By Yuval Levin
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
As we near the end of the pre-season in this election
cycle, voters in the early states are starting to look closely at the
candidates for the first time. Over the past few days, I’ve tried to get a
sense of what those who are really paying attention are hearing the candidates
say. As far as possible, I’ve aimed to avoid the filters through which we
political junkies have been following the race for months. So I have spent some
time listening to the stump speeches that the major candidates have been
delivering in the last couple of weeks in the early states. C-SPAN makes it
easy. Most voters don’t attend campaign events and hear complete speeches from
the contenders, but in the earliest primary states they can – and do. And these
speeches are in any case a good indication of how candidates understand
themselves and their message at this stage.
The most striking thing that emerges from listening to
these speeches one after another is that the theme of this election year so far
for Republicans is the question of the establishment and the public. That’s not
surprising. But how candidates are taking up the question did surprise me. The
natural way to think about the subject — a kind of generic populist template —
is that our governing elite in general and the Republican establishment in
particular are awfully strong and are oppressing the public in some way. But
that’s not really how most Republican contenders are talking about the issue.
More often, at least implicitly, their subject is not the strength but the
weakness of the establishment, even if they don’t quite put it that way. All of
them describe the hollowing out and decay of America’s elite, its core
institutions, and its political leadership. And some of the key differences
between the candidates become a little clearer when we see them as differences
in how they would approach that serious problem.
Four candidates in particular — Donald Trump, Chris
Christie, Ted Cruz, and Marco Rubio — have in their stump speeches been
offering distinct and instructive ways of thinking about this question.
Donald Trump says that the establishment (and not just
the Republican establishment) is weak and stupid, and that he would instead be
strong and smart. The problem America faces, as he sees it, is not the
dominance of the establishment but rather its lack of backbone and good sense.
The alternative he offers is himself, rather than any clear or principled
vision of government or of American life. He does suggest, however, that a key
source of the establishment’s weakness and stupidity is our elites’ loss of
faith in the meaning of the nation — and therefore in the existence of a
distinction between Americans and others.
Having lost sight of this distinction, Trump says, the
establishment is not troubled enough by the prospect of America’s becoming a
loser nation, and it’s no longer even trying to win. By keeping sight of the
distinction between Americans and others — most notably, but not exclusively,
by enforcing that distinction at the border — Trump says he will be able to
offer strong leadership and help the country win again. More than any other
candidate, Trump talks about the gap between elites and the broader public as a
gap between losers and would-be winners. He doesn’t argue that the
establishment is too strong and domineering, he argues that it’s pathetic.
Of course, “argues” is a little strong when it comes to
Trump. His stump speeches are almost unbelievably incoherent, yet his basic
thrust is rarely difficult to understand. Trump doesn’t make arguments; he
effuses. It is possible (if not easy) to take him seriously only as a
diagnostician. When he moves from diagnosis to prescription, he shows no sign
of having any grasp of what government does, what the president’s role is in
our system of government, what the American Constitution is or means, or how he
might even try to think like a conservative. Trump is also frequently vulgar,
mean, crass, and callous, and the way he talks about himself comes across as a
desperate cry for help.
On the right, the people who are impressed with Trump and
the people who are horrified by him talk past each other because the former
group mostly emphasizes his diagnoses and the latter his prescriptions. His
fans like the way he calls out the blindness or weakness of America’s political
class and that he points out the absurdity of some elite sensitivities. They
like his emphasis on the nation — “a country is a country” — and his
willingness to say that the status quo isn’t working. Many also clearly like
his willingness to blame some of these problems on immigration and immigrants,
and on the stupidity of our elected leaders, particularly in relation to
foreign leaders. This last is not a new theme for Trump; he has been pressing
the point for decades.
His critics, meanwhile, myself included, tend to focus on
the solutions Trump is offering, most of which are not solutions in the
traditional sense but just further ways to unsettle elite opinion. So if you
press a Trump supporter on the merits or plausibility or decency of a specific
Trump proposal, the response is usually that at least Trump is willing to talk
about the issue while others are afraid to. Many of his fans like the fact that
he’s not politically correct, in our contemporary sense of the term: He’s
willing (even eager) to offend. Many of his critics are appalled that he is not
politically correct in an older sense, closer to Founding Father James Wilson’s
late-18th-century notion of “not politically correct”: He seems to have little
sense of the principles underlying our political system and of the purpose and
limits of government action. Those are both broad generalizations, but they
seem to me suggestive of the pattern. Trump’s strength is his diagnosis of a
rot at the core of our public life, but his weakness is what he proposes to do
about it — which in many cases strikes me as likely to make things far worse.
Among the other candidates, the one who comes closest to
Trump’s kind of diagnosis is Chris Christie. Christie, too, doesn’t so much
rage against the power of the establishment as worry over the consequences of
its collapse. He doesn’t call other elected officials stupid, exactly, but he
worries that they are weak and naïve and are leading us to ruin. And he has a
particular kind of ruin in mind: It is the ruin of chaos and savagery.
Christie talks in terms of civilization and barbarism.
His recurring theme is order and safety. He is running for president because he
thinks that the country is in danger and that the sources of order are being
undermined. So he instinctively returns to defending the keepers of order: the
police, the military, and determined leaders who take decisive action. This is
a classic conservative message, in some respects, but it is not actually a
great fit for the mood of Republican voters this year. They seem to want a
shakeup more than a reaffirmation of the pillars of stability, and they feel
angry more than they feel unsafe. Christie does anger well, but he offers
himself up as a guardian, not a disrupter.
So while Christie diagnoses the political establishment
as weak and incapable, he proposes not so much to replace it with the power of
his personality as to shore up its foundations and enable it to restore order.
