First off is topicality—

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Our interpretation is that debate is a game which should revolve around the topic. Our interpretation is that the affirmative should defend some type of statutory or judicial restrictions on the war powers authority of the President of the U.S. in one or more of the following areas: targeted killing, indefinite detention, offensive cyber operations, or introduction of armed forces into hostilities.

“USFG should” means the debate is about a topical action established by governmental means

Jon M. ERICSON, Dean Emeritus of the College of Liberal Arts – California Polytechnic U., et al., 3 [The Debater’s Guide, Third Edition, p. 4]
The Proposition of Policy: Urging Future Action

In policy propositions, each topic contains certain key elements, although they have slightly different functions from comparable elements of value-oriented propositions. 1. An agent doing the acting ---“The United States” in “The United States should adopt a policy of free trade.” Like the object of evaluation in a proposition of value, the agent is the subject of the sentence. 2. The verb should—the first part of a verb phrase that urges action. 3. An action verb to follow should in the should-verb combination. For example, should adopt here means to put a program or policy into action though governmental means. 4. A specification of directions or a limitation of the action desired. The phrase free trade, for example, gives direction and limits to the topic, which would, for example, eliminate consideration of increasing tariffs, discussing diplomatic recognition, or discussing interstate commerce. Propositions of policy deal with future action. Nothing has yet occurred. The entire debate is about whether something ought to occur. What you agree to do, then, when you accept the affirmative side in such a debate is to offer sufficient and compelling reasons for an audience to perform the future action that you propose.

They don’t meet—they don’t do one of the 5.

KAISER 80—the Official Specialist in American National Government, Congressional Research Service, the Library of Congress [Congressional Action to Overturn Agency Rules: Alternatives to the Legislative Veto; Kaiser, Frederick M., 32 Admin. L. Rev. 667 (1980)]
In addition to direct statutory overrides, there are a variety of statutory and nonstatutory techniques that have the effect of overturning rules, that prevent their enforcement, or that seriously impede or even preempt the promulgation of projected rules. For instance, a statute may alter the jurisdiction of a regulatory agency or extend the exemptions to its authority, thereby affecting existing or anticipated rules. Legislation that affects an agency's funding may be used to prevent enforcement of particular rules or to revoke funding discretion for rulemaking activity or both. Still other actions, less direct but potentially significant, are mandating agency consultation with other federal or state authorities and requiring prior congressional review of proposed rules (separate from the legislative veto sanctions). These last two provisions may change or even halt proposed rules by interjecting novel procedural requirements along with different perspectives and influences into the process.

It is also valuable to examine nonstatutory controls available to the Congress:

1. legislative, oversight, investigative, and confirmation hearings;

2. establishment of select committees and specialized subcommittees to oversee agency rulemaking and enforcement;

3. directives in committee reports, especially those accompanying legislation, authorizations, and appropriations, regarding rules or their implementation;

4. House and Senate floor statements critical of proposed, projected, or ongoing administrative action; and

5. direct contact between a congressional office and the agency or office in question.

Such mechanisms are all indirect influences; unlike statutory provisions, they are neither self-enforcing nor legally binding by themselves. Nonetheless, nonstatutory devices are more readily available and more easily effectuated than controls imposed by statute. And some observers have attributed substantial influence to nonstatutory controls in regulatory as well as other matters.3

It is impossible, in a limited space, to provide a comprehensive and exhaustive listing of congressional actions that override, have the effect of overturning, or prevent the promulgation of administrative rules. Consequently, this report concentrates upon the more direct statutory devices, although it also encompasses committee reports accompanying bills, the one nonstatutory instrument that is frequently most authoritatively connected with the final legislative product. The statutory mechanisms surveyed here cross a wide spectrum of possible congressional action:

1. single-purpose provisions to overturn or preempt a specific rule;

2. alterations in program authority that remove jurisdiction from an agency;

3. agency authorization and appropriation limitations;

4. inter-agency consultation requirements; and

5. congressional prior notification provisions.

