How Democracies Die

In a world increasingly anxious about the health of democratic institutions, "How Democracies Die" offers a timely and essential guide to understanding the subtle yet profound threats facing modern republics. Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, renowned political scientists, move beyond the sensational to reveal the quiet erosion of norms and the dangerous alliances that can lead to democratic backsliding. This book promises to equip you with a critical lens to discern the warning signs, drawing on historical parallels from around the globe and the specific vulnerabilities within American politics. You will gain a deep understanding of how democracies historically perish – not through sudden coups, but through the gradual subversion of unwritten rules, the abdication of gatekeeping responsibilities by political elites, and the dangerous embrace of authoritarian tendencies. Prepare to have your assumptions challenged as the authors meticulously dissect the 'unwritten rules' that have long safeguarded American governance, and explore how their unraveling, as exemplified by 'The Great Republican Abdication' and 'Trump Against the Guardrails,' can pave the way for autocracy. The tone is one of urgent intellectual clarity, blending rigorous academic analysis with compelling historical narratives. You will emerge not just informed, but empowered, with the knowledge to recognize and resist the forces that threaten to dismantle democratic foundations, ultimately fostering a more resilient and vigilant citizenry ready to actively participate in 'Saving Democracy'.

The authors, Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, in their chapter 'Fateful Alliances,' illuminate a recurring pattern in the demise of democracies: the dangerous embrace of aspiring authoritarians by established political elites. They open with the stark imagery of Aesop's fable, where the horse, seeking revenge on the stag, naively accepts the bit and saddle from the hunter, only to find itself permanently subjugated. This fable serves as a powerful prelude to historical accounts like Benito Mussolini's rise in Italy, where the king, swayed by a volatile mix of political division and fear of socialism, invited the Fascist leader to form a cabinet, believing he could be controlled. The reality, however, was far from a controlled negotiation; it was the beginning of an authoritarian epoch, with the bulk of Mussolini's support arriving only after his invitation to power. This pattern repeats with chilling regularity, as seen in the cases of Adolf Hitler in Germany, Getúlio Vargas in Brazil, Alberto Fujimori in Peru, and Hugo Chávez in Venezuela. In each instance, seasoned politicians, facing economic crises and declining party support, desperately sought to co-opt charismatic outsiders, hoping to harness their energy and popular appeal. They mistook a dangerous alliance for a strategic maneuver, a gamble that backfired spectacularly. The core insight here is that these 'fateful alliances' are not born of voter support for authoritarianism—in many cases, such support was minimal before the outsider seized power—but rather from the miscalculations of political insiders. These elites, blinded by ambition, fear, or a desire to outmaneuver rivals, willingly handed over the keys of power, believing they could contain the insurgent. Hitler's ascent, for example, was facilitated by conservative elites who, in their own words, believed they had 'engaged him for ourselves' and would soon 'push him so far into a corner that hell squeal.' This highlights a crucial concept: political parties, serving as democracys gatekeepers, are essential filters. When these gatekeepers fail—by nominating extremists, forming alliances with antidemocratic forces, or refusing to unite against common threats—democracies become vulnerable. The chapter contrasts these failures with successes in countries like Belgium and Finland, where established parties actively 'distanced' themselves from extremists, even forming united fronts with ideological rivals to defend democratic norms. The authors propose a four-part litmus test for identifying authoritarian behavior: rejection of democratic rules, denial of opponents' legitimacy, toleration or encouragement of violence, and readiness to curtail civil liberties. They stress that while potential demagogues exist in all societies, it is the response of political elites that determines whether democracy survives. The narrative arc moves from the tension of these historical betrayals to the insight that vigilance and proactive defense by democratic institutions, particularly political parties, are paramount. The resolution lies in understanding that the survival of democracy hinges not solely on the will of the people, but crucially on the wisdom and courage of its leaders to act as robust gatekeepers, preventing the 'horse' from ever accepting the hunter's saddle.

