The political value of third places
Ray Oldenburg writes about the importance of informal association
An extract from Chapter 4: “The Greater Good” in the original 1989 The Great Good Place by Ray Oldenburg
FROM THE OTHER side of the breakfast table, a former colleague gave me the first reaction to my third place thesis. For a long time he pored over the draft with interest and apparent approval. Suddenly he erupted in anger. I was then accused of promoting a way of life in which the masses spend their time lounging about coffeehouses or taverns while all hope of a better world crumbles about them. People, he argued, would be far better advised to join political action groups than waste their time in the manner I was advocating. I was unable to determine what prompted his displeasure. He had misjudged the third place; yet, he was hardly alone in doing so and his objection merits a response in its own terms.
If Americans generally find it difficult to appreciate the political value of third places, it is partly because of the great freedom of association that Americans enjoy. In totalitarian societies, the leadership is keenly aware of the political potential of informal gathering places and actively discourages them. I recall from childhood days some old-timers of German descent discussing Hitler's ban against the assembly of more than three persons on the street corners of German towns and cities. A colleague who recently traveled through the Soviet Union remarked on the fear Russians have of expressing themselves, even in informal gatherings. The most open expression she noted was what took place at roadside when the touring buses stopped in open country and men and women went into the bushes on opposite sides of the road in lieu of visiting restrooms.
Extract from “The Greater Good,” continued:
Manuela Hoelterhoff visited Dresden, East Germany, in 1983, and later wrote "the miserableness of the cuisine and the scarcity of restaurants are largely intentional, and only partly a function of the German palette or the absence of high quality food. Cafes, in which people might linger for more than one hour discussing the horrors of the day, are potentially the breeding grounds of dissent; best keep them at a minimum. In Dresden, the asocial underpinning of communist society becomes crystal clear."
In Hungary, just prior to 1954, the government encouraged a revival of traditional farmers' reading circles where peasants might discuss their mutual problems. At first the people were timid and reluctant to participate in these gatherings but in time they did. The ensuing discussions were critical of the regime and it was not long before the Communist newspapers proclaimed such groups to be centers of local resistance. They were discontinued. In retrospect, the revival of the discussion groups turned out to be a deliberate ruse designed to lure the peasants to staged elections, after which they were decreed to have no legitimate purpose.
Sweden's rulers banned the drinking of coffee in the eighteenth century. Officialdom was convinced that the coffeehouses were "dens of subversion where malcontents planned revolts." Several members of the medical profession were coerced into giving "scientific" medical testimony to the effect that coffee was injurious to the human body. Free assembly, at its most spontaneous and informal levels of occurrence—a right seemingly so basic that our Constitution does not spell it out—is anathema to fascist rule.
Just as third places run counter to the type of political control exercised in totalitarian societies, so they are essential to the political processes of a democracy. There can be no better example of this than offered by our own dear land for, as much as the mere idea may upbraid the sensitivities of some, our democracy had its origins in the local taverns of the revolutionary era. More than anywhere else in colonial America, the taverns offered a democratic forum. There protest gelled into action and the organization of the revolution and of the society to follow were agreed upon. Within them, as the historians Carl and Jesse Bridenbaugh put it, "there existed that full and free interplay of spontaneous and responsible group association which appears to be a necessary condition of a healthy social order." Much abused, characteristically undervalued, the tavern furnished the "requisite machinery" for a new social and political order.
Sam Warner examined the taverns of Philadelphia at that crucial time and concluded that, "Then, as now, each one had its own crowd of regulars and thus each constituted an informal community cell of the city. Out of the meetings of the regulars at the neighborhood tavern came much of the commonplace community development which preceded the Revolution and later proved to be essential to the governance of the city and the management of the ward. Regular meetings of friends, of men of common occupations, led to clubs of all kinds and of every degree of formality from regular billiard sessions to fire companies and political juntos. Benjamin Franklin and the many community innovations of his junto showed the potential of these informal tavern groups. They provided the underlying social fabric of the town, and when the Revolution began made it possible to gather militia companies quickly, to form effective committees of correspondence and of inspection, and to organize and to manage mass town meetings."
Ray’s original text is still available in print and ebook formats. The sequel, mostly by Karen Christensen, will be published in Spring 2025.
PS: The flood of post-election analysis is overwhelming so I will not add to it now. I continue to recommend The Bulwark, and will be working on new material about political polarization and the longing for community. I keep in mind that at the end of his life, until the pandemic, Ray Oldenburg enjoyed regular breakfast get-togethers with a group of men in Pensacola who were all Trump supporters. He was himself vehemently and unreservedly critical of Trump, but he succeeded in finding common ground. That’s a model I hope to emulate.
