By William Voegeli
Monday, May 22, 2017
Note: This essay
was adapted from the Spring issue of the Claremont Review of Books.
“Are you now, or have you ever been, a supporter of
Donald J. Trump?” It would be ominous if witnesses in congressional hearings
had to endure this type of McCarthyite interrogation. But what do you call it
when sportswriters demand that a professional athlete answer the same question?
New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady, for example,
calls himself a “good friend” of the new president. Consequently, the football
star faced journalists’ demands to “publicly disavow Trump’s actions,” as one USA Today columnist wrote. Brady, not
wanting to detract from his team’s Super Bowl preparations, responded by
claiming his “right to stay out of it.” But several commenters made clear that
the court of public opinion honors neither the right to privacy nor one against
self-incrimination. Not in the Age of Trump.
As in sports, so also in show business. Actress Nicole
Kidman found it necessary to apologize for her anodyne post-election statement
that “we as a country need to support whoever is president.” After he asked
Trump the kind of superficial questions guests have faced for 62 years on NBC’s
“Tonight Show,” critics denounced host Jimmy Fallon for aiding and abetting
Trump’s election. “Now,” Slate warned, “even if celebrities [want] to opt out
of the current moment, they can’t…. Doing nothing is doing something. Silence
either signifies ‘I’m for Trump’ or ‘I’m for myself.’”
Say It Together:
This Is How We Got Trump
A major theme of Trump’s campaign was opposition to
political correctness. That stance appealed to many, who feared a campus
affliction was becoming a national one, foretelling a future where Anytown,
USA, might as well be Berkeley, California. When quarterbacks and comedians are
sternly admonished that you’re for Trump unless you make it unmistakably clear
that you’re against him, the central Trumpist axiom about the danger of
political correctness is affirmed, not refuted.
Once it became clear on the morning of November 9, 2016,
that Trump had won his unthinkable victory, the anchor of “The Young Turks” web
broadcast declared, “We’re going to fight back. The era of politeness, for
progressives, is over.” The self-styled “Resistance,” chanting “Not my president”
since Election Day, justifies its words and actions by citing Trump’s
transgressions and defects. His sins easily become his supporters’.
When New York Times
columnist Nicholas Kristof urges his liberal readers to avoid harsh
generalizations about Trump voters, they respond by telling him how committed
they are to those negative judgments. They “hate” and “despise” all Trump
supporters, the “worst of humanity,” every last “stupid and selfish” one a
racist.
For every demonstration, campus riot, and awards-show
sermon visited upon the republic because Trump won, another 10,000 members of
the Resisted attain greater clarity about why. Even Americans with misgivings
about Trump and his policies can agree with the European scholar who recently
wrote, “There is a deeply anti-democratic undercurrent to much of the criticism
of the new president, borne aloft by an assumption that democracy is too
important to be left to the voters.”
This Isn’t Likely
to End Well
It’s hard to see how all this ends, and really hard to
see how it ends well. Everyone loves the poetry at the conclusion of Abraham
Lincoln’s First Inaugural: how “we are not enemies, but friends” who will be
held together by “the mystic chords of memory” and “better angels of our
nature.” It’s less consoling to remember that Lincoln’s address was a
rhetorical triumph but political failure. None of the seven Southern states
that seceded from the Union between Lincoln’s election and inauguration
reversed course after his speech, and four additional states joined the
Confederacy in the following weeks.
The first and current Republican presidents are, safe to
say, dissimilar in certain respects. Their electoral victories, however, caused
each man’s most vehement opponents to conclude that such an outcome rendered
doubtful the worth of preserving American unity and respecting democratic
processes. Southerners embraced the logic, though not the slogan, of “Not My
President” when Lincoln’s election showed that the North had the votes and,
increasingly, the inclination to settle the slavery question on terms other
than the South’s maximum demands.
Lincoln began his presidency by imploring all his
countrymen to “think calmly and well.” That’s good advice in general but is,
unfortunately, advice most likely to be delivered in situations where it’s
least likely to be heeded. We’ll learn things about the people we are and the
times we live in over the next four years. Whether we’ll like what we learn is
a different question.
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