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Exceptionalism
Happy new year to you, our readers, and let us look ahead with optimism— despite the upheaval and fear that defined much of 2020 and has spilled unbidden into 2021. While your correspondent aims each week to burrow into decidedly local and parochial matters, the events of last week in Washington compel those with pen and pulpit to reflect on what happened there and what it means in this uneasy new year. So here it is.
Trump is a symptom. He is the deformed and putrid bag of pus that signals that the body is sick. While the US president is gruesomely toxic and dangerous, he is not the disease. Trump is the outward manifestation of the illness.
Our response must, of course, be to treat the symptom, but we must not lose sight of the fact that until we grapple and treat the cause of the disease, more versions of Trump will form. Mutated. Smarter. More focused. More ambitious. More determined.
A week from today, a new president will be sworn into office. Joe Biden seems a decent man who understands he is inheriting a divided nation. He professes moderation and a rock-solid belief in the institutions that support government and bind societies toward a common goal. These instincts are likely to serve him and his nation well.
Many, however, will be inclined to exult in the belief that their country has weathered the scourge of Trump, and that Biden and Kamala Harris will usher in a glorious new day. They will want to turn the page and look upon the past four years as an aberration. I feel that way every time I hear Barack Obama speak.
There will be triumphant jubilation next week that the Republicans have been vanquished. There will be the need to brand large swaths of folks in red states as the enemy. Much of it is earned and appropriate.
Yet, these sentiments will surely widen the divide in that country. A distrust that began forming long before Donald Trump. And one, I suggest, that enabled the cult of Trump to take hold, to fester and thrive. And let us be clear on this point, this is not a political movement; it is a cult.
About 40 per cent of Americans are telling pollsters the election was rigged and stolen. That number is shrinking as we get further away from election day. It also seems likely many respondents may be inclined to vent their frustration with the election outcome by telling polling firms something they might not believe. Ultimately it doesn’t matter. Even if just a quarter of those who voted for Trump in November believe in this demonstrably false narrative, as many as 18 million Americans are working from a different set of facts than their fellow citizens.
They are doing so with certainty. Unquestioned belief. Unexamined conviction. Uncurious. Unskeptical.
This is the disease.
It is a condition, I submit, that exists on both ends of the political spectrum. It is undoubtedly more manifestly dangerous and threatening on the right now—but is equally toxic on the left.
We are so convinced of our own exceptionalism, of our own enlightenment. We believe we have reached a point in our evolution that we have pretty much perfected humanity—or, at a minimum, embody the best version of our species that has ever existed. It is breathtaking arrogance compounded by certainty and the rejection of doubt and skepticism. Humility seems so old-fashioned.
Rather than ensuring every child living is fed and sleeps indoors tonight and is protected from an easily curable disease, we busy ourselves in the western world with projects such as redressing the wrongs of ancient ancestors, fixing the climate or indeed cleansing the planet of our species as a prophylactic against further degradation. Or we look away—diverting our synaptic attention spans to the Kardashians, Meghan and Harry or the Bachelor. It reflects a decadence of outlook and priorities wildly disconnected from our competence and demonstrated nature. We are not nearly as clever as we think we are. Yet we believe otherwise. We are certain the opposite is true.
How has this malaise infected our political discourse?
I tend to subscribe to the notion that in our increasingly secular and individualistic societies we have created a void in our consciousness. In the decline of religious faith and the bonds of extended families—and the duties and responsibilities attended to them—we yearn to belong. We want to believe in something. We need to struggle for something. We are lonely.
Combine this restless longing with a profound collective lack of curiosity in history and the lessons our past can teach us; we are surely vulnerable to the allure of the con man, the shaman or the strong man.
The mob rushing the Capitol building last week replaced American flags with Trump flags. This was not a difference of opinion about which party should run the country. Nor was it about competing values or ideas that should guide policymaking. The goal was to replace government institutions with a cult, cheered on by the would-be cult leader.
We all seek easy solutions. Easy remedies. We want our tribe’s authority to lead the way. In return, we will bury our skepticism and doubts. Questioning is viewed as giving aid and comfort to our enemies. Opinions are wrong, or they are correct. Nuance is in short supply.
History suggests we may muddle through this moment. The track record of well well-fed folks, even if well-armed, mounting a full-on revolt is thin. Further, the US has weathered deeply divided politics before. But there can be no assurance that calm and order will prevail. Failed insurrection attempts often foreshadow bolder and more concerted action. The barbarians have had a taste of ransacking.
Sixteen centuries after Rome’s fall, it remains a question whether the empire succumbed to its enemies or collapsed under the weight of its excesses, indifference and arrogance.
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