From an informal e-missive he sends out:
The Goldberg File
By Jonah Goldberg
Sept. 27, 2013
Deer Readers (Really people, there are easier things to get your
news from than ruminant mammals. They're covered in ticks, and
they won't stand still. Get an iPad),
Okay, so I wrote the bulk of this "news"letter yesterday and I
was in a pretty foul mood. After a good night's sleep, I'm a
little less whiny, but I don't really have much time to write a
new one. So this will be one of the rare instances where my
normal column is more G-Filey than the G-File. An excerpt
:
For instance, here's Senate majority leader Harry Reid, who
walked out of the painting American Gothic to deliver this
homespun wisdom: "We're not going to bow to tea-party
anarchists who deny the mere fact that Obamacare is the law.
We will not bow to tea-party anarchists who refuse to accept
that the Supreme Court ruled that Obamacare is
constitutional."
Where to begin? For starters, I know a great many
self-described members of the Tea Party, and I've yet to meet
one who would not acknowledge — admittedly with dismay — that
Obamacare is the law. Nor have I met one unwilling to concede
that the Supreme Court ruled that Obamacare is constitutional.
Though from my informal polling, I can report that most think
the Court's reasoning left much to be desired (logic,
persuasiveness,
consistency, etc.).
Lurking beneath such lazy rhetoric is a nasty psychological
insinuation that there's something deranged not just about
opposing Obamacare, but about being a conservative. This is an
ancient smear, used to discredit conservatives in order to
avoid debating them.
Reid is a dim and sallow man whose tin ear long ago started to
rust. But it's worth pointing out that "anarchy" is not
defined in any textbook or dictionary I can find as "the
absence of Obamacare." While, yes, it's true that Mad Max,
most zombie movies, and other post-apocalyptic films are set
in worlds without Obamacare, that's really not the most
salient factor.
Okay, now onto yesterday's G-File today.
Dear Readers and the other kind,
Personally, this week has been like watching Michael Moore doing
a nude yoga routine, unendurably ugly from beginning to end, yet
with a few moments of dark comedy in between. And it's only
Thursday (Yes, I'm trying to write this a day early because
family issues will take priority in the morning).
I'm only referring in part to the political spectacle, but let's
focus on that right now. We've seen these kinds of arguments
quite a few times over the last decade. I could recount the
episodes, but at least in my memory their intensity has never
been this bad or widespread. While I think every individual
person has his own reasons, as a generalization I think there
are two factors driving pretty much everyone's crankiness.
The Weariness of Defeat
First, we're exhausted. Some may be exhausted with the fighting,
as Ted Cruz and others contend, but I think more are exhausted
by the losing -- or at least the feeling that we're losing.
People have diverse reactions when they feel like they're
losing. Some quit, sure. But I don't think there's a lot of
quitting on the right these days.
There are at least two other kinds of responses to the sense of
defeat. Some decide to go all out in one last frontal assault.
Others opt to grow more selective in their battles. Sonny
Corleone wanted to brawl, right now. Michael Corleone wanted to
play it cool until the right moment came along. Some boxers,
sensing the bout is getting away from them, go for the knockout
as quickly as possible. Others decide to lay back until their
opponent
tires himself out. In the Battle of Pharsalus, Pompey reluctantly went for the quick
coup de grâce and lost it all. Caesar, left with the option to fight or die, chose
to fight and won. Whatever, pick your own damn metaphor.
The point that I think is really, really, important is that
neither option is right or wrong in the abstract. It all depends
on the situation. More on that in a moment.
The Clarity of Fear
The second factor, I think, is that we're all afraid. And I
don't mean that in the way the people shouting at me from their
electronic perches mean it. I mean we're all patriots. We all
believe that Obamacare is a disaster and could fundamentally
transform America in ways that will hurt it.
