By Kevin D. Williamson
Monday, July 20, 2026
I spent part of the week at Liberalism for the 21st
Century—LibCon 2026—an annual conference put on by the Institute for the Study
of Modern Authoritarianism, a relatively new organization headed by my friend
Shika Dalmia, long associated with Reason magazine and now publisher of
the UnPopulist.
I am interested in opportunities for right-left collaboration on issues such as
the rule of law, free speech, free trade, and similar things that traditionally
fall under the heading “liberalism,” and so I try to go to things like this
when I can. They are, as we say around here, worth our time.
The lineup presented some opportunities for political
intermixing: There were familiar libertarian types such as Dalmia and Walter
Olson of the Cato Institute, left-liberal types such as Ezra Klein and Danielle
Allen, idiosyncratic liberals such as Francis Fukuyama and Yascha Mounk, and a
fair number of regular ol’ conservatives, including me, David French, and Bill
Kristol. I can hear the keys clicking as emails are written denouncing the last
of these, or, at the very least, tartly informing me that he is no longer a
conservative; about that I will write only that while he and I may have some
wide and deep disagreements about the best way to approach the current
political moment in these United States, in conversation Bill Kristol strikes
me as being, if anything, more conservative in the genuine sense of that word
than he was 20 years ago—more skeptical, less ideological, free from party
feeling, more interested in preservation and continuity, etc.
It is a good mix, but an uneasy one.
***
I try to put on a friendly face when I encounter some of
the lefty types here, many of whom I have exchanged some pretty harsh words
with in the past. There is nothing in particular that I wish to retract, but
this is a conciliatory occasion. My efforts meet with decidedly mixed results.
I do not blame my interlocutors for this: My attempts to be friendly must seem
as disturbing and unnatural to them as it does to me.
***
I have been going to political conferences like this for
a long time—more than 30 years now—and have been to conservative conferences,
libertarian conferences, progressive conferences, Texas separatist conferences,
flat-earther conferences, etc. Sometimes one hears some interesting things, has
a useful conversation, meets a new interesting person, and that, of course, is
really what these things are for: The panels and the formal program serve a
convening function, but most of the real value is created on the sidelines,
over by the coffee urns.
The programming varies, but there are two things you can
always count on hearing: 1) a lament about the movement’s frustrating inability
to get young people involved in whatever it is the conference is about; 2)
several instances of people insisting that the challenge is finding new and
better ways to talk about the agenda, whatever it is, the need to tell
emotionally compelling stories about the program under discussion.
Conservatives, in particular, have a thing about the need to recruit more young
people—if you ever want to see Jonah Goldberg try not to wince, just watch him
at one of these conferences when the youth-outreach stuff comes up. One of the
things that conservatives, libertarians, classical liberals, etc., never seem
to quite understand is that whipping crowds of young people into a state of
emotional excitement not only is unnecessary to their program but is, in fact,
antithetical to it. No good comes of it.
There’s an old joke that libertarianism is “a shadowy
conspiracy to leave you alone,” and while conservatism and liberalism (I mean
what we call “classical liberalism,” though I do not much care for that
phrasing and do not want to repeat it every time) are distinct from
libertarianism, they have a certain libertarian character and share a certain
libertarian disability: The practical pursuit of political power is always in
tension with philosophies based on restraining political power. Populism
is exciting and enjoys a certain built-in political advantage because it is
based on an underlying premise of action rather than on an underlying premise
of restraint: A populist demagogue, of the right or of the left, can promise a
crowd just about anything—there is no limiting principle. Ezra Klein, speaking
at the conference, praises the “unbounded” vision of New York’s socialist
mayor, Zohran Mamdani. Liberalism is not an unbounded vision of the scope of
state action.
The hard part of selling liberalism or American
conservatism (which seeks to conserve the liberal principles of the American
founding) is not how we talk about the philosophy—the trouble is with the
philosophy itself. Restraint is (barring some kink) unsexy. There is nothing
thrilling about acknowledging the necessity of trade-offs, the role of prudence
applied ad hoc to individual cases, or that the best-case scenario we are
offering is a series of good-enough second-best settlements and accommodations.
I recently reviewed
Luigi: The Musical, which closes with the titular antihero (Luigi
Mangione is being tried for the murder of health insurance executive Brian
Thompson) singing a song in which he proposes to keep murdering people until
there is peace and justice upon the land while the chorus behind him sings
about policy trade-offs, the complexity of health care as a social issue, and
the necessities of compromise and negotiation. Of course, Luigi drowns out the
chorus. That is how it goes.
