participate in a state program treat children the same.

Chiles follows a similarly inverted logic to the same destination. Colorado’s law prohibiting certain types of conversion therapy regulated a narrow class of state-credentialed actors whose conduct, not their beliefs or political speech, fell within the scope of professional oversight. The law left licensed practitioners entirely free to hold whatever views they wish about LGBT people and speak accordingly.

Orthodoxy talk extends well beyond recent cases, heightening the costs of its conceptual confusion. Conservative justices have marshaled Barnette’s arresting language to turn the First Amendment against civil rights enforcement, labor unions, and campaign finance regulations. Anti-orthodoxy language echoing Barnette also appears in the individual writings of Justice Thomas pressing for sweeping prerogatives for conservative Christians, in Justice Gorsuch’s inveighing against vaccination requirements, and in Justice Alito’s Obergefell dissent, which warned that constitutional recognition of the right to same-sex marriage “will be used to vilify Americans who are unwilling to assent to the new orthodoxy.”

Rather than asking whether an enactment creates a “new orthodoxy,” constitutional reasoning requires a more disciplined set of questions to analytically situate dominant belief systems in relation to constitutional values and operationally aid judges to balance competing interests and harm allegations. Is the alleged orthodoxy the product of authoritarian imposition or democratic deliberation? Does the law leave dissenters meaningful space to hold contrary convictions without conscripting others into bearing the cost? Does exclusionary power run from state to individual in the pursuit of important ends, or from private institutions to vulnerable groups in pursuit of sectarian privilege or ideological exclusion?

None of this requires abandoning Barnette. It requires reading it for what it is: a limit on state-compelled ideological conformity targeting dissidents, not a warrant to capitalize on galvanizing rhetoric to opt out of neutral law, erode civil rights enforcement, or insulate professional harm from democratic regulation.

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Why the European Defence Community Can Be Revived

How can Europe respond to the rupture in transatlantic relations resulting from Donald Trump’s return to the US Presidency and take defence seriously? The European Defence Community (EDC) could be an answer. As it will be remembered, the EDC was conceived in the early 1950s, at a time when Europe faced a Russian threat, uncertainty about US commitments towards European defence (as the US were busy fighting a war in Korea), and the question of German rearmament. The EDC addressed those questions by creating a common army, with a common budget, a common defence industrial policy, and a common government. The EDC was designed to be the European pillar in NATO, with SACEUR acting as the commanding officer of the European army in case of aggression, and the EDC was open to the accession of new member states.

From a legal viewpoint, the EDC Treaty was concluded in May 1952 by six states – Belgium, France, Germany, Italy, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands – with the external support of the US and the UK. Crucially, between 1953 and 1954, the EDC Treaty was fully ratified by four states – Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Germany – in this case through a process that defined the foreign policy of the Adenauer government and included a revision of the German Basic Law. In August 1954, the Parliament of the French Fourth Republic, with a procedural motion, voted to postpone ratification of the EDC Treaty. France thus did not technically reject the EDC, but the vote had political repercussions which are well known. The next year, in 1955, Germany was integrated into NATO, and since then, the job of securing European security has fallen on the US. But with Trump, this assumption has crumbled, and so we are back at square one.

In 2024, one of us (Fabbrini 2024) advanced at the academic level the idea that it is legally feasible to revive the EDC as a way to integrate European defence after Trump. He then further disseminated it (Fabbrini 2025, 2025) and established a project called ALCIDE (an acronym for “Activating the Law Creatively to Integrated Defence in Europe”, but also a nod to Alcide De Gasperi, one of the founding fathers of the project of European integration), which brought together a distinguished group of scholars and thought leaders. ALCIDE further explored at the policy level the potential of the EDC, while shedding light also on its challenges. ALCIDE had a remarkable impact: legislators in the Italian Parliament have in fact now taken up the idea, with bills proposed in both the lower House and the Senate calling for Italy to ratify the EDC Treaty today.

In a recent blog, Robert SchĂŒtze has criticized the idea of reviving the EDC, claiming that a) the EDC Treaty is no longer valid under international law; b) the EDC Treaty is incompatible with EU law; and c) at the political level, reviving the EDC is not desirable. He is wrong on the legal grounds, and his political stance is questionable. So, as the senior jurists involved in the ALCIDE project, we felt compelled to respond.

