How to understand him—and how to move beyond him.
In March 2014, Ted Cruz of Texas sought to separate himself from his Senate colleague from Kentucky by invoking the name of Ronald Reagan. “I’m a big fan of Rand Paul,” he said, but “I don’t agree with him on foreign policy. I think U.S. leadership is critical in the world…just as Ronald Reagan did.” Paul quickly responded in kind: “I’m a great believer in Ronald Reagan. I’m a great believer in a strong national defense.”
Four months later, Paul claimed that his opposition to the new American military intervention in Iraq reflected the wisdom of the Reagan administration’s approach. Governor Rick Perry of Texas objected to this analysis, observing in the Washington Post that it “conveniently omitted Reagan’s long internationalist record of leading the world with moral and strategic clarity.”
In mid-September, Senator Marco Rubio made the case for rebuilding American defenses by invoking the example of Ronald Reagan—who, like George Washington before him, “viewed the construction of a strong military not as a preparation for aggression, but as an action to prevent aggression.”
So here are four potential GOP candidates for the 2016 presidential election, each appropriating the name of Reagan to validate his own views. They are hardly the only Republicans who do so, and foreign policy is hardly the only area in which it is done. Clearly, anyone seeking to lead today’s Republican Party—in whatever direction, and on almost any topic—feels compelled to invoke a posthumous seal of approval from the man Rush Limbaugh calls “Ronaldo Maximus.” Now, a decade after his death and 34 years after he was first elected president, Ronald Reagan remains, if not the emperor, then the patron saint of the Grand Old Party and of American conservatism. As Paul himself said puckishly, “Every Republican likes to think he or she is the next Ronald Reagan.”
Being claimed by everyone is certainly preferable to being claimed by no one, but the constant invocation of Reagan’s name to bolster arguments for present-day policies (and present-day politicians) actually hinders our understanding of the substance of Reagan’s legacy—and undermines the Republican Party’s ability to make a case for itself in the here-and-now.
However remarkable or successful a president he may have been, Reagan was not a man for all seasons or causes. Less obviously, he was not a man for all conservative causes. But he brought with him a distinct philosophy that, in combination with his no less distinct temperament and disposition, largely set the model for a successful American conservatism. The record lies in the decades of words and deeds that he devoted to public life. Examining that record enables us to say with some precision what he stood for, what he didn’t stand for—and where he was ready to compromise even with sworn enemies.
Gaining a fuller picture of that Reagan may provide some helpful guidance for conservatives, and not just conservatives, in the troubled present.
In his nearly three-decade political career, the former actor Ronald Reagan played many roles: spokesman for the nascent conservative movement, two-term governor of California, challenger of an incumbent president from his own party, and two-term president who reshaped the political landscape and altered the course of both the United States and the world. Was there a systematic set of principles, a political philosophy, driving all this activity? There was, but its essential terms are misunderstood by many of Reagan’s most ardent admirers.
To begin with perhaps the most important distinction: Reagan was indeed a great champion of human freedom, just as his admirers say, and a nemesis of statism. Nevertheless, he was no simplistic, doctrinaire libertarian.
The core of Reagan’s thought lay not primarily in his love of freedom, as powerful as that was, but in something else, something captured in the epitaph on his grave, which quoted his own words:
I know in my heart that man is good. That what is right will always eventually triumph. And there’s purpose and worth to each and every life.
For Reagan, human dignity—not human freedom—came first. This idea permeated his political career.
As early as 1957, in a commencement address at Eureka College, his alma mater, he defined the Cold War as “a simple struggle between those of us who believe that man has the dignity and sacred right and the ability to choose and shape his own destiny and those who do not so believe.” For Reagan, human dignity was what enabled human freedom—that is, the ability of each individual to “shape his own destiny”—not the reverse.
A minor-seeming difference, but a crucial one. For Reagan, it meant that everyone’s choice, whether great or humble, was worthy of protection, and that common virtues were to be valued as much as, if not much more than, uncommon ones. A 1964 National Review essay makes that crystal-clear. Conservatives, he wrote, aim to “represent the forgotten American—that simple soul who goes to work, takes out his insurance, pays for his kids’ schooling, contributes to his church and charity and knows there just ‘ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.’” By virtue of his dignity, such a person, neither high nor low, ought to be allowed to live his life as he sees fit.
He believed the same human dignity was to be found among the destitute. Reagan’s problem with welfare was not that some people received a government check: “I accept without reservation,” he said, “our obligation to help the aged, disabled, and those unfortunates who, through no fault of their own, must depend on their fellow man.” What he despised was a system that “perpetuate[d] poverty by substituting a permanent dole for a paycheck,” thereby “destroy[ing] self-reliance, dignity, and self-respect.” His own reform program, he said in his second inaugural address as governor of California, would instead “maximize human dignity and salvage the destitute.”
