Like Fukuyama’s “End of History” thesis, disproving Walzer’s universal-made-particular claim regarding morality seems difficult. Indeed, the quick example of the “Golden Rule,” an empathy-based dogma, finds itself in religions across the world. With my limited experience in this world, shaped by a firmly liberal, Western upbringing, I have a hard time speaking beyond my own perspective, but I would like to agree with Walzer’s claims regarding humanity. He claims that “humanity has members but no memory, and so it has no history and no culture,” and goes on to add, “the members of all the different societies, because they are human, can acknowledge each other’s different ways, respond to each other’s cries for help, learn from each other, and march (sometimes) in each other’s parades.” Again, I would love to believe that this is true or would one day be true, but it is too idealistic to have faith in. With a feeling of growing complexity in this world, it is hard to trust that empathy and a steadfast commitment to justice will prevail. With the dual tension of local conflict keeping many people preoccupied and global problems growing increasingly complex, responding to cries abroad seems unlikely (with the refugee crisis as a clear example). Indeed, it’s hard to argue that our thin morality offers us sufficient grounds to dive into problems that are often deeply shrouded in thick morality; can adequate faith in our thin morality convince us that we are solving others’ problems rather than worsening them? Certainly, it is difficult to be convinced by such arguments (along with Fukuyama’s and Ash’s) that focus on universal ideological convergence in an age where splintering feels never-ending as new battles continue to emerge. As such, perhaps my skepticism is solely related to my worries towards the world we live in; I would love to see an unimaginable surprise to dispel such doubts.

Analyzing the portrayal of democracy in “Please Vote For Me” can be done with respect to either democracy in theory or in practice. As far as the former, on the surface, the third graders’ classroom’s version of democracy follows Dahl’s criteria: the election of officials, the right to vote, the right to run for office, the right to express themselves for all. However, the students are unable to fully achieve democracy due to a lack of appreciation for all the details of the democratic process, or democracy in practice. Specifically, as Schimitter and Karl argue, fairly conducted elections are crucial to democracy, and while there was indeed competition between the three students, bribery plays a role in giving the votes to Luo Lei. Neither were elected officials being held accountable for their actions: the students do not utilize their right to confront Luo Lei’s authoritarian manner. Also, Schmitter and Karl emphasize deliberation between the people as important to the democratic process, and the film doesn’t emphasize the students taking part in this (aside from interactions directly with the nominees who tried to sway them). The lack of these conversations could potentially be due to an apathy on the part of the students, a lack of caring that effectively destroys democracy as it removes the role of the citizens. Perhaps too however, the expectation of these students to practice democracy in their classroom is too great. In their setting, the students face two extremes with respect to social order: discipline outside the classroom and disorder within it. As far as the liberal democracy argument, the students must achieve order in the classroom (not the chaos of bullying one minute and everyone crying the next) before they can establish democracy. And ultimately, without knowing the terms associated with government (ie. vote, dictator, manager), they lack the insight about politics in general.

In “The Grocer and the Chief,” Lerner certainly weaves into his report his own views regarding modernization, notably a favoritism towards the spreading of Westernized practices. For Lerner, progress seems to represent a sort of movement, but one in which American or Western values dominate. Indeed, he highlights two forms of mobility–physical and societal–that seem to be at the core of progress for Lerner. Upon the advent of bus transportation, Lerner describes, “the villagers were getting out of their holes at last,” (51). Though a paraphrase of the Grocer’s previous comment, this statement implies Lerner’s view of the villagers’ acquisition of freedom: a release from a former position of not simply immobility, but also ignorance (similar to Plato’s cave). This distinctly contrasts the Chief telling Tosun that he “‘wouldn’t move a foot from [Balgat],'” (49) and the shepherd (who eventually moved villages) would rather kill himself then leave Balgat. As such, Lerner approaches his analysis of modernization with a familiar approach that it greatly benefits the many, while potentially harming the few. The second form of mobility is societal, which the Grocer evokes initially upon responding to what he would do as Turkey’s president. The ease with which he offers his answer–to “make roads for the villagers to come to towns to see the world,” (49)–reveals his thoughtfulness. He had taken to formulate an answer to a question that might be more commonly asked in democratic republics, where representatives listen to citizens voices. Similarly, the movement of agricultural to factory jobs results in a desire to gain capital, that villagers could later spend on refrigerators, tractors, trucks, and radios–the last of which giving them power that formerly only the Chief held.

Lerner’s evaluation of Turkey’s societal changes accentuates his biases as he promotes Westernized values, like various forms of mobility. While obvious to readers accessing such judgments, the next question to ask regards the extent to which Lerner himself is aware of his partiality. Having grown up in a country that praises its own “achievements,” I simply wonder to what extent it is possible to prevent my own biases from leaking through too.