Judicial means the court

WEST’S LAW 08 [West's Encyclopedia of American Law, edition 2.]
Relating to the courts or belonging to the office of a judge; a term pertaining to the administration of justice, the courts, or a judge, as in judicial power.

A judicial act involves an exercise of discretion or an unbiased decision by a court or judge, as opposed to a ministerial, clerical, or routine procedure. A judicial act affects the rights of the parties or property brought before the court. It is the interpretation and application of the law to a particular set of facts contested by litigants in a court of law, resulting from discretion and based upon an evaluation of the evidence presented at a hearing.

Judicial connotes the power to punish, sentence, and resolve conflicts.

Our interpretation is best—

1. Predictability—ignoring the resolution opens up an infinite number of topics—this undermines our ability to have in-depth research on their arguments destroying the value of debate.

Modest predictability of the resolution is worth potential substantive tradeoff. Topicality creates space for relevant debate.

Toni M. MASSARO, Professor of Law, University of Florida, 89 [August, 1989, “Empathy, Legal Storytelling, and the Rule of Law: New Words, Old Wounds?” Michigan Law Review, 87 Mich. L. Rev. 2099, Lexis]
Yet despite their acknowledgment that some ordering and rules are necessary, empathy proponents tend to approach the rule-of-law model as a villain. Moreover, they are hardly alone in their deep skepticism about the rule-of-law model. Most modern legal theorists question the value of procedural regularity when it denies substantive justice.52 Some even question the whole notion of justifying a legal decision by appealing to a rule of law, versus justifying the decision by reference to the facts of the case and the judges' own reason and expe-rience.53 I do not intend to enter this important jurisprudential de-bate, except to the limited extent that the "empathy" writings have suggested that the rule-of-law chills judges' empathic reactions. In this regard, I have several observations.

My first thought is that the rule-of-law model is only a model. If the term means absolute separation of legal decision and "politics," then it surely is both unrealistic and undesirable.54 But our actual statutory and decisional "rules" rarely mandate a particular (unempathetic) response. Most of our rules are fairly open-ended. "Relevance," "the best interests of the child," "undue hardship," "negligence," or "freedom of speech" - to name only a few legal concepts - hardly admit of precise definition or consistent, predictable application. Rather, they represent a weaker, but still constraining sense of the rule-of-law model. Most rules are guidelines that establish spheres of relevant conversation, not mathematical formulas.

Moreover, legal training in a common law system emphasizes the indeterminate nature of rules and the significance of even subtle variations in facts. Our legal tradition stresses an inductive method of discovering legal principles. We are taught to distinguish different "stories," to arrive at "law" through experience with many stories, and to revise that law as future experience requires. Much of the effort of most first-year law professors is, I believe, devoted to debunking popular lay myths about "law" as clean-cut answers, and to illuminate law as a dynamic body of policy determinations constrained by certain guiding principles.55

As a practical matter, therefore, our rules often are ambiguous and fluid standards that offer substantial room for varying interpretations. The interpreter, usually a judge, may consult several sources to aid in decisionmaking. One important source necessarily will be the judge's own experiences -including the experiences that seem to determine a person's empathic capacity. In fact, much ink has been spilled to illuminate that our stated "rules" often do not dictate or explain our legal results. Some writers even have argued that a rule of law may be, at times, nothing more than a post hoc rationalization or attempted legitimization of results that may be better explained by extralegal (including, but not necessarily limited to, emotional) responses to the facts, the litigants, or the litigants' lawyers,56 all of which may go un-stated. The opportunity for contextual and empathic decisionmaking therefore already is very much a part of our adjudicatory law, despite our commitment to the rule-of-law ideal.