This elemental stress on human dignity either went unnoticed or, when noticed, was actively resented by some close to him. David Stockman, Reagan’s first White House budget director, famously called him “too sentimental” for the job of making government into “a spare and stingy creature which offered even-handed public justice, but no more.’’ In his 1986 memoir, The Triumph of Politics, Stockman complained that Reagan “sees the plight of real people before anything else.” True, but this was no mere habit or tic; it was the product of a deeply held conviction about a fundamental obligation of society.
Tellingly, the same conviction lay behind Reagan’s disinclination to adopt the “fuel the entrepreneur” model of economic policy favored by some on the right today. From 1979 to 1981, in the midst of the most serious economic crisis since the Great Depression, he used the word entrepreneur only once in all his major speeches on taxes and the economy. In his first inaugural address as president, the figure of the entrepreneur appears alongside that of the factory worker, the farmer, and the shopkeeper. All are heroes, and all have “every right to dream heroic dreams.”
Tax cuts for Reagan were not an exercise in bringing the top rate down in order to free the lone entrepreneur; they were about giving everyone more wealth to use as he saw fit. Reagan also placed a heavy emphasis on deregulation. Except where absolutely necessary, government regulation, he said, infringed on human dignity because “government can’t control the economy without controlling people.”
Nor, more generally, did Reagan ever embrace the ideology of an unfettered free market that is so often ascribed to him. In his address at Eureka College, he advocated an “economic floor beneath all of us so that no one shall exist below a certain standard of living.” In 1964, he endorsed the idea of Social Security. That same year, and at a time when Medicare did not yet exist, he declared that “no one in this country should be denied medical care because of a lack of funds.”
Does this mean that Reagan supported in toto the programs created by the New Deal and Great Society? Quite the opposite. In his view, most of those programs either forced people into a one-size-fits-all mold unsuited to their particular needs or delivered benefits to those who neither needed nor benefited from them. Although he never laid out a comprehensive view of his ideal welfare state, its basic lineaments emerge from his own programs and major speeches.
Reagan’s welfare state would provide assistance only to those truly in need, and those benefits would be generous. He often touted the success of his California welfare reform, which not only removed people from the rolls but increased benefits to remaining recipients by an average of 43 percent. At the same time, he tried to remove support from those, regardless of income level, who did not need it. One of his budget-cutting targets during his presidency (as is true of today’s Tea Party) was the Export-Import bank. He also wanted to eliminate subsidies to Amtrak, which was costing taxpayers an average of $35 for each passenger it boarded. “Need” for Reagan was an objective concept, not simply a synonym for “want.”
His ideal state would also recognize individual differences in ability and preference. He did not regard Social Security and Medicare as inherently unjust or as unconstitutional exercises of federal power. Rather, he objected to their cookie-cutter uniformity and their coerciveness, a mix that for most people resulted in a bad deal. A person working over an average lifetime at an average salary, he pointed out, could buy an annuity upon retirement that paid nearly twice as much as Social Security. Medicare, for its part, was objectionable mainly because it “forc[ed] all citizens, regardless of need, into a compulsory government program.”
Finally, Reagan’s fundamental stress on human dignity infused his view of the world beyond America’s shores as well as his deep, uncompromising opposition to Communism—truly, to him, the Soviet Union was an “evil empire” in which individuals were conceived and treated as slaves, to be used at will by the state. By contrast, America—the land that enabled every individual to live a life of quiet nobility—had been, he asserted, divinely placed to exemplify the bedrock principle of humanity to the world. “Call it mysticism if you will,” he said; mystical or not, this idea of America’s character and mission was thoroughly of a piece with his general philosophical orientation.
From all of this there emerges a mind-set clearly on the right but not wholly of the right. Reagan often quipped that he did not leave the Democratic Party; in its leftward lurch, it left him. Thus, he never abandoned his New Deal belief that government could genuinely identify and help people in need. But he also never adopted the idea, now heard among conservatives, of an “America in decline,” let alone an America made up of “makers versus takers.” To him, all Americans were makers, and all were capable of becoming takers, in the sense of partakers, of its bounty.
No less of a piece with Reagan’s core political ideas was his public disposition, often characterized as sunny and optimistic. There is certainly something to that, as his consistently upbeat paeans to America and to American possibility confirm. But other qualities of temperament were no less salient.
One of them was his unusual courage. It is largely forgotten now, especially by those on the left who led the attack, but Reagan encountered fierce, white-hot antagonism on nearly every front. When he wasn’t being ridiculed as an uninformed dunce (or an “amiable dunce,” as Clark Clifford said), he was being labeled a racist, a warmonger, a callous oppressor of the poor. Seemingly serenely, Reagan held fast to his course—a course that would eventually see the rollback of Soviet expansionism and the collapse of the “evil empire” abroad and, thanks to “Reaganomics,” the revival of prosperity at home. These are certainly some of the most impressive political feats of the 20th century. (In the words of the economist Lawrence B. Lindsey, Reagan’s economic ideas represented “the greatest challenge to a reigning economic dogma since the overthrow of classical economics in the 1930s.”)
