America, Assemble: Why Trump is Thanos, Bernie is the Hulk, and Biden is Captain America (Part 4)

Read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

III. The First Avenger

1. Patriot Games

One of the things that distinguished the New Left that emerged out of the turmoil of the 1960s and ’70s was a new attitude toward patriotism: what it meant, how to show it, and who has it.

The Old Left was composed of the New Deal Democrats who led the country through the Great Depression and the second world war and went on to construct the welfare state and the affluent society. The cost of the New Deal — and the gains in prosperity and equality it undergirded — was the perpetuation of Jim Crow in the South. But prior to the Civil Rights era and the consequent fracturing of the Democratic party, the relationship between being a Democrat and being a patriotic American was utterly unproblematic.

The New Left, however, changed this. Where the Old Left was a class-based politics that cut across social identities — or, in the case of race, pretended to — the New Left was a culture-based approach that began to frame politics in terms of identity groups — race, gender, sexual orientation and, due in large part to the Vietnam War, age. For the Old Left, the primary villains were without: first fascists, then communists. For the New Left, the primary villains were within: the Man, the System, the Establishment, Capitalism, the Patriarchy, the Military-Industrial Complex and, of course, Nixon.

The organizing principle was that the world is divided into oppressors and oppressed; the former are typically old white men, the latter are typically marginalized groups who need to be defended. For the Old Left — and certainly for the Right — to be a patriot meant to support the the war. For the New Left, to be a patriot meant to protest it and to challenge power and authority wherever they may be found. Guided by Marxist ideas about ideology and false consciousness, for the young revolutionaries of the New Left, you’d be a sucker to trust anyone over 30. They had all been co-opted and corrupted by the system.

It follows from this either that patriotism is propaganda, or that its enlightened form requires raging against the machine. Whether we understand this as a rejection of the virtue or a reinterpretation of it, it’s one way to understand the ideological divide within the Democratic party that continues to this day. As the decades passed, the reverse patriotism of the counterculture cooled and reincarnated into the ironic nihilism that became the default attitude of the 1990s. With the “end of history” proclaimed after the collapse of Soviet Communism, and with neoliberalism victorious and seemingly invincible, what remained of the spirit of the New Left found a host in the children of its founders, Gen X and the Xennials. But that spirit, channeled by Tyler Durden in Fight Club, was withered and resigned:

We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War’s a spiritual war… our Great Depression is our lives

We’ve just read too much Howard Zinn. And even if we haven’t read him, we’ve osmotically absorbed the attitude toward American history he represents.

For this generation — my generation — the notion that patriotism could be anything other than something corny and hokey and sappy and saccharine, or that it would even be possible to unselfconsciously practice it with a straight face, is hard to imagine. The reflex is that the patriotic are dupes to be pitied and mocked. The perfunctory social rituals of pledging allegiance to the flag, standing for the national anthem, or supporting the troops ring hollow. It is the way many secular folks feel about religion: we want to believe, but we just can’t. It’s almost like asking a straight person to be gay. It’s not like we haven’t tried the whole love “my country ’tis of thee thing.” It just doesn’t feel right, to the point that actually feeling it would feel wrong, in the sense of embarrassing. Apart from a span of weeks in the aftermath of 9/11 and Obama’s election, patriotism is an alien emotion and strange disposition that other people feel; dead people, old people, church-going, pickup-driving, Fox News-watching people. We look back at the Greatest Generation’s natural patriotism the way we regard people in the Middle Ages’ belief in spirits: marveling with smug condescension at how benighted and naïve they were, yet envious that they belonged to an enchanted world.

And it is to the Greatest Generation that Captain America, the First Avenger, belongs.

2. A Good Man

Iron Man’s Tony Stark is the perfect foil to Captain America’s Steve Rodgers.

Rodgers is the immovable object of the Greatest Generation, Stark the unstoppable force of Generation X.

Stark is thoroughly postmodern — hip, flashy, materialistic, an endlessly verbal expressive individualist eager to embrace his super-hero status, a self-described “genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.” Rodgers is a total traditionalist — a square, subdued, stoic soldier embarrassed to be used as a propaganda tool for the war effort and who refuses to attend a medal ceremony after his first military victory.

Stark is knowing, clever, witty, cooler-than-thou, ever ready with the oh-so-above-it-all raised eyebrow, smirk, eye roll, or pop culture reference. Rodgers is focused, serious, on mission, and has no idea what the kids are up to these days, couldn’t care less, doesn’t get the joke, and doesn’t want to.

Steve: “We have orders. We should follow them.” Tony: “Yeah, following’s not really my style.”

Where Rodgers’ instinct is to respect authority, Tony’s is to challenge it (and give it the finger).

Where Steve is all about the team, Tony — at his worst — is all about Tony. In terms of the Big Five personality traits, Steve is all conscientiousness, Stark all openness to experience.

Where Steve is all heart, Tony is all head — a man of science and technology who, for most of the series, literally has an artificial heart.

But perhaps most importantly, Rodgers belongs to a world in which the United States was unambiguously a Force for Good in the World. He is a creature of a clear-cut Manichean moral universe of good guys and bad guys, Axis and Allies. Tony is the product of an age defined by the artist formerly known as the War on Terror, in which democratic capitalism has no serious ideological rival and where the enemy is not a country or an ideology but a stateless, faceless tactic. Indeed, in the first Iron Man film, the enemy — Tony’s business partner — turns out to lie within. In the first Avengers film, before the team is even fully formed, they (rightly, it turns out) suspect the motives of S.H.I.E.L.D., the top-secret government division that recruited them, when it hides that it’s been using alien technology to make weapons. The threats are no longer merely foreign (or extraterrestrial), but domestic: corruption in the upper reaches of the U.S. national security establishment, the military-industrial complex, the — yep, you got it — deep state.

Captain America, in other words, has a lot to catch up on, and his learning curve is steep. His suit may be a snug fit, but his patriotism is not, and is increasingly tested and taxed as the series unfolds. After his de-icing in Winter Soldier, he is immediately forced to come to terms with the political and moral ambiguities of the post-Cold War world. Corrupt Secretary of State Alexander Pierce (a sort of cypher for Dick Cheney played by Robert Redford) turns out to be an agent of Hydra, the secret Nazi division started by Red Skull, Cap’s nemesis from the 1940s. Having learned its lesson from World War II — that humanity could not be coerced into subjugation — Hydra has a new ploy for world domination. Having infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D., it aims to get humanity to willingly surrender its freedom by sowing chaos and accepting mass data surveillance in exchange for security. Hydra’s targeted killing system reads peoples past to predict their future. Cap is thus forced to come to terms with the moral conundrums of American power in the war on terror.

The tension between Stark and Rodgers drives the domestic drama within the Avengers team throughout the series, reaching its apex in Civil War and leading to a rupture that, like the Hulk’s inner struggle, must be healed before the final confrontation with the true enemy. The Clash between Stark and Rodgers reflects the cold civil war that has come to characterize, polarize, and paralyze our politics. We tend to focus on the war between the parties, but this tends to obscure the deeper obstacle: the war within the Democratic party. And that war, I am suggesting, has everything to do with the conflict over patriotism.

As I already mentioned, the roots of that conflict reach back to the 1960s in general and the Vietnam War in particular, but its most relevant recent context is the Iraq War. The 9/11 attack granted the country a windfall of patriotic capital that President Bush swiftly squandered by launching a war of choice that split the country.

Patriotism was at the heart of the 2004 election. The Democratic nominee, Senator John Kerry, perfectly embodied the party’s ambivalence around patriotism: he both served in Vietnam and spoke out against it upon his return. The Right’s asymmetrical advantage in the culture wars on all things patriotism was so complete that Bush, the frat boy ne’er-do-well with a controversial service record with the National Guard, was successfully portrayed as a veritable Captain America, while Kerry, the Vietnam veteran, was framed as an effete, vaguely French, windsurfing turncoat.

To be fair, Kerry had scant political talent and was an awful candidate. He signaled ambivalence not only in his background, but in his statements about the Iraq War: “I voted for the war before I voted against it.” This Democratic dissonance about the war dogged the party in 2008 — Clinton’s vote in favor of it cost her dearly, and Obama’s vote against it freed him from the party’s baggage — and will do so again in 2020. To add insult to injury, the party’s ham-fisted attempt to dress Kerry up as a war hero at the Democratic National Convention was somewhat like watching Jeb Bush trying to insult Donald Trump on the debate stage: he was trying to succeed on turf and in terms owned by his enemy, and his failure was thus sealed from the start.

You have to remember that in the Bush years, the Right had a total lock on a constellation of politically powerful ideas: patriotism, religion, family values, national security. This was a time that saw the passage of a piece of legislation literally entitled the Patriot Act. It was a time when the country was at war on three fronts: in Iraq, Afghanistan and, in theory, everywhere. It was the time of neoconservatism, the twilight of the “unipolar moment,” that fifteen or so year span between the end of the Cold War and the failure of the Iraq War, when America bestrode the globe playing at world policeman, chasing windmills of “regime change.” It was a time when the patriotic posturing of the Right grew so preposterous that it begged to be parodied, and was, to savage effect, by the South Park creators in Team America: World Police:

But the Bush administration played too many patriot games, and they lost most of their bets. The missing WMDs in Iraq, the failure of the war, the absence of any major terror attacks and, finally, the financial crisis of 2008 knocked the wind out of the GOP and, with the election of the first black president, reordered the constellation of ideas mentioned above. With the GOP’s monopoly on patriotism weakened and its alleged competence in national security discredited, the country was able to tell itself a new story, a story it could be proud of: that it had come together to heal its recent divisions over the war and its ancient divisions over race to elect a young black man as its leader.

The new president’s wife was savaged by the Right when she confessed that she had never felt so proud of her country as the night it elected her husband president. But I must confess to you — and I suspect I speak for many in my generation and the Gen Xers, too — Michelle Obama spoke for me. Never have I felt prouder to be an American, never have I felt more hopeful for our country and its future, never have I felt more connected to the nation than when Barack Obama ran, won, and governed as our president.

But for me, his race was always secondary. What drew me to him — what makes me miss him with a heavy heart — was who he was. Never in my life time had a man whose intellect, character, judgment, and temperament were so well suited to the presidency come close to occupying the oval office. But somehow, it happened.

And with the steady economic recovery, the gradual winding down of the wars, the continued absence of a major terrorist attack, the daring midnight mission to kill bin Laden, the lack of any major scandal (sexual or otherwise) in a Democratic administration, the near constant competence, and the mere abiding presence of healthy, stable, normal African-American family in the White House — the GOPs grip on patriotism in the American social imaginary weakened even further. The balance of patriotic power, to all appearances, had shifted, and we were charting a steady course toward that more perfect union. To almost all appearances.

The backlash began immediately. At the governmental level, it took the form of the GOP’s lockstep opposition to every single one of Obama’s legislative proposals, even (incredibly) the stimulus package to arrest the economy’s free fall, and was sealed with (then) senate minority leader McConnell’s declaration that his main objective was to make Obama a one-term president. At the grass-roots level, it took the form of the Tea Party (or, to be more precise, the “astroturf” level, since the movement was bolstered by Koch brothers-backed front groups such as Americans for Prosperity). The movement donned the symbology of the Founding, opposed itself to what it risibly regarded as the Obama administration’s tyrannical economic and healthcare policies, and offered a preview of the right-wing populist rhetoric to come. Dethroned from power, the faux patriotism of the Right took a more twisted form, re-emerging first as the primal scream of the Tea Party and mutating into Palinism, Birtherism and, ultimately, Trumpism.

The spirit of the new age was captured pithily by a Trump supporter during the 2016 campaign: “Hell yeah! He’s no-bullshit. All balls. Fuck you all balls. That’s what I’m about.” If the mantra of the Bush administration was “America: Fuck Yeah!”, that of the Trump administration has been “America: Fuck All Balls!” In the Bush era, you signaled tribal loyalty by putting a “Support the Troops” sticker on your SUV. In the Trump era, you do so by hanging “truck nuts” on your pickup.

It will come as little surprise, then, that for those of us who have come to regard Trump as a clear and present danger to the country, the morning after the 2016 election felt like 9/11. I realize that will be offensive to many of you reading this, so let me be clear: I am not drawing any kind of moral equivalence between the two events. I am talking, instead, about their world-historical impact, the gut-punch certainty they conveyed that the world had suddenly changed. The difference, beyond the obvious point that no one died, is that no one cheered the 9/11 attacks (save a smattering of left-wing radicals who saw the blowback as just desert for an Evil Empire). But discounting Trump’s hardcore supporters, for most of the country — including, I wager, quite a few of the well-educated, well-off center-Right and libertarian folks who should have known better but held their nose and voted for him for selfish financial reasons — it felt like an attack.

