Diamonds are forever; democracies? Not so much. During the 20th century, plenty of democracies have transformed into proto-fascist regimes while retaining the ritual of elections.

But what about the opposite? Could a system that rejects national elections still pursue democratic policy goals? History can shed some light on that question.

Hearts and minds

After the US withdrew from Afghanistan, the mainstream media worried about “winning the hearts and minds of the people” there. What the reporters didn’t know is that this idea is more than 2,000 years old, having been introduced to Europe and America – “the West” – through translations of the works of the Confucian philosopher Mencius.

It was also Mencius who made the “people’s happiness” the standard for legitimate government, long before it appeared in the US Declaration of Independence.

In the 1730s, decades before essays by philosophers Montesquieu or Jean-Jacques Rousseau, English reformers recommended Mencian principles to Crown Prince Frederick, Prince of Wales. By mid-century, the French radical Abbe Raynal had made the people’s happiness and hearts the yardstick for a democratic republic.

Soon afterwards, philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau followed suit, then the two Thomases, Paine and Jefferson. Jefferson even owned a translation of famous Chinese treatises. You can find both the “hearts and minds” and the “happiness” arguments in those essays.

What you won’t find is Aristotle’s idea that, from birth, the nobility were meant to command, while commoners should obey. That had been the mainstream European view from Aristotle to Edmond Burke, the father of modern conservatism. In Europe what really counted was “who you are”: Greek or barbarian; noble or common; Christian or Muslim; black or white.

Not so in China. The mainstream Chinese view was based on “what have you done” for the people – meaning the average taxpayers. Who you were didn’t count for much because the civil service exams were anonymous. The graders didn’t even know if you were Han Chinese or Khitan; Buddhist or Muslim. If you were fishing for a promotion, what counted was: did you make the people’s lives a little better?

For almost 1,000 years before the 20th century, China’s government implemented a progressive tax system; built public schools, low-income housing and orphanages; and made low-cost loans available to small merchants and farmers. Legal services were free, and anyone could voice complaints through multiple channels. Above all it invested in public infrastructure, hoping to keep the people happy.

And yes, it didn’t always work as designed – but it placed on the government the responsibility to serve the broader public and not merely a few aristocrats.

America’s founding generation likewise made the people’s “happiness” the prime justification for government. That meant rejecting the “who you are” standard favoured by European nobility. Arguably it was that change – not elections – that helped turn an authoritarian system into a fledgling democracy.

Then and now

Chairman Mao famously trashed almost every feature of China’s legacy, favouring the politics of Karl Marx and the draconian discipline of the Russians. His use of the personality cult, demonisation of foreigners, suppression of rival ideologies, and heavy proselytising all call to mind premodern European habits of control. Deng Xiaoping adopted a more pragmatic style, but retained Marx and Mao as the main sources of orthodox thought.

In recent years, Chinese statesmen have looked back to the Confucian tradition for new ideas. And what did they find? Mencius’ claim that the government should foster the people’s happiness. This principle appears in the Guanzi, a book dating to before the common era. As it happens, Xi Jinping is fond of citing passages from that classic, like this one: “Government can be successfully administered only when it is in accord with the people’s will. When a government fails it is because it runs against the people’s will.”

Jefferson for sure would agree with that, but it also calls to mind what General Stanley McChrystal said about Afghanistan in 2009 on CBS’s “60 Minutes”: “If the people are against us, we cannot be successful. If the people view us as occupiers and the enemy, we can’t be successful and our casualties will go up dramatically.”

I doubt he was suggesting that US policy in Afghanistan be put to a vote.

Likewise in the Confucian classics, responding to “the people’s wishes” didn’t mean holding plebiscites on whether the government should provide relief for natural disasters.

It was assumed that most people wanted to live a life free from poverty and war, and that they wanted the laws applied equitably. Principles like that can be found in legal documents over two millennia of imperial history, and in recent years they have been cited by Chinese leaders, for example: “The people don’t like trouble and worry, so I will free them to pursue happiness. The people don’t like poverty and misery, so I will enrich and honour them. The people don’t like danger and uncertainty, so I will let them live in peace and safety.”

Beijing has adopted these ideals as its “people first” principle, with the reduction of poverty being the prime policy goal for years now. Some dismiss all this as hot air, but there have been successes. The best-known of these is the raising of hundreds of millions of formerly impoverished families into the middle class and limiting the ravages of a deadly pandemic. Neither accomplishment is trivial. How did Beijing do it?

In China today, the “what have you done” standard has been revived. Officers are tested for job fitness and for evidence of public service. As in the imperial past, people can submit complaints, albeit online, and special departments check corrupt officers. The government offers tax breaks for small businesses, and invests heavily in infrastructure, especially in underdeveloped areas.

Not all these initiatives work as planned, and some have serious drawbacks. Checks on corruption, for instance, can go awry, and civil society has suffered in recent years, but Beijing has put real money behind the “what have you done” principle that’s rooted in Chinese history.

The return of ‘who you are’

Both the Trump and Biden administrations treat all this as a threat to democracy, but considering that US political philosophy originally had a Chinese accent, we shouldn’t take racial rivalry for granted. None of the initiatives I’ve mentioned are particularly un-American, and some of them call to mind the New Deal era, like Eleanor Roosevelt’s “freedom from hunger” and “freedom from fear” principles.

Bearing that in mind, it makes more sense for the US and China to team up against humankind’s most urgent threats – like the climate crisis and pandemics – but close cooperation seems unlikely, and one reason is the “who you are” mindset of the Republican Party.

Republican President Abraham Lincoln once called Ralph Waldo Emerson America’s Confucius, yet today most Republican politicians oppose the Confucius Institutes, and flatly reject both the New Deal and the “what have you done” principle. Ranking of people and nations by race, religion, and wealth are once again standard practice. Requiring that candidates be qualified for office is out of the question, and spending money to alleviate poverty is routinely opposed by most Republicans.

But can a government that ignores the people’s welfare still be a democracy? Judging from recent reports on US democracy, there is some debate about that.

Joe Biden is a democrat, yet his administration supports the Republican fantasy that white nations are locked in a zero-sum rivalry with the “Yellow Peril”. Whatever you might say for or against that view, what is at stake is clear. In Washington today what really counts is who you are, not what you’ve done.

Martin Powers has written three books on the history of social justice in China, two of which won the Levenson Prize for best book in pre-1900 Chinese Studies. His recent book, published by Routledge, traces the impact of Chinese political theory and practice on the English Enlightenment. He is currently professor emeritus at the University of Michigan