The authors Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, in their examination of how democracies die, reveal a crucial, often overlooked, mechanism that has historically protected American democracy: gatekeeping, primarily through its political parties. They begin by contrasting Philip Roth's fictionalized account of Charles Lindbergh's rise to power in "The Plot Against America" with the reality of the 1930s, a period rife with extremist figures like Father Charles Coughlin and Huey Long, and later, Joseph McCarthy and George Wallace, who commanded significant public support, demonstrating that the absence of such figures in power before 2016 wasn't due to a lack of contenders or public appetite, but rather the efficacy of party gatekeepers. The narrative then pivots to the historical roots of this gatekeeping, tracing it back to the founders' anxieties about an easily swayed populace and their creation of the Electoral College as an initial, albeit ultimately insufficient, filter. The system evolved, with political parties assuming the mantle of gatekeepers, tasked with balancing their democratic role of representing voters with a crucial filtration role of screening out unfit candidates. This tension, the authors explain, has always been central to the nomination process. For much of American history, parties prioritized this gatekeeping function, utilizing "smoke-filled rooms" and party insiders to select candidates, a system that, while undemocratic in its exclusion, effectively filtered out demagogues, as seen in the cases of Henry Ford and Huey Long, who, despite popular appeal, were stymied by party leadership. The watershed moment, however, arrived in 1968, a year of profound national trauma marked by assassinations and the violent chaos of the Democratic convention in Chicago. This event catalyzed a dramatic shift towards "more democracy," leading to the widespread adoption of binding presidential primaries. While this reform opened the nomination process to voters, it also significantly weakened the parties' gatekeeping power, a change that, the authors suggest, had unforeseen consequences, potentially paving the way for the very outsiders the older system was designed to exclude. The narrative concludes by highlighting that while primaries offered a more democratic path, the "invisible primary"—the crucial networking and relationship-building with party elites, donors, and interest groups—remained, and still remains, a vital, albeit less visible, gatekeeping function.

The authors, Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, in "The Great Republican Abdication," illuminate a pivotal moment in American political history, detailing how the traditional gatekeepers of the Republican Party failed to prevent Donald Trump's rise to the presidential nomination. They paint a picture of a transformed political landscape, where the once-powerful party establishment found itself adrift, its customary checks and balances rendered obsolete by seismic shifts in media and campaign finance. The chapter begins with Trump's unlikely announcement in June 2015, a celebrity outsider with no political experience, a figure initially dismissed by many. However, the authors reveal how the opening of the presidential nomination process, particularly the proliferation of primaries and the decline of party conventions, created vulnerabilities. This new environment, they explain, allowed individuals with wealth and fame to bypass the 'invisible primary'—the crucial, behind-the-scenes courtship of party elites. Figures like Steve Forbes, Pat Robertson, and Pat Buchanan had hinted at this possibility in earlier decades, leveraging wealth and media access, but it was Trump who fully exploited this new reality. The explosion of outside money, amplified by the Citizens United ruling, and the rise of alternative media, particularly Fox News and talk radio, radically altered the dynamics, empowering ideologically extreme candidates and diminishing the influence of traditional party bosses. Trump, a celebrity with unparalleled media access, thrived in this ecosystem, generating free mainstream coverage through controversy. His candidacy, initially a long shot, surged not because he won over the party establishment, but because the establishment's power to block him had evaporated. Levitsky and Ziblatt meticulously detail Trump's success in the primaries, noting his complete lack of endorsements from Republican power brokers even as he led in the polls, a stark contrast to candidates like Jeb Bush or Marco Rubio who had amassed significant backing. This 'abdication' extended beyond the nomination; as Trump became the presumptive nominee, many Republican leaders, despite vocal criticisms from figures like Mitt Romney, John McCain, and conservative publications, ultimately coalesced behind him. The authors argue that this collective failure to decisively reject a candidate who, by their analysis, exhibited all four key indicators of authoritarian behavior—a weak commitment to democratic rules, denial of opponents' legitimacy, tolerance of violence, and readiness to curtail civil liberties—was a catastrophic error. They present a chilling account of how Trump's rhetoric undermined faith in the electoral process and normalized divisive tactics, creating an environment where 73 percent of Republicans questioned the legitimacy of the election. The chapter builds tension by highlighting the Republican leaders' internal conflict and their eventual decision to prioritize party loyalty over democratic principles, likening it to a collective abdication. This, they contend, normalized the election, turning a potential moment of crisis into a 'tossup' race heavily influenced by contingent events. The resolution, or rather the tragic outcome, is that most Republican leaders, by closing ranks, normalized Trump's candidacy, effectively handing him a path to the presidency that might have otherwise been blocked. The authors conclude that the Republican Party's failure to uphold democratic norms, even at the cost of short-term political sacrifice, left the nation vulnerable, underscoring the critical role of gatekeepers in safeguarding democracy.