(As an aside, it's worth noting again that there is something
fundamentally unpatriotic in the yearning to fundamentally
transform your country. I love my wife. Inherent to loving her
is loving her for who she is. Gentlemen, turn to your wife and
say, "Honey, I love you completely. It's just that I want to
fundamentally transform you into someone else." See how that
plays out. If you want to fundamentally transform the object of
your
affection so that it conforms to your fantasies, that is not love, it is lust.)
I've never liked the glib way people denigrate fear as if it's a
character flaw. There is nothing wrong or cowardly about being
afraid. A good father is afraid when his child is in harm's way.
A good commanding officer is afraid when his men are under fire.
Fear is like pain -- it tells you something you need to know. I
don't believe any man is fearless, but if such a person exists
he is a fool. Courage is not the absence of fear, it is the
triumph over it. In other words, what you do with your fear is the true test of
character.
To love is to fear, because love demands that you invest your
faith and happiness in something or someone outside of yourself
and that is a kind of surrender. It is a surrendering of your
narrow self-interest to something that ultimately you cannot
fully control, and that is inherently frightening. Patriotism,
stripped of complication and theory is, simply love of country.
And most conservatives who love their country have that hollow
queasy
feeling in the pits of their stomachs -- like that angst you get when you can't find
your child at the Mall -- that something they love is in danger.
This is what unites the factions in the argument currently
splitting the Right. We are members of the same family arguing
about what to do about something we love when we fear she is
about to be harmed.
The Airing of My Grievances
I'm done arguing the tactics for now. Everyone knows that stuff
at this point, or at least they should. I've had long talks with
people on the other side of the argument this week, including
some quite close to Ted Cruz. I'll confess to the mistake of not
listening more closely to them sooner. I'm more sympathetic to
Cruz's gambit at the end of this week than I was at the
beginning. But I still think his plan wouldn't work even if all
of his
critics agreed to participate in a strategy they sincerely believed would fail. Lack
of Republican unity behind a flawed idea is not the reason the idea is flawed. But I
can tell you this: I sincerely and with all my heart hope I am wrong.
The Cruz Side & the Dark Side
And while my sympathy for Cruz's effort has grown, and my
admiration for his performance on the Senate floor is sincere
and deep, I also find his criticism of people who disagree with
him utterly indefensible on its face. He says:
If we look to a ragtag bunch of colonists in the 18th century,
the idea that we would stand up to Great Britain, the British
army -- the most mighty military force on the face of the
planet -- was impossible. It can't be done. I guarantee that
all of the pundits we see going on TV and intoning in deep
baritone voices: This cannot be done -- if we were back in the
18th century, they would be writing messages in dark ink and
sending it by
carrier pigeon, saying: This cannot be done. You can't stand up to the British army.
It can't be done. It is impossible. Accept your subjugation. Accept your taxation
without representation. Accept that this is impossible.
And:
You know, if you fast-forward to the Civil War, a time of
enormous pain, anguish, bloodshed in the United States, there
were a lot of voices then who said the Union cannot be saved.
Can't be done. Accept defeat. I suspect those same pundits,
had they been around in the mid 19th century, they would have
written those same columns . . . this cannot be done.
And:
I suspect those same pundits who say it can't be done, if it
had been in the 1940s we would have been listening to them. .
. . They would have been on TV [sic] and they would have been
saying, you cannot defeat the Germans.
I'll admit it: I take this personally. The mere suggestion that
because I disagree with Ted Cruz's legislative strategy I would
acquiesce to the Nazis conquering Europe and finishing the Final
Solution is repugnant. The idea that I would surrender not only
to the dissolution of the Union but the perpetuation of slavery,
simply because I don't think you can force Barack Obama to sign
into law the elimination of Obamacare, is a slander. The claim
that if you disagree with him you are no different than Royalists denying the
righteousness of the American Revolution is ridiculous.
Now I know Ted Cruz a little, and I've always liked him when I
talked to him. Some of my closest friends and colleagues are
good friends of his. But the most charitable I can be on this
score is that I am entirely open to the idea that Cruz doesn't
actually believe this and he's just letting the rhetoric get
away from him. Perhaps he hasn't thought it through -- something
that's hard to believe given how smart and intellectually
meticulous he
is. Or maybe he does realize what he is saying, but thinks the stakes warrant giving
dissenters no honorable room to disagree with him. Neither, by my lights, is an
excuse.