The moral disorientation that characterized the War on Terror, in which we began to worry whether the strangers we pass in public might be terrorists, took an even more twisted form: we began to regard our fellow citizens as something close to traitors. It cut both ways: those on the Left saw Trump’s followers supporting a demagogue attacking the very pillars of our polity: the constitution, liberal democracy, the free press, the courts, the national security establishment. Those on the Right viewed themselves as the “real Americans,” saw Trump’s opponents as disloyal and unpatriotic, and even began to regard Russia more favorably than the Democratic party. In the Bush years, Terrorism was in the air wherever you went; in the Trump years it’s been, well, Trumpism.

In the first Captain America film, the German Jewish émigré scientist (Stanley Tucci) who recruits Steve Rodgers to be the guinea pig for the super soldier project tells him why he was chosen. The superhuman serum, he explains, accentuates whatever is inside you — “good becomes great, bad becomes worse.” He chose Steve because of his character, and made him promise that whatever happens, he remain “a good man.”

As Michelle Obama and many others have observed, “The presidency doesn’t change who you are. It reveals who you are.” Cap’s Axis counterpart Johann Schmid, the first person to be injected with the serum, is transformed into Red Skull, a walking demon that attains such levels of megalomania that he aims to out-Führer Hitler himself.

At this point you are probably wondering whether anyone has compared Trump to Red Skull. Rest assured, dear reader, the internet is, as usual, way ahead of you. But before you open this Twitter feed, make sure you are not eating or standing up, lest you choke or collapse from body-quaking, gut-busting, mind-erasing laughter:

I could go on, of course — about Trump’s German heritage, his belief in his own genetic superiority, his xenophobia, his racism and, beyond that, his alienation of our allies, war on our independent institutions, assault on truth, and gutting of our federal agencies — but I trust the point is made.

Into this fray — I cannot conjure a phrase better than “American carnage” — steps the presumptive Democratic nominee, former vice president Joseph R. Biden.

3. The Happy Warrior

In Avengers, when S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Colson encourages Cap to don his old uniform before going into battle, our hero asks, “Isn’t it a little old fashioned?” Colson replies: “Everything that’s happening? The things that are about to come to light? People might just need a little old fashioned.”

One of the most perplexing things about the Trump era is that traditionalist voters threw their support behind the most un- and anti-traditional candidate imaginable. Take your pick — whether we are talking about the presidency, the constitution, federal agencies, institutional memory, conservative economic orthodoxy, legal precedents, or Judeo-Christian morality — Trump’s instinct and MO is always to shred first, ask questions later. The Trump ethos is that rules are made to be broken, followed only by suckers or cowards, and that the political universe that preceded him is to be destroyed, refashioned in his image, and branded with his name. Like his towers. All the world’s a hotel.

Indeed, Trump’s ethos is less Judeo-Christian and more Game of Thrones — more Persian, Assyrian, Babylonian, Macedonian. He operates like the warrior-kings that led the early agricultural empires of the ancient near East. When conquering a new territory, the first thing to be done is to raze all the temples and statues, erase all the signs of the old gods, and replace them with shiny new testaments to the new god’s supremacy. This perfectly captures his attitude toward Obama. To make the presidency — and the GOP, and the country, and the world stage — his own, he first has to break it.

Oscar Wilde famously said that the trouble with socialism is that it takes up too many evenings. Normal people have busy lives, and don’t have the time to keep up with politics and be constantly engaged citizens. The problem with Trumpism, however, is that it takes up too many mornings. Normal people have busy lives, and don’t have the time to be constantly enraged citizens.

Put another way, the problem with Trump is not that he is too conservative, but that he is not conservative enough. He accidentally reveals an enduring truth of the conservative worldview. As David Frum put it at the outset of Trump’s presidency — in what remains one of the most important essays on the dangers of the Trump era — “Checks and balances is a metaphor, not a mechanism.” By the time Trump came along, the American civic creed had calcified into dumb dogma — “rule of law,” “separation of powers,” “checks and balances,” “liberal democracy” — a set of phrases we repeated to ourselves like so many lame incantations in a world bereft of magic. No amount of heroic speechifying by Obama could restore the blood rush of conviction and true belief.

George Packer explains how the “adults” — his catch-all term for the government officials of the executive branch, which codes as “the establishment” for Sandersistas and “the deep state” for Trumpers — were blindsided:

They failed to appreciate the advanced decay of the Republican Party, which by 2016 was far gone in a nihilistic pursuit of power at all costs. They didn’t grasp the readiness of large numbers of Americans to accept, even relish, Trump’s contempt for democratic norms and basic decency. It took the arrival of such a leader to reveal how many things that had always seemed engraved in monumental stone turned out to depend on those flimsy norms, and how much the norms depended on public opinion. Their vanishing exposed the real power of the presidency. Legal precedent could be deleted with a keystroke; law enforcement’s independence from the White House was optional; the separation of powers turned out to be a gentleman’s agreement; transparent lies were more potent than solid facts. None of this was clear to the political class until Trump became president.

One is reminded of season one of Game of Thrones, when Cersei Lannister tears up the decree of the dead king — her husband, whose body is probably still warm — installing Ned Stark as regent. “Those are the kings words,” Sir Barrister protests. “We have a new king,” Cersei coolly explains.

Another scene from the show clarifies our predicament. When Verys and Littlefinger, the king’s two canniest counselors, debate the politics of chaos in the Throne, the latter delivers a diamond-hard distillation of the world according to Trump. They whisper beneath the Iron Throne, which according to legend was forged from the 1,000 blades of Aegon the Conqueror’s enemies, a forging that symbolized the binding of the seven kingdoms together into one realm. In exquisitely Machiavellian fashion, Littlefinger lays out the terrible truth: “Do you know what the realm is? It’s the thousand blades of Aegon’s enemies, a story we agree to tell each other over and over until we forget that it’s a lie.” Varys protests: “But what do we have left once we abandon the lie? Chaos, a gaping pit, waiting to swallow us all.” Littlefinger’s response:

Chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail, never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some are given a chance to climb, but they refuse. They cling to the realm…or the gods…or love. Illusions. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is.

“It Can’t Happen Here,” we told ourselves for the longest time. But here we are.

When Joe Biden finally announced his candidacy in April 2019, it was met by many with cautious optimism. Optimism because he promised a return to Obama-era normalcy. Caution because he had clearly lost a step.

As the debates began, caution hardened into concern.

Unlike, say, Amy Klobuchar, who never met a speaking time constraint she couldn’t blow through, Biden was oddly reticent for a politician of his stature, cutting himself off in mid-sentence when he exceeded the allotted 18.5 seconds. In the first debate, he went so far as to punctuate his full stop with what read like a confession that spoke volumes about his candidacy: “My time is up.”

When Captain America first suits up to return to the fray after being on ice for 70 years, Loki mocks him as “a man out of time.” The implication is twofold: in both quality and quantity, Cap is out of time.

Joe Biden was born in 1942, when the war Captain American helped to win was still going on. He is so old that an “Ok, boomer” epithet would be anachronistic. He entered the Senate in 1973. He came of age politically during a time before bipartisanship was a punch line, a time mythologized as Reagan and Tip O’Neill putting aside their differences and settling everything over drinks after hours. The premise and promise of a Biden presidency was, of course, restoration: that only he could bring back comity and regular order in the Senate and in the government in general. But Biden’s belief in the possibility of bipartisanship seemed to many on the Left as naïve and outdated as Steve Rodgers’ simplistic faith in truth, justice, and the American way proves to be in the modern world.

His background and bearing also seemed out of sync with leftward cultural currents — the very culture associated with the president he served that is broadly blamed for fomenting the rise of Trump. Whether on gender or race, Biden was vulnerable to political attacks that, while craven, slowed his roll. Even before he entered the race, he had his own little #MeToo reckoning when former Nevada congresswoman Lucy Flores accused him of sexual misconduct. In the first debate, Kamala Harris knifed him over his opposition to school busing. His handling of the Anita Hill hearings and support for the Clinton-era crime bill weighted him down. Brandishing his bipartisan credentials by talking up his record working with segregationists in the Senate didn’t help to dispel the perception that he was a cultural dinosaur.

As the debate season dragged on, the concern became alarm.

Biden had always been gaffe-prone, but when he was the vice president, it was cause for amusement. Now that he was the front runner — and visibly older — it was, well… a “big fucking deal.” In answers, he fumbled his words, rambled incoherently, and said things — “break out the record player” — that did indeed suggest that he was not just a man out of time, but a man who may be starting to lose his mind. A major piece in the Atlantic focusing on Biden’s lifelong stutter did little to displace the narrative that he was simply over the hill.

Bloomberg, who bet that Biden would coast to the nomination and feared a Sanders nomination above all, came off the sidelines and announced he would enter the race on Super Tuesday. A rumor surfaced in a Politico article that Obama would intervene if it appeared that Sanders was running away with the nomination.

As the primary season kicked off — and after Sanders won New Hampshire and Nevada — the alarm became panic.

What Biden had been calling his “firewall” — South Carolina — began to look more and more like it would be his Alamo.

And then, on Super Tuesday, Biden did something that surprised everyone. He did what Captain America did that surprised Loki.

He kicked ass. And he kicked ass the next week. And the week after that. And in almost no time, he was suddenly, for all intents and purposes, the Democratic nominee.

Such a disturbance in the Force had not been felt since election night 2016: a black swan electoral earthquake that overturned the conventional wisdom and embarrassed the mainstream media. It was a reminder that political reality is always more complex, more unpredictable, more wild and alive than the pollsters and political pseudo-scientists would have us believe.

In the wake of Biden’s tsunamic victories, the conspiracy theory machine was predictably set in motion on the Left, spinning a story about what had happened: that the system was rigged, that a conspiracy of the DNC, the MSM, and the Establishment had worked to undermine Sanders’ candidacy. As is generally the case with conspiracy theories, though, the reality was far less interesting and much simpler. These abstract entities — the DNC, the MSM, the Establishment, the System, the Man, Neoliberalism — didn’t bring Biden victory. Voters did.

The question is why.

Permit me another Star Wars analogy. The Rise of Skywalker was given the impossible task of wrapping up the Skywalker saga of nine movies and three trilogies. It wasn’t the Star Wars movie we deserved — such a thing, we are coming to realize, does not exist. But it was the Star Wars movie we needed. The new trilogy was about a generational changing of the guard. Each film progressively had us saying goodbye to the original trio of heroes: first Han, then Luke, then Leia — as power is handed off to Finn, Po, and Rey.

So, too, the Democratic Party is caught between the moderates and the progressives, on the cusp of a tectonic ideological, generational, and demographic shift. The New Democrats of the Clinton years are now the old guard, and power is passing from Bill, Hillary, and Obama to a new generation of leaders: Pete Buttigieg, AOC, and Stacey Abrams. They are the hope for the future, not just of the Democratic party, but of our democracy itself. This New New Left promises to fulfill the promise of the Old Left — not just for white Americans, like the New Deal did, but for all Americans.

But right now, we are caught in the breach. Indeed, it is a chasm whose fissures were discernible decades ago, Ross Douthat writes, as the rust marks of decadence:

We should have seen the bad days coming. The filmmakers of 1999 did, as Reason magazine’s Jesse Walker noted when The Ringer’s top-100 list came out. “Election,” “The Matrix,” “Fight Club,” “The Blair Witch Project,” “Office Space,” “The Talented Mr. Ripley,” even (God help us) “The Phantom Menace” … it’s all there, everything that followed, class anxiety and workplace alienation, end-of-history discontents and internet-fueled hoaxes, disputed elections and virtual-reality prisons, plus a tottering republic waiting for its Palpatine.

We should have listened. Instead, we took that stupid red pill from “The Matrix,” and now we’ll never find our way back up.

If we want a future worth having — if we want to “find our way back up” — we must summon the spirits of the past, as Rey does to banish Palpatine once and for all in the Rise of Skywalker. Biden is just such a spirit, a bridge from the New Old Left of Clintonism to the New New Left that is beginning to pull into focus.

For what Biden offers is a caretaker presidency on the model of Gerald Ford. As Walter Shapiro points out, Biden’s political career is, eerily, bookmarked by the two most scandalous administrations in modern American history:

Biden was in the Capitol cheering when Jerry Ford, in his first speech to Congress, broke with the divisiveness of the Nixon years and pledged to be president of all the people — including “women’s liberationists and male chauvinists.”

Forty-five years later — after more than three decades as U.S. senator from Delaware, two failed White House bids, and eight years as vice president — Biden is running for president to become the Jerry Ford of the twenty-first century. Even though Donald Trump can make Nixon seem like Pericles, and Mitch McConnell is devoid of any principle beyond partisanship, Biden still believes that as president he can bring back the era of “clean, honest fights.” You can imagine Biden saying, with the same sincere awkwardness that Ford did after taking the oath of office, “Our long national nightmare is over.”

