It's customary in the aftermath of battles like this one — protracted, vicious, winner-take-all — for everyone to issue calls for fresh unity. For the defeated, it's the last gasp of influence, a chance to blare, as foot number 2 slides toward the grave, a reminder of what might have been and what might yet be someday. Play nice, it says to the other side, lest the shoe migrate — as it usually does — to the other foot. It's also a chance — a last chance, most probably — to project magnanimity on the grand stage. Such moments are history, after all. We want to be remembered well when we're gone.
For the victor it's simpler, and less costly: a demonstration of good sportsmanship before the raping and pillaging commence.
Kerry and Bush played by these rules on Wednesday, tossing out calls for the burying of hatchets, the mending of fences, other newer-age variants of same. Bush even went so far as to promise to earn the trust of his opponent's supporters. Once again, one has to question his connection to reality. It's a little like an abusive spouse knocking on the door on the sober morning after, pleading for one last chance. The smart money says we'll get hit again.
Still, it's a swell thought. And it's not wrong, at least in spirit: though it was difficult to remember on Wednesday, the country is evenly divided, two almost-halves split by little more than a margin of error. Kerry got 48% of the popular vote to Bush's 51%, and the election really did come down to fewer than 150,000 votes in Ohio. Progressives huddling in near-suicidal disbelief beneath the heavy dark shadow of four more years of Bush-Cheney — plus Republican control of every major branch of government by ever-wider margins — might be forgiven for seeing it otherwise. Nonetheless, it's a fact.
And yet. And yet. It's all just a little too facile. The last eight months have been bitter. And the bitterness has not felt incidental. For Rove it may have been no more than a tactic. (For Rove, everything may be no more than a tactic, except the win itself. Who knows what really drives this man — what he really thinks, really is, in his heart of hearts, if he has one — beyond the all-engulfing need to win.) But for the footsoldiers on each side there seems little question. The divisions were heartfelt. They were profound, material. It may be they cannot be bridged.
The right wing is fond, especially in the mocking aftermath, of telling the left that they "just don't get it." They're not wrong. We don't. I certainly don't. But then again, neither do they. Let me offer the following exchange. It took place on Wednesday morning just after reports of Kerry's call to Bush to concede, on WNYC's Brian Lehrer Show, between a guest — Ruben Navarrette of the Dallas Morning News — and a caller, Kathy, from Stamford CT:
Kathy: ... More depressing is the previous caller, who talked about "moral values" and then said, "We don't want homosexuals to get married, we don't want affirmative action" and all those things. If by "moral values" those people mean "we hate everybody who's not like us," then I'd say this country is well on its way to going to hell in a handbasket. If "moral values" meant good things, and taking care of people, and worrying about people who have no homes, no food, no health care, no jobs, then I'd say, "Okay, I'll go with you guys. I'm a lifelong Democrat, but I'll get on your moral value wagon." But every person I know — and that guy was just like one of them — who talks about "moral values," it's a nice code word to mean "I hate this group, I hate that group." And we are increasingly becoming a country of people who hate each other. And that's how the Republicans ran the campaign against Kerry: they tried to demonize him.
Ruben Navarrette: Hey, I don't want to make a joke of it, but I hate callers like that. I hate comments like that. I think that the problem, and the first caller ... brought up this point, that somehow if you come out against gay marriage — I happen to be in favor of gay marriage; I'm an exception maybe in some Republican ranks and some Bush supporters' ranks — but if you come out somehow against gay marriage, you're a homophobe. I think that the left, the elitist left has made a terrible mistake. They come off as arrogant, self-centered; they have an air of moral superiority about them, and they throw around words like "hate." Everybody's a hate-monger. "You hate people, I love people." That's just not the way you win elections.
Kathy: Talking about self-centered. I'm talking about voting — I live in Connecticut. I have plenty of money. But I try to vote in candidates who would vote in health care, and housing, and food. We have empty food banks in Fairfield County, Connecticut. Now that to me is not being self-centered. My food pantry is full. But I'm worried about people who aren't going to have enough money to live through the winter.