But in addition to having the courage to stick to his ambitions, Reagan understood the nature of politics in a free society and always operated within the four corners of reality. As a former actor, he instinctively grasped the vital importance of public opinion. He spent his political career attempting to shape it, but he was also realistic enough to let it guide both his timing and his choice of which fights merited the expenditure of political capital. He had no interest in impaling himself and his presidency in behalf of such causes as repealing large elements of the New Deal or the Great Society.
Many people are familiar with Reagan’s legendary “there you go again” rejoinder to Jimmy Carter in their one and only debate in 1980. But few recall the context of Reagan’s comments; he wished to make it clear that he was not in favor of doing away with Medicare. The exchange went like this:
Carter: Governor Reagan, as a matter of fact, began his political career campaigning around this nation against Medicare. Now, we have an opportunity to move toward…a national health insurance, important to the American people. Governor Reagan, again, typically is against such a proposal.
Reagan: There you go again. When I opposed Medicare, there was another piece of legislation meeting the same problem before the Congress. I happened to favor the other piece of legislation and thought that it would be better for the senior citizens and provide better care than the one that was finally passed. I was not opposing the principle of providing care for them. [Emphasis added.]
Once in office, indeed, he never sought to eliminate Medicare.
David Stockman said of Reagan, “He had a sense of ultimate values and a feel for long-term direction, but he had no blueprint for radical governance. He had no concrete program to dislocate and traumatize the here-and-now of American society.” Stockman was again being dismissive, but again he was right: Reagan had no interest in traumatizing American society. In key respects, Reagan was more a Burkean conservative than a Jacobin. As president, he was regularly vilified by right-wing activists such as Richard Viguerie and Howard Phillips for being too accommodating, insufficiently principled, a captive of the “establishment,” even a “useful idiot for Soviet propaganda.” Such “true believers on the Republican right,” Reagan is reported to have complained to aides, “prefer to ‘go off the cliff with flags flying’ rather than take half a loaf and come back for more.”
Today, the conservative landscape is dotted with heirs of Viguerie and Phillips who also claim to be the heirs of Reagan. Their claim is false: Reagan was committed to expanding the GOP and its appeal, not to excommunicating people from it.
It helped that Reagan was not by nature angry or agitated. To be sure, from time to time he did lose his temper, frequently to great effect. (“I’m paying for this microphone,” he yelled in the New Hampshire debate that turned around a flagging 1980 campaign.) But as a general matter, he was at peace with himself and with his place in the world. One never had the intimation of a dark, resentful side, as was the case with Richard Nixon; or of a prickly, condescending side, as with Barack Obama. And he even had a relatively charitable view of his political adversaries. “Remember, we have no enemies, only opponents,” former Indiana Governor Mitch Daniels, who worked as a political aide in the Reagan White House, quotes him as admonishing his staff.
This equanimity added to Reagan’s appeal, and made him, for many people, easy to vote for.
So how did America’s 40th president actually govern: as a man of unbending conviction, or as a compromiser more pliant than many of his admirers are willing to admit? The answer is both.
The area in which Reagan proved to be most resolute was national security. This was most evident in his massive defense buildup after the neglect of the Carter years. It was a program opposed not simply by Democrats on ideological grounds but by many in Reagan’s own party who saw it as too costly. Early on, it was also evident in his forceful advocacy of the Strategic Defense Initiative (“Star Wars”), a hugely controversial missile-defense system widely opposed even within his own administration, including by his secretary of state and chief arms negotiators. And it was evident later on when at the 1986 Reykjavik summit, to a chorus of catcalls at home, he refused to shelve the Strategic Defense Initiative in exchange for a sweeping arms-control deal with Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev. “Sunk by Star Wars” is how Time derisively put it on its cover.
That is hardly the whole story. Reagan deployed Pershing II and cruise missiles in Western Europe despite huge protests, and pushed for aid to the anti-Communist Nicaraguan rebels despite ferocious opposition from Democrats and lukewarm support in the country. And, of course, he labeled the Soviet Union an “evil empire,” a phrase so “outrageous” and “primitive” (Anthony Lewis, New York Times) as to leave the impression that he “was contemplating a holy war” (the New Republic).1 Reagan was unmoved by the criticisms. “I made the ‘Evil Empire’ speech and others like it with malice aforethought,” he later cracked.
Reagan was unwavering in his commitment to cutting marginal tax rates as well. The Economic Recovery Tax Act of 1981 included an across-the-board, 23-percent decrease in the marginal income-tax rates over three years, with the top rate falling from 70 to 50 percent—by the time he left office, it had dropped to 28 percent—and the bottom rate lowered from 14 to 11 percent. Despite tremendous pressure to pare back these measures, especially in the third year as the deficit climbed and the economy slid into recession, Reagan refused. And when in 1981 President Reagan had fired more than 11,000 striking air-traffic controllers for violating a law that banned strikes by government unions, it was an act of resoluteness that was noted as far away as the Kremlin.