Even when law is clear and relatively inflexible, however, it is not necessarily "unempathetic." The assumed antagonism of legality and empathy is belied by our experience in rape cases, to take one important example. In the past, judges construed the general, open-ended standard of "relevance" to include evidence about the alleged victim's prior sexual conduct, regardless of whether the conduct involved the defendant.57 The solution to this "empathy gap" was legislative action to make the law more specific - more formalized. Rape shield statutes were enacted that controlled judicial discretion and specifically defined relevance to exclude the prior sexual history of the woman, except in limited, justifiable situations.58 In this case, one can make a persuasive argument not only that the rule-of-law model does explain these later rulings, but also that obedience to that model resulted in a triumph for the human voice of the rape survivor. Without the rule, some judges likely would have continued to respond to other inclinations, and admit this testimony about rape survivors. The example thus shows that radical rule skepticism is inconsistent with at least some evidence of actual judicial behavior. It also suggests that the principle of legality is potentially most critical for people who are least understood by the decisionmakers - in this example, women - and hence most vulnerable to unempathetic ad hoc rulings.

A final observation is that the principle of legality reflects a deeply ingrained, perhaps inescapable, cultural instinct. We value some procedural regularity - "law for law's sake" - because it lends stasis and structure to our often chaotic lives. Even within our most intimate relationships, we both establish "rules," and expect the other party to follow them.59 Breach of these unspoken agreements can destroy the relationship and hurt us deeply, regardless of the wisdom or "substantive fairness" of a particular rule. Our agreements create expectations, and their consistent application fulfills the expectations. The modest predictability that this sort of "formalism" provides actually may encourage human relationships.60

2. Ground—the resolution exists to create fair division of aff and neg ground—any alternative framework allows the aff to pick a moral high ground that destroys neg offense.

We should endorse procedures that ensure exposure of our positions to the best range of evidence and reasoning.

Cheryl MISAK Philosophy @ Toronto ‘8 “A Culture of Justification: The Pragmatist's Epistemic Argument for Democracy” Episteme 5 (1) p. 95-97
I have argued in Truth, Politics, Morality (2000) that when C. S. Peirce, the founder of pragmatism, unpacks the idea of the scientific method, the epistemic notions of truth and justification are strenuously linked to the political ideal of democracy and the values associated with it – the values of freedom of association, freedom of speech, listening to the views of others, expanding public spaces in which open debate can flourish, etc. The epistemic argument for democracy which is implicit in Peirce’s thought is, in a nutshell, as follows. One of Peirce’s many lasting contributions to philosophy was the pragmatist account of truth, on which a true belief is one that would stand up to inquiry. A true belief is one that is indefeasible – it would not be improved upon; it would forever meet the challenges of reasons, arguments, and evidence. Peirce argues that the best method for achieving our aspirations to truth is what he calls the method of science. He has a minimalist conception of this method – it is just the method that pays attention to experience. Then here is the connection between truth and the method of science. A true belief is one that best fits with experience and argument, so one is committed, as an inquirer or truth-seeker, to taking experience seriously. Hence, one is committed to the method of science and to trying to ensure that the experiences of all are taken into consideration. If a domain of inquiry is to aspire to truth, it must be open – it must encourage the free exchange of results, experiences, arguments, and ideas. Scientific inquiry can thus be seen as a democratic kind of inquiry. The