Last winter – back in the day – Glenn Beck was a roaring tiger. His claws were thought so bloody that when he attacked Frances Fox Piven, one of the leading activist scholars of social movements, a string of professional organizations rose to the lady’s defense, including the American Sociological Association and the Society for the Study of Social Problems. After the shooting of Representative Gabrielle Giffords, many progressives concluded that Professor Piven was next in line for assassination from the rightists roiled and boiled by Beck.

Today we frame Glenn Beck’s symmetry as less fearful. Those who worried that Professor Piven was walking on a knife’s edge might be surprised that her latest book, published in August, is entitled Who’s Afraid of Frances Fox Piven: The Essential Writings of the Professor Glenn Beck Loves to Hate. Glenn Beck has become Professor Piven’s marketing tool. Without Glenn Beck’s opposition, Piven’s writings might seem less essential. (As a fellow former president of the Society for the Study of Social Problems, I am pleased that her deservedly influential writings have become essential. I am attempting to find someone of equal stature to hate me. The placid readers of this flying seminar know that I try my best.)

However, my point is not to critique the pas de deux of Beck and Piven. Rather it is to recall that in my earlier musing on Glenn Beck, I confessed to having become addicted to his rants, his startling readings of American intellectual history. However, beginning early in 2011, sparked by the demonstrations of the Arab Spring, first in Tunisia, then in Tahir Square, spreading to Tripoli and Syria, Beck began warning that these demonstrations were a clarion call to global rebellion. He promised viewers that an uprising was coming to a park near you, reporting every small and inconsequential gathering throughout Europe throughout the spring.

Listening to his fervid predictions, I came to feel that this represented a tea-laced fantasy. Beck had fallen off the dark edge. And perhaps Roger Ailes agreed with me. Beck was escorted out of the Fox studies and into his own Internet redoubt (“the fusion of entertainment and enlightenment”). As he was no longer close by my remote, my addiction ebbed.

Yet, examining the world of November, I can see the outlines of Beck’s vision from January. He informed us – warned us actually – that we would see an uprising on the streets of America. This uprising would not be an occasional frat party, but a hard and determined thing. Beck instructed us that the movement would be global – London, Rome, Athens, Bahrain, Oakland, Atlanta, and Zuccotti Park. What could Glenn Beck see that I could not? What could Glenn Beck see that progressives throughout America missed last spring? Was he a broken clock right twice a decade?

One need not agree that this exuberance of protest is as frightening or destructive as Beck would have us believe. Liberals, libertarians, and perhaps even some brave conservatives might agree with Thomas Jefferson, speaking of Shays’ Rebellion in 1787 that “the tree of liberty needs to be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is its natural manure.” The Arab Spring reminds us of this same reality, and slowly, imperceptibly those images proved to be a model for actions in Europe and America. When the Occupy Wall Street movement began in September, New Yorkers were primed, and soon others were. But along with the Arab Spring, the Tea Party movement also provided a model. Progressives felt a gathering envy, and OWS was the result. The problem, as I see it, is that while there was a legitimate drive to gather to protest grievances, practical solutions remained distant for the well-intentioned mandarins of the movement.

What Glenn Beck recognized, first through Tea Party Summer, then Arab Spring, then Manhattan Autumn, was that moments of profound discontent, helplessness, and resentment at distant control produce an insistent demand for communal action, a call from agitators left and right. Glenn Beck’s own 8/28/10 Washington gathering to “Restore Honor,” ostensibly an opportunity for faith and commitment, mimicking that of the Reverend King, arose from the same forces.

Beck recognized an emergent power in these hard times: groups sharing common concerns,  gathering, angry, frustrated, and perhaps hopeful. These groups view a cloudy future for which they lack answers, but know that their questions cannot be ignored.

I spent the early evening of November 8^th wandering around the Occupy Philadelphia (OP) encampment. I was trying to clear my head before a scheduled talk by well-known social movement scholar (and one of Glenn Beck’s “most wanted”), Frances Fox Piven.