One term, one task: to restore faith in the office, in the government, in the American story, and in our power to clean up the mess left by a corrupt president. But the election is about so much more than the election itself. While the Trump administration has turned what was already a swamp into a cesspool, what made it possible was a style of politics and way of doing business in Washington that was inaugurated — you simply could not have made this up — by some of Trump’s lieutenants: Roger Stone and Paul Manafort. These were Nixon insiders who got rich quick peddling influence in Washington by building what became the lobbying-industrial complex that we call the swamp.

All of which is to say: this began with an impeachment, and it will end with an impeachment. The “this” in question is the modern conservative movement that, as I mentioned above, was never really about ideology. It was about identity. As Lee Atwater — Stone’s and Manafort’s business partner and Nixon campaign aid — infamously confessed:

You start out in 1954 by saying, “Nigger, nigger, nigger.” By 1968 you can’t say “nigger” — that hurts you. Backfires. So you say stuff like forced busing, states’ rights and all that stuff. You’re getting so abstract now [that] you’re talking about cutting taxes, and all these things you’re talking about are totally economic things and a byproduct of them is [that] blacks get hurt worse than whites. And subconsciously maybe that is part of it. I’m not saying that. But I’m saying that if it is getting that abstract, and that coded, that we are doing away with the racial problem one way or the other. You follow me — because obviously sitting around saying, “We want to cut this,” is much more abstract than even the busing thing, and a hell of a lot more abstract than “Nigger, nigger.”

The collapse of Americans’ faith in institutions can arguably be traced to the Nixon era, for obvious reasons. But the public’s disdain for Congress, in particular, is of more recent vintage. Biden’s abiding, seemingly absurd belief in bipartisanship puts him at odds not just with the country, but with a major wing of his party. In a deeply biographical analysis of Biden’s approach to American politics, Ezra Klein writes:

Biden believes the system is sound and his experience and relationships will let him restore its functionality. The candidates he’s running against do not have his experience in the Senate, and many of them see a broken institution in need of structural reform.

To understand Biden’s belief in the system, Klein explains, we need to understand the history of the Senate during his tenure:

By the time Biden got to Congress, the Civil Rights Act had passed, and the realignment of the South from Dixiecrat to Republican was beginning. But it would take decades for the Dixiecrats to die out. In Biden’s day, the Southerners still had the seniority, they still wanted allies, and they were still, crucially, Democrats. If you wanted to succeed as a Senate Democrat in 1973, you needed their help. Biden understood all this.

But Klein is skeptical. Biden, he thinks, is blinded by his experience, and does not and cannot grasp the structural forces that have made bipartisan compromise in the senate irrational and virtually impossible:

Biden’s career has convinced him that compromise is possible, and that he has an almost unique ability to work with senators of all ideological persuasions. I can see why he looks across the Senate and sees people rather than partisans, why he posits his experience and approach as an antidote to polarization. But I worry his personal experience has misled him. There is really no evidence that he can overcome the bitter polarization of this period.

On the other hand, Shapiro writes:

But Chris Coons, who inherited Biden’s Senate seat, argued that Biden has “had to endure the enormous frustration of Mitch McConnell’s obstructionism. He’s not naïve. He knows exactly how hard this is and how difficult this time is. But if there is anyone who can work across the aisle … it’s Joe.”

Klein is hard to argue with. As Pete Buttigieg correctly stated at the beginning of the campaign, a central lesson of the Obama administration is that we must abandon the premise that bipartisan compromise is possible with McConnell. There is one path, and one path only: win back the Senate and kill the filibuster. As Dan Pfeiffer recently put it, if legislative action on climate change depends on getting 8 or 9 Republican senators to break a filibuster, the Senate will be underwater before anything gets done. If Biden hopes to save the institution to which he has devoted the better part of his adult life, he will have to break it. But sometimes the only way to fix a broken thing is to break it further. Biden and Sanders are united in opposing the elimination of the filibuster.

But as Coons noted, Biden is not naive. Unlike Klein, I do not find it plausible that Biden fails to grasp how far gone the GOP is; after all, this is a man who rode shotgun with Obama for eight years. He may well be running on the message of restoring bipartisan bonhomie, knowing that push will almost certainly come to shove and planning to do what must be done when the time comes. In fact, this could prove to be a shrewd strategy.

Joe Biden’s style of politics — the stuff of compromise, transaction, deal-making, and personal relationships — is anathema to the Sanders wing of the party. Unfortunately for them, this style of politics is, of course, politics. Their refusal to accept that the country is still basically center-right drove their misunderstanding of the Obama presidency and is of a piece with their inability to grasp how American politics actually works. The country would not tolerate the imposition of Sanders’ plans — even if he won the senate, and even if the senate would pass them. But if it elects Biden president and gives the Democrats the Senate, effectively punishing the Republicans for their abuse of power, I can see the country tolerating the elimination of an arcane procedural rule to advance an agenda that enjoys broad popular support: which Biden’s agenda does.

Sanders’ Hulk-smash style of politics is not only a bad game plan on any given Sunday. It is especially ill-suited for our historical moment. Shapiro again:

Democrats, in the months ahead, should ask themselves whether America is ready to veer from a president who has trashed the Constitution to a leader who wants to overhaul the entire economy and health care system in a single four-year term. There is a pro-Biden case to inaugurate a long-overdue interval of national healing rather than a season of dramatic transformation.

Even if his restorationist campaign proves successful, Biden would be destined to be a transitional president. Sometimes, more than anything, a democracy needs a chance to exhale. There is no shame in competence, knowing how to govern, and a faith that compromise in a post-Trump world is possible. Accidental though he was, the record after four decades shows that Jerry Ford was a pretty good president.

Remember Agent Colson’s words of wisdom: “Everything that’s happening? People might just need a little old fashioned.”

Yet Sanders and his supporters still have a crucial role to play. They can provide the spark that will light the fire that will bring the First Order down. They can provide the passion — and, crucially, the youth vote — that a Biden ticket needs. The youth vote is the last piece needed — the final infinity stone, if you will — to reassemble the Obama coalition and begin to undo the last four years.

But we should resist the temptation to cast the Biden presidency as a “restoration,” as though we are reinstituting a monarchy. E.J. Dionne advises:

Biden also should reject the premise of another foolish argument: that Democrats must choose between restoration or transformation as the core goal of the next four years. Plainly, the country needs both. Restoring the norms and values that Trump has ripped apart is a precondition of progress. But that’s the point: What voters seek to restore is progress.

As with the other dichotomies used to tell the story of this race — mobilization vs. persuasion, or moderate vs. progressive — we need both.

And so we turn to this avuncular avenger.

The problem is not fear, as it was for FDR’s America in the depths of a depression. The problem is despair. American has lost its why. “He who has a why to live for,” Nietzsche wrote, “can bear almost any how.” The American why is to save democracy, fix capitalism, and solve the climate crisis. It is the triple bottom line — people, profit, planet — transfigured into the transcendent challenge of the 21st century, a challenge is coincident with the future survival and flourishing of the human race.

If we are to achieve our country — if America is to fulfill its world historical mission — we must pass through the dark night of the postmodern soul, escape the labyrinth of irony, and feel ourselves once again burdened with glorious purpose. We must accept that the cavalry isn’t coming, that we are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We must throw off the hideous yoke of nihilism. We must find the way back to the place where we can, without embarrassment, pursue truth, justice, and the American way.

President Eisenhower — another avuncular leader — famously said that “our form of government has no sense unless it is founded in a deeply felt religious faith, and I don’t care what it is.” The very thing that makes Biden appear to be a man out of time is why he is made for this moment. Despite the crushing weight of all that has befallen the country in the last four years; despite the depths of dysfunction and decay that have beset the Senate, the institution to which he has devoted his energies; despite the great tragedies in his personal life that bookend his political career; despite all of this — Biden still believes. He believes in the American experiment, in human progress, and in the simple idea that people are basically good.

It is not often that you find an American politician quoting a philosopher, let alone an existentialist. Biden likes to quote Kierkegaard: “Faith sees best in the dark.” Unlike the cheap hope of Bill Clinton, which was, in the end, a skin deep sales job; unlike the heady hope of Barack Obama, which was genuine but cast in lofty rhetoric that sailed over the head of the average voter; the hope of Joe Biden is visceral, elemental, existential, the most human of things.

After Biden’s commanding debate performance against Paul Ryan in 2012, Obama called him by a phrase that had come to be associated with Ronald Reagan: “America’s happy warrior.” The phrase, though, predates Reagan, and entered American politics attached to a figure of the Old Left: Hubert Humphrey. But its origins lie in a poem, “Character of the Happy Warrior,” which William Wordsworth wrote to commemorate the death of British war hero Lord Nelson, which begins:

Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he
 What every man in arms should wish to be?
 — It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought
 Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
 Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought:
 Whose high endeavours are an inward light
 That makes the path before him always bright:
 Who, with a natural instinct to discern
 What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn,
 Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,
 But makes his moral being his prime care;

The happy warrior’s secret is his inward light. It helps him see, always — even in the darkest of times.

America, Assemble: Why Trump is Thanos, Bernie is the Hulk, and Biden is Captain America (Part 3)

Read Part 1 and Part 2.

II. Hulk Smash

In the New York Times, Jennifer Finney Boylan recently drew parallels between Bernie and the Hulk (“Bernie Angry. Bernie Smash!” March 4th, 2020). I thought of the same analogy weeks ago, and was pleased to see the sentiment is shared.

First and most obviously of all, she writes: like the Hulk, Bernie’s always angry.

Thinking of the Sanders campaign, I’m put in mind of the first “Avengers” film, when Captain America turns to Bruce Banner at a moment of crisis and notes, “Dr. Banner, now might be a really good time for you to get angry.”

“That’s my secret, Captain,” Banner replies, before hulking out. “I’m always angry.”

Continue reading “America, Assemble: Why Trump is Thanos, Bernie is the Hulk, and Biden is Captain America (Part 3)”

America, Assemble: Why Trump is Thanos, Bernie is the Hulk, and Biden is Captain America (Part 2)

Read Part 1 here.

I.Thanos the Mad Titan

The parallels were obvious, even before Josh Brolin read Trump tweets in Thanos’ voice, even before this viral video was created (amazingly, by the Trump team itself):

Thanos’s mission is, in a phrase, to Make the Universe Great Again. Things have gotten out of balance. Overpopulation has led to the starvation of peoples and the destruction of natural environments. The only solution is to cull the herd. The end of social balance and natural beauty justifies the means of mass murder. Humanity has altered the perfect balance of nature; necessity dictates that it must be restored. Well-meaning humanitarian heroes like the Avengers are naïve suckers who fail to face the tragic truth. A strong leader is needed to tell it like it is, make the hard decisions others are unwilling to make, and do what must be done.

You start to get the picture.

Continue reading “America, Assemble: Why Trump is Thanos, Bernie is the Hulk, and Biden is Captain America (Part 2)”

America, Assemble: Why Trump is Thanos, Bernie is the Hulk, and Biden is Captain America (Part 1)

Tom Friedman recently published a column calling for a “team of rivals,” arguing that the Democratic nominee—at that pre-Super Tuesday point, it appeared, either Bernie or Bloomberg—should announce in advance the cabinet he would assemble as president. The purpose would be to signal party and national unity and form a formidable phalanx to ready for the coming assault of the vulgarian hordes. Some of his suggestions (Romney as Secretary of Commerce, for instance) were more sensible than others (ahem, Bernie as Secretary of Treasury…). But Friedman’s intuition was sound.

I’ll do him one better.

There is a scene I have not been able to banish from my mind these many months: In the climactic battle between the Avengers and Thanos in the final film of the series, Captain America stands, shield broken and body battered, his comrades Thor and Iron Man down for the count, his team trapped underground, the rest of his allies long-since “disappeared” by Thanos’ cosmic snap, and turns to his enemy, his face leaden with exhaustion and despair yet defiant before defeat.

And then the cavalry arrives.

This is the comic book movie equivalent of how I picture the Democratic National Convention in Milwaukee.

Continue reading “America, Assemble: Why Trump is Thanos, Bernie is the Hulk, and Biden is Captain America (Part 1)”

The Real Virus

I’ve been thinking a lot about what the virus means–at the symbolic level of culture and politics. While it is of course still too early to know what the biological and economic fallout will be, I wanted to offer some thoughts on what the cultural and political implications might look like.

What the virus represents, of course, is reality. “The times have found us,” Paine wrote. Well, truth, facts, science, and, most importantly, two realities have found us and, at long last, caught up to Trump. 

