By Jonah Goldberg
Wednesday, July 31, 2024
One of my great peeves of the Trump era is the Greenland
effect.
I belong to a small group of people who think America
should peacefully acquire Greenland. It’s an old idea. The State Department pitched
buying the vast arctic island in 1946, but the Danes didn’t want to sell their
colony, alas. But given its strategic and economic
value, it’s worth revisiting.
When it was reported
in 2019 that then-President Trump was interested in the scheme, it immediately became
a punchline.
Of course, buying Greenland was always going to be a
heavy lift politically, but Trump’s embrace made it infinitely heavier.
The Greenland effect doesn’t just apply to obscure and
quirky good ideas, but also to good—or simply popular—ones. As president, when
Trump embraced a policy, that policy became less popular. Despite his
anti-immigration rhetoric, support for increased immigration reached an
all-time high. He made free
trade more popular than ever as well while he started a trade war with
China.
Some of this was the result of the thermostatic
dysfunction of American politics. When one side is in power, significant
numbers of voters tack the other way.
But Trump poses a specific problem for conservatives
precisely because he and his enablers cannot countenance the idea that he’s
unpopular. The stolen election lie is a symptom of this delusion: “Trump
couldn’t have lost; the election must have been rigged.”
This makes the Greenland effect particularly insidious
because conservative ideas, once associated with Trump, often become hard to
sell for even gifted politicians.
Which brings us to J.D. Vance (R-Ohio … or Greenland?).
The general consensus
is that Vance was a “confidence
pick,”
a running mate choice that “doubled
down”
on MAGA messaging. As Washington Post columnist Jim Geraghty wrote
two weeks ago, “Picking Vance is as close as Trump can get to doubling down on
himself.”
I generally agree with this analysis, but it misses one
key difference between Trump and Vance. Trump is an entertainer-celebrity more
than a conventional politician. As a result, he gets away with things no
conventional politician could get away with. He may invite passionate
opposition from his foes, but his fans simply shrug at his misstatements,
malapropisms, and mendacity. Those of us who predicted in 2016 that the “laws
of political gravity” would catch up with Trump were proven wrong because Trump
is subject to the laws of celebrity gravity—a very different jurisdiction.
But Trump and his supporters made a similar
miscalculation. They believed that unalloyed Trumpism, as they defined it, is
popular outside the bubble of Trump’s cult of personality.
This helps explain why most of Trump’s MAGA
imitators—folks like Kari Lake, Blake Masters, and Herschel Walker—bombed in
2022. Even Vance, one of the few
aggressively Trumpist GOP Senate candidates to win that cycle, significantly
underperformed other Republicans on the ballot in red Ohio.
Vance’s rollout has been so rocky
precisely because he’s an unvarnished MAGA candidate, who thinks offending or
scaring people is a sign of masculinity and strength. His unearthed comment
about miserable “childless cat ladies” was in the context of his larger support
for child tax credits, a very popular
idea. It doesn’t take a brilliant political mind to know that there are
basically only two kinds of childless women: Women who want or wanted kids for
whom that didn’t work out (or hasn’t yet), and women who didn’t want children
(or haven’t yet) and understandably object to being ridiculed for it. But in
Trumpworld, the ridicule is the point.
Both Vance and his left-wing detractors
alike would have us believe that taxing the childless is a radical proposal
from some MAGA edgelord.
But as Dominic Pino of the National Review Institute notes,
“The U.S. tax code, right now, punishes people who don’t have children relative
to people who do, all else equal,” because of the child tax credit and other
allowances for minor dependents.
The Trump campaign is trying to run away from Project
2025, an initiative by the Heritage Foundation and Trump administration alumni.
Much of the panic about it is overblown.
But the panic was utterly predictable precisely because its proponents,
including Vance, have deliberately cast it as a radical “second American
Revolution” that will be “bloodless”
only if the left doesn’t resist, in the words of Kevin Roberts, the president
of the Heritage Foundation. (Vance writes
the foreword to Roberts’ forthcoming book.)
There’s a second problem with the Greenland effect: It
doesn’t merely make conservative ideas needlessly unpopular. The unpopularity
drives Republicans to abandon conservative ideas altogether in the name of
political expediency. Trump has abandoned even the pretense of fixing
entitlements or replacing Obamacare. He’s effectively become pro-choice on
abortion, at least during the election. And, as Trump’s running mate, Vance
has, too.
It really is a double-down ticket—twice the insults for
the price of one.
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