RN: It's self-centered if callers like that don't recognize that there's a person in Arkansas or in Mississippi or in Texas who doesn't live in Connecticut and who doesn't have a lot of money but does have a perspective on this presidency and they're entitled to their opinion. And they need not be called a "hater" for it.
Let's note a couple of things about this back-and-forth. Kathy makes an inarticulate but heartfelt attempt to lay competing claim to the high ground of "moral values"; she doesn't put it quite like this, maybe because she's not quite aware it's what she's doing. That's symptomatic of the left in general. We're so suspicious of words like "moral" that we're afraid to acknowledge that we have them. Beheath the clumsy phrasing, Kathy's point is that there is a value system there, and it's strong, and it doesn't waver.
Navarrette calls Kathy arrogant and self-centered; he suggests she's somehow squelching, with her big elitist Connecticut toe, the opinions of those who — what? — object, let's say, to gay marriage. He's pissed that she's calling such folk homophobes. Never mind, for now, that she didn't. First question: if "objection" to gay marriage does not spring from homophobia, then from what, exactly, does it spring? Navarrette can't answer this, because as he's quick to point out he doesn't object. (One would like to hear him explain why not.) But it seems to me you can't have it both ways. Either you think there's something wrong with being gay, and it "upsets" you to see gayness express itself in a state-sanctioned union (John Kerry, by the way, did not support gay marriage either, but he did support civil unions — meaning that those who voted for Bush based on this issue must have objected to more than the application of "marriage" itself: they must have objected to state sanction of gay relationships altogether, mustn't they? or else Kerry's position would have been sufficient) — either you think there's something wrong with it, and you don't want it sanctioned, or you don't think there's anything wrong with it, in which case you don't give a damn. And if you think there's something wrong with being gay, you're a homophobe. That's just how definitions work. As Navarrette himself implied earlier in the show, if you believe a thing, you might as well say it, and you might as well stand up for it consistently. Does that make such people "haters"? I don't know. Perhaps homophobia isn't always hate, or always exactly; maybe it's fear. Or maybe it's just a queasy discomfort rising from a hidden swamp of fear, or hate, or both. (One thing's certain: it involves an excessive interest in what other adults do behind closed doors.) Either way, why would the guy in Arkansas or Mississippi or Texas object to being called a homophobe if he really thinks gayness is wrong? I understand why Navarrette objects — he doesn't think it's wrong; he's not a homophobe. But that other guy, the one who disagrees with both Navarrette and Kathy: why wouldn't he wear a t-shirt with "PROUD HOMOPHOBE" scrawled across the chest, if it's really such a moral issue to him, such a question, in the end, of principle? Why deny, I mean, a conviction you're not ashamed of?
Lastly, who's really the arrogant elitist in this picture? Who's really exuding the "air of moral superiority"? Did I miss the part of the story in which Kathy travelled down to Arkansas, or Mississippi, or Texas, and found this guy and put a gun to his head, dragged him out of the house and down to city hall, forced him to marry some burly stud from up the block? Because if she did that, I'd agree: no question, Kathy's attempting to deny that poor soul his opinion on gay marriage. But it seems to me Kathy's position is precisely the opposite. It seems to me Kathy's not trying to mandate gay marriage, but only to permit it to those who choose. The man in Arkansas-or-Mississippi-or-Texas is completely free, in Kathy's universe, to make his own decision about whether or not to engage in gay marriage, even whether or not to like gay marriage, or think it's a good — a moral — idea. Which is to say Kathy's not imposing values on anyone, with one exception: the value of pluralism. And when you think about it, pluralism, as a value, is rather anti-elitist by nature and by history. The man in Arkansas-or-Mississippi-or-Texas, on the other hand: it's hard to suggest he's not legislating morality. If anyone's demonstrating an "air of moral superiority," it's the guy convinced he knows what's best for all of us, and trying to pass a law to back it up. And more important for conservatives, it's the guy using government to suppress the expression of opinion, and feelings, and values. Because constitutional amendments banning gay marriage employ the state to stop consenting adults from undertaking a wholly private negotiation that has no material impact whatsoever on others. Navarrette's man: he knows right from wrong, for us all. If that's not arrogant, I'm not sure what is.