Continue reading “The Real Virus”

Why I Don’t Like Bernie Sanders (With a Side of Green Eggs and Ham)

She shouldn’t have said it (or, for that matter, anything, ever again) but I couldn’t help but chuckle when I heard Hillary Clinton’s say “Nobody likes him.” Like “deploreables,” it was the tone-deaf utterance of a fatally untalented politician that nevertheless contained a kernel of truth. At least for me.

I do not like Bernie Sanders. Never have and, probably, never will. And while I have, thanks to the noisy nudging of my progressive friends, come to love him, I cannot bring myself to support him.

Over the last several months, I’ve found myself drawn into fights with friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, both IRL and on Facebook, over Bernie Sanders.

So I decided to spend a couple of weeks and mount a vigorous assault on my default settings. I read oodles of articles posted by Bernie supporters. I compared the plans of all the candidates. I free-based the two newish flagship socialist publications, Jacobin and Current Affairs, and scrutinized the marching orders of their respective editors, Bhaskar Sunkara (The Socialist Manifesto) and Nathan Robinson, (Why You Should Be a Socialist). I read a history of socialism in America. Perhaps most importantly, I tried to think and feel my way into the minds of Sanders’ supporters by dredging up the dark memories of the 2016 campaign.

It was a good and eminently healthy experience challenging some of my assumptions, trying to identify my blind spots, reading around the periphery of my usual media diet—and it’s an ongoing process, of course. Everybody gets triggered by certain candidates and tickled by others, and it’s hard work to burrow into one’s biases and discern whether they have to do with well-founded reasonable beliefs or irrational psychological proclivities. For me, Sander is a triggering candidate—that makes him and his supporters interesting to me. What are they seeing that I’m not?

I can say that, while I cannot bring myself to support him (though I would, of course, fiercely support him if he is the nominee), the exercise has certainly softened me around his candidacy and what it means. Frankly, I was surprised how close I got to convincing myself to support him.

But the process reminded me of a similar one I undertook in graduate school, when I tried to convert to Christianity. Never mind that “trying” to convert to anything is like trying to bite your own teeth. I mention this not only because both attempts were unsuccessful, but because I have come to believe that the Bernie Sanders movement can only be explained by what amount to theological terms. I’ll explain more below, but in fine: progressive politics has by and large become a secular theology, a latter-day Marxism. This is intended both as compliment and criticism.

What follows is my attempt to come to terms with my dislike for him, how I came to love him, what I find appealing in his vision and approach to politics, why I do not support him and, most importantly, my argument for why progressives shouldn’t either.

I. Why I Don’t Like Bernie Sanders

You do not like
green eggs and ham?

I do not
like them,

Could you, would you,
with a goat?

I would not,
could not.
with a goat!

Would you, could you,
on a boat?

I could not, would not, on a boat.
I will not, will not, with a goat.
I will not eat them in the rain.
I will not eat them on a train.
Not in the dark! Not in a tree!
Not in a car! You let me be!
I do not like them in a box.
I do not like them with a fox.
I will not eat them in a house.
I do not like them with a mouse.
I do not like them here or there.
I do not like them ANYWHERE!

I do not like
green eggs
and ham!

I use this analogy not only because the visceral reactions we have to food we don’t like captures my attitude toward Sanders but, as I’ll explain later, it turns out that this is a lot more important to political psychology—which is to say, politics—than we tend to think. It has always been the case that in politics, style is a sort of substance, and this is only more so today.

Unlike many of his followers’ feelings for his rivals Joe Biden and Pete Buttigieg, I do not hate Bernie Sanders. I do not despise or detest him, I do not think he is a lying MF, I do not think he is a bad person, and I do not want to cancel him.

I just don’t like him.

I do not like him misshapen face.

I do not like his buggy, googley eyes.

I do not like his difficulty smiling.

I do not like his default scowl.

I do not like his rather simian arm-waving.

I do not like his poor posture.

I do not like his hoarse voice braying on about the billionaire class.

I do not like his mussed hair.

I do not like how much he reminds me of the hunchbacked conductor from the old Claymation Christmas special.

I do not like how his suits don’t fit.

I do not like his angry, scolding, finger-wagging affect.

I do not like his style of politics.

I do not like his supporters.

I do not like that his heart attack did not end his campaign.

I do not like that he has gotten a free pass on policy from the press and in the debates, while Elizabeth Warren has taken the flak and had her candidacy pretty much mortally wounded for embracing slightly more reasonable versions of his policies.

I do not like that he has probably ruined Elizabeth Warren’s chance to be the first female president.

I do not like that he has allowed the label of “socialism” to be associated with the Democratic party.

I am fully aware that these are (mostly) superficial and irrational reasons to oppose a candidate. I am fully aware that were I to dismiss Sanders on such grounds, I would be no better than those who rejected Hillary because they didn’t like her laugh. And while these are not the real reasons I refuse to support him, I mention them for three reasons.

The first is to defuse suspicions that my opposition to him is (purely) irrational.

The second and, I think, more important, is that I suspect they are shared by many people in all of the political tribes to the right of progressives and to the left of Trumpers; that is, Bernie Sanders produces an immediate negative visceral reaction in the nervous systems of many people from NeverTrumpers to liberals—and that is most of the people.

Third, it is just these kinds of psychological reactions that many of his supporters have for his ideological opponents—especially Pete Buttigieg. Again, while we should never let these shallow considerations dictate who we support, we must acknowledge that they often do dictate who people support. And not “people”—not them—but you and me—us. We must acknowledge, in other words, that this is one of those many pesky ways in which high school never really ends.

So yeah—I just don’t like him. But there is plenty to love.

II. Why I Love Bernie Sanders

To begin, Ecce homo! “Behold the man.” In his style, his bearing, his countenance, his frumpy, avuncular aesthetic, Sanders is different from most politicians; a difference in style that mirrors his difference in substance. He isn’t blow-dried and pressed and pearly white. He doesn’t smile (ok, once in a while, and barely). He doesn’t pretend. He’s not afraid to offend people. And unlike the majority of Democratic politicians for the last two generations, he doesn’t give a damn what the Right thinks. He carries no illusions about or hopes of appealing to the other side. In contrast to the triangulating centrism that defined the Clinton era of the last 30 years, Sanders is unafraid; unafraid to use words that fall outside the Overton window, like socialism, corruption, oligarchy, etc.; unafraid to “tell it like it is.” Though they may detest his politics and his persona, it’s one of the things many people respected about Trump—he had balls. Like Sanders, he targets the elites—the wrong elites, yes, and for the wrong reasons. And in this respect—their economic populism—they are kindred spirits. The difference is that Bernie targets the right elites for the right reasons. And in so doing, he has shifted the Overton window, opening up a space on the Left that had grown as derelict and despondent as the Rust Belt towns he hopes to bring back to life. This is his great contribution to American politics.

This tells us something interesting about our political tectonics. It tells us that the energy in the system is concentrating at the poles, and this is to be understood as the amplified echo of a signal that started building in the wake of the Great Recession.

On the Right, Trump shattered the Overton window and pulled the entire system away from the neoliberal baseline of the GOP, attacking the party establishment and running on tariffs and industrial policy, correctly sensing that the religious, socially conservative, downscale working class GOP rank and file had finally seen through the matrix cast for decades by the party’s oligarchs. The seed was the Tea Party, which grew into Palinism and erupted in Trumpism. Of course, Trump has not made good on his promises and, apart from his trade war tantrums, has merely doubled down on the Wall Street two-step—slash taxes and regulations for corporations and the wealthy—but in style, at least, it signified a political shift.

On the Left, meanwhile, Sanders opened up a new space in 2016, riding the momentum of Occupy Wall Street. This emergent strain in Democratic politics reads the Great Recession as the logical consequence and wholesale discrediting of the Washington neoliberal consensus of the Clinton era, which includes the second Bush administration, but which is subordinate to the dominant paradigm of Reaganism. Again, the difference is that the anger of the Tea Party is misplaced and needlessly mixed with aspects of racism toward the first black president (e.g., Birtherism), delusional views about Obamacare as a socialist takeover (e.g., “get your government hands off my Medicare”), and garden-variety antipathy toward government at all costs, while the Occupy movement was about decreasing the influence that big banks, finance, and corporations have over our government.

It is in this context that Sanders supporters see the Obama presidency as at best a disappointment and at worst a betrayal. While they mostly think that Obama was a well-intentioned, good man, at the end of the day he was a defender of the status quo. Rather than seize the moment—having control of the presidency and both branches of government—he issued an insufficiently robust stimulus, bailed out the banks, never punished those responsible, and advanced a market-based healthcare reform that appeased the drug companies and the insurance industry. So obsessed was he with extending olive branches to the other side, so naïve in thinking that the GOP would work with him, he lacked the fire in the belly to barnstorm the country and whip up popular support for progressive legislation on healthcare, on climate, on immigration, on improving the lives of working people; not to mention that on his watch, the Democratic party fell asleep at the wheel and presided over a collapse of power at local and state levels. In sum, Obama was a more inspirational neoliberal, but a neoliberal all the same.

Enter Hillary Clinton. I imagine that some days, Sanders supporters have trouble deciding who they hate more—HRC or Trump. Never mind that she is a staggeringly untalented politician who was bested by an inexperienced junior senator in the prime of her political life in 2008; never mind that she ran a lame, uninspiring, strategically block-headed campaign in 2016; never mind that she carried more political baggage than probably any presidential candidate in history; never mind that she never went to Wisconson. What matters most to Sanders folk, and what they can never forgive, is that she used the muscle of her political machine to lead the DNC to douse the fire lit by Sanders’ historic campaign, the first legitimate ray of progressive light in Democratic politics in over a generation. Sanders won Michigan—and over 40% of the delegates in the Democratic primary. His message of economic populism could have siphoned off a decisive share of Trump supporters. In short, from this perspective, the most important saboteur of the 2020 election was not Vladimir Putin or James Comey—it was the HRCDNC.

So are Sanders folks angry about 2016? Hell yes, and justifiably so. Everyone is angry about 2016—even the people who “won”! Bernie probably would have won, and in so doing ushered in a new era in American politics, shifting us into a new paradigm, swinging the pendulum back to the left after the 40-year reign of Reaganism. We would be three years deep into a series of historic reforms of our economic, education, energy, and healthcare systems, and fixing our electoral systems to make them fair again, which would have the welcome consequence of freezing the GOP out of national government for a generation.

This is where we stand coming into the 2020 race.

In 2016, Sanders skeptics had a case to make—the notion of a self-described democratic socialist being the nominee, let alone elected president, sounded like a long shot.

But come 2020, as George Will would say: “Well.”

Not only did Trump’s election upend our sense of what is politically possible, his victory tells us three important things.

The first is that a candidate outside the mainstream can win.

The second is that a candidate can win on an anti-establishment, populist message.

The third is that running a moderate against such a candidate is risky. When we couple this to the 2016 primary, noting that Sanders actually got within reach of the nomination, add in the fact that he is now a more seasoned candidate, that his campaign infrastructure is mature, and that the Overton window has moved considerably to the Left in the interim, the skeptical position looks much thinner. Moreover, Trump is now the establishment, like it or not, and he has failed to remember the “forgotten man” who he conned into voting for him with his faux populism.

To Sanders folk, Democrats who cling to Biden or Buttigieg or Bloomberg are nostalgic for neoliberal normality, harking back to the holiday from history that was the 1990s, not realizing that the form of political economy that undergirded that order has been, literally, bankrupted. Trumpism is properly understood not as the birth of a new order, but the last gasp and the primal scream of a dying one. In Gramsci’s words, “the old world is dying, and the new world is struggling to be born. It is the time of monsters.” Trump may be the monster that rises from the breach, but at such pivotal moments, we must beware the temptation to revert to the comforts of the past. Monsters don’t come from nowhere. They are the shadow cast by the contours of the age. According to the Sanders camp’s theory of the case, Trump was the product of a neoliberal political culture. It follows from this that more neoliberal Democrats will produce more Trumps. In this sense, on some days they see Biden as even more dangerous than Trump, since he will reproduce a status quo that will produce more Trumps, and lead us further down the path of a soft sort of fascism.

The theory continues like this: At times, caution is the risky path. We cannot let ourselves be cowed into the defensive crouch that defined the Clinton era, worried about electability, bipartisanship, compromise, owning the center, and so on. We must use this crisis as an opportunity to bring about a progressive realignment of our political system, and get to work rebuilding our infrastructure, dealing seriously with the climate problem through an ambitious Green New Deal, take back our government from the billionaires and corporations, restore the rights and dignity of working people, and become a mature developed country and guarantee healthcare as a right to all of our citizens. Bernie has proved himself to be a bold and consistent advocate for all of these changes, and has built a people-powered movement and campaign that reflects these values.

III. What the Sanders Movement Gets Right

I find much to agree with in this vision in terms of values, ends, policies, and politics.