But if Reagan imposed his will in some areas, in others he gave ground. In 1982, he signed the Tax Equity and Fiscal Responsibility Act (TEFRA), which, though it did not increase tax rates, still qualified as the then largest tax increase in American history. Reagan also agreed to accept a rise in payroll taxes and a substantial tax increase on the self-employed as part of a 1983 deal to avert the financial collapse of the Social Security Trust Fund. Not only did he fail to eliminate the Department of Education, as he had promised to do during the 1980 campaign, but he also increased its budget. Although initially opposed to the IRS’s effort to deny Bob Jones University tax exemption because of the school’s ban on interracial dating and marriage, Reagan completely flipped his position after the story exploded. Nor did he put any real effort behind a constitutional amendment to outlaw abortion. And in 1986, he signed a law granting amnesty to nearly three million illegal immigrants.
Most significant, Reagan did not roll back government to the extent he promised. Indeed, especially after his first year in the presidency, he devoted most of his energies elsewhere. Thus, although at first approving a plan to cut Social Security benefits for prospective early retirees, he quickly capitulated and scrapped it. Nor did he ever mount a serious effort to reform the structural design of entitlement programs. Altogether, during the fiscal years of his presidency (1981–88), federal spending averaged almost 22 percent of GDP, higher than it was under Carter and the highest it had ever been until the Obama presidency.
In short, like most conservatives, Reagan opposed Big Government in the abstract more than he did in the particulars. An illustration: Traveling to the Midwest in 1986, the president boasted to a farm audience that “no area of the budget, including defense, has grown as fast as our support of agriculture,” adding that “this year alone we’ll spend more…than the total amount the last administration provided in all its four years.”
There is no doubt that, overall, he would have preferred to cut government more, but there was no public will for it, and to move adamantly on this front would have forced him to forgo other, more achievable goals, such as deregulation, cutting tax rates, and building up the military.
The same approach was visible in his choice of personnel. Reagan surrounded himself with both “pragmatists” like James Baker and with conservatives like Edwin Meese. His White House communications directors ran the gamut from David Gergen to Patrick J. Buchanan. Sitting in his cabinet were the contrasting Margaret Heckler and William J. Bennett. To the Supreme Court he appointed Sandra Day O’Connor on the one hand and Antonin Scalia on the other. The man who clearly wanted to turn the GOP into a more conservative party campaigned for liberal Republicans such as Charles Percy and Robert Packwood. And when he challenged Gerald Ford in 1976, whom did he pick to be his running mate? Pennsylvania’s Richard Schweiker, one of the most liberal members of the Senate.
Reagan made his share of mistakes. He was a man, after all, who traded arms for hostages, which led to the worst scandal of his presidency. Still, when you put it all together, a picture emerges of a man who was firmly grounded philosophically, committed to attaining his goals, exceptionally resolute, and also much more flexible in his means and methods than many of his contemporary admirers recognize.
Nor can it be forgotten that, despite this flexibility, Reagan secured historic achievements without overreaching or becoming impatient. In his second term a young, impatient Newt Gingrich complained to him about important things that had been left undone. Reagan put his arm around Gingrich and said, “Well, some things you’re just going to have to do after I’m gone.”
Important things were left to be done after Reagan’s presidency, but blessedly fewer than there were before it.
What, then, can Ronald Reagan teach modern-day Republicans, whether in the so-called establishment or in the more populist precincts?
With regard to the former, two things may be said. First, Reagan himself, while never a favorite of the Republican establishment (it regarded him as too conservative, too extreme, too frightening to ordinary Americans), was not in fact antiestablishment. He sought not to destroy the establishment but to win it over to his views. Second, and as a result of Reagan himself, the GOP establishment today is considerably more conservative than it was when he was in office. Congressional Republicans are far less likely to advocate tax increases and have voted for entitlement reforms that far exceed anything he ever proposed. The GOP is also a more solidly pro-life party than when he was elected.
But today’s Republican establishment still has much to learn from Reagan’s example: from his intellectual boldness and willingness to challenge accepted dogmas, from the ease and good-natured confidence with which he handled criticism from the elite media, from his determination to reshape public opinion rather than be held captive by it, and from his ability to identify with struggling blue-collar Americans. Above all, perhaps, the establishment can learn from Reagan’s great conviction that he was elected not to mark time but to make a difference. In this respect, he was more than willing to put forward a governing agenda; he was eager to do so, and wasn’t one to play it safe.
To Tea Party conservatives and their allies, Reagan has another lesson to teach, this one about the importance of prudence—picking battles wisely, and not regarding every issue as a hill to die on. A great party, he would remind them, seeks to enlarge its numbers, not to embark on crusades of purification. Nor is a great leader in principle opposed to negotiations or compromise. As we have seen, Reagan himself practiced the art of compromise throughout his career in politics as well as before, when he was president of the Screen Actor’s Guild. At times he acknowledged what he was doing with his trademark panache. Once, as governor of California, he announced that his feet were set “in concrete” on an issue of state income taxes. When he changed his position, he quipped: “The sound you hear is the concrete cracking around my feet.”