contemporary pragmatist Hilary Putnam puts it this way: “Democracy is a requirement for experimental inquiry. . . . To reject democracy is to reject the idea of being experimental” (Putnam 1994, 64; see also his 1992, 180). Here is another way of putting the argument. We should put our beliefs through the tests of inquiry in order to make them the best they can be. We should expose our beliefs to reasons, arguments, and evidence. If we want to arrive at beliefs that will withstand criticism and accommodate all the evidence, then it is best to throw criticism and evidence at our beliefs so we know whether they might withstand it. Information, arguments, and evidence must be freely exchanged, so that we can ensure that our beliefs are responsive to them. Freedom of association, freedom of speech, etc. are necessary aspects of a deliberation that is suited to getting us the right answers to our questions. On the Peircean view of truth, truth is a product of human inquiry. This holds for all domains of inquiry, but it is especially clear in political inquiry. Inquirers take human interests and contexts seriously in the messy business of political deliberation (how could they not?). They are fallible and they need to seek out potentially conflicting experience if their beliefs are going to be properly aimed at truth. They never know that they have the truth in hand, but only that they are following a method that is conducive to finding the truth. 3 . DEWEY, INQUIRY, AND DEMOCRACY Dewey was the most explicit of the classical pragmatists about linking democracy and inquiry. But just as Peirce’s view needs elucidation, so does Dewey’s. Putnam is one contemporary pragmatist who offers him a hand. His Dewey argues that there are two kinds of justification of something. You can aim your justification at the skeptic or you can aim it at those who are already a part of a community in that they presuppose certain things together. This is a thought at the very heart of pragmatism: Peirce, for instance, argued that the doubts of the skeptic are “tin” or “paper” doubts, not effective against living belief. Throughout the process of inquiry or deliberation, we are aiming at revising our beliefs when prompted by real doubt. Presaging Neurath’s metaphor about building our boat of knowledge while still at sea, Peirce says that inquiry is not standing upon the bedrock of fact. It is walking upon a bog, and can only say, this ground seems to hold for the present. Here I will stay till it begins to give way. (CP 5.589, 18982) Peirce, James, and Dewey speak with one voice when they suggest that we are always immersed in a context of inquiry, where the decision to be made is a decision about what to believe from here, not what to believe were we able to start from scratch – from certain infallible foundations. Putnam (1992, 188) argues that Dewey starts with this basic pragmatist idea that we have to begin with our capacities and current practices and turns his interest to our capacities to intelligently initiate action, to talk, and to experiment. Democracy, he suggests, is a precondition of these practices. The method that we use to solve problems, from physics to politics, is to experiment, reflect, and discuss. The scientific method requires the unimpeded flow of information and the freedom to offer and to criticize hypotheses. Elizabeth Anderson (2006) describes Dewey’s account of inquiry this way. We propose solutions to the problems which press upon us, try to predict the consequences of the solutions’ implementations, and ask whether our reactions to those consequences would be positive or negative. We then test the solution that has withstood the challenge of testing in thought experiment or experiment in the imagination. That is, we see what the results actually are. Dewey thought, with Peirce, that if a belief were to always withstand challenges, if it were to always stand up to experience and argument, there is nothing higher or better we could ask of it. He too, that is, sees the pragmatist account of truth as a central feature of the pragmatist’s epistemic argument for democracy. In order to flesh out that argument, we need to address some concerns about mixing truth and politics.