With respect to values, I really resonated with these excerpts from Ruby Cramer’s superb essay, “You Don’t Know Bernie Sanders”:

He is trying to change the way people interact with private hardship in this country, which is to say, silently and with self-loathing. He is trying, in as literal a sense as you could imagine, to excise “shame” and “guilt” from the American people. These are not words you hear often in politics, but in interviews this year with the candidate, his wife, and his top advisers, they are central to his strategy to win. He is imagining a presidential campaign that brings people out of alienation and into the political process simply by presenting stories where you might recognize some of your own struggles. He is imagining a voter, he says, who thinks, “I thought it was just me who was struggling to put food on the table. I thought I was the only person. I thought it was all my fault. You mean to say there are millions of people?

Bernie says he is trying to “redefine our value system.” Jane talks about breaking down decades of societal muscle memory: “It seems to be the American way,” she says. “That we all think it’s our fault — instead of recognizing there is a system that is making it unfair for them.” They are, as they see it, trying to dismantle the ideal of “rugged individualism,” an entire era of political thought. Ari Rabin-Havt, a top adviser who travels with the candidate every day, puts it more tangibly: The campaign is a “megaphone” for working people, he says. Briahna Joy Gray, his national press secretary, has likened the effect to “catharsis” from nationwide “gaslighting.” On the podcast she hosts for the campaign, she compares her boss to Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting: the therapist who tells Matt Damon, a young man who was abused by his foster parent, “It’s not your fault. Look at me, son. It’s not your fault… no, no, no, it’s not your fault.”

The Democratic party has long and unsuccessfully tried to straddle and synthesize two different worldviews and value systems, what I’ll refer to as “modern” and “postmodern.”

The former is the world of classical liberalism—of achievement, meritocracy, individual autonomy, private enterprise, cosmopolitanism, Enlightenment values, that the creative destruction of capitalism is natural and, on balance, good. In short, it’s John Locke. It is Thatcher’s “there is no such thing as society, only individuals and families.” It sees the world in terms of winners and losers. Inequality is natural and unavoidable and, in the end, better for everyone, even those at the bottom.

The postmodern worldview, which began to emerge in the 1960s, added to all of that civil rights, environmentalism, gay rights, and in general a concern for the marginalized, for the collateral damage of capitalism, and a fierce commitment to egalitarianism and social justice. In short, it’s Rousseau. It also entailed what has been called a “politics of meaning” and the notion that “the personal is the political.” That, contra the modern perspective, the state cannot and should not be neutral with respect to moral ends and the common good. It saw society not as a collection of individuals, but a collection of groups—gender, race, and class—subject to structural inequalities created by political and economic systems. It sees the world in terms of oppressors and oppressed.

In the Reagan era, the Democratic party’s forehand was modern, and its backhand was postmodern. The Reagan paradigm was a synthesis of the modern worldview—so-called “Wall Street” Republicans, economic conservatives—and the traditional worldview—so-called “Walmart” Republicans, social conservatives. So when we talk about “moderate” or “centrist” Democrats, we are talking about Democrats who felt the need to speak to a body politic whose center of gravity was tilted slightly toward this synthesis.

The Bernie Sanders campaign, though, represents a break with this way of thinking. It’s forehand is postmodern, and its backhand is modern. In this respect, it merely reflects the changing demographics of the country—in terms of their worldview and values, millennials and Gen Z are thoroughly postmodern, and contra the conventional wisdom that people become more conservative as they get older, social science science has shown this to be a myth. But it also reflects the economic experience of the country: the Great Recession, the gig economy, and the costs of housing, health care, and higher education now have younger people—and their parents—facing up to the reality that the next generation is not likely to be better off than the previous one. Finally, it reflects the culture. One of the reasons Trump was so appealing to traditionalists is that he reminded them of how much they have lost the culture wars. It’s true—from media to higher education to Hollywood, the libs are in charge.

So—I agree in general that the Democratic party is and should be turning over a more postmodern leaf. Put in more practical terms, that means advocating for a form of political economy in the direction of social democracy or perhaps even democratic socialism, to, yes, become more European. Let’s call it “capitalism with European characteristics.”

Another way of saying this is that the Reagan game is played out. As a form of political economy, neoliberalism is constitutionally incapable of offering solutions to the problems the country faces. We are primed for a paradigm shift to bring our politics and our policies more in line with our highest—and now increasingly pervasive—values.

As a caveat—and I will address this in more detail in my criticisms—the correct framing is not “capitalism” vs. “socialism,” but one form of capitalism—the neoliberal, crony, casino kind—vs. another form of it—the psychologically, socially, and ecologically disruptive and destructive effects of markets checked by a matrix of taxes, rules, regulations, and safety nets. Put another way, as Buttigieg has crisply cast it, the key tension is not between capitalism and socialism, but between capitalism and democracy. The goal, in FDR’s words, is to save capitalism from the capitalists by shattering the system that King rightly decried as “socialism for the rich, rugged individualism for the poor.”


The next point of agreement is the easiest because it is the most general: the ends. Whether we are talking about wages, health care, child care, climate change, or the cost of higher education, the Sanders movement is pointing in all the right directions. We need policies that make housing, health care, and higher education more affordable, not only to reduce suffering among the poor and combat racial injustice, but to rebuild the middle class and work toward a more equal society. We need to support labor rather than capital—again, not to “smash” capitalism but to make it work better. We need to invest in infrastructure and all these things, not simply for moral reasons, but for economic ones—because they will produce growth! So the social and economic and political goals Sanders is working toward are all more of what we need.


When it comes to policy, what I find admirable is the ambition. But I’ll save a more detailed discussion of policy for the disagreement section, since it’s here that I find Sanders’ approach wanting. For the most part, I’m on board with his where and why, just not his when and how.


In terms of politics, the Sanders movement has a great deal going for it. For one thing, it has energy and passion. As the saying goes, Democrats fall in love, Republicans fall in line. Another way you might put this old saw is that for Democrats to fall in line, they have to fall in love. Almost all of the candidates Democrats have fallen in love with in the post-World War II era—Kennedy, Carter, Hart, Clinton (Bill), Obama—won. Those whom they didn’t—who were, in Obama’s memorable phrase describing Clinton, merely “likeable enough”—Mondale, Dukakis, Gore, Kerry, Clinton (Hillary)—lost.

Enthusiasm matters, and Sanders has it–head, shoulders, and heart above all the other candidates. However restricted in scope it was, Trump had it, and will have it in spades in 2020. Enthusiasm is an elusive political phenomenon that extends beyond what can be counted and measured and polled—it spreads beyond rank and file voters to draw new voters into the process. Enthusiasm is the mysticism of politics. And just as the Trump campaign made history, and surprised almost everyone by summoning enthusiasm from unexpected places, the Sanders campaign has the potential to do so, but at greater scale, by awakening large swaths of the working class that typically do not vote.

And it is his focus on class war, rather than culture war, that I find attractive about Sanders. Vox’s Zach Beauchamp discusses this in the context of Joe Rogan’s recent support for the candidate:

Throughout the 2016 campaign, Sanders was dogged by accusations of disinterest in identity issues — of having a monomaniacal socialist focus on economic inequality and class that led him to sideline other vectors of oppression. The Sanders campaign has worked to address this concern in 2020, building a strong base of support in minority communities (particularly among young voters) and putting forward highly progressive plans on issues like criminal justice and immigration.

Though I understand why cultural issues around race, gender, and sexuality have become so important to many progressives, I think that on balance they tend to be more of a distraction that takes our eye off the ball of economic policy. Class matters matter beyond creed, color, or chromosomes. Progressive economic policies would help working class voters—and, most importantly, many Trump voters and Walmart Republicans—much more than anything Trump or the Republicans have to offer. But by mixing economic populism with talk about reparations, transgender bathrooms, abortion rights, and decriminalizing border crossings, progressives alienate many white, religious, working-class voters who might otherwise warm to their message. So: more class, less race and gender. Yes, the intersections are important, but before you address intersections, you have to have a big broad road, otherwise you get a traffic jam. That road is class. And by consistently focusing on class, Sanders tends to resist or at least avoid amplifying, the siren songs that often lead progressives astray.

The other thing I like about Sanders is that he has balls. I loathe and disagree with Steve Bannon as much as he loathes and disagrees with AOC, but I respect him tremendously as a political artist. What he had to say about AOC, therefore, deserves attention.

“AOC has what I call ‘gameness’ or competitive heart — the combination of grit, determination, fighting spirit that you can’t coach,” Bannon said.

“You either have it or you don’t, and she has it big league.”

In fine: she has balls. Balls—or what we nowadays call “Big Dick Energy”—has long been the Achilles heel of the Democrats. Always hedging and hesitating, calculating and compromising, positioning and pontificating, they come off as weak, indecisive, and effete. But the new breed of Democrats that have made common cause with Sanders are unafraid. They are learning how to engage in the knife-fight form of street politics the Republicans have mastered since Nixon. They are learning that, contra Michelle Obama, it is not enough to simply go high; we must practice a low cunning. Sanders is consistent and clear about who the enemies are, why they must be defeated, and how to do so. That kind of moral clarity makes for politically powerful messaging.

The other thing I agree with, from a political standpoint, is the argument that Sanders would have won in 2016, and there is a risk of repeating the same dynamic of nominating a “safe” centrist and establishment choice—e.g., Biden–fracturing the party, and handing Trump the election. There are good reasons to think that Sanders would carry Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania with his populist message—and that is all you need to win.

IV. Why I Do Not Support Bernie Sanders

I mentioned above that “I’m on board with his where and why, just not his when and how.” Let me explain.

When I have raised these kinds of concerns with Sanders supporters, I am informed that I am guilty of being the “white moderate” in MLK’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” King:

I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

There is much to say about this reaction, but one thing about it suggests to me how many Sanders supporters’ theory of the case is misguided.

Leftist thinkers are often guided by the Marxist idea that individual voters are afflicted by “false consciousness.” This has long been used by both liberals (read: “moderns” above) and progressives (read: “postmoderns” above) to diagnose Republican voters, e.g., “What’s the matter with Kansas?” What is striking in the new progressivism is that it is being wielded by progressives to diagnose liberals. Progressives see themselves as righteous Resistance fighters, a scrappy minority battling the neoliberal Empire—the Democratic establishment, Wall Street, fossil fuel companies, the military-industrial complex, late capitalism, white supremacy, transphobia, the New Jim Crow, the patriarchy, and so on. They have seen the Truth, they are Awokened, they shall overcome, and they will set us free.

It would be a mistake both to make light of the injustices invoked, and to dismiss the concept of false consciousness entirely. But at worst, it’s both an incoherent and an imprudent approach to politics.

It is incoherent because it naturally begs the question of how progressives could ever know that their own consciousness is “true.” One could just as easily read the new progressivism as a form of upper middle class escapism—an opiate that serves perfectly well in helping the neoliberal overlords divide and conquer the Left by dangling the hope of political revolution in front of their eyes—as one could read white liberals as unconsciously motivated by class interests.

It is imprudent because it makes everyone else on the political spectrum think that progressives think they’re smarter and better than them. “I know why you think what you think. I know you better than you know yourself.” That is, it is an inherently divisive approach to politics. It suggests that people do not come by their views intentionally, intelligently, and in good faith.

In contrast, the humanistic politics I subscribe to holds that we are all afflicted by false consciousness to a degree, but that we all also participate in true consciousness—to a degree. Rather than a black and white, either/or, true/false dichotomy, I see shades. There is no such thing as fully false consciousness. If there were, it wouldn’t be consciousness. Just so, there is no such thing as totally true consciousness. If there were, it wouldn’t be consciousness. All consciousness is perspectival, all seeing is seeing as, all light casts a shadow.

But don’t get me wrong—I don’t for a second want to claim a moral or epistemic equivalence. I think moderns see more of the truth than traditionalists, and postmoderns see more of the truth than moderns. But I also think that traditionalists see things that moderns and postmoderns don’t, or have forgotten, and that all of these perspectives need to be honored and integrated in our political discourse.

That is the context in which “I’m on board with his where and why, just not his when and how.” Not supporting Bernie Sanders because his health care plan a) is not popular, b) would disrupt labor contracts, c) would never pass any Senate, d) would kick the majority of people of their current health care plans, e) would put thousands of people in the insurance industry out of work, and f) because you think a public option would eventually lead to a Medicare for all system—this is not even in the same moral universe as white moderates and churches in the South refusing to support civil rights in the 1960s, and to think so is intellectually lazy and morally repugnant.

Next, let’s move on to the elephant (donkey?) in the room: “socialism.”