Reagan could also instruct such conservatives in the dangers of abstract theorizing. Ideology, he said in a 1977 speech to the Conservative Political Action Conference, “always conjures up in my mind a picture of a rigid, irrational clinging to abstract theory in the face of reality….I consider this to be the complete opposite to principled conservatism. If there is any political viewpoint in this world which is free from slavish adherence to abstraction, it is American conservatism.”
Reagan could offer advice to the right on how to think and talk about domestic policy. Even when proposing cuts to social programs, for example, he would cite the responsibility of government to support those who cannot care for themselves. He would emphasize, moreover, the value of his proposals for the average person. And he would never argue, as some on the right sometimes do today, that the average individual rises or falls on the actions of entrepreneurs who are implicitly his betters. That idea was foreign to Reagan.
Reagan understood that his liberal opponents would portray his ideas as lacking compassion; he sought to defuse their attacks by marshaling empirical counterarguments, through his frequent invocations of common sense and common virtue, and by explaining why his policies advanced the public good. Modern-day conservatives would benefit from internalizing Reagan’s belief in the inherent value of every human soul.
During his career, as he became increasingly successful at reshaping American politics, liberals attempted to discredit Ronald Reagan by damning him with faint praise. It was his amiability, they suggested, and his abilities as an admittedly “great communicator,” that had allowed him to hoodwink a majority of the American people and blind them to the awfulness of their lives in Reagan’s America. To the left, the plain fact—namely, that Reagan was an immensely popular figure—was unbearable, and had to be explained away.
Reagan was a skilled communicator, and that mattered. But his influence endures nearly 50 years after he was first elected to office not because of his good looks or his good luck, and not primarily because of how well he spoke, but because he spoke truths. It was above all his ideas—about the power of liberty and constitutional self-government, about military strength and political clarity in world affairs, and about the indispensable role in a free society of simple virtue and moral character—that account for his enduring appeal. These are, in the American context, conservative ideas, and he succeeded because they succeeded.
No doubt, as Republicans look toward 2016, the ninth presidential election since Reagan was elected in 1980, his name will be repeatedly invoked and invested with almost talismanic powers. That’s understandable, given his extraordinary achievements. But this makes it all the more important that we see Reagan in the totality of his acts, and not as a one-dimensional figure who merely reinforces our own views. From that Reagan, Republicans have more than enough to learn.
And today’s Republicans need to be careful not to be trapped by Reagan as Democrats eventually allowed themselves to become trapped by FDR and JFK. It’s difficult to grow while living in someone else’s shadow. One thing Reagan himself did superbly well, in fact, was to develop a policy agenda that fit the challenges of his time: high inflation, high interest rates, aggressive advances by the Soviet Union. Reagan was a politician of his time and right for his moment, a moment in which he lived fully, dealing with its realities as they were. By contrast, some of his epigones today appear caught in a time warp, acting as if every year is 1980. Reagan, while conservative to the bone, would never have allowed himself to become captive to the past.
In similar fashion, Republican candidates, especially presidential candidates, need to locate themselves firmly in the here and now. They need to show that they are living fully in this moment, in touch with the concerns of voters in this era, up to the challenges of our time. If they can do this, Republicans will be demonstrating that they have indeed learned a central lesson from the greatest politician and the greatest president their party has produced since Lincoln.
1 In his superb study, The Age of Reagan, Steven F. Hayward offers a cornucopia of these and other nuggets of hysteria.
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If Ronald Reagan Were Alive Today, He Would Be 103 Years Old
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With the demise of the filibuster for judicial nominations, the Senate has become a more partisan body. Members of the opposition party no longer have to take difficult votes to confirm presidential nominees, and so they no longer have to moderate their rhetoric to avoid the appearance of hypocrisy. Many expected, therefore, that Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation hearings would tempt Democrats to engage in theatrics and hyperbole. Few, however, foresaw just how recklessly the Judiciary Committee’s Democratic members would behave.
The sordid performance to which Americans were privy was not the harmless kind that can be chalked up to presidential ambitions. Right from the start, Democratic committee members took a sledgehammer to the foundations of the institution in which they are privileged to serve.
Sen. Cory Booker made national headlines by declaring himself “Spartacus,” but the actions he undertook deserved closer attention than did the scenery he chewed. Booker insisted that it was his deliberate intention to violate longstanding Senate confidentiality rules supposedly in service to transparency. It turns out that the documents Booker tried to release to the public had already been exempted from confidentiality. Booker was adamant, though, that he had undermined the Senate’s integrity. You see, that, not transparency, was his true objective. It was what he believed his constituents wanted from him.
