Out of Many, Two?
They may not mean to do it, but America's
political leaders are deepening the nation's divisions.
By Peggy Noonan in the
Wall Street Journal and Real Clear Politics
I had a conversation
this week with an acquaintance of considerable accomplishment in the political
and financial worlds. The talk turned to how some prospective presidential
candidates seem to be running to lead two different countries. Rick Perry, say,
and Elizabeth Warren experience, see, reflect and approach two very different
realities. The conversation then took a surprising turn. My acquaintance said
it's possible the U.S. in our lifetimes will simply break up, tear apart. This
might not be so terrible, he said, it would probably work out fine. He spoke
not with an air of alarm but philosophically and almost cheerfully, which took
me aback. I think a lot about the general subject of what deeply divides us,
occasionally with a feeling of some alarm. I mentioned that America has been
more or less politically divided since I was a young woman—I remembered Time
magazine had a big piece on "The Two Americas" in 1969, when I was a
teenager. Back then divisions played themselves out in such national arguments
as Vietnam and Watergate.
I realized after our
conversation that throughout my adulthood I had thought of America as more or
less divided, with 20% or so in the center who politically hold things
together. I remembered Lee Atwater told me, in 1988, that every presidential
election takes place in the 20 yards in the center of the field.
At the same time I had
always assumed that America was uniquely able to tolerate division. Shared
patriotic feeling and respect for our political traditions left us, as a
nation, with a lot of give. We could tug this way or that, correct and
overcorrect, and do fine.
My concern the past
few decades has been that we've lost or are losing some of that give, that
divisions are sharper and deeper now in part because many of the issues that
separate us are so piercing and personal. Vietnam and Watergate were outer issues.
Many questions now speak of our essence as human beings. For instance: In the
area of what are called the social issues, there are those (I am one) who
passionately believe there must be some limits on what is legal, that horrors
such as those that occurred in the office of Kermit Gosnell remind us that at
the very least babies viable or arguably viable outside the womb must be
protected. They can't just be eliminated; if that is allowed we have entered a
new stage of barbarism, and the special power of barbarism is that once
unleashed it brings more barbarism. A worldview away—a universe away—are those
who earnestly insist that any limit on a woman's right to terminate a pregnancy
constitutes an illegitimate restriction on the essential rights of all
women—that abortion is a personal concern, not a societal one.
One side is trying to
protect a human life, the other a perceived right. Both sides in some way
represent a different country with different assumptions and understandings of
what is compassionate, decent, right.
And abortion of
course, though a major, grinding issue, is only one. At the moment the border,
the National
Security Agency, privacy,
overregulation and ObamaCare chafe away. My fear is that the issues mount,
increase and are experienced as a daily harassment by more and more people who,
public education being the spotty thing it's been, are less held together than
in the past by a unified patriotic theory of America, and consequently less
keen on—and protective of—our political traditions. And things begin to fray
very badly, even, down the road, to breaking points.
What do our political
leaders do to make things better? Or worse? Here I turn to a surprising yet
understandable dynamic that I think exists among them. It is that people grow
up in a certain environment and tend to think that environment, and its
assumptions, are continuing and will always continue. After the beginning of
the great recession I saw the money gushing out of Washington to stabilize the
system, to reward political cronies, to keep people afloat, to grease all
wheels. There was a lot of waste, as is always true in government but is truer
when the spigot is fully open. But not many in Washington seemed deeply
concerned. The waste, the long-term deficits, the pumped-up Fed, the fear of
impending bankruptcy—all gave rise to a feeling of alarm among many in the
country. But not among many in Washington. Why?
I came to think that
policy disagreement aside, it was that most people in politics grew up in and
were surrounded by, in the first 30 or 50 years of their lives, an incredibly,
historically affluent America, one whose financial strength was so mighty it could
absorb any blow. This fact of their lives became their reigning assumption: You
can do any amount of damage to America and it will be fine.
The country they grew
up in is the country that lived in their heads. But when they brought their
pasts into the future it kept them from seeing the present, in which America
could actually be harmed, even go bankrupt.
I think this dynamic
applies to assumptions among the political class regarding unending American
unity. In the lives of every American now in politics the country has always
managed to maneuver itself through rocky shoals, eased its way through changes,
survived every challenge not only intact but stronger.
That has been the past
so they think it is the future. I think this keeps them from seeing clearly the
chafing, antagonized, even fearful present. No nation's unity, cohesion and
feeling of being at peace with itself can be taken for granted, even ours. They
have to be protected day by day, in part by what politicians say. They
shouldn't be making it worse. They shouldn't make divisions deeper.
In just the past week
that means:
The president
shouldn't be using a fateful and divisive word like "impeachment" to
raise money and rouse his base. He shouldn't be at campaign-type rallies where
he speaks only to the base, he should be speaking to the country. He shouldn't
be out there dropping his g's, slouching around a podium, complaining about his
ill treatment, describing his opponents with disdain: "Stop just hatin'
all the time." The House minority leader shouldn't be using the border
crisis as a campaign prop, implying that Republicans would back Democratic
proposals if only they were decent and kindly: "It's not just about having
a heart. It's about having a soul." And, revealed this week, important
government administrators like Lois Lerner shouldn't be able to operate within
an agency culture so sick with partisanship that she felt free to refer to
Republicans, using her government email account, as "crazies" and
"—holes."
All this reflects a
political culture of brute and mindless disdain, the kind of culture that makes
divisions worse.
They do this because
they do not understand that they have an actual responsibility to hold this
thing, America, together, every day. The more placid, more cohering nation they
grew up in is in the past. Unity, cohesion and respect are no longer things
that can be lauded now and then in prepared remarks. They actually have to be
practiced.
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