By Jonah Goldberg
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
‘I forgive you.”
I’ve lost count of how many people have told me that
since Election Day. Of course, the number pales in comparison with the legions
who’ve told me I was “wrong about everything” this year and that the election
of Donald Trump will spell the end of my relevance, my career, and, in a few
trollish instances, my life. But it’s the unsolicited forgiveness that stings
more.
My position as a committed “Never Trump” (and “Never
Hillary”) conservative in the primaries and general election earned the
disappointment and wrath of a great many folks on the right, from longtime
readers to longtime friends. Although I still feel in my bones that I have
nothing to apologize for, it does seem to me that forgiveness, solicited or
otherwise, should elicit some introspection.
Are my critics — either the forgiving ones or the
menacing ones — right about me? Just how wrong was I?
I did get the election wrong. Although there were
occasions when I wrote that Trump had a shot, certainly at the end I was
convinced that he’d lose.
And yet, defensive though it may sound, I think the claim
that I got “everything wrong” in 2016 reveals more about my detractors than
about me. No doubt I got much wrong this year (this is true of every year
ending in a number divisible by 1), but the only sense in which one could
plausibly claim I got everything wrong is if Donald Trump is your everything.
Indeed, the bulk of those shouting that I got “everything wrong” seem to be the
“Trump can do no wrong” crowd as well.
There is a weird, not quite fully baked idea out there
that if you — or me — were wrong about Trump’s electoral chances, that means
you must be wrong about the man in full. There is no such transitive property
in politics or punditry. I don’t know what George Will said of Richard Nixon’s
electoral prospects in 1972, but even if he had predicted a McGovern landslide,
that wouldn’t mean he was wrong about the outrageousness of Watergate.
That said, I already feel comfortable admitting that,
beyond my electoral prognosticating, I got some things wrong about what a Trump
presidency will look like. Though many on the left and in the media see his
cabinet appointments and policy proposals as cause for existential panic, as a
conservative I find most — but by no means all — of them reassuring.
I argued frequently that Trump’s conservatism was more
marketing ploy than deeply held conviction. But his appointments at the
departments of Education, Health and Human Services, and Labor and at the
Environmental Protection Agency and elsewhere suggest a level of commitment to
paring back the administrative state that heartens and surprises me.
I am also surprised by the benefits of having a political
novice take over the executive branch. From his phone call with Taiwan to his
ad hoc bargaining with defense contractors, there is more of an upside to Trump
the Disrupter than I had anticipated.
Of course, there is also a downside.
And that brings me to what I think I got right: Trump’s
character. I am not referring to his personal conduct toward women, a
culture-war weapon that Trump and Bill Clinton together have removed from
partisan arsenals for the foreseeable future. Nor am I necessarily referring to
how he has managed his businesses, though I think those patterns of behavior
are entirely relevant to understanding our next president.
What I have chiefly in mind is that rich nexus of
unrestrained ego, impoverished impulse control, and contempt for policy due
diligence. I firmly and passionately believe that character is destiny. From
his reported refusal to accept daily intelligence briefings to his freelancing
every issue under the sun on Twitter — including, most recently, nuclear-arms
policy — Trump’s blasé attitude troubles me deeply, just as it did during the
campaign.
On balance, I don’t feel repentant. But I acknowledge
that Trump has surrounded himself with some serious and sober-minded people who
will try to constrain and contain the truly dangerous aspects of his character.
If they succeed, I’ll happily revisit my refusal to ask for forgiveness.
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