The authors, Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, guide us through the subtle, often imperceptible erosion of democratic norms, presenting the story of Alberto Fujimori's rise in Peru as a stark case study. Fujimori, a political outsider propelled by public disgust with hyperinflation and a brutal insurgency, entered the presidential race not as a would-be dictator, but as a protest candidate. His initial struggles against a powerful establishment—congress controlled by opposition parties, a distrustful media, and an entrenched judiciary—led him down a path of increasing confrontation. Lacking patience for the slow grind of democratic negotiation, Fujimori began to bypass institutions, issuing executive decrees and attacking critics as enemies and charlatans. This pattern, Levitsky and Ziblatt explain, is a common precursor to democratic breakdown: a norm-breaking leader clashes with a threatened establishment, escalating into a tit-for-tat conflict. The narrative then broadens, revealing that this process often begins not with a blueprint for autocracy, but as a sequence of events, fueled by provocative rhetoric that demonizes opponents and the press, making extreme actions seem justifiable. The authors illustrate how would-be authoritarians, finding democratic checks and balances intolerably frustrating, seek to 'capture the referees'—the judicial system, law enforcement, and regulatory agencies—by appointing loyalists or discrediting independent officials. This capture provides a shield against accountability and a weapon for selective enforcement, as seen with Vladimiro Montesinos in Peru, who used blackmail and bribery to control judges and politicians. When direct capture isn't possible, institutions are reformed, as in Hungary and Poland, where courts were expanded or rules changed to favor the ruling party. The strategy extends to sidelining key players: opposition politicians are weakened through legal means like libel suits or imprisonment, as with Anwar Ibrahim in Malaysia, or business leaders are pressured into political neutrality, like the Russian oligarchs under Putin. Media outlets are either bought off, as many in Peru were, or crippled by financial penalties and tax investigations. As these key pillars of opposition are neutralized, the opposition deflates, and the incumbent consolidates power. Crucially, Levitsky and Ziblatt emphasize that this subversion often happens incrementally, under a veneer of legality, with reforms disguised as measures for public good, such as combating corruption or enhancing security. The authors conclude by highlighting how crises—whether real, like the post-9/11 security threats that enabled the USA PATRIOT Act, or manufactured, like Ferdinand Marcos's use of bombings to declare martial law—provide the perfect window for authoritarians to expand executive power, silence dissent, and dismantle democratic constraints, often with public acquiescence born of fear and a desire for order.

For generations, Americans have placed immense faith in their Constitution, viewing it as the bedrock of a divinely guided nation, a beacon to the world. While that grand vision may be dimming, trust in the Constitution itself persists. The authors, Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, reveal a crucial truth: the intricate system of checks and balances, designed to prevent power's abuse, has indeed served as a bulwark, as seen in historical moments like the Supreme Court's check on Lincoln or Congress's pressure on Nixon. Yet, they caution, constitutional safeguards alone are insufficient. History offers stark reminders: Germany's Weimar Constitution, lauded for its legal rigor, crumbled before Hitler, and many Latin American republics, meticulously modeled on the U.S. system, descended into dictatorship. Even meticulously crafted constitutions, like Argentina's or the Philippines', proved unable to prevent autocracy when the spirit of the law was subverted. The authors explain that constitutions are inherently incomplete, riddled with gaps and ambiguities, open to competing interpretations—much like a work-to-rule labor protest that grinds operations to a halt by adhering strictly to the letter of the law, disregarding its intent. The true guardians of democracy, they argue, are not just the written words but the unwritten rules: the democratic norms that bind societies. Think of a pickup basketball game, governed not by NBA rules but by shared understandings of fair play; a dropped ball isn't a foul, but a deliberate shove is. These informal rules, like mutual toleration—the acceptance of political rivals as legitimate, not existential threats—and institutional forbearance—the restraint from pushing legal prerogatives to their absolute limit—are the soft guardrails. Mutual toleration, a hard-won recognition in American history, was absent in early partisan battles and tragically absent in the Spanish Republic of 1931, where opponents viewed each other as mortal enemies, leading to civil war. Institutional forbearance, the patient self-control to avoid actions that violate the spirit of the law, even if technically legal, echoes the restraint shown by predemocratic monarchs and is vital for ensuring the game of democracy can continue. When these norms erode, as seen in the escalating constitutional brinksmanship that led to the English Civil War or the tragic downfall of Chile's democracy, would-be authoritarians find fertile ground to justify their power grabs by labeling opponents as threats, ultimately paving the path to dictatorship. The core tension, Levitsky and Ziblatt reveal, is that while a strong constitution provides the framework, it is the strength of democratic norms—the shared, unwritten commitments to mutual toleration and institutional forbearance—that truly secures a democracy against those who would dismantle it from within.

Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, in their exploration of "How Democracies Die," illuminate a crucial, often unseen, foundation of American governance: the unwritten rules, or norms, that bind its institutions and politicians. They reveal that America's republic was not born with strong democratic guardrails; its early years were a tumultuous "politics without guardrails," marked by intense partisan hostility and "constitutional hardball," where rivals were seen not as legitimate opponents but as existential threats, exemplified by the Sedition Act and the fierce electoral battles of the early 19th century. It took decades, and a new generation of politicians like Martin Van Buren, for a spirit of "mutual toleration" to emerge, where winning and losing were accepted parts of the political game. Yet, this fragile peace was shattered by the polarizing issue of slavery, which reignited partisan animosity to a fever pitch, ultimately leading to the devastating Civil War, a trauma that prompted a profound reexamination of how American democracy had failed and a renewed focus on the necessity of these unwritten rules. The authors show how, in the aftermath of the war, norms of forbearance and mutual toleration were painstakingly rebuilt, but often on a deeply problematic foundation: the racial exclusion of the post-Reconstruction South, a compromise that bought stability at the cost of full democratization. This era of relative bipartisan cooperation, despite its undemocratic underpinnings, enabled significant reforms and established the checks and balances we recognize today, based not just on constitutional text but on "usages," or unwritten rules, as James Bryce observed. The core tension, Levitsky and Ziblatt explain, lies in the delicate balance between oversight and forbearance: institutions like Congress and the judiciary must act as "watchdogs" to check presidential power, yet they must also "allow the government to operate" by exercising restraint. When partisan hatred eclipses this spirit, the system fractures, leading to "constitutional hardball" under divided government or "abdication" under unified government, where legislative or judicial bodies become "lapdogs" rather than watchdogs. This dynamic was starkly illustrated by Franklin D. Roosevelt's court-packing scheme in 1937, a bold attempt to circumvent a conservative Supreme Court that, though understandable in crisis, threatened to politicize the judiciary; it was ultimately defeated by a remarkable coalition of opposition and even some of Roosevelt's own party, demonstrating that even a popular president could be checked by established norms. Similarly, Congress possesses potent tools like the filibuster and the power of advice and consent, which, if used without restraint, could paralyze the government, but historical norms of reciprocity and courtesy largely prevented such dysfunction for much of the 20th century. The authors highlight how presidents, despite possessing significant unilateral powers like executive orders and pardons, largely practiced "executive forbearance," setting precedents of restraint from George Washington onward, and how even Theodore Roosevelt, with his "stewardship theory," operated within constitutional bounds, a pattern largely followed until the late 20th century, with Harry Truman and Dwight Eisenhower, for instance, complying with Supreme Court rulings against their wishes. The chapter underscores that these unwritten rules, while tested by McCarthyism's divisive rhetoric and the Nixon administration's "authoritarian behavior," ultimately held throughout the 20th century, preventing the kind of democratic collapse seen elsewhere. However, the authors issue a crucial, troubling caveat: the very norms that sustained this period of political civility were deeply intertwined with racial exclusion, and the subsequent process of racial inclusion, while essential for full democratization, simultaneously created the conditions for the polarization that challenges these norms today.