Ten minutes before the talk was scheduled begin, I moved to the stage area and found a surprisingly large group of people had begun to gather. I was immediately struck by how out of place they looked based on my experience. They lacked the all-weather, busy or exhausted appearance that characterizes a lot of people I encounter at OP. But they also didn’t seem curious or confused. Their gaze took in the camp with understanding. They were nearly all white, young, and dressed similarly, most likely, college students.

I found a spot off to the side of the crowd as Piven was introduced and began to speak. Moments later, I was approached by a black couple, a woman and man, both in their late teens or early twenties, standing arm-in-arm, carrying shopping bags, with glowing faces. They appeared to be on a date and were clearly happy to be together, even in love.

Gesturing toward the stage, the young woman asked me, “What’s all this?” I began to reply that she, Piven, is an academic, but I was interrupted. “No,” the woman corrected me, “all this,” sweeping her arm across the entire encampment. I told her it was Philly’s answer to Occupy Wall Street, “You know, in New York.” She stared back at me, shaking her head slightly. The young man quickly said, “Oh, yeah, I think I heard about that, but I didn’t realize it was here too. Well, this is good because there are problems. I just didn’t know about it cause I didn’t see it on the news or anything.” I asked where they lived. “North Philly, like 21^st and Cecil B. Moore.” This is less that 2 miles from where they stood now. Indeed, they live only blocks from Temple University, where Piven had spoken earlier in the day.

That evening, I encountered a lot of young white college students who seemed to be supportive of and conversant in the occupation, and a young black couple who were very supportive and interested, but unaware of its existence in Philadelphia. Why is that?

In my experience thus far, the demographics, geography and even the basic character of the daily interactions that occur in OP’s universe are deeply reflective of the city itself, of its history, geography, problems, tensions, and dynamics. I raise this point not to suggest that Philadelphia, and its occupation, are particularly unique in this regard. Rather, I feel that the Occupy movement as a whole, particularly now, faces the problem of connecting global and national level rhetoric with the specific, daily experiences of the 99%, in their diverse localities.

Dan Sherwood addressed this in his post a few days ago., making a crucial point about the Occupation movement:

“The OWS movement is not about a specific policy agenda or in defense of a particular social group. The OWS movement is a desperate amplification of a silenced and ignored expression of broad based and deep social suffering. The metastasizing ills and injustices of social inequality can be ignored no longer. Although born of desperation, OWS has peacefully organized an open structured movement that threatens to create a public space of discussion in perpetuity. It is precisely the perpetuation of public discussion that has been so threatening to elites.”

I couldn’t agree more. That “amplification” is exactly what the Occupation Movement is ultimately about, or anyway, what it has come to be about. But this is also what I feel OWS represents. What does that couple-in-love, heading home to one of many historically impoverished and underserved neighborhoods in Philadelphia, feel that OWS (or OP) represents?

The issue of voicelessness highlighted by OWS is a very real problem. However, this critique must also be a reflexive one. Jurgen Habermas, the world famous social philosopher and student of the public sphere, was famously criticized for his framing of the business-minded social interactions of white, moneyed men as “public,” without recognitizing the many de facto criteria for participation in this public. OWS has to address this problem. We need to seriously examine what it is “amplifying.” OWS needs to work to make sure that its microphone is really reaching into the most disenfranchised and abused communities of the country. And this public must remain vigilant in insuring it is truly open, without becoming lost in its own rhetoric of universality. We must push our outreach efforts harder to ensure that more people not only know about OWS publics around the country, but that they feel welcome and capable of participating.

Indeed, in my Philadelphia experiences, the occupation’s effort at promoting individuals’ right to democratic expression appear to be butting up against individuals’ ability to express themselves in this sphere. This is not for lack of intellect or will. Rather, the most sinister effect of political disenfranchisement and the loss of participation in a democratic public is the “deskilling” that accompanies it.

Over successive generations, Americans have simply forgotten how to talk to one another about these issues, how to connect their lives with the machinations of global and national political and economic systems. Declining voting rates in federal elections, even steeper declines in in local and state-level political participation, the simplified and pandering rhetoric of national political debates, and the sheer animosity that currently infects the American political debate, all speak to this trend of the increasing absence of ordinary Americans in American politics.

