Friday, June 30, 2017

Keeping the POTUS Occupied

Somebody needs to send the POTUS a coloring book and crayons. This could keep occupied between tweeting and watching Fox and Friends.

Throwing Dimes

It's true that once upon a time I threw the bums a dime in my prime, but now that I am past my prime, am I relieved of that obligation?

Beyond Obscene

U.S. Senator Bernie Sanders — US Senator for Vermont
10 hrs
Dozens of different studies have looked at how many people will die as a result of losing health insurance, and do you know what all the studies concluded? Thousands of people will actually die. That's not Bernie Sanders. That is doctors, scientists who look at this issue. That's the kind of outrage that we're looking at. Seeing up to 28,000 people die each year if you throw 23 million people off health insurance to give $500 billion in tax breaks to the richest 2% insurance companies and drug companies. That is beyond obscene.

Obamacare Will Never Die

DEMOCRACY & GOVERNMENT

Why the Obamacare Repeal Effort Will Not Die, No Matter What

People will continue to vote enthusiastically for the party that will strip them of their health care so long as that party promises to turn back the clock.
Demonstrators protest changes to the Affordable Care Act on June 22, 2017 in Chicago. (Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images)
If you want to calibrate just how bad the Senate Republican health care bill is, you don’t need the Congressional Budget Office telling you that 22 million Americans would lose their insurance. Look no further than Susan Collins. The bill is so god-awful that the Republican senator from Maine, whom I lacerated last week for always fretting and dithering over her party’s initiatives only to support them in the end, wouldn’t even vote to bring it to the floor.
Of course, Collins being Collins, she says she is open to negotiations, and I suspect Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell will make a concession on Collins’ precious Health Savings Accounts. Whether the opposition of Collins and others ultimately sinks the bill remains to be seen, though I wouldn’t count on it. The vote postponement notwithstanding, Republicans being Republicans are going to resurrect it with nips and tucks for many more go-rounds, since Republicans are absolutely determined to savage Medicaid and ultimately destroy it. Stay tuned.
Since the vast majority of the public loathe the GOP bill, and since it has been universally panned in the media and by just about every stakeholder, you have to wonder how the GOP can keep flogging it. The answer is that they clearly feel there will be no political consequences for doing so, and they may be right. Republican Dean Heller, who came out against it this week, represents Nevada, a blue state with a heavy Medicaid enrollment, so he is unlikely to be wooed, but among Republicans running in 2018, he is virtually alone. (He was not spared, however, from attacks from a Trump super PAC, and he is almost certain to be primaried from the right.) No one else in the party seems to fear retribution as much as they fear bucking conservative ideology. 
Take West Virginia. Thirty percent of West Virginians — some 554,000 people — are dependent on Medicaid, which the Republican Senate bill will effectively decimate, and the state has a serious opioid problem, which Obamacare addresses. Still, West Virginia gave Trump, who campaigned on the promise to repeal Obamacare, a whopping 42-point margin of victory, and there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that it will vote for a Democratic presidential candidate in my lifetime.
Or take Kentucky. Out of a population of 4.5 million, 1.3 million are on Medicaid. And yet its senior senator, McConnell, is the architect of the plan to reduce Medicaid, and the state’s other senator, Rand Paul, has no qualms about saying he wants to destroy Medicaid altogether. Once again, there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that either McConnell or Paul will lose re-election.
Politics is supposed to operate on the principle that if an officeholder works against the interest of his or her constituents, those constituents will take revenge by booting him or her out of office. That’s just common sense. And it’s also common sense that health care should be a prime consideration for those constituents. When Republicans propose huge tax cuts for the wealthy while simultaneously cutting health benefits for the poor and the working and middle classes, or when they propose a bill that drives up premiums and deductibles while shredding the safety net, the logical result would be a revolt. Instead, these folks keep coming back to the party, which is why the GOP can keep coming back to its Draconian health care plan.
It isn’t the economy, stupid, or health care reform that drives voters to Republicanism. It is their perception of the march of history. They have come to believe that they are a persecuted white majority, and that grievance supersedes everything else, including their own health insurance. Republicans count on that.
How do you parse this? You could say that people don’t understand their self-interest very well, and there is certainly some truth to that. A Kaiser Health poll shows that a bare 51 percent of Americans now support Obamacare, which is a high-water mark, while 74 percent have a favorable view of Medicaid, the very linchpin of Obamacare. That suggests they don’t understand how inextricably Obamacare and Medicaid are bound.
Or you can say, as I wrote here, that many of these folks believe in stripping government benefits from the seemingly undeserving, even if doing so hurts themselves.
Yet it isn’t the economy, stupid, or health care reform that drives these voters to Republicanism. It is their perception of the march of history. They have come to believe that they are a persecuted white majority, and that grievance supersedes everything else, including their own health insurance. Republicans count on that.
Three recent surveys support this explanation. One, a recent post-mortem of the 2016 election by the non-partisan Democracy Fund Voter Study Group, reports that Trump’s vote, especially among whites, had far less to do with economic distress than with nativism, racism, sexism and Islamophobia — what you might call cultural distress.
Another analysis conducted by the Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) and The Atlantic magazine also found that economic distress did not correlate with Trump support. In fact, it was the opposite: “Those who reported being in fair or poor financial shape were 1.7 times more likely to support Clinton, compared to those who were in better financial shape.” But those who felt culturally dispossessed and felt that the country needed to be safeguarded against immigrant invasion were 3.5 times as likely to support Trump as those who felt differently.
If you still don’t think that lots of working-class white Americans feel culturally aggrieved, consider another survey in February by PRRI finding that white evangelicals believe Christians are more discriminated against in America than Muslims, with 57 percent asserting “a lot” of discrimination against Christians.
This jibes with an earlier study from Michael Norton of the Harvard Business School and Samuel Sommers of Tufts that showed deep white belief in “reverse racism” coupled with the belief that African-American gains come at the expense of white losses.
On its face, of course, this is absurd. There is virtually no metric — be it education, wages, wealth, social mobility or health — in which African-Americans have it better than whites. (I won’t even address Islamophobia versus an animus against Christianity because it is beyond absurd.) But we now generally accept that many whites, especially older, uneducated and religious whites, believe — not entirely without justification — that they are on the wrong side of history. Everything seems to be moving against them and against the dominance they once asserted, and to them, America seems cleaved between a halcyon past and a foreboding future, which may be the real division in America that subsumes so many others.
This sense of dispossession is the what sociologist Arlie Russell Hochschild calls the “deep story” — the story told by one’s feelings as opposed to the story told by the facts. In her book, Strangers in Their Own Land, Hochschild writes that working-class Republicans’ deep story is one of betrayal, neglect, disrespect, suspicion and unfairness.
Such cultural disaffection is what our ahistorical president preys upon. He promised that he would push back history, that he would rescue whites from immigrants and minorities and women and intellectuals and homosexuals. He promised that he would restore the America they believed they had lost.
“Make America Great Again” is a euphemism for “Make America White Again.” It is no coincidence that Trump’s most enthusiastic supporters are white, male, uneducated and evangelical — people for whom history is moving in the wrong direction. They are Trump’s political superfecta.
Which brings me back to the health care bill. The Obamacare repeal effort has always functioned on two levels: the practical and the symbolic. On a practical policy level, Obamacare repeal was never particularly realistic. The original bill had been compromised and jiggered about as much as one could possibly do in an effort to build a government/market hybrid, so the idea of jiggering it any more without just scrapping it for single payer was highly unlikely to make it more effective. After seven years, the only thing Republicans can seem to come up with is undoing Obamacare without really replacing it.
But you could only let it lapse and throw those 22 million off insurance if you were confident the symbolism would supplant the practicality, that it was more important for those beneficiaries of Obamacare to score a victory against the encroaching forces of cultural liberalism than to get decent health care. Symbolically, Obamacare represented change, government interference, social engineering by pointy heads and uncertainty. It was yet one more thing that would push the glorious past farther away.
There is a strange poignancy in this. People will continue to vote enthusiastically for the party that will strip them of their health care so long as that party promises to turn back the clock. So we will get another GOP health care bill and another and another until one finally passes, as I am fairly certain it will. And when it does, the congressional Republicans and their addled president can rejoice because whatever price their constituents pay, they themselves will pay none.