The EDC Treaty Is Compatible with International Law

SchĂŒtze advances a main argument from an international law viewpoint to claim that the EDC Treaty can no longer be ratified. Specifically, he invokes article 59 of the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, entitled “Termination or suspension of the operation of a treaty implied by conclusion of a later treaty”, to maintain that the EDC Treaty was terminated because states moved on in 1954-5 to conclude new agreements, establishing the Western European Union and integrating Germany into NATO.

Yet, SchĂŒtze claims that the EDC was killed, but cannot point to any smoking gun. In the process of European integration, with multiple overlapping treaties, when states want to kill a treaty, they do so explicitly. Notably, after negative referenda in the Netherlands and France against the Treaty establishing a European Constitution in 2005, the heads of state and government in the June 2007 European Council formally declared that the “Constitution is abandoned” – paving the way to the adoption of a different reform treaty (the Lisbon Treaty).  This was never done for the EDC. The states never formally decided to abandon the EDC Treaty. In fact, legislation ratifying the EDC Treaty is still easily accessible in the online law books of, e.g. the Netherlands or Luxembourg. And it is most ironic that SchĂŒtze claims that the EDC was killed by the approval of the Modified Brussels treaty on the WEU, which was terminated by its members in March 2010 – again with explicit words.

Ultimately, public international commitments cannot be assessed without taking into account political will. Thus, SchĂŒtze’s argument may have been overtaken by recent political developments. As mentioned above, legislation has now been introduced in the Parliament of one of the signatory states, Italy, with the aim of ratifying the Treaty. This draft legislation was vetted by the legal services of the two houses of Parliament, which approved it. States as sovereign actors in international law are the relevant interpreters of whether a treaty is dead or alive. And it is certainly in the powers of an institution representing the sovereign people to assume that a Treaty can still be ratified.

The EDC Is Compatible with EU law

The second argument that SchĂŒtze makes is that the EDC Treaty would be incompatible with EU law. Alas, he provides no evidence to make this claim. As is well known, under consolidated law reaffirmed by the ECJ in Pringle, member states remain free to conclude inter-se agreements, provided these do not conflict with an EU norm. Yet, the field of defence and security is an area of EU law subject to a very limited degree of integration. According to Article 24 TEU, the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), of which the Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP) is a part, is “subject to specific rules and procedures”, which reflect its intergovernmental nature, in which member states remain in control.

As a result, states have concluded dozens of bilateral and multilateral treaties among themselves in the field of defence, deciding to do more than what EU law foresees, for example, in matters of mutual protection, procurement, or coordination. Among the various examples of bilateral agreements, one should especially recall the Lancaster House Treaty, concluded in London, in November 2010 between France and the United Kingdom (a Member State at the time), through which the parties committed to deepening their military, industrial, and strategic cooperation; and the Treaty of Aachen concluded in January 2019 between France and Germany, by which the parties entered into a mutual defense pact in the event of an armed attack. Above all, it is also necessary to mention the Treaty of Strasbourg, which established Eurocorps: this international agreement – initially concluded by five member states: France, Germany, Belgium, Luxembourg, and Spain in November 2004, and entered into force in February 2009 – created a common military capability that has been made available to both NATO and the EU. Specifically, the Treaty of Strasbourg regulates the functioning of Eurocorps, assigning it the role of carrying out common defense missions and other so-called Petersberg tasks. The Treaty also established a common headquarters in Strasbourg, which serves to command operational missions.

All this is unsurprising. Jean-Claude Piris, the former Jureconsult to the Council of the EU and one of the “fathers” of the Treaty of Lisbon, among others, stated that the CSDP “is an area where neither the EU treaties, nor other international commitments [
] present obstacles” to legally binding cooperation between an avant-garde of member states (Piris 2012, p 124). And that of course applies to the EDC too.

