Institutional ramparts and simple joys
It remains to be seen whether or not reports of this country’s demise are greatly exaggerated. On the demise side, a majority of Americans on Tuesday chose to end this nation’s 250-year experiment in self-government. Not that they know it yet. This week, argues Brian Beutler, they handed “unchecked power to a narcissistic criminal demagogue because the price of bacon increased.” They may also, in fact, have surrendered their sovereignty without firing a shot.
(What will the more militant do with the guns and ammo they’ve stocked for the coming civil war about which they’ve fantasized?)
On the greatly exaggerated side are people like Beutler in England, who, being shielded from Trumpism by the Atlantic Ocean, have perspective lacked by those of us staring down its barrel. He taxonomizes this week’s voters into three classes: True Never Trumpers, the Hold Your Nose Brigade, and people for whom “The Cruelty is the Point.” Afterwards, he considers what life in an authoritarian United States means for those of us not in the cult or cult-adjacent:
What’s most dangerous, then, is turning a democratic state into an authoritarian one. And the way you do that is by warping institutions and removing constraints on the powerful, ensuring that bad policy cannot be reversed, obliterating responsiveness and avoiding accountability.
So, for example, a corrupt president who faces no oversight because the courts have been captured and the bureaucracy has been purged is a far more lasting and dangerous erosion of democracy than a bad law. When it’s the system itself that’s damaged, institutions can crack under the weight of authoritarian pressure.
The problem, of course, is that citizens care most about politics when daily activities and expressions of personal identity are at stake—the price of eggs and milk or the endless culture wars that tap into our sense of who we are.
Few voters are galvanized by institutional change and the apparent minutiae of government oversight. Put differently, the process of democracy is what defines the system in contrast to authoritarianism, but the lived experience of daily life and cultural identity is what most voters care about.
We’ll see how much Trump women care when he signs a national abortion ban and lies about saying he wouldn’t.
Despots and their wannabe apprentices exploit this mismatch, galvanizing people with visceral expressions of victimhood and focusing attention on perceived internal enemies while simultaneously unshackling themselves from institutional constraints.
Underneath the more visible Trumpian chaos, the true fight for democracy will now take place in the labyrinthine realm of bureaucratic oversight, in the courts that choose accountability over submission, the journalists who bravely refuse to self-censor, the general who refuses to break the law, the Congressional committee that simply won’t back down.
And, above all, that fight will be with the voters who band together with neighbors from all walks of life—the people who might come together for the simple joys of a parade—to engage in mass protest when a president pardons himself, or purges civil servants, or takes a wrecking ball to democratic institutions. That’s how serious adults adorn themselves in real patriotism.
The problem is Trump’s go-to tactic is delay. He wears down opponents by outlasting them in the tug-of-war. And many of us are already exhausted. He maintains his following by fueling cultists’ grievances and sense of victimhood. Ironic, since as Beutler sees abroad, Americans are envied around the world for the opulence of our lifestyles. And decadence.
When the elevated price of bacon is your great political calling and the inconveniences of Starbucks are your personal cross to bear, the grotesque decadence of prosperity can warp itself into a bizarre victimhood. Many of the most devoted disciples of soon-to-be President Trump are some of the most fortunate people on the planet, like the woman who joined the January 6th mob after flying in on a private jet.
But we cannot succumb to a similar narrative of victimhood when an election goes the wrong way—even when the stakes are so high. We are lucky, even now. Wallowing in the depths of worry and despair, it’s important to feel fresh resolve with a sense of perspective—not to diminish the challenges and perils we face—but to understand that the worst doom, even in these dark moments, need not be America’s final answer.
For me, fresh resolve may have to wait a day or two.
I’m putting my faith into young people like my friend Anderson Clayton, NC Democrats’ state chair. She’s got enough resolve for a slew of us old farts.