***
Liberalism, like conservatism, is less of a policy agenda
or a coherent political movement than it is a sensibility and a set of
attitudes. It is not a platform or a party. The foundation liberalism provides
is by no means prior to politics, but it is, in a sense, prior to the familiar
divides and controversies in American politics in the current era. I disagree
with your typical left-leaning New York Times columnist (Jamelle Bouie
is in attendance) on a great many things, but, if we agree on some fundamental
things—the rule of law, freedom of speech, due process, the dangers of official
corruption, etc.—then there is room to cooperate, and a need to cooperate, on
those things when our shared bedrock values are threatened, as they are now.
I have in the past joked that you will know conservatives
have won the day when I decide that the fact that Ramesh Ponnuru is wrong about
child tax credits is now at the top of my list of things to care about and the
time has come for us to get down to having a real fight about it. I would
rather be in a position in which my top political priority is fighting with my
progressive friends about their various batty and impractical ideas rather than
looking for ways to work with them to preserve the fundamental things that
create the conditions under which such a fight can be had at all. But that is
not where we are.
We are not preparing ourselves for some hypothetical
future crisis: The crisis is upon us, though there are different views about
how best to approach that—differences in views about that (and judgments about
what practical responses are necessary) are really the basis of the differences
in sensibilities between organizations such as The Bulwark and National
Review and our style here at The Dispatch, though none of these is
homogeneous. I do not take precisely a Bulwark view of the current
crisis, but the argument that the most meaningful practical thing we can do at
the moment is to reduce the political power of Donald Trump and the Republican
Party by electing Democrats, including loopy socialists, is not obviously bananas. I think
it probably is wrong, in the way simplifications always are wrong, but I
don’t think it is insane.
There are many people at this conference who believe that
the project of liberalism in our time is electing Democrats. The people who
believe this do not want to hear about the illiberalism of the Democratic Party
or the illiberalism of the left. There are many self-described liberals in
attendance, including Danielle Allen, a Harvard political scientist whose top
priorities include overriding the Supreme Court decision in Citizens United
and thereby empowering the government to engage in political censorship under
the guise of regulating campaign finance, a body of regulation that is mainly
about preventing bribery in one form or another. I do not think that is a
liberal position, though she no doubt makes a good case that it must be.
Allen and Ezra Klein, in their discussion, agree that it
is necessary to do such things to counteract “concentrations of capital and
power,” as Klein puts it. Klein is associated with the New York Times Company,
arguably the most influential corporation of its kind in the world, one with a
revenue stream measured in billions of dollars and that is, and has been
over the years, controlled by people who might be described in the pages of the
New York Times as oligarchs if they had different kinds of last names or
different political associations. Allen is associated with Harvard, arguably
the most powerful institution of its kind on Earth, one backed by a $57 billion
endowment among its other considerable financial resources. Concentrations of
capital and power, to be sure. I am reminded of a South by Southwest conference
I once attended, where I heard very comfortable people, some of them rich and
famous, lamenting their situation as members of “marginalized” groups at a
forum sponsored by Google, PepsiCo, AT&T, NBCUniversal, Facebook, UBS,
JPMorgan Chase, and Deloitte. “We should all be so marginalized,” I wrote at
the time.
But fish don’t know they’re wet.
***
Are simplifications always wrong? If I have a single
political idea that is always at the back of my mind, it is Paul Valéry’s
maxim: “Everything simple is false. Everything complex is unusable.”
***
The conference is at the Watergate Hotel, which leans
into its association with the scandal that ruined Richard Nixon’s presidency.
(The scandal by means of which Richard Nixon ruined his own presidency, I mean,
J.D. Vance’s recent judgment notwithstanding.) A sign
offers office space at the “infamous address,” and there is a hospitality room
called the Vault, which one approaches through a hallway bedecked with scandal
memorabilia and images of Nixon. For a slightly disreputable right-winger with a shaved head and a
considerable firearms collection, skulking around the Watergate is a
bittersweet thing. I am no G. Gordon Liddy, but I feel like I should be wearing
a trenchcoat.
What I am wearing when I enter the hotel is a very good
suit. It is a cotton suit, not a silk suit—it is very, very hot in Washington
this week—but I have silk suits on my mind. More precisely, what I have going
through my head is a bit of dialogue spoken by John Goodman in the film Born
Yesterday, in which he plays a wealthy businessman, a rich but vulgar
self-made kingpin who feels condescended to by a slick journalist who is
profiling him, a role played by Don Johnson. The journalist, indicating the
magnificent hotel suite in which his subject is being pampered by a barber and
manicurist, asks, “Are you afraid of losing all this?” The businessman says he
does not worry about that, because he believes in himself.
I started with a wagon, selling
somebody’s junk. And I got here, in a silk suit, talking to a college
know-it-all like you. If I lose it, I’ll meet you right back here in this room,
in a new silk suit.