Booker wasn’t alone. Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse appeared to share his colleague’s political instincts. “I want to make it absolutely clear that I do not accept the process,” he said of the committee’s vetting of Kavanaugh’s documents. “Because I do not accept its legitimacy or validity,” Whitehouse added, he did not have to abide by the rules and conventions that governed Senate conduct.
When the committee’s Democratic members were not trying to subvert the Senate’s credibility, they were attempting to impugn Judge Kavanaugh’s character via innuendo or outright fabrications.
Sen. Kamala Harris managed to secure a rare rebuke from the fact-checking institution PolitiFact, which is charitably inclined toward Democratic claims. “Kavanaugh chooses his words very carefully, and this is a dog whistle for going after birth control,” read her comments on Twitter accompanying an 11-second clip in which Kavanaugh characterized certain forms of birth control as “abortion-inducing drugs.” “Make no mistake,” Harris wrote, “this is about punishing women.” But the senator had failed to include mitigating context in that clip, which would have made it clear that Kavanaugh was simply restating the arguments made by the plaintiffs in the case in question.
Later, Harris probed Kavanaugh as to whether he believed the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which has never been explicitly ruled unconstitutional, was wrongly upheld by the Supreme Court. Despite calling the decisions of this period “discriminatory,” Kavanaugh declined to elaborate on a case that could theoretically come before the Supreme Court. This, the judge’s detractors insisted, was “alarming” and perhaps evidence of latent racial hostility. In fact, it was an unremarkable example of how Supreme Court nominees tend to avoid offering “forecasts” of how they will decide cases without having heard the arguments—a routine deemed “the Ginsburg Rule” after Ruth Bader, who perfected the practice.
Over a week later, Harris had still not explained what she was getting at. But she doesn’t have to. The vagueness of her claim was designed to allow Kavanaugh’s opponents’ imaginations to run wild, leading them to draw the worst possible conclusions about this likely Supreme Court justice and to conclude that the process by which he was confirmed was a sham.
Harris may not have been alone in appealing to this shameful tactic. On Thursday, Sen. Dianne Feinstein shocked observers when she released a cryptic statement revealing that she had “referred” to “federal investigative authorities” a letter involving Kavanaugh’s conduct. It’s human nature to arrive at the worst imaginable conclusion as to what these unstated claims might be, and that’s precisely what Kavanaugh’s opponents did. It turned out that the 35-year-old accusations involve an anonymous woman who was allegedly cornered in a bedroom by Kavanaugh and a friend during a high-school party. Kavanaugh, the letter alleged, put a hand over her mouth, but the woman removed herself from the situation before anything else occurred. All were minors at the time of this alleged episode, and Kavanaugh denies the allegations.
Some thought it was odd for Feinstein to refer these potentially serious allegations to the FBI this week and in such a public fashion when the allegations contained in a letter were known to Democrats for months. The letter was, after all, obtained by Democratic Rep. Anna Eshoo in July. But it doesn’t seem confusing when considering the facts that the FBI all but dismissed the referral off-hand and reporting on the episode lacks any corroboration to substantiate the claims made by the alleged victim here. It is hard not to conclude that this is an attempt to affix an asterisk to Brett Kavanaugh’s name. Democrats will not only claim that this confirmation process was tainted but may now contend that Kavanaugh cannot be an impartial arbitrator—not with unresolved clouds of suspicion involving sexual assault hanging over his head.
Ultimately, as public polling suggests, the Democratic Party’s effort to tarnish Kavanaugh’s reputation through insinuation and theatrics has had the intended effect. Support for this nominee now falls squarely along party lines. But the collateral damage Senate Democrats have done to America’s governing institutions amid this scorched-earth campaign could have lasting and terrible consequences for the country.
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While the nation’s attention is focused on the Carolina coast, something very odd is happening across the country in Sunspot, New Mexico.
Sunspot is hardly a town at all–the nearest stores are 18 miles away. It’s actually a solar observatory 9,200 feet up in the Sacramento Mountains. It is open to the public and has a visitor’s center, but don’t visit it right now. On September 6th, the FBI moved in and evacuated all personnel using Black Hawk helicopters. Local police were told to stay away. The only explanation being given by the FBI is that an unresolved “security issue” is the cause of the evacuation.
The sun is the only astronomical body capable of doing major damage to planet earth without actually hitting us. A coronal mass ejection aimed at the earth could have a devastating impact on satellites, radio transmission, and the electrical grid, possibly causing massive power outages that could last for weeks, even months. (It would also produce spectacular auroras. During the Carrington Event of 1859, the northern lights were seen as far south as the Caribbean and people in New England could read newspapers by the light.)
So, there are very practical, not just intellectual reasons, to know what the sun is up to. But the National Solar Observatory right now is a ghost town, and no one will say why. Such a story should be catnip for journalists.
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It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you.