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

My Fake Time Cover

I wonder if I could have one them fake Time magazine covers made with MY picture? The caption could read FRED HUDSON: WHAT A GUY!

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Wait on the Senate to Vote on Its Tax Cut for the Wealthy

Monday, June 26, 2017

Always Medical Paperwork

The dermatologist's office wanted new paperwork this morning. Why do doctor's offices require new paperwork seemingly every year? My Medicare card isn't going anywhere. My Part B supplement, prayer, isn't going to change. My DL is always up-to- date. Am I not who I say I am? So what's the skinny on constant new paperwork being required?

The New Pirates of the Caribbean (Movie review)

First time seeing one of these pictures.  I just rolled with the humor and the rollicking action not worrying about understanding the plot.  It is a plenty funny and witty action picture.  Johnny Depp is a surprisingly great comedic actor.  I had no idea because I barely knew what he looked I am so out of touch with contemporary popular culture.  I had no idea his name in this series of movies is Jack Sparrow.  No idea!  He should be serious, though, about keeping his mouth shut regarding politics.  :)

Saturday, June 24, 2017

The Party over Trump

The Senate health-care bill offers a historic convergence of prized GOP priorities: Placing caps on Medicaid spending and providing a significant tax cut for wealthy Americans. But it would break sharply with pledges Trump made during the 2016 campaign.

Friday, June 23, 2017

Tennessee Williams with Air-Conditioning

By Mallory Ortbert
The New Yorker
21 June 2017

“Cat on a Hot Tin Roof”

ext. afternoon.