Our argument is a deliberative strategy to reach consensus about the best way to debate. Our argument is not that “the aff has violated a rule and are not allowed to debate this way”—instead we say “we think the model of debate you are proposing is not productive and a model that privileges predictable advocacies would create superior debate.” We then engage in a process of debate in order to decide whether the affirmative’s or negative’s version of debate would be better.

Any critique of T is a false-choice that doesn’t recognize the complexity of indigenous politics. Negotiating the use of the USFG is a key element in indigenous activism. Their colonialism impacts don’t link to our interpretation.

Kevin BRUYNEEL Politics @ Babson ‘7 The Third Space of Sovereignty p. 217-223
In writing this book, a question often popped into my mind, the one famously posed by postcolonial theorist Gayatri Spivak: "Can the subaltern speak?" Spivak's question is not about the vocal cords of the colonized; it is about the colonizer's ear drums; "Can the subaltern speak?" really means, "Are the colonizers deaf?" not ''Are the colonized mute?" This study has demonstrated ways in which the American settler-state and nation have sought, often successfully, to impose temporal and spatial limitations on indigenous political life. In resistance, indigenous political actors speak against and across the boundaries of colonial rule by articulating and fighting for a third space: a space of sovereignty and/or citizenship that is inassimilable to the modern liberal democratic settler-state and nation. The settler polity is often deaf to the indigenous claim for a third space because this claim refuses to accommodate itself to the political choices framed by the imperial binary: assimilation or secession, inside or outside, modern or traditional, and so on. Looked at in this way, indigenous political resistance is refusal of a false choice. Among other things, this book has been an effort to expose to clearer light the presence and politics around the third space, defined by colonial impositions and postcolonial resistances. To conclude the book, I look at how the third space concept could positively reshape the language and therefore the terms of and possibilities for indigenous-settler-society relations in the future, and I also suggest its applicability to the wider political discourse and politics around sovereignty. REFUSING THE FALSE CHOICE: SEEING THE THIRD SPACE In their introduction to the important collection Political1heory and the Rights of Indigenous People, the volume's editors, Duncan Ivison, Paul Patton, and Will Sanders, note that for some of their contributors, such as James Tully as well as Will Kymlicka and J. G. A. Pocock, "there can be no equal standing for indigenous peoples until they are acknowledged as equal sovereigns within a postcolonial constitutional arrangement," while "for others, such as [Iris] Young and [Augie] Flores and [Roger] Maaka, it is the very nature of the sovereign state that must be rethought." 1 While these descriptions flatten the complex views of each of these scholars, there is something worth drawing from the two approaches implied here. The first approach seeks to rethink governance from below by seeking to secure and "arrange" multiple nodes of sovereignty in a multilayered political system wherein settler and indigenous polities can coexist, overlap, and interweave jurisdictions. The second approach, by contrast, rethinks governance from above by arguing that the hegemonic "sovereign state," and thus state sovereignty, is inherently incompatible, and in fact hostile, to the secured existence of indigenous political autonomy. What I find compelling and significant here is the general direction in which these thinkers are going on this issue, which is to see and argue that the viability of political autonomy for indigenous tribes will not come through accommodation of the settler-state's political system, boundaries, and culture. Rather, it will require some degree of meaningful change in the settler-society's institutional organization and ideational approach and the concomitant solidification of a location and form of indigenous sovereignty that is self-determined and thus not dependent on the settlersociety. Missing from these formulations, however, is a precise concept as well as a vocabulary that can pin down the alternatives represented in this "postcolonial arrangement" and/or "rethinking of the sovereign state." I propose that the "third space" may well provide the vocabulary that both captures and helps to constitute a viable, increasingly sought-after location of indigenous postcolonial political autonomy that refuses the choices set out by the settler-society. But cultivating this discourse and seeing its constitutive possibilities is easier said than done, so one of the first steps toward moving in this direction will involve refusing the false choice set out by the settler-state. In a 1998 Law Review article, Julie Cassidy set out and critiqued rhe terms of the false choice presented to those advocating sovereignty for indigenous nations and tribes: "The resolution relating to Aboriginal sovereignty is often mistakenly perceived as only involving two possibilities: (r) acknowledgement of Aboriginal sovereignty and the consequent desrruction of the "occupying" state's sovereignty; or (2) continuation of the past denial of Aboriginal sovereignty. However, it is possible for both entities to enjoy concurrent sovereignty."2 The false choice here is that either indigenous tribes and nations must become sovereign states, thereby destroying the settler-states within which they reside, or their citizens must accept unambiguous inclusion in the settler polity, thereby denying their collective claim to sovereignty. This false choice of either destruction or denial is built on colonialist and statist presumptions. The colonialist presumption is that the settler polity and its institutions represent the ideal of modern political