Americans awoke Thursday morning to a familiar noise: The president of the United States waxing conspiratorial and declaring himself the victim of a nefarious plot.
“3,000 people did not die in the two hurricanes that hit Puerto Rico,” Donald Trump declared on Twitter. He insisted that the loss of life in the immediate aftermath of 2017’s Hurricane Maria topped out in the low double-digits and ballooned into the thousands well after the fact because of faulty accounting. The president did not claim that this misleading figure was attributable to flaws in the studies conducted in the aftermath of last year’s disaster by institutions like George Washington University or the New England Journal of Medicine but to a deliberate misinformation campaign orchestrated by his political opponents. “This was done by the Democrats in order to make me look as bad as possible,” Trump insisted.
If, for some mysterious reason, Trump wanted to attack the validity of these studies, he might have questioned the assumptions and biases that even their authors admit had an unavoidable effect on their confidence intervals. But Trump’s interest is not in accuracy. His desire is to shield himself from blame and to project his administration’s failings—even those as debatable as the disaster that afflicted Puerto Rico for the better part of a year—onto others. The president’s self-consciousness is so transparent at this point that even his defenders in Congress have begun directly confronting the insecurities that fuel these tweets.
Donald Trump has rarely encountered a conspiracy theory he declined to legitimize, and this tendency did not abate when he won the presidency. From his repeated assertions that Moscow’s intervention in the 2016 election was a “hoax,” to the idea that the FBI shielded Hillary Clinton from due scrutiny, to the baseless notion that “millions and millions” of illegal-immigrant voters deprived him of a popular vote victory, all of this alleged sedition has a common theme: Trump is the injured party.
The oddest thing about all this is that these are the golden days. Trump-era Republicans will look back on this as the halcyon period in which all of Washington’s doors were open to them. The president’s ostensible allies control every chamber of government. The power his adversaries command is of the soft sort—cultural and moral authority—but not the kind of legal power that could prevent Trump and Republicans from realizing their agenda. That could be about to change.
The signs that a backlash to unified Republican rule in Washington was brewing have been obvious almost since the moment Trump took the oath of office. Democrats have consistently overperformed in special and off-year elections, their candidates have outraised the GOP, and a near-record number of Republicans opted to retire rather than face reelection in 2018. The Democratic Party’s performance in the generic ballot test has outpaced the GOP for well over a year, sometimes by double-digits, leading many to speculate that Democrats are well positioned to retake control of the House of Representatives. Now, despite the opposition party’s structural disadvantages, some are even beginning to entertain the prospect of a Democratic takeover in the Senate.
Until this point, the Trump administration has faced no real adversity. Sure, the administration’s executive overreach has been rejected in the courts and occasionally public outcry has forced the White House to abandon ill-considered initiatives, but it’s always been able to rely on the GOP majorities in Congress to shield it from the worst consequences of its actions. That phase of the Trump presidency could be over by January. For the first time, this president could have to contend with at least one truly adversarial chamber of the legislature, and opposition will manifest first in the form of investigations.
How will the White House respond when House Oversight and Reform Committee Chairman Elijah Cummings is tasked with investigating the president’s response to a natural disaster or when he subpoenas the president’s personal records? How will Trump respond when Judiciary Committee Chair Jerrold Nadler is overseeing the investigation into the FBI’s response to Russia’s meddling in the 2016 election, not Bob Goodlatte? Will the Department of Homeland Security’s border policies withstand public scrutiny when it’s Mississippi’s Bennie Thompson, not Texas’s Michael McCaul, doing the scrutinizing? How will Wall Street react to a Washington where financial-services oversight is no longer led by Jeb Hensarling but Maxine Waters? If the Democrats take the House, the legislative phase of the Trump era be over, but the investigative phase will have only just begun.
In many ways, this presidency behaved as though it were operating in a bunker from day one, and not without reason. Trump had every reason to fear that the culture of Washington and even many of the members of his own party were secretly aligned against him, but the key word there is “secret.” The secret is about to be out. The Trump White House hasn’t yet faced a truly adversarial Washington institution with teeth, but it is about to. If you think you’ve seen a bunker mentality in this White House, you haven’t seen anything yet.
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Podcast: Google and Kavanaugh.
Will Google survive the revelations of its political bias, or are those revelations nothing new? We delve into the complexities of the world in which important tech companies think they are above politics until they decide they’re not. Also some stuff on the Supreme Court and on polls. Give a listen.
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Smeared for doing the job.
When then-presidential candidate Donald Trump famously declared his intention to be a “neutral” arbiter of the conflict between Israel and the Palestinian territories and put the onus for resolving the conflict on Jerusalem, few observers could have predicted that Trump would run one of the most pro-Israel administrations in American history.
This year, the Trump administration began relocating the U.S. embassy in Israel to the nation’s capital city, fulfilling a promise that began in 1995 with the passage of a law mandating this precise course of action. The administration also declined to blame Israel for defending its Gaza border against a Hamas-led attack. Last week, the administration shuttered the PLO’s offices in Washington.