What is surprising instead, is that the only hint that SchĂŒtze makes to claim that the EDC would violate EU law is the role of the Court of Justice. Under Article 24 TEU, the ECJ does not have competence in CFSP, save for the review of sanctions. But Article 273 TFEU allows member states to attribute jurisdiction to the ECJ in any additional dispute that relates to the subject matter of the TEU and TFEU through a special agreement between the parties. The EDC Treaty created a Court of Justice, and it is therefore possible for EDC states to assign to the current ECJ the judicial function of the EDC treaty. After all, also the Fiscal Compact and the ESM Treaty – two recent inter-se agreements concluded between a group of EU member states only – attributed to the ECJ functions that go beyond what the ECJ has according to the TEU/TFEU (including e.g. the task to verify the transposition of balanced budget rules in national constitutions). So why would it now be impossible to assign to ECJ the judicial functions envisaged by the EDC, as distinct from the CFSP, including full judicial oversight on the use of the European defence forces?

Political Conclusion

In conclusion, SchĂŒtze’s legal criticisms against the EDC do not stand. But of course, the entire idea to re-animate the EDC is not just a legal issue. The ALCIDE project was also driven by the need to contribute out-of-the-box ideas on how to develop European defense further. On the political level, SchĂŒtze also wonders whether reviving the EDC may be politically desirable, taking into account that the EDC was due to be, by design, the European pillar in NATO, and thus connected to the USA, with SACEUR acting as the ultimate military authority for the EDC forces. SchĂŒtze essentially argues that Europe should sever its umbilical cord with the US and develop fully autonomous strategic capabilities. Our position on this matter is more nuanced. We see the risks resulting from the connection between the EDC and NATO. But we think that the majority of European states and their citizens would rather want to preserve a form of transatlantic relationship and benefit of the muscle memory developed over seven decades within NATO. After all, the NATO Treaty does not require SACEUR to be a US general, and it is well conceivable that Europeans could increasingly populate NATO structures, with the EDC greatly facilitating doing so.

The sad truth is that SchĂŒtze’s plea for strategic autonomy – something he seeks to present as a more desirable option than reviving the EDC – risks being a red herring. The EU has had a CFSP since 1992, but the results have been totally underwhelming. In fact, what is happening at the moment is not some leap towards the integrated EU defence capabilities craved by SchĂŒtze (and which we would also support), but rather an EU-enabled asymmetric process of national rearmament. History cannot be washed away easily, and the historical reasons that led to the EDC –  the Russian threat, US disengagement and the question of the rearmament of Germany (where the AfD is in ascendancy) – are coming back with a vengeance. If Europe wants to get serious about European defence integration, it has to look at the most ambitious model: this is the EDC, and it is still legally possible to revive it today.

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Federalism Against Democracy

India, as the world’s largest democracy, is facing a unique challenge in the twenty-first century in managing the relationship between democracy and federalism. This challenge is most pronounced in the recent debates on delimitation – redrawing the boundaries of electoral constituencies for legislatures and fixing their numbers in tune with the latest census data. As stipulated in Art. 82 of the Indian Constitution, this exercise was conducted after every census until the 1971 census, when the strength of the Lok Sabha, or the lower chamber of the parliament, was raised to 543. In 1976, to promote population control measures, the Indira Gandhi government froze the constitutional provision mandating decennial adjustment of electoral seats until 2000, and in 2001 the Atal Bihari Vajpayee government extended the freeze until 2026. Both the 1976 and 2001 freezes required constitutional amendments (the 42nd and 84th amendments, respectively), pointing to a political consensus on this issue even as India’s population exploded in these decades with some obvious regional imbalances between the Northern and Southern regions of the country.

Recently, the Indian government led by Narendra Modi proposed the Constitution (131st Amendment) Bill, 2026, which provides for, inter alia, delimitation and about 50% increase (from 543 to 850) in the strength of the Lok Sabha. At one level, it cannot be gainsaid that the most populous country in the world should have a more representative parliament, rather than be stuck with the current levels of representation based on the 1971 census. The new Indian Parliament building, inaugurated in 2023 with a seating capacity for over 1200 legislators, makes the expansion of democracy in India less logistically challenging.  At another level, there is a palpable fear that delimitation will further erode the regional balance between less populous and advanced Southern states and more populous and poor Northern states. It is also feared that this move will further corrode whatever federal guarantees remain in a constitution and polity that have a unitary tilt. How do we historically approach this face-off between the imperatives of democracy and federalism in India today? I suggest that the constitutional and political debates in late colonial India on questions of democracy and federalism show a similar face-off, which fundamentally defined postcolonial India’s shaky tryst with federalism.