The upper wraparound gallery of the home of big daddy pollitt, an aging tycoon. There are two pairs of doors opening onto the gallery. maggie the cat, a beautiful young woman with an unwrinkled brow, casually closes the doors as she inspects the afternoon sky.

maggie: Brick, I’m shutting the doors now that Big Daddy’s turned on the central air. We’re not paying to cool the entire Mississippi Delta.

brick: I have uncomplicated feelings about your fertility and have been drinking unadulterated iced tea all afternoon.

big daddy: I have cancer. Hot enough for ya?

big mama: With the interior temperature holding steady at seventy-two degrees, I can handle distressing news with equanimity.

brick: After an appropriate length of time has passed and I have reacted appropriately to this information, I plan on having penetrative sex with my wife, as is my custom. This in no way lessens the importance of my previous romantic relationship with Skipper, a man, whose death was not my fault. I can honor Skipper and love Maggie at the same time.

gooper: It is pleasantly crisp indoors, and I accept your bisexuality as an intrinsic part of your identity, Brick. Let us split our inheritance equally. Better yet, let us not assume we have any right to our parents’ property because of the lottery of our births.

maggie: It’s not too hot out for conventional morality!

big daddy: I don’t have to roll my sleeves up to the elbow in order to stay cool, nor do I need to wield my final will and testament, clublike, in order to command obedience.

mae: It’s cool enough to distinguish between truth and falsehood. I see things as they are, with a clear eye. I have had several children; this is a simple fact.

maggie: Maggie the Cat is no more or less alive than every other member of this family.

brick: I think I’ll have another plain iced tea.

[A thoughtful pause.]

brick: On second thought, I have already had three iced teas today. I am approaching diminishing returns and will have nothing instead.

big daddy: Let’s all have nothing.

“A Streetcar Named Desire”

stanley: Thanks to flash evaporation, my T-shirt is as crisp and fresh-smelling this evening as it was when first I put it on.

stella: While I don’t contribute financially to this household, I am still your partner and your equal.

blanche: I would like to ask permission to stay with you, in your temperate home, and also to respect the primacy of your relationship with your husband, whose Polish background I greatly respect.

stanley: There is no need to sweat or shout in such a small, well-chilled apartment. I can be heard across the room without raising my voice. Look, I have created a chore wheel for the three of us, so that we might all have clear expectations of one another.

blanche: Thank you for the chore wheel, Stanley. What you lack in raw sexual charisma, you more than make up for in artfully expressed boundaries. Speaking of raw sexual charisma and artfully expressed boundaries, I have never treated any of my students with anything less than the strictest of professionalism and respect.

stanley: Would you like some iced tea, or to discuss your mental health in a frank and open way with people who support you?

blanche: I would like both, thank you. The seer rating in the kitchen is excellent and conducive to discussions regarding emotional health.

stella: Let us give thanks for the pioneering work of Willis Carrier, not forgetting the contributions of Stuart W. Cramer, Michael Faraday, and John Hadley.

stanley: I will add that to the chore wheel.

“Suddenly, Last Summer”

sebastian venable: Last summer, the ambient temperature in the sitting room was comfortable for all of my overnight guests, every single one of whom was a consenting adult with a robust, secure sexual identity.

“The Glass Menagerie”

jim: I am engaged to be married but look forward to getting to know Laura as a person and developing a platonic friendship, appropriately contextualized.

laura: I am setting the thermostat to seventy-two, Mother.

amanda: What a reasonable temperature. Tom, while I encourage you to chew your food slowly, I recognize that as an adult, you must make your own choices, and I trust that you will act in your own best interests.

[Distantly, the air-conditioner whirs to life.]

tom: I will honor that trust. Also, I will not take off my jacket, as there is no need; the dining room is exceedingly comfortable tonight.

laura: The horn of my little glass unicorn has broken off. Glass figurines, like dreams, are breakable, but that does not mean they are not worth cherishing.

[Jim texts his fiancée briefly, then returns his full attention to the dinner party.]

tom: I have a two-drink limit that I have no problem adhering to, as I’m rarely parched in this controlled climate.

amanda: Your father was much the same. He also enjoyed drinking in moderation.

laura: Let’s all enjoy drinking in moderation and celebrating our various approaches to life, none of which invalidates the others. [She glances down.] I appear to have been mistaken. My glass unicorn is not broken at all. Nothing is broken.

amanda: How nice.

tom: Yes, how terribly nice.

[Slow fade to black.]

Thursday, June 22, 2017

The Republican Tax Bill Revealed

The Republican health- care tax cut for the wealthy death bill for the rest of us surfaces today. Best look quickly before it becomes law.

The Radical Right's End Game

THEN, AGAIN.
JUNE 22 2017 9:02 AM

What Is the Far Right’s Endgame? A Society That Suppresses the Majority.

Nancy MacLean, author of an intellectual biography of James McGill Buchanan, explains how this little-known libertarian’s work is influencing modern-day politics.

