By Kevin D. Williamson
Friday, August 04, 2017
Donald Trump likes to talk about being tough, though I
have argued — and Trump has shown — that his “toughness” is a fiction based in
another fiction. He uses the word “nice” with contempt, as when he advised a
group of police officers in Long Island “don’t be too nice” to suspects in
custody.
Abusing a suspect in handcuffs isn’t tough, of course: It
is sadism, but this tendency informs Trump’s policy thinking, to the extent
that he engages in such a thing: being “rough” with terrorism suspects’
families, “get tough” with China on trade, etc. He even had a book published
under his name titled “Time to Get Tough.”
That’s a lot of toughness for a man with Trump’s debilitating
medical condition. You know, the one that kept him out of Vietnam, where
real-life tough guy John McCain endured nearly six years’ worth of torture for
the sake of a point of honor.
The fact that McCain has been something of a
disappointment as a senator and a presidential candidate invites reflection
upon the actual political value of personal toughness. George H. W. Bush
finished flying a World War II combat mission while bleeding from a head wound
in an airplane that was on fire before parachuting into the Pacific, where he
evaded vengeful Japanese soldiers who were just then engaged in torturing and eating
their prisoners. He was somehow lampooned as a “wimp” by the same media
that had earlier accused him of being a bloodthirsty killer (it was alleged
that he had strafed a Japanese lifeboat), and some conservatives joined in
that, Pat Buchanan among them. The wimp flew 58 combat missions, whereas
tough-guy Trump might play 58 holes of golf in an unusually active fortnight.
But George H. W. Bush’s genuine toughness and courage was nearly irrelevant to
his performance in office.
That is because what is missing in Washington isn’t
toughness. In the postwar era — the era in which the modern American welfare
state as we know it was created — Washington was full of men who had seen
combat, who had done hard things and had exhibited real valor. Jack Kennedy,
Lyndon Johnson, and Richard Nixon not only served in wartime but all took more
dangerous assignments than they had to. (Military service has not always been a
norm for American presidents: There was a long run of them, from Woodrow Wilson
through Franklin Roosevelt, who had no military experience.) The men who built
the welfare state did not lack courage, conviction, or toughness: What they lacked
was good ideas.
The cult of “toughness” is partly connected with the
ritualistic aspect of the presidency, the superstitious belief that if the
priest-king has the right personal attributes and propitiates the gods in the
prescribed fashion, then the rains will come and the crops will thrive. “Does
the president care about people like us? Is he the sort of man I’d like to have
a beer with? Does he seem at home in small-town New Hampshire pretending to be
the sort of man who frequents diners, asking the patrons about their dreams and
ailments? Is he”– the magic word — “presidential?” That’s all a lot of
hocus-pocus, but it’s ordinary hocus-pocus and to be expected.
The fixation on “toughness” also speaks to a
misunderstanding about the nature of the presidency and the nature of
government in general. Trump is not alone in his belief that if we would only
“get tough” with whomever needs it, then solving our national problems would be
a relatively straightforward proposition: Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren
make essentially the same argument in favor of raising taxes and regulating
businesses more heavily, as though government’s having been too soft on
billionaires in Malibu is why people are poor in the Bronx. Politicians of this
stripe talk as if there were a shoebox marked “solutions” sitting in a cupboard
somewhere in Washington, and that these solutions have not been implemented
simply because no one was willing to “get tough” enough to do the needful
things. But there’s one big problem with that way of looking at things.
There aren’t any solutions.
The United States of America is a big, diverse, complex
modern country with big, diverse, complex modern problems. The most significant
of those problems are never going to be “solved” because they are not subject
to final resolution. The fundamental problem with health care, for example, is
that Americans’ expectations about the level of care they ought to be receiving
are misaligned with their willingness to pay for that care. This misalignment
is made worse by the legacy of nearly a century’s worth of prior attempts at
imposing “solutions” to this problem on the nation, its government, and the
economy. You don’t “solve” a problem like that. You try to manage it
intelligently. There is no “solution” to the problems of Islamic terrorism, the
social disruption associated with new modes of economic production at home and
abroad, Chinese nationalism, global warming, crime, drug abuse, or HIV. To the
extent that there is something approaching a solution to some social problems,
those solutions do not look very much like a man in a suit signing a bill in
the Rose Garden: They look a lot more like the worldwide campaign against polio
which, the admirable efforts of the Rotarians notwithstanding, remains incomplete
decades into the effort and after billions of dollars spent on it.
“Get tough on polio”? Grow up.
There is no man on a horse coming to solve our problems,
no matter how “tough” he is — or pretends to be. I do not necessarily blame the
politicians for presenting our problems — and themselves — in these crude and
primitive terms, for the same reason that I do not necessarily blame a used-car
salesman for trying to sell me a used car. But if we continue to fall for the
same sales pitch — if we continue to believe that This Very Special Man can
save us, because he is so tough, so smart, so good, so pure, because he cares
about people like us — we have no one to blame but ourselves.
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