development, while indigenous political society and institutions are, at best, underdeveloped or, at worst, primitive, and thus incapable of real independence in our time. The statist presumption is that legitimate, viable sovereignty can be secured and expressed only through statist institutions, the purview of which is singular and plenary over political space marked by unambiguous boundaries. When articulated in tandem, these colonial-statist presumptions form the foundation of the imposition of colonial rule over indigenous people within liberal democratic settler-states such as the United States. We saw this during and especially after the Civil War when, in their own way, each of the three branches of the American federal government sought to clearly define and secure the reunified boundaries of the American nation-state by domesticating indigenous tribes to them, which included ending the formal process of treaty-making and codifYing U.S. plenary power. During the Progressive era, these colonial-statist imperatives drove U.S. policies that sought to break up what Teddy Roosevelt called the "tribal mass" through various means, including allotment of indigenous territory, the unilateral conferral or imposition of U.S. citizenship on people who were already citizens of their tribes, and the closure of U.S. political boundaries to indigenous people not residing within what America deemed its political space. This imperative persisted in different ways throughout the twentieth century, such as in the midcentury termination policy, and has taken its most notable contemporary form in the antitribal sentiment evident in mainstream American electoral politics, citizen groups' discourse in the civil society, and U.S. Supreme Court decisions. Over the course of American political history, indigenous sovereignty has been deemed something that needed to be denied-for example, through the codification of U.S. plenary power-and/or something that threatened the destruction of U.S. state sovereignty, as expressed, for instance, by contemporary antitribalism. The enduring presence of colonial ambivalence has maintained the parameters of this false choice, putting indigenous sovereignty and political life in a seemingly impossible colonial bind that has positioned indigenous tribes as "domestic to the United States in a foreign sense." In fact, this ambivalence has served to forestall the complete imposition of any particular thrust in the vacillating history of U.S. Indian policy. The ambivalence inherent to the false choice is also, in part, a product of and opens room for what I have referred to as indigenous postcolonial resistance. This is a resistance that defies American colonial imperatives and seeks to, reframe the boundaries that purport to bind indigenous political life. Like the approaches offered by the scholars noted earlier, Julie Cassidy's alternative of "concurrent sovereignty" refuses the idea that the only options available result in either the destruction of state sovereignty or the denial of indigenous sovereignty. Her refusal echoes the efforts of indigenous political actors and movements discussed in this book. John Ross and his Cherokee colleagues refused the treaty terms that they thought would destroy their nation. In so doing, although they likely lost more than they won in the 1866 treaty negotiations, they nevertheless maintained the unity of the Cherokee nation and in important ways shaped its sovereign purview in the Indian Territory. During the Progressive era, Clinton Rickard and his compatriots, among others, fought to refuse the imposition of U.S. citizenship and the rigid American political boundaries that they saw as inimical to citizenship in their own nations. Their efforts amounted to a defense of the independent political life of those nations, and they resonate to this day in, among other things, the annual traditions enacted at the U.S.- Canadian border that symbolically and physically express an indigenous refusal to abide settler-state boundaries. In the 196os and 1970s, the politics of indigenous refusal gained its greatest notoriety when the Red Power movement refused the false choice of either the assimilatory aims of the civil rights movement or the nationalist separatism of third world anticolonialism. Instead, Red Power fought for a right to self-determination as a proactive challenge to and even "recolonization" of American colonial boundaries, symbolized by the occupation of Alcatraz Island and by Vine Deloria's notion of the modern "tribe as a nation ex- tending in time and occupying space." Deloria's vision was that of tribes whose identity and expression of sovereignty transcend the boundaries of colonial time-that feeling of being "unreal and ahistorical," as he called it-and by so doing are better able to secure and expand the location of indigenous people in postcolonial space, across the boundaries of colonial rule. The political history of indigenous people's refusals of the false choice set out for them indicate a persistent effort both to self-determine what sovereignty means to them and to expose the uncertainty and even impossibility of U.S. sovereignty as a totalizing claim to supreme, legitimate authority. In this regard, indigenous and U.S. or settler claims to sovereignty face the challenge of dealing with the instability of the term itself. Recall Roxanne Doty's point, noted in chapter 1: "The social construction of sovereignty is always in process, and is a never completed project." This process can be seen in the political interchange between American colonial impositions, colonial ambivalence, and indigenous postcolonial resistance, which continually struggle over the precise meaning and purview of the political authority claimed by the settler-state and the many indigenous tribes. While the American perspective cleaves to a statist notion of sovereignty as a source of domination, indigenous politics in its many forms refuses to be contained by the limits of the boundaries of the settler-state