A Conservative Apology
By someone who (probably) isn't conservative.
This isn’t a post about spirituality, which is often what I want to write about here, but it feels worth talking about. Also, just to be clear, I mean “apology” in the classical sense, as a defense or explanation.
A few weeks ago I was in a small group meeting and I said that I thought the MAGA movement represented a poorly-integrated shadow of the American psyche. Within a few minutes, I felt a little bit like the character in a Western who realizes that he’s going to have to shoot his way out of town. This was a meeting of liberal Christians mostly under the age of thirty-five, mind you; a dog pile in a group like this is a strangely gentle, understated, even tacit phenomenon. At the same time, the feeling was unmistakable.
I think they thought I was a MAGA person; I’m not. I think they thought I was talking about me; I wasn’t. Or not exactly.
Hardly anyone in the U.S. is unaffected by the red-blue culture war. And as the conflicts rage on, I’ve become increasingly aware that it’s incredibly hard to have a political conversation of sufficient nuance that it will actually solve our biggest culture-war problems.
I think it’s direly important. Because without that nuance, it’s hard for us to be a nation. And that’s important because, it’s pretty clear to me, unless we can learn to be more of a nation, it’s going to be hard for us to continue to be a democracy.
I don’t think I’m conservative. I’m not sure whether I’ve gotten more conservative over time. During the Obama years, I felt like I was being pushed to the left while standing still, because of where folks on the right were going. The past six or seven years, I’ve felt like I’m being pushed back the other way, because of the drift of folks on the left. The landscape is changing around me, for sure.
I do know that I have gotten less concerned about expressing things that might alienate me from my preferred political tribe. When I stopped worrying about this, I lost a certain palpable amount of warmth in my life, but I consider it worth the trade. I suspect I’m not the only one doing some of that wrestling; I suspect the number of political “nones” is rising right alongside the number of religious denominational “nones” — even through people don’t talk about it as much.
And, again, I really think the fate of the country hangs significantly in the balance.
Also, before we go any further, a few things, just to be clear:
It’s my opinion that nobody should vote for Trump. He should probably be in jail (with his security detail guaranteed some kind of genuinely livable day-to-day work conditions).
In my opinion, nobody should vote for Marjorie Taylor Greene. Or Lauren Boebert, Matt Gaetz, Ron DeSantis, J. D. Vance. Or Ted Cruz. Et cetera. (Maybe vote for Ben Sasse or Dan Crenshaw, though, if you want to.)
In my opinion, nobody should be formed by the narrative on Fox News, or the prevailing conservative media ecosystem. Fox News is one of the most pernicious social forces in the history of the country, I feel.
Also, please don’t take this piece as in any way supporting the prevailing conservative policies towards abortion, women, or the LGBTQ+ community. Don’t take this piece as support for the narrative that rising numbers of asylum-seekers should be viewed as a crime wave. That stuff feels truly dark to me.
But if you hail from the left do notice, maybe, that conservative culture is actually sometimes trying to contribute things to the dialectic which, suitably parsed, offer some general social value. That’s the point I’d basically like to make — aiming mainly at folks in Blue Tribe, but also trying to bridge to folks in Red Tribe as well:
First: though Republican officials are often in lock-step, its worth noting that American conservatism is actually a fairly diverse, pluralistic thing.
Second: the most vocal parts of American conservatism are often saying and doing things badly. But that’s not all of what’s going on.
Third, and mainly: At its core, American conservatism comprises some valid political stances, which belong in the social conversation, and even that they have demonstrably shaped the American social landscape in positive ways — even recently.
For instance, here are some thoughts that I’d offer for consideration. I’d offer them not only on their own merits, but as an indication of views that are brewing on the conservative side of the nation that might have similar pro-social value in some form.
Obama was probably culpable for some of the polarizing. And it mattered.
Barack Obama was a rock-star president and, without a doubt, he’s my favorite of all eight American presidents in my lifetime. A few years ago I watched on YouTube an appearance he made with Kamala Harris and President Biden. Suddenly, there was only one world-class leader on the stage. He was, in many ways, a living, breathing icon of some of the best of America itself.
But after he left the White House, as the music as died down, and as I read more about his presidency, it became increasingly clear that his charisma was used destructively, too. I’ve been persuaded that President Obama was a little self-righteous, a little set in his ways, even a little condescending — and even to people who probably deserved greater respect. Republicans did more than their fair share of alienating partisan shenanigans during the Obama years, but Obama had his role in the divisions, also. His charisma made his shortcomings more permissible. And they no doubt helped to fuel a conservative desire for a juggernaut champion of their own — no matter how terrible.
