By Noah Rothman
Wednesday, May 08, 2019
The 2020 Democratic primary race is still young, but the
feminist left is already irritated by its trajectory. Despite the presence of six
women in the field, their failure to generate consistent traction in early
polls of Democratic voters is seen as an injustice. The blame for this travesty
lies not with the candidates, these Democrats say, but with the voters and the
press.
According to Cornell University assistant professor Kate
Manne, Democratic voters who back male candidates over their female
alternatives due to their perceived viability in a general election against
Donald Trump may be guilty of indulging a “post hoc rationalization for these
very common sexist biases.” Savvier liberals who share Manne’s concerns, but
are wary of consigning Democratic voters to a “basket of deplorables,” have
taken to blaming political media for casting a malign spell on the liberal
electorate.
Congressional Progressive Caucus co-chair Rep. Pramila
Jayapal said she is “frustrated” because “women candidates are getting the same
kind of coverage” as Democratic men. Former Hillary Clinton campaign strategist
Jess McIntosh singled out Pete Buttigieg’s breakout success despite his meager
perch as mayor of the fourth-largest city in Indiana as a function of media
misogyny. “[O]bviously,” she insisted, “that’s not the case if that was a
woman.” New York Times reporter
Maggie Astor noted that candidates like Senators Elizabeth Warren, Kirsten
Gillibrand, and Kamala Harris are already getting the Hillary Clinton
treatment, branded as “aloof” or “unlikable”— unflattering terms which are not
reserved exclusively for women but are assumed to be.
It’s easy to see why a theory that absolves these
candidates of responsibility for their defects would be attractive, and there
is some superficial evidence supportive of the idea that a double standard is
at work here. But feminism’s universal victimization theory has not yet
confronted the variable that seems to falsify it: Amy Klobuchar.
The senator from Minnesota has endured the same intense
scrutiny that other women in the race have faced. In fact, she may have endured
more of it. Klobuchar has been accused of being a difficult, even abusive,
boss—accusations that were attacked by the usual suspects as evidence of latent
anti-woman bias. But Klobuchar didn’t lapse into self-pity or lash out against
perceived duplicity by the press; she owned it. “Yes,” the senator said, “I can
be tough, and yes, I can push people.” Klobuchar affirmed her intention to
apply the same perfectionist standards to herself and to the country should she
become president, and the controversy disappeared.
Klobuchar’s past as a criminal prosecutor has also been
the subject of progressive consternation. Her “tough on crime” approach to law
enforcement–about the only approach that is suitable in a prosecutor–is alleged
to have contributed to race and class disparities in the justice system. But unlike
Kamala Harris, who has made a clumsy effort to strike her history as a
no-nonsense prosecutor from the public record, Klobuchar took ownership of
this, too.
Though she acknowledged racial disparities stemming from
federal drug-crime sentencing guidelines—an acknowledgment shared by a GOP-led
Congress and a Republican president who passed and signed into law the First
Step act reforming those guidelines—she didn’t apologize for her record. “I
made this major effort because I truly believe that our mission is to convict
the guilty, yes, but protect the innocent,” Klobuchar averred.
A detailed profile of Klobuchar’s upbringing published in
the Washington Post this week
revealed that her father was convicted of driving while intoxicated and, at his
sentencing hearing, the senator testified for the prosecution. “I told him I
loved him,” Klobuchar revealed after itemizing the number of times her
alcoholic father had put her life and the lives of others at risk. “I would
always love him. But he needed to get this help.”
And yet, despite all this, Klobuchar remains “likable”—at
least, according to voters. The few polls that have tested the senator’s
“favorability” rating show that, while she’s relatively unknown, she’s also
relatively well-liked. But then, so are the other women in the 2020 race. So
why has Klobuchar managed to evade the so-called sexism trap to which
Democratic activists are so sensitive? The common thread seems to be more
authenticity than likability.
Elizabeth Warren has captivated the progressive wing of
her party, but her willingness to pander to the favored Democratic
constituencies and a wooden performance on the campaign trail exposes her
self-consciousness. Kirsten Gillibrand has developed a reputation for catering
to the prevailing orthodoxies of her party’s activist class even if it
contradicts last week’s orthodoxies. Though her boosters would be reluctant to
admit it, Harris has stumbled into several embarrassing news cycles in her
effort to flatter the sensibilities of the progressive voter.
Unlike her competitors, Klobuchar has unashamedly
dismissed liberal wish-list policy proposals like Medicare-for-all and
tuition-free college as flights of fancy. Though she is no centrist, Klobuchar
has made overt appeals to swing voters even at the risk of alienating the
left’s radical reformers. Although she’s been the subject of some hard-hitting
press, Klobuchar also generates favorable headlines focused on her displays of
humor and competence. If latent sexism is a force shaping both voters’
perceptions and press coverage, and there’s some evidence that it is, those who
claim that it is an obstacle before the Democratic women in the race for
president must contend with Sen. Klobuchar. If they don’t, theirs isn’t an
applicable theory. It’s more like an article of faith.
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