It's hard to see where the common ground might be, harder still to see the incentive for hunting it. And really, this applies to both sides. Conservatives are in charge now; they don't have to listen. For three years they've steeped themselves in the rhetoric of nonnegotiation: you're either with us or against us. Given this, someone who doesn't agree with them might be forgiven for interpreting calls to work together as calls to come over to their side or to get, once and for all, out of the way. Unable to bring himself in line, a person who does not agree might see little point in "working together," even symbolically; and he might focus instead on honing his opposition. He might reasonably assume that the next four years will be an even fouler train wreck than the last, and that a great many of his fellow citizens have seen to it that he has few options remaining by way of mitigation.
The day after the concession/victory speech working-together double-whammy, Bush gave a news conference in which he said more or less what henchmen Rove, Cheney, and Andy Card, among others, had been saying since early Wednesday morning: we're in charge now, full steam ahead. It was a preview. Every time a reporter dared ask a multi-point question, Bush tossed barbed jests about how they hadn't been "listening to the American people," who had, he implied, now given him license to do what he'd already been doing anyway, which was whatever he damn well pleased — including not answer multi-point questions. The dynasty is complete as far as they're concerned, and Bush has already been quoted describing, at pre-election fundraisers, the rush they'll embark on to change political life as we know it before he starts, to use his own words, "quacking like a duck." So much for reaching across the aisle.
Hendrick Hertzberg, political editor for The New Yorker and one of the authors of its unprecedented endorsement this year of John Kerry, described the "coldness" of the distance between the two Americas, and called it unlike anything he's felt in his lifetime — different even, he said, from the '60s, and worse. The alienation is profound. It is of course more than political: it is deeply cultural, deeply personal. As one friend put it, "it's like discovering a member of your family is a serial murderer." Perhaps it's a sign of the atomization of our society that no sense of shared history survives it, no understanding of common identity, purpose or goals. This may be especially true in the northeast. Much has been written about the electoral college and its distortion of our campaign process — all energies, all philosophies directed at a small sliver of voters in the middle west — but none of it captures the feeling we have here that this campaign had little to do with us. Certainly, northeasterners voted in tremendous numbers. And passions here ran high before, during, and after the race. But for the most part our concerns were not inscribed on the map, and except for the Republican convention — during which we were invaded by strangers who, though personable enough, either hate us for being sin-infested devil-worshippers or view our city as a theme park through which they might pass like one of the "lands" at Epcot, all the while pimping us, willingly or not, as a symbol of the war they're so enamored of and that will, we can rest assured, never be brought home to them (though it already has and may well again be brought home to us) — aside from this, we played no role in the proceedings.* One side took our votes for granted, the other dismissed them. In a very real sense, it was not our election. And it is not our government that results.
I think it's fair to say, too, that this alienation is exacerbated by an intense region-bashing that was central to the campaign. By debate number three, Bush was spitting the words Massachusetts liberal at Kerry like a schoolyard epithet, and the implication went broader and deeper. You can hear it in Navarrette's response to Kathy. Whether it's the northeastern elite or Massachusetts liberals, they mean us, and they're not being complimentary. I'm sure some of their best friends are from up here, but that didn't stop them from publicly using the part of this nation we live, work, love and, once in a while, play in as a personal and political insult. We seem to be the boogeyman invoked in middle and southern states to frighten wayward kids, and they don't seem to mind admitting it. Can you imagine the fervor if Kerry had talked about Texas rednecks or Okies or South Carolinian white supremacists? He'd've been accused of fomenting civil war. Yet it's common practice for Bush & co. to employ — and appeal to — similar sentiments, and to my knowledge no one's ever seriously called them on it.