Photo illustration by Natalie Matthews-Ramo. Photos by MBisanz, Dechateau, Atlas Network, and Thinkstock.
Photo illustration by Natalie Matthews-Ramo. Photos by MBisanz/WikimediaDechateau/WikimediaAtlas Network/Wikimedia, and Thinkstock.
When the Supreme Court decided, in the 1954 case of Brown vs. Board of Education, that segregated public schools were unconstitutional, Tennessee-born economist James McGill Buchanan was horrified. Over the course of the next few decades, the libertarian thinker found comfortable homes at a series of research universities and spent his time articulating a new grand vision of American society, a country in which government would be close to nonexistent, and would have no obligation to provide education—or health care, or old-age support, or food, or housing—to anyone.
Rebecca OnionREBECCA ONION
Rebecca Onion is a Slate staff writer and the author of Innocent Experiments
This radical vision has become theplaybook for a network of people looking to override democracy in order to shift more money to the wealthiest few, historian and professor at Duke University Nancy MacLean argues in her new book, an intellectual biography of James Buchanan called Democracy in Chains: The Deep History of the Radical Right’s Stealth Plan for America.* Buchanan’s life story, she writes, is “the true origin story of today’s well-heeled radical right.”
I spoke with MacLean about Buchanan’s intellectual evolution and its legacy today. We discussed whether it’s helpful or counterproductive to call the network of organizations funded by Charles Koch a “conspiracy,” the line of influence between Buchanan and what’s going on in MacLean’s home state of North Carolina, and that time Buchanan helped Chile’s dictator craft a profoundly undemocratic constitution. Our conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.
So why is James Buchanan so unknown? He had a Nobel Prize; how did he manage to fly under the radar?
He had a very different personality from somebody like Milton Friedman. I think of them as kind of a yin and yang. Friedman was very sunny, and Buchanan was kind of a darker figure. Friedman was always very anxious to be in the limelight, and Buchanan was not like that at all. He was very interested in making an impact over the long term and training other people, and he seemed to be content to talk to powerful people more than to talk to public audiences. His books were really written for other scholars, not so much the general public.
Can you put him in relationship with other people, besides Friedman, who might be more familiar to us today?
People might be familiar with the Mont Pelerin Society, the international invitation-only group that began in 1947 launched by Friedrich Hayek. That society included Hayek, Ludwig von Mises, Milton Friedman, Buchanan, ultimately Charles Koch (which I think not many people know!), and many others.
170621_BOOK_AmericanInChains
Friedman and Hayek put much more emphasis on making the case for free markets, whereas Buchanan’s distinctive mission was to make a case against government. … His basic idea is that people had been wrong to think of political actors as concerned with the common good or the public interest, when in fact, according to Buchanan’s way of looking at things, everyone should be understood as a self-interested actor seeking their own advantage. He said we should think of politicians, elected officials, as seeking their own self-interest in re-election. And that’s why they’ll make multiple costly promises to multiple constituencies, because they won’t have to pay for it. And he would say agency officials—say, an official at the EPA—would just keep trying to expand the agency, because that would expand their power and resources.
Now there were other people who actually tested that empirically and found out that it didn’t hold, so it’s really a caricature of the political process, but it’s a caricature that’s become very, very widespread right now.
You mentioned a few times in the book that Buchanan didn’t really do empirical research. So what was he writing from?
He was also trained in game theory at the Rand Corporation, so he uses a lot of that. But basically he writes more like a social philosopher, someone studying the social contract.
Did his ideas change over time?
The core ideas kind of stayed the same. What did change over time was his own outlook. It became much darker over the years. His first big book in his field, which is called public choice economics, was titled The Calculus of Consent, and it came out in 1962 and was co-authored with Gordon Tullock. It was the work for which Buchanan was most recognized in his Nobel citation. In that work, he seemed to believe that somehow people of good will could come to something close to unanimity on the basic rules of how to govern our society, on things like taxation and government spending and so forth.
And by the mid-1970s he concluded that that was impossible, and that there was no way that poor people would ever agree … there was no way that people who were not wealthy, who were not large property owners, would agree to the kind of rules he was proposing. So that was a very dark work. It was called The Limits of Liberty. He actually said in that work that the only hope might be despotism.
And he went from writing that to advising the Pinochet junta in Chile on how to craft their constitution. This document was later called a “constitution of locks and bolts,” [and was designed] to make it so that the majority couldn’t make its will felt in the political system, unless it was a huge supermajority.
So yeah, it’s pretty dark.
Tell me more about the relationship between Koch and Buchanan.
I think too many people on the left have really underestimated Koch’s intelligence and his drive, and also misunderstood his motives. There’s been brilliant work by journalists, really good digging on the money trail and the Koch operations, but much of that writing seems to assume that he is doing this just because it’s going to lower his tax bill or because he wants to evade regulations, personally. I think that really misgauges the man. He is deeply ideological and has been reading almost fanatically for a very long time. I see him as someone who’s quite messianic. He’s compared himself to Martin Luther and his effort being like the Protestant Reformation. When he invested in Buchanan’s center at George Mason University, he said he wanted to “unleash the kind of force that propelled Columbus.”
This is not someone who’s just trying to lower his tax bill. He wants to bring in a totally new vision of society and government, that’s different from anything that exists anywhere in the world or has existed because he is so certain that he is right. I think it’s more chilling because it doesn’t correspond to the ideas we have about politics.
Right, like he’s not trying to get a particular person elected. You mention several times Buchanan was very against that idea, that the point was to get a particular person elected. The point, for him, was to change the whole system.
Right. You asked how the two men connected. I only have the documentary trail that I found. But from what I found, I believe that they first came in contact or first began to work together about 1969 or 1970, and that was in the context of the campus upheaval against the war in Vietnam, and for black studies, and so forth. Buchanan wrote a book about the campus unrest that applied his particular school of thought to it. Koch had an operation called the Center for Independent Education, and that center took Buchanan’s book and turned it into a kind of pamphlet that could be circulated more broadly.