Two hundred years of British colonialism in the subcontinent and the resultant social and political fissures made democracy an unalloyed good for the anticolonial nationalists. So much so that what mattered to the Indian nationalists like Jawaharlal Nehru and Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel was the preservation of Indian unity and embrace of a parliamentary democracy to safeguard Indians’ right to rule themselves over and above entrenching federalism as indisputably suitable for India’s postcolonial trajectory.

Neither democracy, nationalism, nor federalism were above debate in late colonial India or the rest of the world. Many observers of the time, including thinkers like Hannah Arendt, saw the World Wars as a tragedy inflicted by the ills of nationalism and the nation-state that privileged the idea of statehood for ethnically or linguistically defined homogenous nations.

Critique of Parliamentary Democracy

Late colonial India too saw a range of critiques on democracy and federalism from different groups. One such group was the Indian Princely States, which were semi-independent native states that were indirectly ruled by the British through treaties and formed a third of colonial India’s landmass. These states and their rulers, by virtue of their unique relationship with the British, remained indifferent to democracy for most of India’s colonial history. Theoretically, the princely states were not parts of British India and formed a separate entity by themselves, which the Indian States Committee Report of 1928, a committee appointed by the British government to study their relationship with the princely states, referred to as “Indian India.” The Indian Muslims for the most part also remained skeptical of democracy as an indisputable good for the possibility of a Hindu-majority rule loomed large over them. This fear of the majority rule, something that parliamentary democracy considers to be its ideal, made sense only in places where the cultural, linguistic, and ethnic diversity was not too complex to be encapsulated in a simple formula for a first-past-the-post system of rule. It is precisely on this ground that we see a convergence of Muslim and princely political thinking on the question of India’s future. A simple parliamentary democracy would not serve the interests of either the princes or the minorities like the Muslims. This realization shaped their attitude toward constitutional debates in India from the late 1920s through the demission of the British Empire in India.

One example of this thinking may be seen in the influential book Federal India (1930), written by K. M. Panikkar and K. N. Haksar, two leading statesmen from the princely states, on the eve of the Round Table Conferences in London. These conferences convened from 1930 to 1932 were attended by representatives from all major Indian parties and debated a single question: should the future constitution of India be federal or unitary? Panikkar and Haksar’s book categorically rejected parliamentary or Westminster-style government as suitable for India. The power of this critique had a real lasting impact among many princely leaders and is best instantiated by the attempts led by C. P. Ramaswamy Aiyar, the last prime minister of the princely state of Travancore (part of present-day Kerala), to keep the state independent in 1947 on the ostensible ground that in a unitary, parliamentary India, states like Travancore would not be able to remain independent or exercise its historical sovereignty. The advocacies of the Indian princely states, the liberals, and the Muslims were a major reason why there was a political consensus on the desirability of an Indian federation, consisting of both British and princely India, after the London conferences.

Decline of Provincial Autonomy

When the Government of India Act was legislated in 1935 (at the time, arguably, the longest constitution the British parliament enacted) to provide for an Indian federation comprising of both British and princely India, the constitutional thinking on India’s future looked very different. Even as the Act was roundly criticized by Indian nationalists, including Mahatma Gandhi, its jurisprudence was based on the idea that people were not the only repositories of sovereignty in India; states were to be sovereigns too. At one level, it did make sense that the radical ideal of popular sovereignty would not appeal to a considerable section of Indians, and it would be too abrupt a break with India’s history of layered and federated forms of sovereignty, where sovereignty was not understood as invested only in one entity, even if it were the people.

The Act of 1935 proposed a decentralized approach to elections and delimitations, where provinces had the right to shape their own constituencies and electoral rolls. Thus, we see in Schedule VI of the Act, for example, Madras and Bombay provinces were to have different laws of residency requirement (120 and 180 days of residency in the previous year, respectively) for voters. The idea of an Indian federal government regulating elections at all levels was quite alien at the time, as the states/provinces were understood to have residual powers. This line of thinking continued throughout the 1930s and well into the late 1940s. When Jawaharlal Nehru made his famous speech on the Objective Resolution in the Constituent Assembly in December 1946, he made a discomfiting concession to the princes and Muslims. Even as popular sovereignty for him was the zeitgeist of the time, he grudgingly envisioned a constitution that was bottom-up, rather than top-down, wherein the provinces/states enjoyed residual powers.