First of all, I get it: We are talking about Norway, not Venezuela; Sweden, not the Soviet Union. We are talking about equality of opportunity, not equality of outcome. We are talking about more freedom, more equality, and more democracy, not a road to serfdom. Yes, communism, state socialism, democratic socialism, and social democracy are very different things. Yes, the parallels with Jeremy Corbyn are overdrawn, and ditto for McGovern in 1972. And yes, there is growing sympathy for socialism, especially for young people, and for good and obvious reasons.

But. We must beware the echo chamber that is liberal Twitter, and remember where we are.


In terms of persuasion, Trump’s base is, of course, gone. As Buttigieg correctly pointed out in one of the first debates: “If we run on a conservative agenda, they’ll call us a bunch of crazy socialists. If we run on a progressive agenda, they’ll call us a bunch of crazy socialists.” And if we are talking about the Fox News captives, the rally-goers, the evangelicals convinced their religious freedom is under threat, the militia men stockpiling weapons to fend off the Great Replacement, the guys driving pickups with “truck nuts,” and so on, then yes—they’ll eat that red rare meat up.

But if we’re talking about Wall Street Republicans, libertarians, the investor class, college-educated suburban whites with 401Ks and mortgages—that’s a different story. Anecdotally, I can tell you that I have friends like these who wouldn’t vote for Sanders. They’d vote for Biden, for Buttigieg, for Bloomberg, maybe Warren—but not Sanders. He “scares” them. This probably goes for most of the guys I grew up with, who fall somewhere in the center-Left to center-Right (and if you guys are reading, please please pretty please watch or listen to Bernie’s interview with Joe Rogan!). It drives me insane that they think so and, to be sure, such fears are overblown. Yes, they’re being sickeningly selfish, incurious, and short-sighted in holding these views. Yes, the snowflake millionaires are infuriating. But we have to give them a reason to be more afraid of Trump than the Democratic nominee. If we get the money people, we win.

And they are gettable. Despite all the crowing about the skyrocketing stock market, the fact is that business likes stability and predictability. The last four years have kept the markets on edge and injected noisome variables into the market—Trump’s tariffs, tweets, and foreign policy tantrums present both philosophical attacks on and practical impediments to the smooth operation of international trade. A return to perceived normalcy would be welcome to many in the business community.

But it would be a mistake to think that neoliberal normalcy is what the so-called moderate candidates would actually return to. There is a world of difference between Steyer and Bloomberg, on the one hand, and the Koch Brothers and Sheldon Adelson, on the other. Progressives’ healthy skepticism toward capitalism sometimes turns into an unhealthy, dogmatic suspicion of capitalists, and a desire to purify politics by getting money the hell out of it.

Sticking to one’s guns is admirable. Hell, even Joe Rogan seems enamored of Bernie’s “consistency.” But as Emerson wryly pointed out, “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” And Thomas Chatterton Williams points out an “incoherent truth”:

What our society sorely misses now is not some sterling ideological consistency but rather a genuine liberalism that is strong and supple enough to look for ways to build on who we are, in all our human incongruity.

For instance, it is paranoid and delusional to think, as Nathan Robinson does, that Elizabeth Warren is “not one of us” and would somehow turn on progressives once she got in office and rip off her face which is actually a mask Mission-Impossible-style and say, “Surprise! I was in cahoots with Wall Street all along! It’s called the long-con.’” This is madness, and it reflects the tone of the liberal Twitterati, whose contempt for Trump is outstripped by its contempt for the establishment wing of the party. This style of Democratic politics, a mirror version of Trumpism, is less “the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” and more “with friends like these, who needs enemies?” This is a problem because, Eric Levitz reminds us, Twitter is not real life:

Democrats on Twitter are weirder than they appear. The small slice of blue America that’s visible on social media is much more ideological, progressive, white, college-educated — and, above all, interested in politics — than the Democratic coalition writ large.

Left Twitter seems to think it unimportant that the majority of the country, and even the majority of Democrats, and especially the majority of black Democratic voters, are not willing comrades in arms. And upon learning this, they aren’t happy: “During a mock caucus conducted Monday night in Des Moines, Sanders supporters walked out when it became clear they would not meet the 15% threshold needed to earn delegates, rather than lending their strength to another candidate.” Yes, that doesn’t represent all of his supporters, but ask yourself—which other candidate’s supporters would conceivably do that?

Then there is the context of the (at least superficially) strong economy. Yes, the commonly used metrics of the Dow, GDP and unemployment mask deeper problems, but simply from an optics perspective, to many, many voters, the notion of electing a socialist candidate in an economy like this will present as sheer lunacy. As Jonathan Chait puts it:

“Warren at least tries to couch her positions in a framework of reforming and revitalizing capitalism that is intended to reassure ideologically skeptical voters. Sanders combines unpopular program specifics in the unpopular packaging of “socialism.” The socialist label has grown less unpopular, a trend that has attracted so much media attention that many people have gotten the impression “socialism” is actually popular, which is absolutely not the case.”

Probably the strongest, most data-driven argument against Sanders’ candidacy is that the 2018 midterms suggest that he would do damage down-ballot in 2020. I quote Chait at length:

In the months leading up to the 2018 midterm elections, the Democratic Party was the subject of bitter and widespread criticism from its left wing. The party’s strategy was to flip the House by recruiting moderate candidates who would avoid controversial left-wing positions and instead focus attention on Trump’s agenda, especially his effort to eliminate Obamacare. The left predicted the strategy would fail — only an inspiring progressive agenda could mobilize enough voters to win back the House.

“Their theory of the case is to recruit old white guys who are longtime Establishment insiders who will run on a boring agenda Democrats would have run on 20 years ago,” complained Adam Green, co-founder of the Progressive Change Campaign Committee. “The DCCC is doing it wrong,” insisted Democracy for America’s Neil Sroka. “In district after district, the national party is throwing its weight behind candidates who are out of step with the national mood,” proclaimed a long piece in the left-wing Intercept attacking the party’s House recruitment strategy, “The DCCC’s failure to understand the shifting progressive electorate is costing the party.” Zephyr Teachout was quoted saying, “Their strategy is stupid in the first place and bad for democracy, but then it’s really stupid because they have 26-year-olds sitting around who don’t know anything about the real world deciding which candidates should win.”

Ryan Cooper, a socialist columnist, cited the Intercept piece to ruminate just why the Democrats would advance such an obviously doomed strategy. “Their naked self-interest and bourgeoise ideology is camouflaged behind a technocratic facade of just doing ‘what it takes to win’ — but it’s a facade they generally believe wholeheartedly.” The Democratic plan was obviously doomed to fail, so perhaps their motivation was actually to enrich themselves and advance neoliberalism, while claiming it was a good strategy to win the House.

As we now know, it was a good strategy to win the House. Democrats flipped 40 seats. Tellingly, while progressives managed to nominate several candidates in red districts — Kara Eastman in Nebraska, Richard Ojeda in West Virginia, and many others — any one of whose victory they would have cited as proof that left-wing candidates can win Trump districts, not a single one of them prevailed in November. Our Revolution went 0–22, Justice Democrats went 0–16, and Brand New Congress went 0–6.* The failed technocratic 26-year-old bourgeoise shills who were doing it wrong somehow accounted for 100 percent of the party’s House gains.

Sanders supporters will sometimes defend against such criticisms by saying that the media are using statistics selectively. Fair enough—surely this happens. For one thing, though, that would mean Sanders folk can’t cite polls that are positive for Bernie with a straight face; and if they do, they ought to acknowledge that the differences in electability and favorability between Biden and Sanders are negligible. For another, it does not permit us to ignore polls altogether—to do so would be to practice the very same post-truth politics of Trumpism, letting passion trump reason. To, as Nathan Robinson admonishes, “trust our gut.” But take it from the mouth of a Democratic congressman, who tellingly requested anonymity: “‘If Bernie is on the ticket as the nominee, I have no chance whatsoever,’ said one Democratic candidate in a swing district.”

No, such people don’t understand,” we are told by Sanders supporters. “We don’t need swing voters, you’ll see, Bernie will turn out people who have never voted before.” Never mind that, according to the Atlantic, “In six key swing states—Arizona, Florida, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Wisconson—Democrats would prefer a 2020 nominee who is more moderate, a November poll from the New York Times showed.”

True, midterm and presidential are indeed “different beasts,” as Eric Blanc points out:

Chait’s facts on this question are sound, but his political conclusions are faulty. The reason for this is simple: presidential contests and midterms are very different beasts.

Take the question of turnout. Sanders hinges his electoral strategy on motivating nontraditional voters, who are disproportionately young, poor, and nonwhite, and who tend to favor redistributing wealth as well as other reforms. Yet one of the long-standing features of midterms is that they bring out a significantly lower percentage of voters than presidential elections.

In 2018, turnout was only 51 percent — a drop of more than 7 points from the 2008 presidential contest that Obama won by promising progressive change and building a multiracial, multigenerational coalition to win it.

Midterm voters are also significantly older than in presidential elections: in 2018, 69 percent of those over sixty-five voted, compared to only 22 percent of eighteen to twenty-four-year-olds. As one detailed analysis of the midterms concludes, “young voters certainly appear to have the most room to grow” in 2020 — a fact that bodes well for the prospects of Sanders’s youthful movement.

All fair. But Blanc glosses over some inconvenient truths, not least of which is that Sanders’ policies are problematic both politically and pragmatically. That is, many of them are not popular. Chait again:

Sanders has gleefully discarded the party’s conventional wisdom that it has to pick and choose where to push public opinion leftward, adopting a comprehensive left-wing agenda, some of which is popular, and some of which is decidedly not. Positions in the latter category include replacing all private health insurance with a government plan, banning fracking, letting prisoners vote, decriminalizing the border, giving free health care to undocumented immigrants, and eliminating ICE.

However much sense some of them might make in moral or economic terms, in some cases they are strategically stupid: campaigning on banning fracking in Pennsylvania, which has enjoyed enormous economic benefits from it, after losing the state to a pro-coal candidate in 2016? That is political malpractice. Should we ban fracking? Of course. But first we need to right the ship of state. Democratic republic first. Democratic socialist utopia second. You must restore something before you can transform it. You must have stable ground before you build something new.

This is a sensibility, a common sense approach to politics that Obama understood but progressives struggle with. I am reminded of a quote from Pope John Paul XXIII: “See everything, overlook a great deal, correct a little.” This is the middle way between the “See nothing, overlook everything, correct nothing” mindset of the Right, and the “See everything, overlook nothing, correcting everything” mindset of the Left. Its fellow travelers are fond of reminding us, on Twitter and on their bumper stickers, that “If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.” I think this is backward. To be outraged is to not pay attention–in the sense of deliberately focusing your attention on something–but to have your attention hijacked. It is to lose a sense of prudence and priority. It is to take your eye off the ball.

But back to Sanders. Beyond how alienating his policies can be, they are unrealistic. Even assuming Democrats retake the Senate—a dubious assumption with Sanders on the ticket—the votes simply won’t be there for the most ambitious parts of a Sanders agenda—and that’s just counting within the Democratic caucus. People forget that Obamacare, that wimpy milquetoast moderate reform, didn’t include a public option because Democratic senators wouldn’t allow it. Again we are told: “No, you don’t understand, when Bernie is president, we will go out and rally the public behind his policies, and they will force the Congress to vote for them. Trust us. You’ll see.

It’s an over-quoted line, but in the end, I think the Sanders movement really is making the perfect the enemy of the good. We need vision, yes. The Green New Deal is a great example, because it is just that: a vision for what we need to accomplish in the middle to long term. But it is a great mistake to confuse vision with policy, the map with the territory. Policy moves in the short to middle term space, from the first 100 days to the end of a first or second term. Crudely put, progressives are great on vision, less so on policy; liberals are great on policy, less so on vision.

Liberals are often criticized for being “incrementalists” who “tinker around the edges.” I find this kind of leftist rhetoric to be a facile distinction, at worst a sort of sophomoric dualism completely removed from the real world; it is an example of what Richard Rorty warned about as the Left’s “philosophy habit,” which was not a compliment. Vision without incrementalism is empty, incrementalism without vision is blind. The great socialist thinker Michael Harrington understood this through his concept of “visionary gradualism.” Even a journey of a 1,000 miles begins with a single step. Incrementalism is good if it is done within the context of a progressive vision. We should pursue what works if it is ultimately ordered to what is good; even if that means two steps forward, one step back.

And that is the distinction that makes a difference when we are talking about the Right vs. the Center-Left—a distinction I think progressives often fail to make. Pete Buttigieg is not a Republican (nor is he—please—a “lying MF”). Barack Obama was not a conservative. Bill Clinton was not Ronald Reagan. To think these kinds of thoughts is to be a prisoner of ideology. The center-Left is the center Left because it has tried to work within the system as it exists to nudge it leftward. It sees politics for what it is: what Max Weber called the “strong and slow boring of hard boards,” not a graduate seminar on political philosophy.