Cancel culture and snowflake-ism are, with qualifications, real(-ish).
Here is, perhaps, an economical way to express it: Conservatives are touting Jerry Seinfeld for saying in a recent graduation speech young people should not lose their sense of humor while, in meantime, progressive activists vilify him— I mean vilify — for his support of Israel. There are folks — a substantial number — who want Chris Pratt removed from all future Marvel cinema projects because he’s said that he’s a member of the evangelical Hillsong Church — while having said scarcely anything else publicly about his beliefs. As I type these words, I realize the cultural tide has shifted so rapidly that there are people who will read them and say, “Whoa, yeah. There’s drift.” And there are others who will read them and say, “Yep. And?”
I could perhaps break this down more carefully, but may it suffice to suggest that there is a contingent of American liberalism, often comprising younger folks, that is increasingly defining and enforcing an essentially illiberal orthodoxy. And there is a reactionary conservative movement doing the same. And if so, to me, it does raise questions about the extent to which Americans currently develop the ego strength to encounter the other at all, and, by extension, to face the challenges of day-to-day life in healthy ways.
Some of this lack of resilience is no doubt due to social blight. Social cracks have widened, and I think for many people it’s easier to feel alienated now than it used to be, and that makes all of us a little crazier. At the same time, in my experience, there are kinds of fragility, self-cherishing, intolerance that have more questionable roots. There are things worth discussing here — thoughtfully, compassionately, maturely, but also completely.
“Snowflake” is not a useful term, I feel, and it probably shouldn’t work its way into the cultural lexicon. But I do think there’s an idea is worth developing. Meanwhile, "canceling” is becoming an increasingly mainstream term already. As time goes by, that doesn’t seem inapt to me. The idea that “canceling is just consequences” just isn’t the whole story.
The conversation about plurality and inclusion should probably be accompanied by a similarly thorough conversation about values.
There has been a marked increase in the conversation about inclusion, social justice, racism, and the treatment of the marginalized in America and, to no small extent, throughout the industrialized West — appropriately, I feel. On the left, there seems to me to be a tendency to assume in the midst of this that the idea of shared values goes without saying. The conservative side of the conversation, meanwhile, tends to make points badly, in my opinion. But it doesn’t mean that there aren’t points to be made in there somewhere.
Ben Shapiro wrote a book a few years ago called The Right Side of History, in which he makes the case that European culture rests on two pillars: the Platonic tradition — hailing from the Mediterranean — and the Judeo-Christian tradition — which is originally Semitic. He traces the evolution of these two strains from their origins as they developed throughout European history. An underlying point is clear: Let’s not entirely conflate colonialism with the Enlightenment. And let’s not conflate white supremacy with a set of good ideas that Europeans happened to glom onto.
Kevin Costner recently said of North American settler colonialism, “[T]here were people who had been living there for 15,000 years and they couldn’t understand the appetite of these people who were told if you are strong enough, if you are mean enough . . . you can take everything from these people.” We must reckon with things like this. There’s no doubt. And we haven’t reckoned with them properly. There’s no doubt.
But if we’re going to reckon like adults, we must also be willing to grapple with the complexity. I think we have to consider, for example, that large-scale modern social democracies, with at-scale relatively low-corruption rule of law — the kinds that, apparently, large numbers of people want — are also products from more or less the same cultural quarter from which all that terrible colonialism originated. One does not excuse the other. But it does make the conversation more complex.
Again, as I often do, I think about Thomas Bjorkman and Lene Rachel Anderson’s book, The Nordic Secret. Their argument is that the success of Nordic societies was effected through a wisely constructed education system. That is to say, the recent social good that came came to Scandinavia came from the effort to articulate, and then initiate folks into, a system of life-giving values.
A deep conversation about life-giving values is important, I feel. Often, the loudest conservatives are more likely to be more ignorant and less sensitive in this conversation. At the same time, though, I think it’s also true that conservatives are generally braver about wandering into the stickier territory of this conversation — which is possibly where we all need to be.
We should probably all be talking about the idea of decline.
I mention this in conversation a lot: In the 1970s, Sir John Glubb published an essay called “The Fate of Empires,” in which he surveys a few dozen empire-level civilizations and suggested a typical life cycle. Rising civilizations front virtue. Virtue leads to affluence. Affluence leads to a cultural shift — from pursuing virtue to pursuing affluence. The switch to pursuit of affluence leads to typically irreversible decline.