Indeed, while speaking with that young couple and explaining some of the issues OP is organizing around, the pair nodded, asked detailed questions and appeared to agree with most points raised. However, as that evening’s general assembly got underway just a few feet away, and I began to explain how it worked, the couple expressed confusion about the link between the grievances behind the occupation and the democratic decision-making process used across the OWS movement. The young woman said to me, “It’s nice to get to tell your story about how some bank screwed you over or vote about moving to a new camp, but how’s me doing that gonna help, like, my block? You might wanna close a bank, but I want my block fixed and the city won’t pay for it and the government in Washington is just gonna listen to whoever’s the loudest.”

This point was further highlighted in a conversation I recently had with a blind Hispanic man who has been trying to promote ideas for reorganizing OP around issue areas (e.g. prisoner rights, environmentalism), rather than working groups which tend to form around skill sets (e.g. facilitation, messaging, coordination, outreach). His point was that “people who come to OP looking to get involved, but aren’t familiar with this form of political organizing, are thrown into a confusing system that speaks a language they don’t understand,” leaving potential supporters feeling excluded and disconnected, even resentful.

In this context, David Brooks’ now oft quoted observation that OWS has “changed the conversation,” begs the question: whose conversation? Returning to Dan Sherwood’s comments, I have to ask: is the form of public discussion that is currently surrounding the OWS movement really all that threatening to elites?

The OWS movement has accomplished a lot, and I have nothing but hope for the future. But, OWS must continue to root out the power of elites in society, in all its hiding places. While this movement has done a great deal to counter the imposed voicelessness that left nearly all Americans out of “the conversation” before September 17th, OWS must move beyond focusing on the conversation. Indeed, the true power of elites lurks within the conversation itself, in its language, medium, and framing as universal and relevant to the real lives of individuals. While it was amazing to see how someone like Tim Pool was able to shine a digital light through the darkness of media blackouts and police violence, it is important to recognize that this light is digital, and it cannot be seen by everyone.

At this important moment, following a day of unprecedented action across the country, the OWS movement must remain focused on raising political consciousness. We must do more than simply change the conversation. We must move to create conversations where they haven’t existed in a long time and in forms that have never been seen before.

I am addicted to Glenn Beck. Don’t misunderstand, I do not love Glenn Beck, nor do I sing in his chorus of the righteous. But neither am I a Beck-hater, feeling that he is – as he speaks of mega-billionaire George Soros – a “spooky dude.” Further, I am no Beckaholic (Mr. Beck, a recovering alcoholic, might appreciate this). If I miss a night, don’t look for me on a ledge. If I watch too much, don’t search for me in the gutter. However, I prefer that my day ends with a shot of Beck and bourbon. (In California, my current home base, Beck’s show airs at 11:00 p.m.).

Academics often find themselves in deep shade, hidden from bright public debate. Despite our striving for impact, few pay us mind. We dream of celebrity, but on our own terms, and we worry that the unwashed masses will not understand (lecturing to unwashed students makes this concern more plausible). When academics reach the spotlight, it has sometimes been for plagiarism (Doris Kearns Goodwin), losing control (Henry Louis Gates), or political misdemeanors that suggest that a Ph.D. is no substitute for a heart (Newt Gingrich). Perhaps we should lust for dim obscurity. The attentions of Mr. Beck suggest a certain benefit of anonymity over infamy. Beck pays the academy the uncertain honor of believing that we count for something. He believes our writings can change the world, much as Jesse Helms insisted that contemporary art really, truly mattered enough to be censored. Beck scopes the intellectual barricades to find those he presents as cultural subversives, reporting to his million-man audience about the moral felonies of Edward Bernays, Stuart Chase, Walter Lippmann, and, the most dangerous man in America, Cass Sunstein, professor at Harvard Law School and Administrator of the White House Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs. Pre-Beck, such a list would seem eccentric. Post-Beck, the list seems alternatively mad, malevolent, and revelatory. Despite his biting attacks, Beck is insistent on proclaiming the mantra of non-violence. Gandhi is a hero. But on Beck’s website some responses are not so gentle. To be sure, under the cloak of anonymity these angry posts may be from organized detractors who desire to discredit or penned by battlers who believe that Beck is insufficiently hard-edged.