In 'The Unraveling,' Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt illuminate the insidious process by which democratic norms, the unwritten rules that underpin a healthy republic, begin to erode, much like a sturdy rope fraying strand by strand. The authors trace this decay not to a single cataclysmic event, but to a slow, deliberate chipping away at established practices, beginning long before Donald Trump's ascent. They detail how Newt Gingrich transformed political discourse into a 'warfare,' employing 'Boy Scout words' no longer sufficed, urging a 'slugfest' mentality and utilizing inflammatory rhetoric, a tactic amplified by tools like CSPAN and GOPAC's audiotapes, which spread a 'harder form of politics' across the Republican party. This shift, from presuming goodwill to treating opponents as immoral, manifested in unprecedented obstructionism during the Clinton and Bush administrations, marked by epidemic filibuster use and politicized impeachment proceedings, culminating in the erosion of forbearance in judicial nominations, as seen with the Senate's refusal to consider Merrick Garland. The narrative then expands to the state level, illustrating the radical Texas redistricting plan as a stark example of 'constitutional hardball.' The authors reveal how partisan intolerance, fueled by a changing media landscape and the rise of figures like Ann Coulter and Rush Limbaugh, increasingly framed political opponents as existential threats, particularly during the Obama presidency with the emergence of the Tea Party movement and the persistent 'birther' conspiracy. This intense polarization, driven by demographic shifts and a realignment that made parties more ideologically homogeneous and culturally distinct—with Republicans becoming predominantly white and evangelical, and Democrats increasingly diverse—transformed partisan affiliation into a deep-seated identity, breeding fear and animosity. The chapter powerfully argues that this breakdown in mutual toleration and forbearance, a 'warfare' mentality embraced by a significant portion of the Republican party, has weakened democracy's 'soft guardrails,' leaving the system vulnerable to the very antidemocratic leaders it was designed to resist, a dangerous unmooring that predates and enables future challenges to democratic institutions.

As Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt illuminate in their examination of Donald Trump's first year in office, the president's tenure began with a familiar authoritarian script, echoing figures like Alberto Fujimori and Hugo Chávez. Trump launched blistering rhetorical attacks on perceived adversaries – the media, judges, and even federal funding for cities – triggering widespread dismay. The media, in particular, found itself on the front lines, with an overwhelming majority of coverage being negative, a stark contrast to previous administrations. Amid swirling investigations, including those led by Special Counsel Robert Mueller, talk of impeachment arose, yet Trump, like other elected demagogues, doubled down, claiming he was beset by establishment forces and treated unfairly. The central question became how this outsider president, feeling under assault, would respond. Levitsky and Ziblatt reveal that Trump attempted the three core strategies of authoritarian consolidation: capturing the referees, sidelining key players, and rewriting the rules. He demonstrated striking hostility toward institutions like law enforcement, intelligence agencies, and the courts, seeking personal loyalty from FBI Director James Comey and pressing officials to quash investigations into his campaign's Russia ties. When referees, such as Comey and Attorney General Jeff Sessions, refused to bend, Trump sought to punish or purge them, echoing the actions of leaders in less democratic nations. His attacks on judges who ruled against him, and his politically motivated pardon of Joe Arpaio, signaled a disregard for judicial independence, a move that legal scholars warned could strip courts of their authority to protect constitutional rights. The administration also trampled on the Office of Government Ethics, leading to its director's resignation. Trump's rhetoric against the media, labeling them the 'enemy of the American people,' and his threats to change libel laws or use regulatory agencies against news outlets, aimed to sideline these critical voices, mirroring tactics used by figures like Ecuadorian President Rafael Correa. While these threats often remained just that, the administration did move to withhold funding from sanctuary cities, a tactic reminiscent of Venezuelan efforts to control opposition-run governments. However, the authors note that Trump's attempts to capture referees were often thwarted by Republican opposition in the Senate, particularly concerning key appointments. The chapter then delves into the concerning efforts to tilt the playing field, most notably the creation of the Presidential Advisory Commission on Election Integrity. This commission, driven by Kris Kobach, a prominent advocate for vote suppression, was perceived as an effort to make it harder for low-income minority citizens to vote, echoing the discriminatory practices of the Jim Crow South. The underlying premise, the authors explain, was the baseless claim of widespread voter fraud, a narrative that Trump himself embraced, creating a convergence of interests with Kobach's goals. While many of Trump's most notorious threats did not fully materialize in his first year, and the guardrails of democracy, though scraped against, were not broken, Levitsky and Ziblatt caution that the backsliding of democracy is often gradual. The chapter concludes with a mixed assessment, noting that while some nations saw immediate erosion of democratic norms, others, like Peru and Turkey, experienced a delayed breakdown, leaving the long-term impact of Trump's challenges to democratic institutions uncertain.