Glubb’s observations about this phenomenon are uncannily keen, I feel — some of the best art, cuisine, and culture, tends to follow the apex he observes, for instance. And it seems clear to me that a) he has a point and b) you can trace this arc he describes in America’s history, as well.
I think that shift from an emphasis on virtue to an emphasis on affluence is visible everywhere. We’re struggling, because we’re likely post-peak. Academic Jem Bendell has argued in an absolutely must-read book that the entire industrialized world is actually in the early phases of a slow, but inevitable collapse.
Conservatives are often willing to talk about this in ways that liberals aren’t. I think we should all be talking about it.
Immigration is probably worth talking about.
This, again, is a difficult topic to discuss briefly. And to be clear, I’m not saying that the answers are clear. I saw a thing on NewsHour recently about Christian service agencies in the Midwest, for example, which have laid all politics aside just to serve the people who are coming to them, no questions asked. There’s a part of me that thinks maybe, ultimately, that this is the example that ought to be leading in the immigration conversation. Or I think about astronauts coming back to Earth and speaking about the “overview effect.” Maybe there should be no borders at all. Really.
Also, though, there’s a part of me that thinks about the value of institutions, and how much work is necessary to preserve and steward institutions — like the education system — and that part thinks there are fair questions to ask about current levels of immigration. If you count legal immigration alone, studies indicate that the literacy and numeracy rates of people coming to the U.S. are significantly below the already-low native-born population averages. Currently, roughly fourteen percent of the people living in the U.S. were born outside the U.S. — about one person in seven — and the population of people born outside the U.S. is growing at several times the background rate. It’s hard to phrase these questions in a way that doesn’t sound elitist in one way or another. But I think from a practical perspective, it’s worth talking about whether or not these changes will result in substantive changes to the American cultural landscape, what those changes might be, and what we want to think about those changes.
Let’s leave out entirely the idea that children should be put visibly in cages to deter people from seeking a better life in the U.S. And let’s leave out entirely the idea that anyone should be suspicious of anyone else just because they’re different. And let’s leave on the table the idea that racism is something to be overcome. I think it’s childish to stop the conversation there. It seems clear to me the situation is worth some thought.
It’s worth noting, for instance, that the immigration policies of the Biden and Obama administrations did not differ from those of the Bush and Trump administration as the partisan narratives might suggest — Democrats are more quiet about the policies, to be sure. But Obama was nicknamed the “Deporter-in-Chief,” and Biden continued to build parts of Trump’s wall. The American landscape is changing because of immigration, and some of that involves putting a greater strain on direct services of all sorts. The busing of asylum-seekers to New York and other cities was barbaric, but I couldn’t help but notice that soon after it began, figures like New York’s mayor Eric Adams began saying, “Our resources can’t handle this strain.”
Isn’t that what people at the border had been trying to say for some time?
Again, I don’t know what the right answers are. Really. I do a lot of soul-searching about this — on a day-to-day basis. But I’d argue, sincerely, that there’s a heartfelt conversation to be had, and to immediately scream “racism” as soon as the topic comes up is probably not the best way to go about that conversation. David Leonhart at The New York Times recently observed that immigration, probably the number-two political topic on most Americans’ minds, after the economy. This is a topic that should be held in a healthy dialogue, I feel.
MAGA bears features of a trauma reaction.
In 1974, Helena Norberg-Hodge first visited Ladakh, a remote region in India sometimes called “little Tibet.” She eventually produced the wonderful film, Ancient Futures, which documents the pre-industrial lives of the people there, and how they were affected by the rapid influx of industrial culture. The film makes the case that, for thousands of years the rural Ladakhi people lived simple, clean, harmonious lives with sophisticated agricultural systems, surprisingly effective traditional medicine, multi-story dwellings, etc. As the nearby cities industrialized, though, the Ladakhi communities contracted one after another social problem — racism, aimless young men prone to crime and violence. And so on.
The film argues that industrialization bore these toxins, and that the social immune system of the people was insufficient to fight them off. But some have noted that that might not be the whole story. Change may be inherently a mix of good and bad, but rapid change can be inherently traumatic. That’s the point I’d make about America. America, particularly rural America, has been experiencing some rapid forms of cultural change: demographic changes, effects of corporate blight and income stratification, the opioid crisis, various shocks associated with decline and possible slow collapse. I think it’s worth making an effort to parse the full-on denounce-able forms of bigotry from things that are actually more common and natural and forms of culture shock which, from the broadest perspective, actually deserve compassion.