In closing, I want to do a small exercise in 2016 revisionism. It’s worth remembering how that quote above about the perfect being the enemy of the good became a cliché in the first place: because of White House chief of staff Rahm Emmanuel, who regularly invoked it in defense of Obamacare. Sanders folks generally disdain the deal-making and horse-trading and compromising that characterized the process that led to and resulted in Obamacare, and regard anything short of M4A as merely perpetuating a broken system, and they see Sanders as a break with that system.

I see it differently. Sanders—as a political persona, as a force, as a brand—exists because of Obama, not despite him. Obama may not have been the president we deserved, but he was the president we needed. Biden was right: Obamacare was indeed a BFD, and despite the Right’s best efforts, it has both endured and remained popular. It appears to be going the way of all the major progressive reforms such as Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid—vociferously opposed by the Right, passed in an imperfect form, gradually tweaked and improved, grudgingly accepted, and eventually woven into the natural order of things. Not without reason did some on the Right worry that it was merely a Trojan Horse for socialized medicine. Obama’s original intention—and now the position of Biden, Buttigieg, and Bloomberg—was to offer a public option in hopes that, over time, it would put private insurers out of business, and we would organically move to a single-payer system.

Until about five minutes ago, this was considered a liberal position. In the funhouse mirror of liberal twitter, it is an example of spineless, milquetoast moderation. In reality, it is an example of visionary gradualism, shifting the Overton window, moving the needle. In other words, actually making progress. Indeed, what often seems lost on progressives is that, as Ezra Klein recently noted, all of the candidates’ positions on all the issues are to the left of Obama. Put another way, the tectonic realignment in our politics is not going to begin with a Sanders presidency—it has already begun through the Obama one. 

And this is the context for thinking about the real meaning of 2016. I have long thought that the media and most of us over-interpreted “what happened,” as Hillary titled her book. What happened was, for lack of a better word, a fluke. That is, Trump’s election was more noise than signal. Choose your metaphor: a perfect storm, death by a thousand cuts, a black swan event. The fact is that it never should’ve have happened. From the email server, to the Wikileaks hack, to Russian disinformation, to Hillary’s failure to go to Wisconsin, to Jill Stein, to Gary Johnson, to Bernie voters staying home, to Comey’s letter… at the end of the day, if 80,000 people had voted, or voted differently, in Michigan, Wisconsin, and Pennsylvania, we wouldn’t be talking about any of this—about post-truth, identity politics, the alt right, white nationalism, tariffs, constitutional crises, and on and on and on.

What I am getting at is that the Sanders movement’s theory of the case is wrong. I am reminded of an interview Jon Stewart did years back with Stephen Hayes, an apologist for Cheney and his response to 9/11. Hayes began to respond to one of Stewart’s questions, “Well, after 9/11 everything changed–” “Yeah-yeah-yeah,” Stewart interrupted, “But the space-time continuum didn’t change!” So with 2016. The progressive read is that Trump was a product of the Clinton-Obama version of Democratic politics, that the paradigm has shifted, and that now, at long last, we can usher in the progressive utopia. That story may be inspiring, but I don’t buy it. The reality is less exciting: Trump just got really lucky, and Hillary just ran a really shitty campaign.

Thankfully, we will never see Trump’s like again. One of the key features of charismatic leaders is that their movements do not outlast their tenure. That is because their power stems not from their ideas, their values, or the institutions they leave in their wake; it stems from their genius, and once that has dried up or fled the scene, their power goes with it. When Trump is gone, what will remain is the top-heavy husk of what used to be a major political party. The liberal realignment is coming—demographics, time, and world-historical economic forces will see to that. The task is to mitigate the damage that Trump can do to the system by limiting him to one term.

It is therefore infinitely more important for a candidate to beat Trump than to be right. The question, then, really is about who is more electable. And while every candidate carries risk, we have to ask which is the greater gamble.

“Here’s the gamble,” Bernie says. The gamble is there are millions of working people who don’t vote or consider politics to be relevant to their lives. “And it is a gamble to see whether we can bring those people into the political process,” he says. Blanc, sketches the details of the mobilization gamble.

Retreating to a mythical political “center” won’t resolve this dilemma. There’s only one solution: building independent working-class organizations to spread political revolution to all corners of the United States. And a Sanders presidential nomination would provide a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make this possibility a reality by unleashing an unprecedented groundswell of volunteer energy and enthusiasm, a wave that’ll make the current upsurge pale in comparison, one deep enough to lift insurgent candidates to office all the way from the local school board to the White House.

Call it the Rapture for Radicals, the progressive version of the Singularity.

I’ll take Bernie’s word for it: It’s a hell of a bet to make given the stakes.

Another inconvenient truth Blanc overlooks is the lunacy of running a socialist candidate in this economic environment. Chait once more:

At this point there is hardly any serious evidence to believe that the best strategy to defeat Trump is to mobilize voters with a radical economic agenda. Public satisfaction with the economy is now at its highest point since the peak of the dot-com boom two decades ago. Trump has serious weaknesses on issues like health care, corruption, taxes, and the environment, and a majority of the public disapproves of Trump’s performance, but he does enjoy broad approval of his economic management. Therefore, his reelection strategy revolves around painting his opponents as radical and dangerous. You may not like me, he will argue, but my opponents are going to turn over the apple cart. A Sanders campaign seems almost designed to play directly into Trump’s message.

You may not like me, I can hear Joe Biden telling progressives, but my opponent is going to burn down the house. Americans have just spent three years trying to prevent a wholesale devolution in their polity. The smart money says that the last thing they want is a revolution. They—“the exhausted majority”—probably just want to stop and catch their breath.

Whatever happens, Sanders will leave a mark on American political history. He can be the Moses of a new progressive era, pointing the way to a promised land that will be built by AOC, Stacey Abrams, and Mayor Pete. But if he and his supporters believe him to be the Joshua who will lead them into it, or the David that will rule in that new dispensation, he may well be remembered as a very different figure: a progressive Pied Piper who led the Democratic party off a cliff and enabled the continuation of our country’s democratic dysfunction and constitutional collapse.

The Democrats Debate

It was so much to take in, with 2 nights and 20 candidates.  Some thoughts.

Biden obviously had a bad night.  Whether it was a bad night, or a sign that his “time is up” for good, only time will tell.

He simply doesn’t project well in that kind of a format. He speaks too fast, he doesn’t take breaks to let his points sink in, and he rattles clearly memorized lines off; he fumbles his words, and runs them together; he says things that don’t make sense (e.g., his first act as president would be to defeat Donald Trump…).

Moreover, from an optics perspective, he just looks old.  Leaning forward, as though he is straining to hear the moderator.  He looked like he was struggling to keep up with the younger (two) generations who are clearly more in their prime.

From an affective standpoint, he seemed wary, almost timid–waiting for others to raise their hands in response to a question, for instance, and even then only half-heartedly raising a finger; cutting HIMSELF off to stay on time, the most un-Biden-like thing imaginable.  In any case, not the bearing you expect from a confident frontrunner and prospective leader. He did not project strength. Trump was watching that–closely.

Then, on substance, he was not only unprepared for obvious attacks, but failed to capitalize when he could have. For instance, when asked about his Iraq vote, he should have said he disagreed with Obama on whether to boost our Troop presence in Afghanistan. In response to Harris’ attack on race, he could have:

1) used it as a “teaching moment,” pointing out how the leftward shift in the party risks devolving into purity tests and extreme positions that alienate the majority of voters, and the Dems voters who helped us take back the House in November; hell, he could have said do you want to know why my poll numbers are so high, Senator Harris? Because voters are smart–they recognize that if we’re gonna get things done we gotta work with people who we disagree with–even people who’s views are abhorrent. That was president Obama’s approach, and they supported him not because of the color of his skin, but because they believed he could get things done. And if we are gonna beat Trump, we have to work together, and not get bogged down in fantasies. People talk about being “woke” nowadays, well, we gotta wake up ourselves, folks. (As David Brooks put it in his post-game analysis, at times it sounded as though they were campaigning for office in Brooklyn, not the country)

2) hit back, challenging her controversial record as AG in CA; instead, he let Harris get away with playing the race card (more on that below…)

I don’t think his candidacy is derailed so much as on the ropes.  The next debate will be crucial. But we have to be really careful of over-reading the moment, given that 1) most voters aren’t paying attention yet, and 2) there’s a pattern of the MSM thinking that Biden’s stepped in it, usually regarding some comment about race or gender that offends the sensibilities of the liberal twitterati, only to find no effect in the polls. The consistent message is that most middle of the road voters, including blacks, just don’t give a shit about the vice president’s politically incorrect indiscretions; they just want someone who will beat this motherfucker.

At the same time, Harris really had a stellar night. She was prepared, poised, powerful, and radiated command and conviction. The debate stage is, unsurprisingly, her element. Her political skills are gradually becoming apparent; she understands the dynamics of political theater–an essential skill in the battle against Trump, the lack of which is a serious liability for Joe, as it was for Hillary. Harris has a great narrative for going after Trump–a fighter for justice. She has the potential to summon and focus the rage of two groups–blacks and women–who rightly feel an acute level of anger and injustice at the president, for what he did to Obama, for his lifetime of racist comments and actions, and for his blatant mysogyny and nefarious thwarting of the first female president. It would be the ultimate humiliation and fuck you to Trump and his followers to have a strong black woman beat him. Harris may well be his kryptonite.

Along those lines, I think that if Harris wants to take control of the race, she should do the following. In the wake of Mueller’s testimony, she should hold a high-profile speech and press conference. The congressional committee’s will not let Mueller leave that chair until he has clearly and straightforwardly answered the following question:  “If there were no OLC policy stating that a sitting president cannot be indicted, would you have recommended prosecution for obstruction of justice?” They have to get Mueller to explicitly state what he implicitly did in the report.

The next day, Harris holds an event. Flanked by a phalanx of former federal prosecutors, some of the several hundred who signed a memo affirming that in their professional judgment the president committed crimes, she calls for the impeachment of the president. She acknowledges that the Senate will not convict–but notes that we cannot let the petty political calculus of the present prevent us from protecting the presidency for posterity.

But there is more. Her first act as president will be to order the department of justice to bring the full force of the law down on the president and his gang, and that should he be convicted by a jury of his peers, she will LOCK HIM UP.

She needs, in other words, to go all in, and she is perhaps the candidate best positioned to do it. And she has what Obama—and Hillary—didn’t:  a killer instinct.

Finally, I think her winning strategy is to get to the left of Biden on racial issues and to the right of Sanders and Warren on healthcare and the economy.

Now all that being said, I think that the press is getting a little too hot and bothered over Harris, for three reasons.

First, I don’t have as clear of a vision of where she wants to take the country.  Warren and Buttigieg, in my view, have the clearest vision.  Harris is a little squirmy, particularly around health care, which brings me to the second point.

Harris was, early in the race, seduced by the siren song of single payer, pumped out by the party’s pied piper, Sanders. She has repeatedly played cutesy, signaling support for abolishing private insurance and then walking those comments back post-interview or post-debate. She is being too clever by half, trying to dig into Sanders’ and Warren’s support while trying to leave herself an escape hatch come general election. But I think it’s a mistake. If Biden falters and flames out, Harris and Warren are the two most likely nominees, and both of them are on record raising their hands calling for the end of private insurance.

This is, in a word, madness. For one, the data are very clear:  voters are interested in the concept of Medicare for All, but their support plunges when they here the details, including that they would lose their private insurance. Second, Obamacare is actually popular! Third, calls for incremental fixes to the healthcare system helped the Dems take the House in the Fall. Fourth, Obama never lived down the claim “If you like your doctor, you can keep it” when it turned out that that wasn’t the case for a small minority of voters; imagine what the backlash would be if the plan were to take private insurance away from everyone! It is difficult to conceive of a policy stance that plays better into the GOP’s “socialism strategy” than Medicare for All. Hickenlooper, Bennett (and, the previous night, Crazy Eyes Delaney), despite their irrelevance, correctly pointed out the folly of this approach; my hope was that these centrist pols would go after Sanders like a pincer, without Biden having to punch down (and making Bernie look like the crazy socialist, while Warren would escape unscathed due to the luck of the draw in going the first night)–alas. The correct plan–proposed by Biden and Buttigieg–is to add a public option, which was, of course, the original plan of Obamacare. It moves the system closer to single payer, but allows the shift to happen organically. In short, this stance could be a serious problem for Harris (or Warren) should she become the nominee.

The third reason Harris is problematic is that I think she weaponized race to try and knock Biden down a peg. It made for great television, but it was cheap and unfair. She did what progressives reflexively do to people in the past who, on balance, fought the good fight, but operated under drastically different cultural circumstances. Busing was highly controversial in the 70s, and legislators have to balance their convictions against the will of the people. They should ask themselves this:  what would have happened if there were no Bidens back then to work with those on the right? They fault New Deal progressives for excluding blacks, ignoring the fact that otherwise there would have been no New Deal in the first place.