The first time I heard that line, I heard only the
well-earned confidence of the self-made man. Now, I hear both that confidence
and the resentment behind it, the chip on the shoulder. I have my own little
history with the Watergate, where the Atlantic had its offices during my
infamously brief period of employment there. I meet the Dispatch’s
production guru, Victoria Holmes, for lunch at the lobby restaurant and pick up
another Dispatch-associated guest, David French, along the way, running
into him in the lobby. The last time I was in that restaurant was when I
learned, over breakfast, that I was going to be fired. I got fired over
breakfast from another job a long time ago, too—the most important meal of the
day, to be sure, but, for me, a fraught one! I like to think that I do not have
a very large chip on my shoulder, but I do hear that bit of dialogue from Born
Yesterday in the back of my head. And I do make a point of putting on a
very good suit.
***
One of the conference speakers is Bob Rae, who served as
Canada’s ambassador to the United Nations. As he tells it, the wake-up call
that something had really changed in the United States beyond Donald Trump’s
idiotic talk about making Canada a state was something he experienced at the
United Nations. Canada and its European allies, among many other nations, were
putting forward a resolution condemning Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, but the
United States, at the last minute, introduced a much softer resolution, one
calling for an end to the war but omitting any reference to the cause of the
war—Russian aggression. That measure carried the day, with the United States
voting in a bloc with the world’s autocracies over the objections of the
world’s despairing liberal democracies. When Canadian Prime Minister Mark
Carney talks about “the rupture,” Rae said, that is what he is talking about.
Under the Trump administration, the United States has become less like Canada
or the United Kingdom and more like Russia or China, and the consequences are
profound for the American people and for the world.
Rae’s remarks raise a question about how enduring we
should expect the stamp of Trump and Trumpism on American politics to be. The
optimists believe that we will look back on this period, after a few years, as
a mere aberration; the pessimists believe that we will look at it as the
beginning of something, a new ugly era of caudillo-ism and corruption.
At the conference, I heard good arguments for both sides, and I still am not
entirely sure what to think.
***
Reporting from some of the first Tea Party rallies lo
these many years ago, I wrote:
There was an interesting
coalition assembled for the Tea Party, and my unscientific sampling suggests it
was about two-thirds regular Joes and about one-third people who are involved,
in some way, with heterogeneous political enterprises, whether Ron Paul’s
Campaign for Liberty, Libertarian- or Republican-party factions, anti-tax and
anti-Fed groups, and the like. The regular Joes with whom I spoke were almost
to a man talk-radio listeners, and their cheery ferocity makes me suspect that
even conservatives have failed to truly appreciate the reach and power of that
medium. There were some single-issue fanatics, inevitably, including one
colorful clown who kept shouting “Abolish the Fed!” with the occasional
improvised expletive. Another fellow was explaining, with great animation, that
Grand Inquisitor Tomás de Torquemada was a converted Jew (this would have come
as a surprise to his uncle, Cardinal Juan de Torquemada) and that various
Jewish and Islamic tendencies, including the concept of machismo, had
been imported into the New World by the conquistadors, most of whom were conversos
as well, and that this apparently has something or other to do with something
or other. One meets these sorts of characters in political crowds, and one
learns to dread obsessions with matters Semitic, or mentions of the Knights
Templar.
There is an inverse relationship
between the specificity of political ideas and the sanity of political ideas.
There are sensible people who are generally liberal and sensible people who are
generally conservative, and then there are passionately deontological
libertarians slugging it out with angrily consequentialist libertarians, or
Objectivists affiliated with the Ayn Rand Institute vs. Objectivists loyal to
the Atlas Society, because A is A, damn all heretics. I met a fellow at the Tea
Party who described himself as an anarchist, and it seemed natural to us both
that I asked him: “More of a Rothbard guy, or more of a Proudhon guy?” One
wouldn’t want to associate with the wrong sort! The scattered nuts in the
tea-party mix showed great specificity: abolish the Fed, or adopt a new tax
code, or abolish the Fed, or legalize homosexual marriage, or abolish the Fed,
or whatever.
...
I wonder if the people at the Tea
Party want the same things, or want enough of the same things to cohere, and to
cohere in a movement that is recognizably conservative. And if they do want
enough of the same things, I wonder what those things are — because I was
there, and I am not sure.
Looking backward, one can see a line, not quite straight
and not quite unbroken, from those rallies to the present moment—a political
current, right-wing but revolutionary rather than conservative, getting near to
bursting its banks. And now the flood is upon us. It seems almost inevitable
that Tea Party figures such as Sen. Ted Cruz were so easily swept away by the
sewage flood of Trumpism. But if you were to ask me today whether the
Republican Party still had a core around which it might once again be able “to
cohere in a movement that is recognizably conservative,” I have a more definite
answer, and it is “no.”
And so here I am—and here we are—looking for alternatives
and allies. And this, I am more confident, is the beginning of something rather
than the end of something.