This doesn’t necessarily make for an effective organizing principle for a
political or policy agenda, and Christie struggles to fit some of his
particular policy proposals (he has emphasized entitlement reform for instance)
into this framework. He gets some of the diagnosis right, in other words, but
he doesn’t often connect it to a coherent response; and he describes problems
as requiring a response only if he understands them as causes of mayhem and
disaster. Everything is World War III, or else it’s nothing.
Ted Cruz, meanwhile, offers a different (and perhaps more
standard) attack on the establishment. He argues that the Republican
establishment in particular has become not so much weak or stupid as corrupted:
It has lost its way and been co-opted by Washington. What remains of the
establishment needs to be blown up, he suggests, by a public uprising that he
would lead or spark. This revolt would allow the country to find its way again
and in a sense to recover a lost order. Cruz implicitly identifies that lost
order with Ronald Reagan’s America, and he proposes himself as the one who
would take us back to a time when the country grasped that conservative ideas
could help address our problems.
Cruz wants to recover that mood and maybe also those
particular Reaganite ideas. So his appeal is exceptionally nostalgic. The
future figures in it only as the scene of a recovery of a lost time, a time
that worked. And the Obama years (and here and there also the Bush and Clinton
years) figure as a disastrous detour. This nostalgia strikes me as the core of
Cruz’s message, essential to his appeal. Many conservative voters, especially
older ones (who are predominant) surely find it easy to love.
A nostalgic case against a corrupt establishment is an
argument for a better establishment. But Cruz’s case is nonetheless also
genuinely populist, and in an interesting way. His vision of political change
is rooted in an enormous faith in the power of public outrage. Cruz implies
that by getting people angry about where the country is headed, he can channel
great democratic energies toward changing direction. What we are missing, he
suggests, is a leader who can get us angry about the right things. Cruz
believes he is that leader and that his time in the Senate has proven it.
That’s why he describes himself as having led various successful efforts — as
having the experience necessary to be the government’s chief executive. Those
efforts have been public-relations efforts; they have been efforts to channel
public outrage.
So, nostalgia and a populist faith in the capacity of
anger are at the heart of Cruz’s message. It’s probably not a bad combination
for the primary voters he needs. And it’s an interesting conservative parallel
to the Left’s message at this point — which also often calls upon nostalgia.
(The Left’s better time, ironically, is further in the past, in the economic
arrangements, if not the social norms, of the post-war golden age.) But Cruz’s
populist nostalgia leaves him talking about a lot of things he would undo or
reject, while he doesn’t put forth much of a substantive policy agenda. He has
a tax proposal, though he doesn’t make it a central theme (and its value-added
tax probably wouldn’t appeal to the voters who like the rest of his message).
And beyond that, he has not generally translated his approach into an agenda.
He seems to promise a lot without committing to much. It’s savvy, if not
substantive.
Marco Rubio offers a particularly interesting contrast to
Cruz. Rubio argues that the establishment (Republican and otherwise) is not so
much weak or even corrupt as it is anachronistic and stuck in the past. He
worries that some of the establishment’s old 20th-century ideas — most of which
take the worldview of a certain kind of welfare-state liberalism for granted —
are holding the country back and blinding us to the possibility that
conservative ideas can help America adapt to 21st-century realities. This is a
very different message from those of the other major candidates. Conceptually,
it’s actually closest to Trump in its diagnosis of the problem, though Rubio
outlines quite different solutions. But tonally, Rubio’s case is distinct.
Because it is an argument for applying conservative ideas to help the country
adapt, it is an argument for positive change; and so it lacks the anger,
outrage, and hopelessness of most of the others.
Rubio does not seem to think we are at the edge of an
abyss. Instead, he suggests we are wasting opportunities and losing time we
could be using to help America adjust to a new world in which it could thrive.
It’s easy to imagine how this could be a recipe for a pretty appealing
political message, but it seems to be a poor fit for the current mood of many
Republican voters. Rubio just isn’t angry enough. And he doesn’t seem to think
that outrage will lead to conservative policy victories.
But for him, the future is center stage. Rubio often
talks about how things have changed in America, just as the other candidates
do; but he thinks these changes have created opportunities as well as risks,
and that among the greatest risks we face is that we might fail to grasp the
opportunities. In this view, he is practically alone among Republican
presidential candidates.
Rubio’s rhetoric could probably benefit from more
emphasis on the challenges posed by the collapsing legitimacy of our core
institutions, and from more explicit links between those challenges and the
sorts of solutions his brand of conservatism would offer. Cruz, meanwhile,
could benefit from something like the mirror image: more of a sense that the
future, and not just the past, offers opportunities and that conservatives know
how to seize them.
I have left out a few candidates who still deserve to be
counted in the first tier of contenders. That’s not because I don’t think they
matter but because they don’t much take up this key set of themes, or they
don’t offer a clear case for themselves at all.
But among four of the candidates, exceptionally talented
political performers all, there is a debate going on about the establishment
and the public. And it’s not quite the debate we often imagine. It’s a debate
about how to handle the public’s collapsing faith in the establishment — that
is, in our political elite and our core governing institutions. The post-war
American consensus has been fragmenting for decades, and the public’s loss of
trust seems to be reaching a crisis point. These candidates offer different
diagnoses of the problem and distinctly different prescriptions, but they are
arguing about the same crisis of confidence.
That they’re having this debate is on the whole a sign of
strength, even if the outcome might not redound to the immediate benefit of
Republicans. The Democrats are not really engaged in this argument yet: All of
them are proposing various policies that would require an enormous amount of
public trust in our governing institutions and the elites who run them. If they
approach the public that way in the fall, they might be surprised by the
reception they get from an impatient, anxious, irritated portion of the
populace. Perhaps Republicans haven’t found the recipe for appealing to those
voters, but they do seem to be looking for it.
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