There are few issues more polarizing than the question of whether politics today has “gone too far.” The issue is not only political, but principled: Where is the line at which the exercise of politics is no longer merely contested or misguided, but actually harmful to democracy? For some, the answer is a clear yes. For others, an equally clear no. Both positions can be defended on substantive grounds. The problem does not arise only when one side turns out to be right—but when the very experience of being overridden is no longer considered politically relevant.
Democracy is not merely a system for making decisions. It is a system for correcting power over time. It is a system for living with disagreement.
When disagreement is treated as a problem to be explained away, rather than as a signal to be listened to, democracy begins to lose its corrective force.
To discuss this honestly, we must be precise. In this context, Oagal formulates the boundary as follows:
Politics becomes democratically harmful when it is used to reduce citizens’ real ability to correct power, while this is justified as a defense of democracy itself.
The definition is not about intention, ideology, or individual issues, but about effect: about politics that makes course correction harder than course setting, and about a citizen role that is reduced from corrective force to spectator.
In many political issues, a pattern emerges: decisions are justified as necessary, correct, or unavoidable—often supported by experts, reports, and institutional assessments. All of this may be accurate. Yet large segments of the population may still be left with a sense that boundaries have been crossed.
This sense does not necessarily mean that the policy is actually wrong. But it does mean that something important is slipping away: the connection between governance and experienced participation, a core theme of the Participation Ombudsman (self-appointed).
A democracy can withstand a majority being wrong. It can also withstand minorities losing. But it tolerates far less that significant groups feel there is no way back—no real opportunity to correct the course, even over time. Many feel this way today, and herein lies much of the reason for the backlash against representative democracy.
Experience is not the same as being right—but in a democracy, experience is not irrelevant either. When large groups feel that things have gone too far without this leading to adjustment or new policy, a gap emerges between formal legitimacy and perceived legitimacy.
This gap is dangerous, not because the majority is necessarily wrong, but because democracy loses its corrective function.
Experience is not the same as being right—but it is not irrelevant
It is tempting to dismiss dissatisfaction by saying that “people are wrong,” “do not understand the bigger picture,” or “are being carried away.” Sometimes that is true. But in a democracy, politics is not only about being right. It is also about legitimacy.
When many feel that things have gone too far, politics faces a choice:
– To insist that the course is correct and explain better why
– Or to look for solutions that reduce the distance between positions
The latter requires a willingness to seek alternatives that are not one-sided.
In many Western democracies, this development is thoroughly analyzed. Democracies are ranked, measured, and assessed—also as weakened or declining in the Economist (EIU) Democracy Index. The problem arises when analysis is not followed by political capacity or willingness to correct course.
When democratic erosion is observed, documented, and accepted as a fact, without strengthening citizens’ ability to influence outcomes, this is not neutral. It is a passive—and sometimes active—form of democratic harm.
It is a misconception that political decisions must always mean that one side wins and the other loses completely. In many cases, there is room for solutions closer to what most people can live with—even when starting positions are polarized.
This is not compromise for compromise’s sake. It is an acknowledgment that democracy is not a dictatorship of the majority, but a system of governance for a diverse society.
Politics that is systematically pushed to the extremes may be formally correct—but it increases the risk that democracy is experienced as something that happens to people, not for them.
It is a widespread misconception that political decisions must always be one-sided. In many cases, there is room for policies closer to what most people can accept, without sacrificing fundamental principles.
This is not capitulation. It is democratic self-defense.
A democracy that is not merely majority rule, but a system of governance for a diverse society, must continually seek solutions that preserve the experience of participation—even among those who disagree.
The intention of a living democracy is not to maximize victory for one side. It is to ensure that those who lose still experience the system as their own.
When politics moves away from this principle, a dangerous tension arises—not necessarily in the form of revolt, but in the form of resignation, distrust, and withdrawal. It is rarely dramatic. It is all the more serious.
Listening to the experience that things have gone too far is therefore not a sign of weakness. It is an expression of democratic responsibility.
A democracy that aims to endure over time must not only tolerate disagreement. It must tolerate being corrected—even when that correction is uncomfortable, unclear, or comes from many directions at once.
A concrete example illustrates this challenge. UiO:Demokrati—a center at the University of Oslo with substantial public funding and event support from the Sparebank Foundation—invites participants in January 2026 to a so-called democracy breakfast seminar titled “Does the reading crisis threaten democracy?”.
The topic itself is not unserious. Reading skills, concentration, and source criticism are relevant to an informed democracy. The problem lies in the prioritization—and in the signal effect—when this is elevated as a central democratic challenge at a time when international measurements, such as the EIU Democracy Index, document systemic democratic decline in Western countries.
When democratic erosion is analyzed and confirmed, but attention is nonetheless directed toward citizens’ cognitive abilities rather than the correctability of power, a shift of responsibility occurs. Democratic failure is then indirectly explained as a problem of the population—not as a question of institutional design, political irreversibility, or weakened representation.
Academia has a legitimate role as analyst and interpreter. But in the face of ongoing democratic erosion, it also has a responsibility to point to the most pressing structural challenges. When this responsibility is downplayed in favor of safe, pedagogical, and non-confrontational issues, there is a real risk of becoming an empty representative of official Norway—correct, well-intentioned, and irrelevant at the same time.
In this light, academic seminars on citizens’ reading habits do not necessarily strengthen democracy. On the contrary, they may—unintentionally—contribute to leaving more fundamental problems unaddressed, and to normalizing trends that should have triggered political alarm, instead becoming something that can be analyzed further over coffee and rolls. In this way, academia may contribute to reinforcing a negative trajectory rather than acting as a corrective.
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