By Ian Tuttle
Monday, October 31, 2016
Bountiful, Utah
— El Matador Mexican Restaurant in Bountiful, Utah, is an odd place to be
thinking about Thomas Hobbes, but here we are.
“We” is David Evan McMullin, independent candidate for
president, and his running mate, Mindy Finn, who are downing nachos during a
brief visit with a handful of local supporters — the umpteenth stop of their
day on a whirlwind campaign that launched two months ago and will end in less
than two weeks, probably. “Probably,” because if McMullin wins Utah and becomes
the first third-party candidate to win electoral votes in 48 years, and if
Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump, the two major-party nominees, split the other
532, no candidate would achieve the requisite 270 votes in the Electoral
College, at which point, the campaign would turn to lobbying the House of
Representatives, which would be tasked with selecting the next
commander-in-chief. This, at least, is the theory.
McMullin is doing his part to make it reality. In mid
October, polls suddenly showed a tight, three-way contest in a state that
Republicans have not lost since 1964, with McMullin either in the lead or just
behind Trump. That state of play appears to be holding. In case there was any
doubt that the Trump campaign is concerned, Sean Hannity, Laura Ingraham, and
Lou Dobbs all spent time last week attacking McMullin (Dobbs, indulging in a
refreshingly honest moment of unveiled bigotry, suggested McMullin was part of
a “Mormon Mafia”), and on Wednesday, Mike Pence flew in for a rally in Salt
Lake City.
Once again, this is Utah we’re talking about.
Under normal circumstances, Evan McMullin would not be a
likely presidential candidate. After graduating from BYU in 2001, he served for
a decade in the CIA, including in clandestine operations overseas. In 2011,
having obtained a MBA from Penn’s Wharton School of Business (perhaps you’ve
heard of it?), he joined the investment-banking division at Goldman Sachs. Two
years later, he became a senior adviser on national security for the House
Committee on Foreign Affairs, where he served for a term before becoming the
House Republican Conference’s chief policy director, a position from which he
resigned in August. An impressive résumé, but not the sort that lays the
groundwork for a plausible presidential run, which involves things like
national name recognition, seven-figure fundraising, and rhetorical discipline,
usually honed by long hours on the trail, campaigning for steadily loftier
offices.
Of course, by these and the many other time-honored
criteria, Donald Trump would not be an obvious presidential contender, either.
But it turns out that, when you get Donald Trump, you also get Evan McMullin.
The question on my mind — and the reason I’m here in Utah — is: Why?
McMullin calls himself a conservative — an “actual”
conservative, he emphasizes — and he talks like one. He wants entitlement
reform and a strong national defense and real separation of powers. He likes
school choice and Uber. He’s pro-life. He sounds like Paul Ryan without the
short Wisconsin vowels. He’s amicable, mild-mannered, and, for a non-politician,
skillful on stage. Finn — entrepreneur, tech consultant, and political adviser
— is less wooing, more businesslike, as befits someone whose time has been
spent generally getting things done. On the stump together, she opens, he
closes, then they trade off during any Q&A. It’s what the Republican ticket
could have looked like.
Instead, says Finn, the Republican party has opted — in
the presidential realm, at least — for “racism, sexism, and bigotry.” The
Republican nominee has insulted — she ticks off the list — “Hispanics and
African Americans and women and religious minorities and people with
disabilities.” No wonder Trump is struggling, she says; he’s alienated most of
the American electorate. Meanwhile, the Democrats have nominated “arguably the
most corrupt presidential candidate in modern times.” And voters are now
expected to pick between them.
Which brings us back to El Matador and nachos and Thomas
Hobbes.
At every stop, McMullin and Finn get The Question: Why is a vote for you not a wasted vote/vote
for X? It’s not hostile as much as pleading: I want to believe! Help my unbelief! To this, Finn says that
neither Trump nor Clinton is “entitled” to anyone’s vote, and McMullin adds
that the only way to avoid situations like the present, where Americans are
asked to choose the lesser of two evils, is to stop accepting the belief that
we must choose between the lesser of two evils.
Thomas Hobbes — English philosopher, scientist, pessimist
— was the master of lesser-of-two-evils logic. Mankind was, he theorized, born
unto a “war of all against all,” a brutal Lord
of the Flies–type scenario to be tamed by a social contract and the
appointment of some sort of ruler with absolute power to keep the peace.
Absolute power meant exactly that, so “Leviathan” could be brutal — but he
would, on the whole, keep everyone from hacking each other apart willy-nilly.
Things would always be fundamentally bad, but they could be made less bad.
A.D. 2016 has been, along with much else, a
Hobbes-haunted year. Donald Trump has depicted a country beset by emigré
rapists and suburban terrorists and afflicted by inner cities that are
hellscapes. The world is falling apart, and “I alone can fix it,” he says.
Hillary Clinton suggests that the world will fall apart if Donald Trump is elected — and that that is a contingency that
she alone can prevent. Both are corrupt, self-absorbed, pathologically
deceitful individuals who have spent their lives smearing, silencing, and
exploiting their fellow citizens — but politics is an ugly business, and some
times are uglier than others. You make your peace.
If Hobbes was right.
But there is an alternative, amply testified to in the
American tradition — of genuine decency and real public-spiritedness, of men
and women rising to an occasion out of something more than self-interest. These
ranks include heroes sung and unsung, but much more often ordinary Americans
with a simple concern for a common, imperiled good.
In a year like this, one might feel justified asking if
such public-spiritedness still exists. After all, it’s not just the nominees.
It’s the Democrats who, rather than risk losing the White House, turned a blind
eye to the endangerment of state secrets. It’s the Republicans who said that
their nominee reminded them of Mussolini — then backed him anyway. It’s the
opportunists, on either side, who endorsed salaciousness or animosity because
it meant better ratings or more clicks. The way things are going, would it be a
surprise if one of the rumors about Evan McMullin — that he’s a tool of
powerful D.C. interests, that he secretly wants Hillary Clinton to be
president, that he has simply seized an opportunity to make his name — turned
out to be true?
But what if something else is true — something that
accounts for the overflow crowds at Bountiful City Hall and Utah Valley
University, and the standing ovations, and the people who don’t have questions
in the Q&A, but simply stand up to say, “Thank you for what you’re doing”?
What if the candidate simply believes what he says?
It is highly unlikely that Evan McMullin will be
president, now or ever. It is unlikely that his campaign marks the beginning of
a “new conservative movement,” as he likes to say, or — even less likely — of a
new party, and, personally, I am skeptical about the notion that it should. And
it is unlikely that Evan McMullin will play a significant part in whatever is
the future of conservatism in the United States.
But that’s not the point. This year, the two major
parties chose as their standard-bearers two individuals who are unfit to lead
the United States — because they are indecent, because they are corrupt, but at
heart because they don’t really believe in the American creed: in the idea of
all men being created equal; of unalienable rights to life, liberty, and the
pursuit of happiness; of government of, by, and for the people. They believe
merely in exploiting those principles toward their own ends. If those
foundational principles are to endure as more than historical relics or
rhetorical niceties, they need a voice. Evan McMullin and Mindy Finn, with
almost no prospect of success in their endeavor — and with every reason to
believe that they would be viewed by millions of Americans as spoilers or
holier-than-thou ideologues or “puppets” of some “Establishment” — spoke up for
those principles, defended them, evangelized them, and gave voters the
opportunity to vote for them.
In a moment like ours, that’s no small thing. In fact,
it’s very much the opposite.
No comments:
Post a Comment