The Trump administration’s commitment to shedding the contradictions and moral equivalencies that have plagued past administrations has exposed anti-Zionism for what its critics so often alleged it to be.
This week, Department of Education Assistant Secretary of Education for Civil Rights Kenneth Marcus announced his intention to vacate an Obama-era decision that dismissed an alleged act of anti-Semitism at Rutgers University. Marcus’s decision to reopen that particularly deserving case has led the New York Times to publish an article by Erica L. Green full of misconceptions, myths, and dissimulations about the nature of the anti-Israel groups in question and the essential characteristics of anti-Semitism itself.
In reporting on Marcus’s move, Green declared the education activist and opponent of the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) movement a “longtime opponent of Palestinian rights causes,” a designation the paper’s editor felt fine printing without any substantiating evidence. You could be forgiven for thinking that BDS itself constituted a cause of “Palestinian rights” and not an international effort to stigmatize and harm both Israel and its supporters. If you kept reading beyond that second paragraph, your suspicions were confirmed.
Green contended that Marcus’s decision has paved the way for the Education Department to adopt a “hotly contested definition of anti-Semitism” that includes: denying Jews “the right to self-determination,” claiming that the state of Israel is a “racist endeavor,” and applying a double standard to Israel not “expected or demanded of any other democratic nation.” As Jerusalem Post reporter and COMMENTARY contributor Lahav Harkov observed, this allegedly “hotly contested definition” is precisely the same definition used by the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance. In 2010, the IHRA’s working definition was adopted almost in total by Barack Obama’s State Department.
Green went so far as to say that this not-so-new definition for anti-Semitism has, according to Arab-American activists, declared “the Palestinian cause anti-Semitic.” So that is the Palestinian cause? Denying Jews the right to self-determination, calling the state of Israel itself a racist enterprise, and holding it to nakedly biased double standards? So much for the two-state solution.
Perhaps the biggest tell in the Times piece was its reporters’ inability to distinguish between pro-Palestinian activism and anti-Israeli agitation. The complaint the Education Department is preparing to reinvestigate involves a 2011 incident in which an event hosted by the group Belief Awareness Knowledge and Action (BAKA) allegedly imposed an admissions fee on Jewish and pro-Israel activists after unexpected numbers arrived to protest the event. An internal email confirmed that the group only charged this fee because “150 Zionists” “just showed up,” but the Obama administration dismissed the claim, saying that the organization’s excuse—that it expected heftier university fees following greater-than-expected attendance—was innocuous enough.
Green did not dwell on the group, which allegedly discriminated against Jews and pro-Israeli activists. If she had, she’d have reported that, just a few weeks before this incident, BAKA staged another event on Rutgers’s campus—a fundraiser for the organization USTOGAZA, which provided aid to the campaign of “flotillas” challenging an Israeli blockade of Gaza. USTOGAZA’s links to the Turkey-based organization Insani Yardim Vakfi (IHH), which has long been associated with support for Hamas-led terrorist activities, rendered the money raised in this event legally suspect. Eventually, as Brooke Goldstein wrote for COMMENTARY, even BAKA conceded the point:
After community members demanded that Rutgers, a state-funded university, hold an investigation before handing over any money to USTOGAZA, the school responded by offering to keep the money raised in an escrow account until a suitable recipient could be found. In June 2011, BAKA sent out an e-mail admitting the University had, after “much deliberation” and despite their initial approval, “decided that they are not willing to release the funds to the US to Gaza effort” due to concerns of being found liable for violating the material-support statutes.
Rutgers prudently limited BAKA’s ability to participate in on-campus events after these incidents, but the organization that took their place—Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP)—is no better. The Times quoted officials with the Center for Law and Justice who praised Marcus’s move and cited SJP as a source of particular consternation, but the reporters did not delve into the group’s activities. If they had, they’d find that the organization’s activities—among them declaring that “Zionists are racists,” supporting anti-Zionist individuals despite credible accusations of child abuse, and endorsing Hamas’s governing platform, which labels the entire state of Israel “occupied territory”—fits any cogent definition of anti-Semitism. This is to say nothing of the abuse and harassment that American Jews experience on college campuses that play host to SJP’s regular “Israel apartheid weeks.”
Some might attribute the Times’ neutral portrayal of groups that tacitly support violence and people like Omar Barghouti—an activist who “will never accept a Jewish state in Palestine” and has explicitly endorsed “armed resistance” against Jews, who he insists are “not a people”—to ignorance, as though that would neutralize the harm this dispatch might cause. But the Times piece has emboldened those who see Israel’s Jewish character as a threat both to its political culture and our own. That worrying sentiment was succinctly expressed by New York Magazine’s Eric Levitz: “You don’t have to be a staunch supporter of the Palestinian cause to question Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish state.”
The benefit of the doubt only extends so far. Even the charitably inclined should have discovered its limits by now.