It may be that the MAGA movement attracts some folks who could be tossed, categorically, into the “deplorables” bucket, but that feels like an over-simplification to me — particularly in view of all of the above. And when the Democratic presidential candidate started tossing all Trump supporters into the “deplorables” bucket, I think it’s worth considering how genuinely hurtful that may have been to some people who might be best understood as, perhaps, more lower-case-t traumatized than anything else.
Liz Cheney, Adam Kinzinger, and Cassidy Hutchinson didn’t change their politics. And Rusty Bowers isn’t crazy.
This isn’t so much a defense of a conservative talking point. It’s just to say that we’re often in more of a bubble than we realize. My social media feed gushed about Cassidy Hutchinson last year after she participated in the January 6th hearings. And folks softened toward Liz Cheney and Adam Kinzinger quite a bit as well.
Why the love? Because they were taking a stand against Trump, of course. And why not gush about that? It’s not extraordinary to take a stand against Trump, but it was brave for Republicans to do it — Liz Cheney and Adam Kinzinger basically burned down their political careers in the process. That definitely deserves praise.
But it occurs to me too that, while many left-learning hearts swelled toward Cheney, Kinzinger, and especially Hutchinson during the hearings, none of them had changed their politics very much since before the hearings. I couldn’t escape the impression that, had they not participated in the hearings, most people I know would have been fairly allergic to listening to anything any of them had to say at all. (Cassidy Hutchinson liked Trump enough to work in his White House, for Pete’s sake.) After the January 6th hearings, this allergy had all but disappeared for many people, it seemed. If so, this was not a change in Cheney, Kinzinger, or Hutchinson. It was a change in the readiness of some audiences to receive them.
To me, one of the most compelling figures of all in the January 6th hearings was Rusty Bowers. I’d strongly encourage you to go back and watch his testimony. Pretend you don’t know who he voted for. See if Rusty Bowers doesn’t appear to you the way he appeared to me: like a bit of crusty, salty older American white man. Maybe a little tough. Maybe a little set in his ways. Maybe a little xenophobic? But a thinker, and a listener. Maybe a bit of a bubbled person, but a relatively fair-minded person. Somebody that you wouldn’t mind having to make some administrative decisions — given the right mix of people around him.
And then recall that Rusty Bowers voted for Trump both in 2016 and in 2020. For some folks, this is a useful little koan, I feel.
*
David French wrote a lovely, confessional piece recently about the dangers of partisanship. I know, because I became a paid subscriber to The Dispatch many years ago (and a paid subscriber to The Daily Wire more recently). I didn’t subscribe to these publications to hear people saying things that I was thinking. I subscribed to them to hear things people were saying that I wasn’t thinking. I do not feel have not been brainwashed. But it has been eye-opening.
Here are the last two paragraphs of David French’s essay. The essay is worth reading in its entirety, but these last to paragraphs seem to me to be particularly worth writing on the heart:
George Orwell famously wrote that 'to see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.' We can’t simply tut-tut against the pernicious effects of pure partisanship; we have to struggle against it, including within ourselves. I have some rules to help temper my worst partisan impulses. Among them: Expose yourself to the best of the other side’s point of view — including the best essays, podcasts and books. Also, when you encounter a new idea, learn about it from its proponents before you read its opponents.
And when you encounter bad news about a cause that you hold dear — whether it’s a presidential campaign, an international conflict or even a claim against a person you admire, take a close and careful look at the evidence. Your opponent may be right, your friend may be wrong, and your emotions will often lead you astray.
American conservatism is often not expressing in the best ways in the media. Much of what occurs is polarizing straw-manning which, for its persistence and paranoid drift, is becoming increasingly destructive. But neither is American liberalism totally innocent. And, further, it’s worth noticing the way conservatism is serving as a genuine canary in the coal mine. Are you more comfortable talking about “canceling” than before? Are you concerned about American decline than before? If you hail from the left, maybe you should take a look at your conservative allergies. Are they really what you think they are?
If you’re a blue-tribe member, I strongly encourage you to read across the aisle a little more. And to reach across the aisle a little more. It’s not just an arbitrary act, I feel, for some arbitrary, abstract notion of national harmony. It’s a chance to genuinely evolve.
It is, dare I say, progressive.