The authors, Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, reveal that American democracy, often perceived as exceptional, is not inherently immune to breakdown, recalling past crises like the Civil War and the long struggle for full enfranchisement. While global democratic recession fears might be exaggerated, the United States faces a unique challenge, amplified by a profound, decades-long partisan polarization that predates Donald Trump's presidency, leading to a dangerous erosion of democratic norms. They posit three potential futures for America: a swift recovery, a darker path of constitutional hardball and engineered electoral majorities, or, most likely, a prolonged period of institutional warfare fueled by hyperpartisanship, a future vividly illustrated by the political landscape of North Carolina. The core tension, they explain, lies in the decay of two unwritten, yet vital, norms: mutual tolerance of political rivals and institutional forbearance, the deliberate underuse of one's power for the sake of fair play. These procedural principles, as crucial as the "American Creed" of freedom and equality, are not enshrined in the Constitution but are the very bedrock upon which its checks and balances function. The authors caution against a "fight like Republicans" strategy, illustrating with Venezuelan and Colombian examples how scorched-earth tactics can backfire, empowering authoritarians and eroding public support. Instead, they advocate for a muscular yet rule-bound opposition, emphasizing the use of existing democratic channels like Congress, courts, and elections. The path forward, they argue, requires building broad, crosscutting coalitions that bridge ideological divides, bringing together adversaries rather than just allies, and temporarily setting aside deeply held disagreements to find common ground—a strategy that could help dampen existing partisan rifts. Ultimately, reducing polarization necessitates addressing its root causes: racial and religious realignment, and growing economic inequality. For the Republican Party, this means a potential refounding, expelling extremists, and broadening its base beyond white Christians, drawing lessons from the post-war rebuilding of German conservatism. For Democrats, it means resisting the temptation to abandon identity politics or minority group influence, instead focusing on universalistic social policies that address economic inequality, like comprehensive health insurance or expanded family leave, which can build bridges and lock in support for a more inclusive, stable democracy. The fate of American democracy, they conclude, rests not with any single leader, but with the collective commitment of its citizens to restore and extend these foundational norms, a challenging but vital opportunity to forge a truly exceptional, multiracial democracy.

“How Democracies Die” by Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt offers a stark and vital diagnosis of democratic decay, revealing that the most insidious threats often emerge not from external forces, but from within the established political order. The core takeaway is that democracies are not overthrown by sudden coups, but are gradually eroded when political elites, driven by miscalculation, ambition, or fear, forge 'fateful alliances' with aspiring authoritarians. The book powerfully illustrates the critical role of 'gatekeepers' – political parties and leaders – who historically filtered out threats. Their failure to identify, isolate, and decisively reject antidemocratic forces, often prioritizing short-term partisan gains over institutional integrity, creates the fertile ground for authoritarian capture. The authors meticulously detail the behavioral warning signs of authoritarianism – rejection of democratic rules, denial of opponents' legitimacy, toleration of violence, and readiness to curtail civil liberties – emphasizing that these are not abstract concepts but observable patterns. The emotional lesson resonates deeply: a sense of alarm and urgency, coupled with a profound understanding of collective responsibility. The book imparts a somber realization that the defense of democracy is not a passive inheritance but an active, continuous struggle requiring courage and vigilance from those in power. The practical wisdom lies in recognizing that the erosion of unwritten norms, such as mutual toleration and institutional forbearance, is as dangerous as overt constitutional violations. Democracy's survival hinges on the willingness of mainstream actors to prioritize democratic institutions over partisan advantage, to unite even with ideological rivals against extremist threats, and to actively cultivate and defend the 'soft guardrails' that prevent political competition from descending into destructive conflict. Ultimately, Levitsky and Ziblatt present a compelling argument that safeguarding democracy requires a proactive, principled stance from political elites, a commitment to upholding norms, and a clear-eyed understanding that the greatest threats often wear familiar political colors.