The distinguished former president of the American Sociological Association Frances Fox Piven ranks in Beck’s list of the nine most dangerous people (the only woman) for her embrace of the disinfecting power of disruption, whether in Greece or Greensboro. (She and I have both served as presidents of the activist Society for the Study of Social Problems). Beck speaks of Professor Piven as an enemy of the Constitution, but this curious charge is rather like a Pentacostal finding that the Amish and the Methodists are enemies of the Bible. Whose Bible is it? Whose Constitution? The title of Piven’s last book, Challenging Authority, could reasonably be the title of Mr. Beck’s next. He is, after all, the author of a book “Inspired by Thomas Paine.” For their critics each is a royal Paine.

Glenn Beck is an endowed professor for the aggrieved, presenting cracked knowledge. Many of his shows are lectures delivered with more brio, comic patter, and multi-media panache than I could ever muster. He is quite the performer, often so much so that I easily fall into the rhythm of his cadence, too entranced to think hard about each claim.

Beck mines history with gusto, as if the past mattered for the present. In this, he is the student of which every historian dreams, at least until his parsing of reputations is considered. Most Americans (those that do not tune in to Beck) might be puzzled that Stuart Chase, the progressive economist, or Edward Benays, the psychologist of persuasion, still matter, but Beck emphasizes the archeology of ideas. Ideas do not die; they become the substructure of action. To his credit Beck takes seriously what many find dusty and archaic. Even when he gets his interpretations wrong or misleads (yes, he does), the genealogy of the American dream and its current corrosion is made dramatic. Beck reserves a special place in hell for the progressive Woodrow Wilson, no angel for anyone, left, right, or center, but not the one-dimensional controller that Beck despises.

Beck’s hatred for Marxists has recently waned – not that he likes them, evident in occasional nostalgic attacks on former Green Czar Van Jones or recent critiques in slightly paler pink of our current president. Rather in his recent lectures his bullet points are aimed at progressives. For Beck, a progressive is not just a slippery label for a liberal. What revolts Beck – and he is in revolt – is the idea of elites, hiding their power beneath the blanket of service. Beck rejects a world of expertise: an unelected high and mighty. At various moments, this idea would have placed him in lockstep with many on the left who also worry about puppetmasters. Perhaps the villains wear different masks, but the New World Order – and the George Soros’s and Dick Cheney’s who build it – is not only a gimcrack notion of one extreme.

Beck has recently begun to lecture about the ranchers and the cows. Viewers are the cows in his anti-Western. The elites wish to fence cows in and insure that any cow that wishes to break free is grilled for dinner at Davos. These ranchers are the smartest kids in the room. Can there be any wonder that Cass Sunstein’s Nudge is a particular bête noir? Sunstein wishes to control the cows, not by force, but without their even knowing of the control. In this Beck is almost a French intellectual, a Foucaultian of the heartland.

Beck has an agenda for how we are to live. He plumbs for Hope. Faith. Charity. But what are the problematic political subtexts of these bracing words? As a quasi-Libertarian Beck claims that we are capable of competent and conscious choice. We are each Shrugging Atlases. Edward Bernays with his adman’s slights-of-hand and the bleak and chill wisdom of Freud and progressives must be muscularly opposed. Collective projects and their benefits can vanish in a puff of individualism.

For Beck, progressives offend by believing that they can remake the world. Just like – ta-dah – the Nazis. In the American rhetoric of grievance everything goes back to Adolf with an occasional nod to Stalin. Put in Beckspeak, “Nazi tactics were progressive tactics first.” We must struggle against totalitarianism. A fair reading of Frances Fox Piven suggests that she and Beck might agree in their desires to devolve power to the local. Both speak for the dispossessed and both confront and discomfort a system that is fundamentally broken and run by those few who continue to benefit against popular desire.

Beck believes that today government is run by radical elites; others still see conservative elites. The question is where does power lie? How can power be retrieved by the governed? These are, of course the right questions. With his colorful attempts to retrieve the thinkers who made us as we are, Beck performs a service. He is worth considering. Still, listening to Glenn Beck at midnight does not always result in restful sleep. Sometimes those rough patches of slumber are because of what he gets right and sometimes they are because of what he gets wrong. But in either case, these troubles require an awakening.