By Kevin D. Williamson
Sunday, October 27, 2019
When the Founders designed the basic architecture of the
American system, they bore in mind among other antecedents the Roman republic.
Their heirs are fascinated by a rather different model of social organization:
the junior-high cafeteria.
“Nobody should be friends with George W. Bush” reads the
headline over Sarah Jones’s essay in New
York magazine, that purported bastion of urbanity. The article addresses
the scandalization of American progressives by the private life of talk-show
host Ellen DeGeneres, whose circle of friends is wide enough to encompass many
people with whom she disagrees politically, including the former president.
There is much to criticize in Jones’s piece—the insipid
prose, the intellectually dishonest mischaracterization of the casus belli in Iraq—but what is most
relevant here is Jones’s thinking about second-best outcomes. She writes: “In a
superior reality”—she means “a better world”—“the Hague”—the U.N. court seated
there—“would be sorting out whether he is guilty of war crimes. Since our
international institutions have failed to punish, or even censure him, surely
the only moral response from civil society should [sic] be to shun him. But
here is Ellen DeGeneres hanging out with him at a Cowboys game.”
That’s quite a spread: Ideally, Bush would be strung up
by the heels, but, short of that, at least he should be snubbed by that nice
lady who dances merrily on television while wearing the better
part of $1 million on her wrist. (DeGeneres is a serious wristwatch fiend,
and anybody with that many Rolexes is at least a little bit Republican.) DeGeneres’s offense, in Jones’s telling, is
engaging in “the grossest form of class solidarity.” This seems to be a
sensitive point for Jones, who notes a tweet from Chris Cillizza, and then
writes: “There’s almost no point to rebutting anything that Chris Cillizza
writes. Whatever he says is inevitably dumb and wrong, and then I get angry
while I think about how much money he gets to be dumb and wrong on a professional
basis.” I assume the money is pretty good at CNN, where Cillizza works, but I
have never been under the impression that New
York is a salt mine. Sarah Jones should be grateful for the opportunity to
be dumb and wrong on a professional basis there.
Jones is fairly typical in indicting Bush for his
purported failure on the question of “basic human rights for LGBT people”
without addressing the question of whether we should also shun, say, Barack
Obama, who ran as a presidential candidate opposed to gay marriage. Nor does
she consider that maybe Ellen DeGeneres doesn’t need lessons on how to lesbian
from New York magazine.
Jones makes a sophomoric effort to dress the question up,
but this is the eternal politics of cooties. Say that headline out loud—“Nobody
should be friends with George W. Bush”—and you can practically hear Cher
Horowitz chiming in that his cowboy boots are “so five minutes ago.”
The urban sophisticates at New York are not the only
practitioners of the politics of cooties. When the news got out that Mark
Zuckerberg has been having occasional conversations with conservative writers
and thinkers (including me), the usual little pissant brigade of Caitlyns on
Twitter lost it: #DeleteFacebook even trended for a minute. The
Caitlyn-in-Chief, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, was livid, demanding to know what
was discussed during the Facebook founder’s “ongoing dinner parties with
far-right figures.” If she had asked him which table he sat at during lunch in
eighth grade, she couldn’t have been any less serious. Congressional
Republicans may be as useless as teats on a boar hog, but they should thank
whatever higher power they believe in for such opposition as that.
April Glaser, writing in Slate, insisted that it should “register as shocking” that
Zuckerberg met with Tucker Carlson. She never makes an argument for why that should be shocking; she assumes
that it is self-evident. Cooties.
Everywhere.
This comes from the Right, too. Every now and then I’ll
have an article in the Washington Post
or appear on MSNBC, and I’ll get 11,000 emails and rage-monkey tweets
demanding: “Why would you want to work with those
people? Huh? They aren’t your friends!” I don’t know, Bubba, because a lot of
people read the Washington Post who
don’t read National Review, and they
ain’t ever going to hear it if we don’t bring it to them? And maybe the folks
at the Washington Post aren’t my
people, but then neither is y’all, Bubba.
But we’re all in this together.
(For our sins, Bubba.)
“We are not enemies, but friends,” Abraham Lincoln said
in his first inaugural address. It would be more difficult to say a few years
later, when Americans had become one another’s enemies on the battlefields of
the Civil War. We throw around the word “treason” irresponsibly in our time.
But when Robert E. Lee and his Army of Northern Virginia were forced to
surrender at Appomattox Court House, they had been engaged in genuine treason—“treason
against the United States shall consist only in levying war against them”—on a
massive scale. But Lincoln’s better angels carried the day. Lee and his men
were given the most generous terms imaginable. Ulysses. S. Grant, saddened and
embarrassed by the occasion, spent the first part of the meeting reminiscing
with Lee about their service together in the Mexican War. The rebels were not
even humiliated, when justice would have countenanced hanging them. And then in
one of this nation’s great moments of republican virtue, Grant had his men
salute Lee and his ragged, defeated rebels as they turned to ride home, in
safety and with dignity.
Abraham Lincoln did not have the likes of Sarah Jones
around to advise him. Thank God for that.
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