and the nation. These refusals demonstrate that indigenous political identity, agency, and autonomy reside in postcolonial time and space, always already across the temporal and spatial boundaries marked out by the settler-state and the colonialist political culture. By articulating this postcolonial fact, indigenous political actors and institutions reveal that settler-state boundaries are just one way-a colonialist way-to map out a people's relationship to time and space in North America, and they can offer the third space of sovereignty as a politically and discursively locatable alternative. In this regard, it is my hope that the idea of the third space also contributes to the general aims pursued by the scholars noted earlier as well as by scholars of indigenous politics such as Tom Biolsi, who builds his contemporary analysis on the premise that "the nation-state, it turns out, is only one among several (perhaps many) political geographies imagined, lived, and even institutionalized under modernity by American Indians."3 The "imagining" of alternative "political geographies" is a fundamental part of the effort to see viable alternatives to the statist or colonialist conception of sovereignty. To be sure, this antistatist or anticolonial effort does not exist in a vacuum, relevant only to indigenous political concerns, bur is connected to and possibly even constitutive of the effort to reimagine the role and meaning of sovereignty in the political world generally. In a genealogy of the concept of sovereignty, international relations scholar Jens Bartelson urges us to consider "the question of sovereignty [as a] question of the unthought foundations of our political knowledge and how they relate to the concept of sovereignty, when stripped of all predetermined content and opened to definitional change over time."4 Bartelson is encouraging us to imagine various possibilities for conceptualizing the relationship between people, power, and space over time, and, just as important, to take heed of what we lose by not opening ourselves up to at least a consideration of alternatives. For example, what are the implications of allowing hegemonic political space as defined by the state system to remain an "unthought epistemological foundation of sovereignty"? A major political implication, according to Alexander Murphy, is that by constituting and accepting "sovereignty as a territorial ideal ... the modern territorial state has co-opted our spatial imaginations."5 Refusing this co-optation-this false choice-requires a decolonization of our spatial imaginations to reveal forms of political space that cannot simply be mapped onto the boundary lines of the international state system. It is in this regard that indigenous politics can inform and be informed by the reconsiderations of sovereignty occurring more generally because they refuse to say simply Yes or No to state sovereignty, but instead imagine a postcolonial supplemental remapping of sovereign relationships that can include but will not be dictated to or contained by state boundaries. Therefore, I suggest that the third space may also prove of worth as a conceptualization of antistatist autonomy that can be an alternative to the polar imaginaries that either see state sovereignty as the unavoidably exclusive font of legitimate political space or postulate a political world in which we have somehow moved beyond state sovereignty altogether. In accord with this aim of decolonizing our spatial imaginations and thereby drawing out postcolonial supplemental alternatives to state sovereignty, I rurn to the ideas of two contemporary indigenous political voices, one of whortl is looking to reconsider governance from below and one from above. In reconsidering contemporary governance from the ground up, we should consider the decolonization plan proposed by Chief Justice Robert Porter of the Supreme Court of the Sac and Fox nation of Kansas and Missouri. Porter argues for a form of decolonization that I deem postcolonial in nature because it is based on an understanding that "a decolonized relationship does not mean that there is no relationship at all. The United States remains committed by treaty and legal obligations."6 To this end, he proposes specific forms of decolonization that directly reshape the boundaries of U.S.-indigenous legal jurisdiction, such as a change in "federal law to recognize the power of Indian nations over misdemeanors committed by non-Indians within tribal borders."7 1his proposal works across the boundaries in an effort to decolonize them so that instead of representing colonial impositions on indigenous sovereignty they come to represent sites for the fuller expression of tribal sovereignty. Porter's postcolonial decolonization strategy is similar, in a general sense, to what the Oneida nation of New York sought in repurchasing land for their historic reservation: to assert indigenous authority over some components of the overlapping, checkerboarded legal and political jurisdictions of historic indigenous territory. This unilateral assertion of authority would not be seamless or comprehensive, for just as the Oneida were seeking only to be exempt from state and local taxation, Porter's claim is only for tribal jurisdiction over less serious offenses committed in indigenous territory. The intention of both efforts was to express and cultivate a third space of sovereignty, and one cannot fully comprehend either effort without appreciating the role of boundary-crossing here. Nevertheless, as we saw in chapter 6, the Supreme Court's decision in the Oneida case clearly indicates that American colonial impositions continue to seek to defuse and delimit indigenous sovereign expression. Although this was a disappointing decision for the Oneida nation and for indigenous tribes generally, the actions of the Oneida nation that led to this case point to the direction that future expressions of and struggles for indigenous sovereignty may well take across the boundaries of colonial rule.