In 1970, Koch joined the Mont Pelerin Society. Once he got in, he began to advertise his many different organizations and efforts and try to recruit and get people to events and so forth, through Mont Pelerin. Buchanan helped with the founding of the Cato Institute and with various other intellectual enterprises that were close to Charles Koch’s heart, like this thing called the Institute for Humane Studies.
And then Koch funded Buchanan’s center, as well as other projects, at George Mason University. One of Buchanan’s ideas that Koch liked was the concept of making a flurry of changes all at once so that people have a hard time opposing them.
Yes, and in the same year that Koch invested all this money in George Mason, [economist] Tyler Cowen got a commission by the Institute for Humane Studies to produce this review of places where economic liberty has made big advances. Cowen advocates what he calls a “Big Bang.”
Interestingly it’s that same phrase that gets used by Civitas, the Koch-affiliated organization in North Carolina, after they take over the state legislature here in 2011. I actually have to give the North Carolina Republican-led General Assembly some credit for this book because I was struggling through Buchanan’s ideas, trying to understand the implications, because he did write in a somewhat abstract manner. And then the General Assembly came in in North Carolina and just made it all so clear. I saw the practical measures being taken and was like, “Oh, this is what he’s talking about! That’s what this is!” I should have put them in the acknowledgements.
I’d like to talk more about the way racism works in Buchanan’s intellectual project. You write in the conclusion to the book that this school of thought advocates “enlisting white supremacy to ensure capital supremacy.” Is it possible to disentangle those two?
So this is a challenge for the left because some of our categories, I think, are not very supple, and are also driven by the political world in which we operate. So for example, as we try to think about what’s going on with these voter suppression measures, the only thing that’s actionable is racial discrimination. Right? And so people think of voter suppression efforts as being motivated by racism. These are these good old boys who hate black people and that’s why they’re doing this.
I think actually what’s going on is that these people are extremely shrewd and calculating, and they understand that African Americans, because of their historical experience and their political savvy, understand politics and government better, in a lot of ways, than a lot of white Americans. And they are a threat to this project because they will not vote for it. So they want to keep them from the polls.
Similarly, young people are leaning left now, and they don’t accept a lot of these core ideas that come from this project, so this project has been very determined to keep young people from the polls. Frankly, if they could keep women away, they would, too. Because they understand that women suffrage opened the way to greater government involvement in the economy, and greater social provision and regulation.
We make a mistake when we think these are just reactionary prejudices, and we need to see them as shrewd calculations to keep people who would oppose this vision away from the polls.
So it’s about power, money.
Not just money. I think it’s also much more about this psychology of threatened domination. People who believe it will harm their liberty for other people to have full citizenship and be able to work together to govern society. And that somehow that goes much deeper than money to me. It’s hard to find the right words for it, but it’s a whole way of being in the world and seeing others. Assuming one’s right to dominate.
Your book calls Buchanan’s ideas a “stealth plan.” How can we, on the left, avoid falling into the trap of conspiracy-theory thinking while trying to understand this movement?
One of the challenges is that our language is not up to the threat that we’re facing. As a scholar, I understand the problem of conspiracy theories. I don’t want to be seen as promoting a conspiracy theory. Not least because this is not a conspiracy, by definition. A conspiracy involves illegality, and the people who are funding, and supporting and promoting this operation have extremely good lawyers and I think they actually do believe in the rule of law, and they are being, with the possible exemption of nonprofit tax law, scrupulously legal in what they are doing.
So conspiracy is not a good word. But on the other hand, this is a vast and interconnected and not honest operation. They say these anodyne things about liberty—like the title of one book is Don’t Hurt People And Don’t Take Their Stuff! And that’s not what this is about. The reality is that they are gerrymandering with a vengeance, to a degree we’ve never seen before in our history; they’re practicing voter suppression in a way we’ve not seen since Reconstruction; they are smashing up labor unions under fake pretenses, not telling people that they actually do want to destroy workers’ ability to organize collectively ... I could go on and on.
They’re doing a lot of things for strategic reasons and not being honest with the public about it. That suggests to me that we need a new vocabulary for grasping what we’re dealing with here. I guardedly used the term “fifth column” in the book, and you know, there’s problems with that term too, but at least it gets at the fact that these wealthy donors that Charles Koch has convened are deeply hostile to the model of government that has prevailed in the United States and in many other countries for a century.
While I think we need all the great investigative work that’s being done to try to show us how these organizations that are being presented to the public as separate are actually coordinating together, I don’t think that just laying that out is enough. I think that what we need to convey to people is that this is a messianic cause, with a vision of the good society and government that I think most of us would find terrifying, for the practical implications and impact that it will have on our lives.
We are at a crucial moment in our history, and we will not get another chance, by this cause’s own telling. They say again and again that this is going to be permanent, and they’re very close to victory. So I think we need to be really clear-eyed about understanding this and reaching out to one another without panic.
The most important thing I want readers to take from this book is an understanding that the Koch network and all of these people are doing what they’re doing because they understand that their ideas make them a permanent minority. They cannot win if they are honest about what they’re doing. That’s why they’re doing things in the deceitful and frightening ways that they are.
And that, I think, is a sign of great power for the majority of people, who I think are fundamentally decent, and agree on much more than we’re led to believe.
*Update, June 22, 2017: This article has been updated to add MacLean's academic credentials. (Return.)