In the early years of the Constituent Assembly Debates (1946–50), there was a general acceptance that the units of the federation would have inviolable rights. This is best evidenced in the work of the Provincial Constitution Committee, set up under the chairmanship of Sardar Vallabhai Patel, to examine the structure and powers of the provinces. Clause 22 of the report of this committee laid down that delimitation of the territorial constituencies was to be a provincial matter. But in the next few years, the debates in the Assembly would change drastically, no less due to political convulsions of the time, like the creation of Pakistan and the integration of 560-odd Indian princely states after the British made a hasty exit from India in August 1947 unilaterally renouncing their treaty relationships with the states.

Against Federalism

The increasing attrition of federal elements and the fear of balkanization would direct Indian Constitution-making into a more unitary path so much so that the final text of the Indian Constitution of 1950 did not even mention the word federation. B. R. Ambedkar, the chief author of the Indian Constitution, free India’s first Law Minister, and a Dalit icon, had deep-seated reservations about federalism at least from 1939, when he wrote his book Federation versus Freedom. As the title itself suggests, he considered federalism as curbing India’s political freedom, which he believed would be compromised by the princely states, a traditionally conservative group that stood to gain the most from a federal structure. Ambedkar would persuade B.N. Rau, another key author of the Constitution, to make amends to a draft Rau wrote and remove the words “federation” and “federal” from it and replace them with “Union,” signifying a tightly knit, top-down polity.

The eventual shape of the Constitution proved to be more unitary, with very few safeguards given to preserve provincial autonomy. In Indian nationalist thought, the fear that provincial autonomy would only have a deleterious impact on India’s fragile unity became axiomatic. Jawaharlal Nehru, the first prime minister of India, while addressing a group of provincial ministers, said that history teaches us two things: “One is that territorial integrity should be preserved in India and the other that people should be allowed to grow according to their own genius. But that, if allowed to remain by itself, may lead to the strengthening of the disruptive forces in the country.” This constant tussle between unity and disintegration is emblematic of Nehruvian political thought in many respects at least from the mid-1930s.

Thus, it was no surprise that matters of delimitation and electoral rolls would be taken away from the purview of provincial governments. By virtue of Article 327, the Constitution invested the exclusive right of delimitation with the federal parliament. Of course, this was a corollary of the fact that the Indian states/provinces were to be divested of the right to secede or enjoy residual powers or have territorial inviolability. By contrast, the United States Constitution (Art. 1 Sec. 4) invests the power to delimit or redistrict the electoral constituencies with the states, which also enjoy residual or unenumerated powers.

Reconciling Federalism and Democracy

This history should be salutary for the present face-off between democracy and federalism in India today. If democracy as championed by the Indian anticolonial nationalists foiled the attempts to inscribe a more robust federal structure for India wherein units could exercise certain inviolable rights and make them equal partners in governance, today we are seeing the opposite. The states that will get fewer seats through the delimitation fear that federalism will be the casualty and are standing in the way of India being a truly descriptive or representative democracy.

The delimitation move has been interpreted by its detractors as a punishment for Southern states that succeeded in controlling population growth and ensuring higher economic growth in comparison to the poorer and populous states in the North like Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, and Madhya Pradesh. At one level, this is a profoundly anti-democratic argument, yet the argument has power in the context of southern states like Kerala and Tamil Nadu, which were historically strong advocates of federalism and the fear that their federal bargain is being compromised now. Not only do these advanced states contribute more to the federal coffers, but in the face of delimitation they will also have less control over the levers of power in Delhi.

The strong opposition based on federal grounds resulted in the Constitution Amendment Bill failing to garner 2/3 votes in the lower house. It is one of the tragedies of postcolonial India that democracy and federalism have come into conflict when they both should serve the interests of the people. Perhaps this conflict is a symptom of the peculiar historical trajectory of India, where rather than a compromise, the imperatives of democracy overshadowed the needs of federalism for a country of India’s size and diversity.

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