The argument that being topical is structurally unfair for them is a self-serving assertion used to sidestep clash—critiquing any part of the resolution, like the FG, to legitimize avoiding topical action gets co-opted by the right for the opposite purpose.

TALISSE 5— Robert, philosophy professor at Vanderbilt [“Deliberativist responses to activist challenges,” Philosophy & Social Criticism, 31.4]

***gendered language in this article refers to arguments made by two specific individuals in an article by Iris Young

My call for a more detailed articulation of the second activist challenge may be met with the radical claim that I have begged the question. It may be said that my analysis of the activist’s challenge and my request for a more rigorous argument presume what the activist denies, namely, that arguments and reasons operate independently of ideology. Here the activist might begin to think that he made a mistake in agreeing to engage in a discussion with a deliberativist—his position throughout the debate being that one should decline to engage in argument with one’s opponents! He may say that of course activism seems lacking to a deliberativist, for the deliberativist measures the strength of a view according to her own standards. But the activist rejects those standards, claiming that they are appropriate only for seminar rooms and faculty meetings, not for real-world politics. Consequently the activist may say that by agreeing to enter into a discussion with the deliberativist, he had unwittingly abandoned a crucial element of his position. He may conclude that the consistent activist avoids arguing altogether, and communicates only with his comrades. Here the discussion ends.

However, the deliberativist has a further consideration to raise as his discursive partner departs for the next rally or street demonstration. The foregoing debate had presumed that there is but one kind of activist and but one set of policy objectives that activists may endorse. Yet Young’s activist is opposed not only by deliberative democrats, but also by persons who also call themselves ‘activists’ and who are committed to a set of policy objectives quite different from those endorsed by this one activist. Once these opponents are introduced into the mix, the stance of Young’s activist becomes more evidently problematic, even by his own standards.

To explain: although Young’s discussion associates the activist always with politically progressive causes, such as the abolition of the World Trade Organization (109), the expansion of healthcare and welfare programs (113), and certain forms of environmentalism (117), not all activists are progressive in this sense. Activists on the extreme and racist Right claim also to be fighting for justice, fairness, and liberation. They contend that existing processes and institutions are ideologically hegemonic and distorting. Accordingly, they reject the deliberative ideal on the same grounds as Young’s activist. They advocate a program of political action that operates outside of prevailing structures, disrupting their operations and challenging their legitimacy. They claim that such action aims to enlighten, inform, provoke, and excite persons they see as complacent, naïve, excluded, and ignorant. Of course, these activists vehemently oppose the policies endorsed by Young’s activist; they argue that justice requires activism that promotes objectives such as national purity, the disenfranchisement of Jews, racial segregation, and white supremacy. More importantly, they see Young’s activist’s vocabulary of ‘inclusion’, ‘structural inequality’, ‘institutionalized power’, as fully in line with what they claim is a hegemonic ideology that currently dominates and systematically distorts our political discourses.21

The point here is not to imply that Young’s activist is no better than the racist activist. The point rather is that Young’s activist’s arguments are, in fact, adopted by activists of different stripes and put in the service of a wide range of policy objectives, each claiming to be just, liberatory, and properly inclusive.22 In light of this, there is a question the activist must confront. How should he deal with those who share his views about the proper means for bringing about a more just society, but promote a set of ends that he opposes?

It seems that Young’s activist has no way to deal with opposing activist programs except to fight them or, if fighting is strategically unsound or otherwise problematic, to accept a Hobbesian truce. This might not seem an unacceptable response in the case of racists; however, the question can be raised in the case of any less extreme but nonetheless opposed activist program, including different styles of politically progressive activism. Hence the deliberativist raises her earlier suspicions that, in practice, activism entails a politics based upon interestbased power struggles amongst adversarial factions.

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