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

The Radical Right

The Architect of the Radical Right

How the Nobel Prize–winning economist James M. Buchanan shaped today’s antigovernment politics
James M. Buchanan emphasized the coercive effect of government programs.Bettmann / Getty


If you read the same newspapers and watch the same cable shows I do, you can be forgiven for not knowing that the most populous region in America, by far, is the South. Nearly four in 10 Americans live there, roughly 122 million people, by the latest official estimate. And the number is climbing. For that reason alone, the South deserves more attention than it seems to be getting in political discussion today.
But there is another reason: The South is the cradle of modern conservatism. This, too, may come as a surprise, so entrenched is the origin myth of the far-westerners Barry Goldwater, Richard Nixon, and Ronald Reagan as leaders of a Sun Belt realignment and forerunners of today’s polarizing GOP. But each of those politicians had his own “southern strategy,” playing to white backlash against the civil-rights revolution—“hunting where the ducks are,” as Goldwater explained—though it was encrypted in the states’-rights ideology that has been vital to southern politics since the days of John C. Calhoun.
Viking
Nancy MacLean’s Democracy in Chains is part of a new wave of historiography that has been examining the southern roots of modern conservatism. That lineage features episodes like the third-party presidential ticket headed by the Virginian T. Coleman Andrews in 1956, with its double-barreled attack on the Brown v. Board of Education decision and the federal income tax. Further back lies the breakaway Dixiecrat candidacy of the South Carolinian Strom Thurmond in 1948, after the Democratic Party added a civil-rights plank to its platform. Earlier still was the quixotic insurrection in 1936 led by Georgia Governor Eugene Talmadge, the front man for something called the Southern Committee to Uphold the Constitution. A Dixie offshoot of the more visible Liberty League, it shared that group’s conviction that “an ever spreading governmental bureaucracy” spelled “the end of democracy.”
Talmadge’s movement is a footnote now, but it boasted delegates from 18 states and offered an early mix of the populist grievance and anti-tax fervor that presaged Tea Party protests, though the original brew had a pungent tang of racism. At a rabble-rousing “grassroots convention” held in Macon, Georgia, delegates received a news sheet that showed a photo of Eleanor Roosevelt in the company of two Howard University ROTC students. Her husband, the caption warned, was permitting “negroes to come to the White House banquets and sleep in the White House beds.” What looked like a redneck eruption was in fact financed by northern capitalists nursing their own hatred of the New Deal. Talmadge’s promise to slash property taxes brought in big checks from the du Ponts, among others.
Why does all this matter today? Well, we might begin with the first New Yorker elected president since FDR, a man who has given new meaning to the term copperhead (originally applied to Northern Democrats who opposed the Civil War). Lost amid the many 2016 postmortems, and the careful parsing of returns in Ohio swing counties, was Donald Trump’s prodigious conquest of the South: 60 percent or more of the vote in Alabama, Arkansas, Kentucky, Oklahoma, Tennessee, and West Virginia, with similar margins in Louisiana and Mississippi. And the message is still being missed. We’ve heard much about the “older white men” in the administration, but rather less about where they come from. No fewer than 10 Cabinet appointees are from the South, in key positions like attorney general (Alabama) and secretary of state (Texas), not to mention Trump’s top political adviser, Steve Bannon, who grew up in Virginia.
All of this, so plainly in view but so strangely ignored, makes MacLean’s vibrant intellectual history of the radical right especially relevant. Her book includes familiar villains—principally the Koch brothers—and devotes many pages to think tanks like the Cato Institute and the Heritage Foundation, whose ideological programs are hardly a secret. But what sets Democracy in Chains apart is that it begins in the South, and emphasizes a genuinely original and very influential political thinker, the economist James M. Buchanan. He is not so well remembered today as his fellow Nobel laureates Friedrich Hayek and Milton Friedman. Yet as MacLean convincingly shows, his effect on our politics is at least as great, in part because of the evangelical fervor he brought to spreading his ideas.
It helped that Buchanan, despite his many accomplishments, continued to think of himself as an embattled outsider and also as a revolutionary. In 1973, well before the term counterestablishment was popularized, Buchanan was rallying like-minded allies to “create, support, and activate an effective counterintelligentsia” that could transform “the way people think about government.” Thirteen years later, when he won his Nobel Prize, he received the news as more than a validation of his work. His success represented a victory over the “Eastern academic elite,” achieved by someone who was, he said, “proud to be a member of the great unwashed.”
This is the language of a movement intellectual. But a movement isn’t the same thing as a conspiracy. One openly declares its intentions. The other keeps them secret. It’s not always clear that MacLean recognizes the difference. Nevertheless, she has dug deep into her material—not just Buchanan’s voluminous, unsorted papers, but other archives, too—and she has made powerful and disturbing use of it all. A historian at Duke who has written a good deal about the South, she comes at her subject from the inside, with a feel for the legends and stories that southerners have long told themselves and others about the kind of country America is supposed to be. The behind-the-scenes days and works of Buchanan show how much deliberation and persistence—in the face of formidable opposition—underlie the antigoverning politics ascendant today. What we think of as dysfunction is the result of years of strategic effort.