The general impression now — my impression — is that no one remotely connected to the northeast will be elected, ever. Even Rudy "Rambo" Giuliani may be too secular, too tainted by all those years of doing business with the pencil-necked northeastern elite to pass muster in the heartland; and you can forget altogether about democrats. We will thus be governed for the forseeable future by people who have no connection to our region, may even openly disdain it, and who don't need to — and won't — address us in any significant way during campaigns. Why wouldn't we feel disconnected from the process?
A topic that's come up repeatedly in the aftermath of the election (and more than a few times before it) is northeastern secession. Most people aren't serious when they offer this, but I'm beginning to think it's worth consideration. A stunning thought, I know. But ask yourself: why not? It seems there are fundamental differences in social philosophy. It seems those differences are growing — we're diverging rather than coming together, and there's increased intransigence on each side. And it seems that we in the northeast are precluded, structurally and by prejudice, from a base of power sufficient to compel negotiation. We're facing deTocqueville's tyranny of the majority. Why not simply leave? Given current (and probably future) sentiments, it seems a mutually satisfactory course. They'd get rid of an annoying, pointy-headed and sin-drenched thorn in their sides; we'd get to return to actually having our votes matter. They could get to work building the brave new theocracy they're so excited about, and we could return to enjoying the Enlightenment-based, pluralistic democracy we inherited. There's no reason the separation needs to be rancorous — hey, they don't even like us, and I'm sure folks in Iowa (see footnote) would be happy to stay right where they are rather than wasting time re-educating New Yorkers. What's really to be lost? The economy is global now anyway. True, most of their states are receiver states under the current arrangement — they get more money out of federal coffers than they put in — but given their feelings about federal government, that has to keep them awake at night with rage. This could be their opportunity to reform. And it could be our opportunity to stop subsidizing folks who hate us and who hate big, subsidizing government. As for daily business, we could negotiate highly favorable trade agreements, liberal (uh, sorry — generous) border crossings, excellent diplomatic terms. The northeast would become like a second, more populous Canada, with an even funnier accent. What's so bad about that? Personally, I'd love to figure out a way we could include a few of the Great Lakes states — Illinois in particular — as well as California and the Pacific Northwest, but that seems logistically impossible. They may have to go it on their own. (Though I'd point out that the current United States includes non-contiguous Hawaii and Alaska.)
Who knows? In this freshly-formed republic, Giuliani might actually have a shot.
Food, as they say, for thought. In the meantime, what to do? I myself intend to take a page form the conservatives' handbook. I intend to pause, take a look around, and draw comfort from the culture that surrounds me. Call it New York, call it the northeast; it is a complete culture, diverse and vibrant, shuffling and scuffling. It absorbs the world, relishes it, gives it back. It has more than a few irrational moments, but at its core it is, as the United States was, a child of the Enlightenment: humanist, rational, pluralistic. It is a place of pragmatism and compromise. And rather than study the darkness that lies beyond it, detesting, I intend to immerse myself in it. I intend to celebrate it, and sustain it, and to let it sustain me. America may be busy redefining itself, but the idea of America has never been so fully expressed as it has been — and is — right here. And I love the idea of America.
* Speaking of the Republican convention: now there was an opportunity to learn about arrogance, self-righteousness, and elitism. Here's just one juicily instructive nugget: the Times reported on a man standing in line outside Madison Square Garden, where protesters had gathered with chants and signs. The man was a delegate from Iowa. "What they need here in New York," he said, "is some people from Iowa to come here and teach them what life's all about."
Maybe he wasn't aware of the vast percentage of New Yorkers who came here, in fact, from places like Iowa — to escape. And yes, they do teach us what life is all about — as do the people from Ecudaor, Somalia, Jamaica, Italy, Uzbekistan, North Dakota, Laos and South Orange. But we sure are grateful for the thought.
The only part of the country that might have taken harder shots than the northeast is northern California. That same Times article reported on another Republican guest who, upon his arrival, exclaimed, "It looks like New York has been taken over by San Franciscans." Now what could that possibly be code for?
So many depraved cities, so few Iowans with time to spare ...
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