What is behind this is progressives’ refusal to accept that they are in the minority—in fact, in the minority of the minority.  As Brooks pointed out, a third of the country calls itself conservative, a third centrist, and 26% liberal. They are evangelical in thinking that if they just win the next election, the other half of the country will just disappear. That will never happen. It’s true that in general, progressive policies would benefit the majority, but that means nothing if they can’t get elected in the first place.

And even if they do, on what planet do they propose passing Medicare for All?

The outer limit of fantasy was of course Marianne Williamson calling for “reparations”. If I hear this word one more time out of a candidate’s mouth, I am giving up and buying a MAGA hat. The Congress cannot even agree that today is Saturday, let alone whether and how to give reparations to African Americans. The order of business is, again:  restore the rule of law first, socialist utopia second. Priorities, people!

In short, Harris’ attack was well executed but ill conceived. It is symptomatic of a pattern that progressives fall into at their peril.

Buttigieg did well and offered more evidence that he is constitutionally incapable of not speaking with crystal clarity and perfect grammar. I still have trouble seeing him as the nominee but he should certainly be put in charge of the newly created Department of Making Sense. His dig at the religious right was pointed and potent and was one of the biggest applause lines of the night. His ease and comfort using God-talk (the only one on the stage to do so on either night) once again demonstrated that he brings something different to the table; there is a certain comfort he has talking with more conservative voters that is beyond the grasp of a Booker or a Harris. He is, like Obama, simply at another level, though potentially more dangerous because he is white, clean cut, served in the military, and from Trump country. No one has really mentioned this yet, but a major liability for him is his physical stature; he is short with a light build, and would not cut an impressive figure next to Trump. Sadly, optics like this matter.

Swalwell is an annoying little shit that has no business being up there. His ageist attacks on Biden were shallow and shameful

Michael Bennett made some good points, but also let us know that he recently had cancer. Real way to project strength and vigor. Only a Democrat would be dumb enough to run in that situation and then call attention to it in a debate.

Sanders continues to come off, to me at least, as completely ridiculous and unlikeable, and utterly impossible to imagine as president in this or any parallel universe. I simply cannot understand why he is so popular on the left. My jaw hit the floor when he emphatically declared that under Medicare for All, every woman would have access to an abortion. It is not the substance of the policy that is the problem—it is, again, the endless capacity to pretend there will never be any such thing as a general election, when such statements will be dug up and offered as evidence that the Democrats want socialized medicine so that they can kill more babies. Such statements, like pledging to abolish private insurance or decriminalize crossing the border, are made to come off as left as possible, when in reality those voters have nowhere else to go. While Sanders has admirably created a space on the left to give voice to ideas and voices that have long been marginalized in American politics, he—and his supporters—have made it all but impossible to have meaningful conversations about difficult policy issues by putting ideological purity tests front and center. Speaking of immigration…

Don’t get me started.  I’ll let Andrew Sullivan do the talking:

And as David Frum aptly put it in his recent cover story for the Atlantic, if liberals continue to neglect to police their borders, voters will hire fascists to do it for them.

As for night one, Warren obviously stood head and shoulders above the rest. She is at her peak:  fiery, poised, articulate, knowledgeable, imperious. I think it was lucky for her to be the only heavy-hitter on night one. Booker…you try, but you just can’t believe him. He also comes off as a little insane, and please, America will sooner elect a gay married man than a single man. Beto is toast, clearly revealed as the empty suit that he is; it was really one of the worst debate performances I’ve ever seen. Castro certainly did well—he has a strong presence and owned the immigration issue. Klobuchar’s got nothing.

What I’m curious is about is when the hopeless candidates drop out. The winning combinations I see are Biden/Warren, Biden/Harris, Harris/Brown, Warren/Brown.

The Writing on the…Wall: What is Mitch McConnell Thinking?

If, heaven forfend, I were Mitch McConnell, here’s what I’d be thinking…

I know:

  • the Democrats will likely keep the house and
  • take the senate in 2020
  • Trump’s election in 2016 was a historic fluke unlikely to be repeated. Lightning will not strike the same place twice.

From this it follows that the only way to maintain a grip on power is to hold the presidency.

What else do I know?

  • Trump and the GOP won’t be able to get anything done in the next two years
  • The economy will probably tip into recession some time during the 2020 campaign
  • The Mueller investigation will likely conclude within the next few months
  • It is probably going to be damning
  • The House is probably going to impeach
  • The start of the 2020 presidential campaign will unfold against the background of impeachment proceedings, and my senators battling to be re-elected will be facing the headwind of an unpopular president besieged by impeachment and implicated in potentially criminal wrongdoing

We’ve gotten what we wanted from Trump:  deregulation, tax cuts, judges. By rights, we shouldn’t even be in power—it’s a miracle we got this far. Time to cut our losses, board the lifeboats, and paddle out to safety before the ship goes down; but first, help set the charges to blow it up and hasten its sinking…

Privately, my colleagues and I know full well that Trump is not only totally unfit for the job, but probably sort of insane. With the departure of Mattis, we are now genuinely alarmed at what he might do, and how that might damage the party in the long term.

Regarding the shutdown, I can see the writing on the Wall. Trump won’t budge on the Wall, since it’s all he really has left at this point. The GOP has lost the messaging war on this, and Trump owns the shutdown. But we can be part of the solution.

When Pelosi and the House pass the bill to reopen the government, make Trump an offer: “We will pass the bill with 51 votes; if you veto it, we’ll come back with 67 votes to override the veto.” The latter would be humiliating for Trump, a body blow to his authority, potentially crippling to his approval rating, which has sunk to Charlottesville lows. It would seem to be an offer he can’t refuse.

But he will. He is constitutionally (!) incapable of compromising and giving in on a core promise to his base and a foundation stone of his political brand and identity. He would take a veto override on the chin and go out on the trail to rail against the swamp.

At this point, I face a critical juncture: Continue to enable Trump and allow him to further take over the party, or find a way to force him out? Remember that he is an outsider, an interloper—he is just passing through. I need to think about the long term.

I quietly begin a series of secret meetings with the Democratic leadership to negotiate an impeachment cooperation strategy. I need 20 GOP senators to convict—that’s all I need—preferably one’s not up for reelection in 2020, and not from Trump country. They are the sacrifice that must be made, the ones who have to fall on the sword.

Moreover, there is a strategic benefit here: the Democratic candidates are all planning to—itching to—run against Trump. If he’s gone, they’ll be flat-footed. Remove him before the campaign picks up steam, and you change the game. Kasich, Corker, Flake, and who knows who else will throw in and challenge Pence, blame the recession on Trump’s trade wars, and promise to heal the country in a way that the rabid socialist Democrats cannot. They offer a middle ground between Trumpism and socialism.

This is the only way to save what face we can and the only hope for holding onto a slice of power in the middle term.

I try to smile, even though my smile creeps even me out, and it is only ever just a try.

15 Reasons why Joe Scarborough will run for president in 2020–and win.


Like many political junkies, I usually start my day with Morning Joe. Over the last few months, I’ve become convinced that not only is Scarborough going to run for president, but that he already is, that he should, and that he would probably win. Handily.

Of course, at one level we live in the world of the permanent campaign, and the race has already begun.  Hard as it is to believe–so powerful was the shock of Trump’s election that, for most of the country, it has still not fully worn off–the 2020 campaign will commence shortly after the midterms.  I predict that some time in early 2019, Scarborough will declare his candidacy on air and suspend the show.

Don’t take it from me. CNN’s Chris Cillizza last summer: “If you wanted to run for president in 2020, you’d be doing exactly what Joe Scarborough is doing right now.”

Continue reading “15 Reasons why Joe Scarborough will run for president in 2020–and win.”

Fake Sense

There are five problems with the Biblical justification of the family separation law policy.

First, Romans 13 is taken out of context and is cherry picking—plenty of Biblical support could be amassed for justifying opposition to unjust laws.

Second, Romans 13 has, historically, been invoked by Loyalists advocating, well, loyalty, to the crown during the American Revolution, and, more disturbingly, by supporters of slavery prior to the Civil War.  And as is well known, Paul supported the institution of slavery.

Third, even if there were clear and unambiguous Biblical support for such a policy, that is not a legitimate justification for any federal law or policy due to the first amendment.  We live in a constitutional republic and a pluralistic democratic society, not a theocracy.  It may be a nation of Christians, but it is not a Christian nation.

Fourth, this justification ignores the difference between morality and legality.  Just because something is legal does not mean it is moral. This has always been an aspect of Judeo-Christian morality and politics, from Moses’ slave revolt against the Egyptians to Christian opposition to infanticide under the Romans to King fighting segregation in America.

Fifth, even disregarding the first amendment, on balance the teachings of Jesus would almost certainly be opposed to such a policy.  The entire thrust of Christian morality tends toward a concern for the poor, the child, the stranger, the disenfranchised, toward mercy and compassion for “the least of these.”  


Beyond the Biblical justification, there are problems with the administration’s rhetoric surrounding the policy, as well as its approach to immigration in general.

First, the administration is not “enforcing the law.”  This is not a statute.  It is a matter of discretionary policy, one the administration chose to enforce.  

Second, this is not a problem created by the Democrats. Trump has employed this strategy before, e.g., claiming that the Democrats created the DACA problem.  That’s another lie.  But even worse, it’s really an attempt to extort broader concessions on immigration policy, as I’ll explain below.

Third, this is not a “crisis” in which the president’s hand has been forced.  The administration has deliberately inflated the immigration problem more broadly.  The facts are these:  Immigration across the southern border has declined precipitously in recent years, in large part because the Mexican economy has improved, its birth rate has declined, and deportations spiked significantly—under the Obama administration.  

Fourth, increasing legal immigration, and providing a path to citizenship for undocumented immigrants, is good economic and social policy.  First, it is not true, as Trump and co. often claim, that immigrants are a threat to public safety.  The fact is that such people are less likely, on average, to commit violent crimes.  Second, immigration is good for economic growth, which is a function of two things:  population growth and productivity growth. The US birth rate has declined, so the only way to hit the 3% or 4% growth targets Trump and co. desire is to boost immigration. Third, social security has recently started drawing from its trust fund, and in the middle future there will not be enough payroll tax revenue to fund benefits, making the system insolvent. Increased immigration means more young, productive people paying into the system. 

Fifth, the administration is pretty obviously using this policy to extort concessions on immigration in order to be able to campaign on it in 2018 and 2020.  In other words, this is all about The Wall.  The Wall—a solution we can’t afford to a problem that doesn’t exist—is, of course, not about the Wall—it’s about Trump getting re-elected.  

Sixth, there is a long history of conservative politicians cloaking appeals to resentful white voters under the mantle of “public safety,” “national security, “sovereignty,” “law and order,” and the like:  Goldwater’s opposition to desegregation by appealing to states’ rights, Nixon’s southern strategy promising to restore “law and order,” etc.  Trump doesn’t even bother with the ruse—he openly admitted that the invocation of an obscure national security law to justify the tariffs against our allies was in bad faith.


All of which is to say that the first mistake–made by proponents–is to try to defend the policy on its merits, and the second–made by opponents–is to object to the policy because it doesn’t make sense.  These aren’t really “policies”—they’re political strategies.  Nearly none of the administrations policies make sense—from trade to taxes to energy to climate to Iran to spitting in the face of our allies to the gutting of the State Department to praising authoritarian rulers to healthcare to immigration—because they’re not concerned with solving problems, but with creating them. 

The Trump administration does not make sense.  They fake sense. 

They do not assess the factual lay of the land and decide on how best to solve problems; they assess what their voting and donor bases believe to be problems—and what will best distract, divide, and confuse the public–and then fixate on and inflate those faux problems.  The most important, long-term structural problems—reducing income inequality, funding a new infrastructure plan, combating climate change, and building a globally competitive American renewable energy economy—are neglected.

Finally, the policy is needless, and needlessly cruel, and in this way it is vintage Trump. While the Bible is an inappropriate legal foundation, its invocation in this debate is actually crucially important, because it can shed light on just how heinous, inhumane, and morally retarded Trump is as a person and as a president. What irony that the
party that claims to be so animated by family values has thrown its lot in with a twice-divorced man, a serial adulterer with porn stars and Playmates, and a bully who relishes inflicting pain on powerless people seeking asylum by separating families.


What we need, of course, is not a physical wall, but a moral one.  Trump can rip up trade deals, flout democratic norms, cancel regulations, and perhaps even obstruct justice and collude with a foreign power to sabotage our electoral process.  But the most important long-term damage he is doing is to undermine our respect for the differences between true and false and right and wrong.