Buchanan owed his tenacity to blood and soil and upbringing. Born in 1919 on a family farm in Tennessee, he came of age during the Great Depression. His grandfather had been an unpopular governor of that state, and Buchanan grew up in an atmosphere of half-remembered glory and bitterness, without either money or useful connections. His exceptional mind was his visa into the academy and then into the world of big ideas. “Better than plowing,” which he made the title of his 1992 memoir, was advice he got from his first mentor, the economist Frank Knight at the University of Chicago, where Buchanan received his doctorate in 1948. During the postwar years, other faculty included Hayek and Friedman, who were shaping a new pro-market economics, part of a growing backlash against the policies of the New Deal. Hayek initiated Buchanan into the Mont Pelerin Society, the select group of intellectuals who convened periodically to talk and plot libertarian doctrine.
Buchanan got his first plum teaching job at the University of Virginia, in 1956, during the single most crucial event in the birth of the modern conservative movement, the rise of the strategy of “massive resistance” to the Supreme Court’s mandate for school desegregation. Since the New Deal, conservatives like Herbert Hoover and Robert A. Taft had pushed back hard against the expanding federal government and its tentacular programs. But it was an uphill battle; the public was grateful for Social Security. Brown changed all that. More than the economic order was now under siege. So was a way of life, with its cherished “mores and folkways,” in the phrase favored by defenders of Jim Crow. A new postwar conservatism was born, mingling states’-rights doctrine with odes to the freedom-loving individual and resistance to the “social engineering” pursued by what conservative writers in the mid-1950s began to call the “liberal establishment.”
Today we remember ferocious civil-rights struggles waged in Birmingham and Selma. But ground zero for the respectable defense of Jim Crow was Virginia, where one of the nation’s most powerful politicians, Senator Harry F. Byrd Sr., ruled with the authority of an old-style feudal boss. His notorious “machine” kept the state clenched in an iron grip; the oppressions included a poll tax that suppressed black voter turnout so that it was on a par with the Deep South’s (and kept overall turnout under 20 percent). Byrd had allies in the president of the University of Virginia, Colgate Darden, and the newspaperman James Jackson Kilpatrick, who, long before his lovable-curmudgeon TV role on the “Point-Counterpoint” segment of 60 Minutes in the 1970s, was a fanatical and ingenious segregationist.
Buchanan played a part, MacLean writes, by teaming up with another new University of Virginia hire, G. Warren Nutter (who was later a close adviser to Barry Goldwater), on an influential paper. In it they argued that the crux of the desegregation problem was that “state run” schools had become a “monopoly,” which could be broken by privatization. If authorities sold off school buildings and equipment, and limited their own involvement in education to setting minimum standards, then all different kinds of schools might blossom. Each parent “would cast his vote in the marketplace and have it count.” The argument impressed Friedman, who a few years earlier had published his own critique of “government schools,” saying that “the denationalization of education would widen the range of choice available to parents.”
Far-fetched though these schemes were, they gave ammunition to southern policy makers looking to mount the nonracial case for maintaining Jim Crow in a new form. Friedman himself left race completely out of it. Buchanan did too at first, telling skeptical colleagues in the North that the “transcendent issue” had nothing to do with race; it came down to the question of “whether the federal government shall dictate the solutions.” But in their paper (initially a document submitted to a Virginia education commission and soon published in a Richmond newspaper), Buchanan and Nutter were more direct, stating their belief that “every individual should be free to associate with persons of his own choosing”—the sanitized phrasing of segregationists.
Either way, the proximate result of Buchanan’s privatizing scheme was to help prolong the stalemate in Virginia. In Prince Edward County, to cite the most egregious example, public schools were padlocked for a full five years. From 1959 to 1964, white children went to tax-subsidized private schools while most black children stayed home—roughly what some politicians had in mind all along. The episode was, among other things, a vivid early instance of the bait and switch, so familiar now, whereby many libertarians seem curiously indifferent to the human cost of their rigid principles, even as they denounce the despotism of all three branches of the federal government.
Yet race, MacLean acknowledges, was not ultimately a major issue for Buchanan. Fending off desegregation was only a skirmish in the long campaign to revive antigovernment ideas. That campaign dated back to the nation’s founding, gained new strength in the pre–Civil War nullification arguments of John Calhoun, and reached its modern apogee in debates over taxes and spending. Here the enemies were unions (“the labor monopoly movement,” in Buchanan’s phrase), leftish policy makers, and also Keynesian economists. Together these formed a “ruling class” that was waging war against the marketplace. This was not a new argument, but Buchanan gave it fresh rigor in his theory of “public choice,” set forth in his pioneering book, The Calculus of Consent (1962), written with Gordon Tullock. Governments, they argued, were being assessed in the wrong way. The error was a legacy of New Deal thinking, which glorified elected officials and career bureaucrats as disinterested servants of the public good, despite the obvious coercive effects of the programs they put into place. Why not instead see politicians and government administrators as self-interested players in the marketplace, trying to “maximize their utility”—that is, win the next election or enlarge their department’s budget?
This idea turned the whole notion of a beneficent government, and of programs and policies designed more or less selflessly, into a kind of fairy tale expertly woven by politicians and their flacks. Not that politicians were evil. They were looking out for themselves, as most of us do. The difference was in the damage they did. After all, the high-priced programs they devised were paid for by taxes wrested from defenseless citizens, who were given little or no effective choice in the matter. It was licensed theft, reinforced by the steep gradations in income-tax rates.
