By Rich Lowry
Friday, January 15, 2021
President Donald Trump finally did what the foremost
metaphor associated with his political rise would have suggested — he plowed
his plane into the ground.
That metaphor is Flight 93, courtesy of Michael Anton,
author of a famous essay before the 2016 election about how Republicans had no
option but to get on board with Trump. “Charge the cockpit or you die,” Anton
wrote.
“The Flight 93 Election” became a signature statement of
Trumpism and remains incredibly relevant today. Its mood perfectly captures the
post-election period and especially what happened at the U.S. Capitol —
fevered, dark, and apocalyptic.
Anton wrote as if the end of the republic were upon us,
and there’s nothing like a rabble storming a citadel of American democracy to
buttress this view.
Of course, it was the man Anton believed could be our
savior who whipped up this crowd. The mob didn’t charge the cockpit
metaphorically, but charged the Capitol literally, in the grip of a more
extreme, rough-hewn version of Anton’s logic and narrative.
Anton is obsessed with a coming Democratic tyranny or
coup. So, too, are Trump and his most fanatical supporters, who weren’t content
simply to write highfalutin essays about how to resist the coup, or “Stop the
Steal.”
If the pen is mighty, only baseball bats and projectiles
can really make Mike Pence and Nancy Pelosi afraid.
Make no mistake: A Flight 93 mentality led to the Jan. 6
presidency, now defined not by any of the good it accomplished but by a hideous
act of extremism in its desperate, spittle-flecked final days.
In Anton’s defense, he never said he believed that Trump
knew how to fly a plane. In the future, when hiring someone to pilot the most
advanced jetliner on the planet, he might want to add that to the job
description, and check a couple of references.
Anton wrote that “only in a corrupt republic, in corrupt
time, could a Trump rise.” Rather than concluding that this spoke poorly of
Trump, he made it into a kind of virtue. “Yes, Trump is worse than imperfect,”
he wrote. “So what?”
So what, indeed.
Trump was supposed to be a winner when other Republicans,
Anton argued, were hopeless losers.
In reality, Trump won a fluky victory in 2016, with just
46.1 percent of the vote. Predictably, he lost the House in 2018. He then lost
his re-election bid and contributed to the loss of the GOP Senate majority with
his outlandish claims of election fraud.
In office, Trump didn’t win
saving-America-from-the-apocalypse-type victories, as one would have expected
from Anton’s hysterical advocacy. Instead, they were the achievements of a
standard Republican with a populist bent — tax cuts with tariffs on top.
Trump threw away his presidency in the end, though,
largely because of the character flaws that Anton dismissed or valorized.
In his essay, Anton attacked his conservative enemies as
caring only about their careers and money, while throwing in with a rank egoist
who fetishizes his wealth and status, who didn’t care enough about his
supporters or his own political cause to work harder in office or moderate his
behavior, who led his most committed supporters into a box canyon of lies and
conspiracy theories after the election because he couldn’t admit that he lost.
What made Anton’s essay so bracing was its undercurrent
of nihilism, a sense that character and norms no longer matter, not when we are
engaged in an existential struggle for power.
Trump has acted in keeping with an exaggerated version of
this ethic, throwing aside truth and the law in pursuit of a second term to
which he is not entitled.
We have seen that this path isn’t suited to saving the
republic, but to tearing it apart and embarrassing it before the world. It
can’t and shouldn’t work, and it produced an immediate backlash and second
impeachment.
This is not really fighting. It is giving up.
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