By Kevin D. Williamson
Wednesday, September 04, 2019
The conservative movement in the United States, which
identifies itself too closely with the Republican party, is at a low cultural
ebb (it is certainly fashionable to be anti-Trump), but American popular
culture for the past 20 years nonetheless has been suffused with deeply conservative
sentiment — even though conservatives often fail to understand or appreciate
it. We should watch less cable news and more drama and comedy.
It may be a matter of sloganeering. The Republican party,
in its current goofball-nationalist manifestation, has a four-word slogan: “Make America Great Again!” But
conservatives ought instead to appreciate the three most conservative words
ever spoken on the vast stage that is HBO: “Winter
is coming.” The storm is always coming, and that situation, as many of
our fellow citizens are acutely aware right now, is not confined to wintertime.
Margaret Thatcher famously insisted that the facts of
life are conservative. Great art — even merely adequate popular art — begins
with those facts of life and the timeless truths embedded in them. Hence a
piece of highbrow television such as The Wire, which was created by a
by-the-numbers progressive but could have been written by Charles Murray and
Thomas Sowell and produced by the Manhattan Institute, exploring the serial
failure of institutions (city government, labor unions, public schools, the
media) in a largely black city with a Democratic monopoly on political power.
The show’s creators did not intend to create a conservative critique of the
failures of urban progressivism, but they could not help themselves.
The same phenomenon is observable all over our popular
culture: Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy reimagining Batman as a
kind of esoteric Straussian who (in a series beginning just a few years after
9/11) countenances torture and illegal extradition methods to protect a public
that must be kept in the dark about how hard things get done, who faces off against
an Eastern terrorist cult targeting New York City, an amped-up version of
Occupy Wall Street, and, most famously and perhaps most immediately relevant,
an unhappy loser who shows that he can shut down a city with “a couple of
bullets.” Or consider Skyfall, with its Royal Doulton bulldog draped in
the Union Jack, its conservative organizing principles (“Sometimes the old ways
are the best”) and dramatic retreat to the family homestead, its unabashed
invocation of “patriotism” and “love of country.” The Walking Dead ends
up being an extended exploration of Mancur Olson’s “stationary bandit” and the
tensions between democracy, the rule of law, and the practical necessities of
physical security — with an ode to property rights and free trade thrown into
the bargain. Breaking Bad was a reimagining of The Strange Case of
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, a meditation on the seduction of evil, and it ends
with the most forthright of confessions: “I did it for me. I did it because I
liked it.” If a conservative social critic had tried to write a series about
how to be an unhappy young woman, the result would have been something quite
like Girls, or maybe Fleabag. The theme of Stranger Things
is not so much “Winter is coming” but “Winter is already here, and always has
been, if you know how to look.”
Why is it that our popular culture is at the moment so
interested in such subjects as the problems of governance, democratic
fragility, and institutional failure? Look around you.
For comparison, think about the most popular and
influential television shows of the middle 1970s to middle 1980s. There was one
big Vietnam hangover (M*A*S*H) and a petroleum-derived soap opera (Dallas),
but as the divorce epidemic of those years kicked into full swing, the tube was
dominated by sentimental depictions of family life (Happy Days, Little
House on the Prairie, The Waltons) and quietly terrified comedies
about the awkwardness of single life (Laverne and Shirley, Three’s
Company), though divorce itself was rarely addressed directly: The eponymous
heroine of Alice was a widow, as was Mrs. Garrett on Diff’rent
Strokes and The Facts of Life; her sometime employer, Mr. Drummond,
was a widower. Captain Stubing of The Love Boat was one of the
relatively few prominent divorced characters. Other sexual and familial
anxieties were alluded too at safe comedic arm’s length in Bosom Buddies
and Three’s Company.
The immediate postwar years, with the optimism of
ascendance tempered by memories of war’s horrors and the privations of the
Great Depression, were dominated by a few return-to-normalcy family shows (Father
Knows Best, Ozzie and Harriet), a remarkable profusion of westerns,
and variety programs hosted by the likes of Ed Sullivan, Jack Benny, and Milton
Berle. Perry Como (of Chesterfield Supper Club) and The Lone Ranger
made the leap from radio to television. Beyond Como’s cigarette salesmanship,
one of the striking features of the programming of those years is the
prominence of corporate brand names and frank commercialism: The Colgate
Comedy Hour, Ford Television Theatre, Gillette Cavalcade of
Sports, Ronald Reagan hosting General Electric Theater. Republicans
worried about the supposed stranglehold of a handful of social-media companies
on communication might keep in mind that there was far more concentration of
genuinely exclusive media power, and much less competition, in those so-called
golden years.
None of those past generations were wrong to be anxious
about the things that commanded their attention. And we are not wrong to spend
so much time thinking/not-quite-thinking about the fragility of democratic
institutions, the creeping anarchy at the edge of social complexity, or the
shadowy intersections of power and evil. As the storm bears down on the
southeast Atlantic coast, one of the remarkable features of American life will
come into play: Many of the nation’s utility companies have formed a network of
interlocking regional mutual-aid compacts among themselves, and in times of
crisis trucks and linemen from around the country will roll into the disaster
zone, one of Burke’s “little platoons” in dramatic form. At the same time, the
powers that be in the city and state of New York, with all their vast
resources, cannot make the trains run on time. In times of crisis, Americans
never know whether they’re going to get the cool competence of Jack Ryan or the
team from Dunder Mifflin.
Hence the anxiety.
What we know is: “Winter
is coming.” And what have we done? The motto of the Coast Guard is: Semper
paratus, “always prepared.” If conservatives are looking for a definition
of good government, that’s a pretty good one. It isn’t very dramatic, but,
then, nobody really wants to live the kind of life that HBO would make a show
about.
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