Sidney Tarrow’s wide-ranging book exemplifies the value of comparative politics for understanding the United States. Tarrow’s background studying postwar communist parties in Italy and France; his seminal writings, most notably Power in Movement and The New Transnational Activism; and his productive collaborations with Charles Tilly and Doug McAdam free him of illusions about the United States: “Once we shed the myth of American exceptionalism, we can see… parallels with a variety of democratic experiences” (p. 233).

Charles Tilly’s core theme was that “States Make Wars and Wars Make States.” For this reviewer, Tarrow’s theme is that parties make movements and movements make parties (pp. 37–38). And just as some wars break states, some movements break parties. In his examinations of current and past movements, Tarrow concludes—and I agree—that the future of American democracy depends in large measure on how “movements and parties navigate the shoals of a deep democratic crisis” (p. 233).

This book demonstrates the value of bridging the divide between scholars of movements and political scientists studying voters or legislators. Neither side can provide a full picture on its own: movement studies ignored parties, whereas political scientists studying voters and legislatures missed the ways that movements and outside groups constrain party agendas.

Tarrow is as critical of movement studies, including his own past work, as he is of other approaches. On one hand, the ’60s generation, with dreams of fraternity and sisterhood energized by civil rights, women’s rights, and antiwar sentiment, saw political parties as out of step and out of date. Older scholars, scarred by shattered illusions, considered mass movements dangerous, given their vivid memories of Hitler and Mussolini.

As Tarrow began to connect movement research with parties, he concluded that his original thesis of a “social movement society” with blurred lines between movements and other actors was too simplistic. The burgeoning market for movements and interest groups had unexpected impacts on political parties, and studying movements apart from parties missed the ways that groups, both on the Left and on the Right, have “contributed mightily” to polarization (pp. 23–24, 149).

This is an important step in bridging the gap between movement studies and political scientists studying legislation or elections. Seventy years ago, the authors of Voting asked what moves an issue to the point where a party will seize on and articulate it. This question can only be answered by studying the ways that parties and movements interact. Yet, the 2009 Oxford Handbook of Comparative Politics did not even have an index entry for social movements (p. 13).

For all that survey research has taught us about primary voters and campaigns, and for all the advances in analyzing the congressional committee system and interparty bargaining, there are missing pieces. Tarrow rightly casts some of the blame on survey research, which until recently has focused on how citizens respond to questions about candidates and issues. This emphasis downplayed the ever-present battles within parties over which issues to debate and what policies to offer, as well as the intraparty fights between the distinctive interests and constituencies of governors, senators, representatives, and presidents.

It has long been accepted that parties do not “create” issues; they only raise an existing issue when it benefits them. At the same time, as Tarrow notes, critical changes occur in relations between movements and parties when parties are committed to an outdated structure. Tarrow correctly suggests that this happens when movements already embedded in a party, like unions or religious organizations, block change (pp. 15, 18).

This book reinforces my belief that it will be more difficult for parties to adapt in the future. The changes that are making it tougher for parties to build consensus in the House and Senate are partially self-inflicted and irreversible, such as campaign finance reform, whereas others are caused by changes in the economy and communications technology. Together, they have made it harder for parties to develop new equilibria when times change and old positions are no longer viable.

Tarrow compares today’s contentious politics to a “traffic jam,” an apt description of both parties’ problems (p. 5). Democrats spent months on battles over whether to settle for incremental progress or fight for all-or-nothing legislation on infrastructure, child support, and climate change. Under President Trump, Republicans debated in the House and the Senate whether anything less than a total elimination of Obamacare was acceptable and, in the end, were unable to fulfill a major promise of repealing and replacing it.

The traffic jam was created by changes that began on the Left to weaken party control of candidate selection and strengthen the role of small donors in financing the parties. The Bipartisan-Campaign Finance Reform Act of 2002, known as “McCain-Feingold,” was the joint result of the progressive desire to eliminate bosses, big money, and interests deemed “special” from politics and of the conservative goal to make government smaller and less progressive. McCain-Feingold became a self-inflicted wound that has weakened political parties by strengthening the power of big money to operate outside the parties and amplifying the power of activists to prevent House and Senate leaders from brokering consensus within and between the parties.

Tarrow’s historical analysis and his discussion of current alliances highlight the areas where further research is needed. Movements, like parties, are sustained campaigns to advance causes with advertising, organizations, and networks (p. 16). But we need to know more about how movements and parties negotiate. The decline in parties’ capacity to manage conflict and “civilize” ideological groupings is occurring because party leaders have less ability to control the traffic. This is due in part to their difficulty cooperating with movement groups associated with the parties.

Tarrow’s discussion of Ronald Reagan’s co-optive response to the Christian Right is valuable but does not address the tensions and often difficult bargaining since then to maintain the GOP’s commitment to the conservative religious program. In 2012 and 2016 Evangelical leaders met to see if they could unite behind a committed religious conservative in the South Carolina presidential primary. In the most Evangelical primary electorate in the country, their chosen candidate lost both times, once to thrice-divorced Newt Gingrich and then to Donald Trump. How does a movement that cannot win in the relatively friendly environs of South Carolina maintain its national power?

I hope future work by Tarrow and others will help us understand more of the ways competition within and between groups affects both movements and parties. When a party’s candidates or activists support an extreme version of its policies, it puts the other candidates in a perilous position: denouncing the extreme but consistent statement will upset many, whereas ignoring it can be more costly. The phrase “legitimate rape” cost Republicans several Senate races in 2010 and 2012. Conversely, “Defund the Police” addressed a serious national problem, but the slogan was hard to defend nationally—even though it was addressed in twelve city councils—and cost Democrats some seats in the 2020 election.

We know little about the ways movements manage activists when their efforts interfere with fundraising. When “Black Lives Matter” began raising substantial corporate contributions—close to $100 million—they denounced counter-rallies that confronted white nationalist rallies. Was this a response to corporate donors, and how was it decided?

Movements and parties have very different standards, and we need to know more about how some groups learn to navigate between them. A movement can sell a slogan without considering how to change any laws. In separate public meetings with Black Lives Matter activists in 2015, both Oprah Winfrey and Hillary Clinton pushed them to focus on legislation. “If you can’t explain it and you can’t sell it,” Clinton told them, “then it stays on the shelf.”

No matter how many followers a politician has, or how many marchers or donors support a movement, congressional and senate votes are the coin of the legislative realm. When President Lyndon B. Johnson met with Clarence Mitchell, a legendary civil rights lobbyist, he would say, “Clarence, you can get anything you want, if you’ve got the votes. How many votes have you got?”

With his book, Sidney Tarrow raises critical questions. Is there any way that movements can help shorten the path of contention over legislation? Can idealism and passion live alongside fine print and thousands of pages of details? How do some organizations manage over time to become fixtures in the political landscape?

Tarrow has changed my understanding of the role of movements in American politics. He has redefined my understanding of what constitutes a realistic solution for the antidemocratic threats facing America. Until we can answer his questions, we do not have a viable path forward.