By the way, the more apt analogy to World War II would be that
we are in the midst of the Sitzkrieg, or maybe the early days
after Pearl Harbor or some other time when war had already been
declared but the necessary assets for victory weren't in place
yet. We must invade Europe now, say the Cruzers, or Hitler will
win. No, we've got to wait until we can
actually win the inevitable fight.
It's not a great analogy, but it captures the fact that the
people Cruz is accusing of cowardice have actually spent years
doing what they can to stop Obamacare. That Eisenhower waited
until June of 1944 to land at Normandy did not mean he wanted
Hitler to win in June of 1943.
Taking It Personally
But my anger isn't really aimed at Ted Cruz anymore, in part
because I still want him to succeed and prove me wrong. It's at
you, Dear Reader. Well, maybe not you or you, but definitely
you.
When writing a letter to many thousands of people, it's hard to
narrowcast to a relatively few individuals. But those
individuals know who they are. In the last week, in e-mails,
comments sections, and on Twitter, I've heard from lots of
people who think that because I am not swept up in Cruz-mania
that I am therefore a sell-out, a fake conservative, a coward
(or even a pro-Confederacy, Nazi-stooge Royalist).
Look, I'm a big boy ("literally and figuratively" -- the Couch),
and I've been through this more times than I can count. But that
doesn't mean it becomes any less insulting or dispiriting. I'm
not trying to play the martyr, and I fully recognize that the
issues here are mountains and my personal feelings are a grain
of sand in comparison. But when people who've been reading and
corresponding with me for years glibly accuse me of abandoning
my principles out of a desire to get more invitations to "cocktail parties" it pisses
me off.
I have no problem with people disagreeing with me. I admit I've
gotten things wrong plenty of times (more than that if you
listen to my wife or my couch). But I forwent invitations to
liberal cocktail parties long before I got dragged into the
Lewinsky scandal. And any remaining microscopic chance at
liberal love went out the window with a book called Liberal
Fascism. Before and after those personal landmarks is a road
paved with literally millions of words in defense of conservative principles and causes, as I
see them. The only thing that might get me invited to Andrea Mitchell's house for a
martini is if I pulled a full David Brock, which is about as enticing a prospect as
being Roseanne Barr's personal proctologist. Besides, I grew up on the Upper West
Side of Manhattan. I've been to liberal cocktail parties. They're not that great.
Again, this isn't about me -- but this "news"letter pretty much
is! And the only way it works is if I vent what's on my mind.
And the only way I know how to be a pundit is to say what I
think. Obviously, there is a tension between being part of a
movement and maintaining independence. But I think the Dick
Morris approach of saying what your fans want to hear regardless
of the truth is not merely dishonest, but dishonorable.
In fact, anyone in my line of work who tells his audience only
what it wants to hear isn't really in my line of work. He's an
entertainer or cheerleader. There's a need for such people in
any movement, and while I don't think you have to be all one or
the other (I'll cheerlead from time to time), the second you
start saying things you don't think are true, you've declared
yourself a hack or an entertainer or politician, none of which
are what I signed up for. And, since we're on this honesty kick, when well-compensated
commentators whose whole business model is to tell their audiences exactly what they
want to hear say that I or National Review are "selling out" by disagreeing with our
readers, it stews my bowels. In purely financial terms, there's only downside for me
to disagree with the people who buy my books or read my columns. For National
Review, taking unpopular positions on the right doesn't add to the
subscription rolls.
Anyway, I know, I know this G-File is lacking in the requisite
jocularity. But frankly that's because some of you pissed me
off. Not because you disagreed with me, but because you didn't
give me the benefit of the doubt -- which I think I've earned
from you, and you, and maybe not you, because you're new around
here.