Buchanan expertly maximized his own utility. Money was flowing into the Thomas Jefferson Center he established at the University of Virginia in 1957, enabling him to run it as an autonomous entity, with its own lecture series and fellowship programs. Free of oversight, Buchanan gathered disciples—he screened applicants according to ideology—and his semiprivate school of thought flourished. The obstacles lay in the body politic. The 1960s looked even worse than the ’50s. Not long after Buchanan’s big book was published, the War on Poverty began and then the Great Society—one lethal program after another.
Nixon called himself a Keynesian and committed a succession of sins, from creating government agencies (like the Environmental Protection Agency) to instituting wage and price controls. Meanwhile, the government kept expanding through entitlements and programs aimed at the middle class. You didn’t have to accept Buchanan’s ideology to see that he had a point about the growth of government-centered clientelism—“dependency,” in the term used by a new wave of neoconservatives such as Daniel Patrick Moynihan. For Buchanan, the trouble now went beyond the government. The enemy was the public itself, expressed through the tyranny of majority rule: The have-nots preyed on the rich, egged on by the new elite—labor bosses, benevolent corporations, and pandering politicians—who fell over themselves promising more and more.
With Reagan, deliverance seemed possible. Buchanan’s political influence reached its zenith. By this time, he had left the University of Virginia. As early as 1963, there were concerns—on the part of the dean of the faculty, for one—that Buchananism, at least as practiced at his Thomas Jefferson Center, had petrified into dogma, with no room for dissenting voices. After a battle over a promotion for his co-author, Tullock, Buchanan left in a huff. He went first to UCLA, next to Virginia Tech, and in 1983, climactically, to George Mason University, not far outside the Beltway—and much nearer to the political action. The Wall Street Journal soon labeled George Mason “the Pentagon of conservative academia.” With its “stable of economists who have become an important resource for the Reagan administration,” it was now poised to undo Great Society programs. In 1986, Buchanan won the Nobel Prize for his public-choice theory.
But triumph gave way again to disappointment. Not even Reagan could stem the collectivist tide. Public-choice ideas made a difference—for instance in the balanced-budget act sponsored by Senators Philip Gramm, Warren Rudman, and Ernest Hollings in 1985. Buchanan’s theory found another useful ally in the budget-slasher and would-be government-shrinker David Stockman, who idolized Hayek and declared that “politicians were wrecking American capitalism.” But Stockman also discovered that restoring capitalism to a purer condition would mean declaring war on “Social Security recipients, veterans, farmers, educators, state and local officials, the housing industry.” What president was going to do that? Certainly not Reagan. As Stockman reflected, “The democracy had defeated the doctrine.”
That was Buchanan’s view, too. It wasn’t enough to elect true-believing politicians. The rules of government needed to be rewritten. But this required ideal conditions—a blank slate. This had happened once, in Chile, after Augusto Pinochet’s coup against the socialist Salvador Allende in 1973. A vogue for public choice had swept Pinochet’s administration. Buchanan’s books were translated, and some of his acolytes helped restructure Chile’s economy. Labor unions were banned, and social security and health care were both privatized. On a week-long visit in 1980, Buchanan gave formal lectures to “top representatives of a governing elite that melded the military and the corporate world,” MacLean reports, and he dispensed counsel in private conversations. But Buchanan said very little about his part in assisting Chile’s reformers—and he said very little, too, when the country’s economy cratered, and Pinochet at last fired the Buchananites.
At his death in 2013, Buchanan was hardly known outside the world of economists and libertarians, but his ideology remains much in force. His view of Social Security—a “Ponzi scheme”—is shared by privatizers like Paul Ryan. More broadly, Buchananism informs the conviction on the right that because the democratic majority can’t really be trusted, empowered minorities, like the Freedom Caucus, are the true guardians of our liberty and if necessary will resort to drastic measures: shutting down the government, defaulting on the national debt, and plying the techniques of what Francis Fukuyama calls our modern “vetocracy”—refusing, for example, to bring an immigration bill to a House vote lest it pass (as happened in the Obama years) or, in the Senate, defying tradition by not granting a confirmation hearing to a Supreme Court nominee.
To see all this as simple obstructionism, perversity for its own sake, is a mistake. A cause lies behind it: upholding the sanctity of an ideology against the sins of the majority. This is what drives House Republicans to scale back social programs, or to shift the tax burden from the 1 percent onto the parasitic mob, or to come up with a health-care plan that would leave Trump’s own voters out in the cold. To many of us, it might seem heartless. But far worse, Buchanan once explained in a famous essay, is misguided Good Samaritanism, which, by helping the unlucky, cushions them against the consequences of their bad choices. This is exactly the sentiment voiced by the House Republican who voted to strip away Obamacare and then explained that the new proposal, which punishes people with preexisting medical conditions, has the advantage of “reducing the cost to those people who lead good lives.”
With a researcher’s pride, MacLean confidently declares that Buchanan’s ideological journey, and the trail he left, contains the “true origin story of today’s well-heeled radical right.” Better to say that it is one story among many in the long narrative of conservative embattlement. The American right has always felt outnumbered, even in times of triumph. This is the source of both its strength and its weakness, just as it was for Buchanan, a faithful son of the South, with its legacy of defeats and lost causes. MacLean’s undisguised loathing of him and others she writes about will offend some readers. But that same intensity of feeling has inspired her to untangle important threads in American history—and to make us see how much of that history begins, and still lives, in the South.