INTRODUCTION
A House Divided
It’s time for Americans to wake up to a fundamental reality: the continued unity of the United States of America cannot be guaranteed. At this moment in history, there is not a single important cultural, religious, political, or social force that is pulling Americans together more than it is pushing us apart. We cannot assume that a continent-sized, multi-ethnic, multi-faith democracy can remain united forever, and it will not remain united if our political class cannot and will not adapt to an increasingly diverse and divided American public.
We lack a common popular culture. Depending on where we live and what we believe, we watch different kinds of television, we listen to different kinds of music, and we often even watch different sports.
We increasingly live separate from each other. The number of Americans who live in so-called landslide counties—counties where one presidential candidate wins by at least twenty points—is at an all-time high. The geography that a person calls their home, whether it be rural, exurban, suburban, or urban, is increasingly predictive of voting habits.
We increasingly believe different things. America is secularizing at a rapid rate, but it is still the most religious nation in the developed world, and is set to remain so for the indefinite future. While the “religious nones” (those with no particular religious affiliation) grow in number, many of America’s most religiously fervent denominations are growing as well, some rapidly. Moreover, America’s secular and religious citizens are increasingly concentrated in different parts of the country, supplementing geographic separation with religious separation.
We increasingly loathe our political opponents. The United States is in the grip of a phenomenon called “negative polarization.” In plain English this means that a person belongs to their political party not so much because they like their own party but because they hate and fear the other side. Republicans don’t embrace Republican policies so much as they despise Democrats and Democratic policies. Democrats don’t embrace Democratic policies as much as they vote to defend themselves from Republicans. At this point, huge majorities actively dislike their political opponents and significant minorities see them as possessing subhuman characteristics.
Moreover, each of these realities is set to get worse. Absent unforeseen developments, the present trends are self-reinforcing. Clustering is feeding extremism, extremism is feeding anger, and anger is feeding fear. The class of Americans who care the most about politics is, perversely enough, the class of Americans most likely to make negative misjudgments about their fellow citizens. Our political and cultural leaders are leading us apart.
Given this reality, why should we presume that our nation is immune from the same cultural and historical forces that have caused disunion in this nation before and in other nations countless times?
I’m writing this book from a unique position. For the first time in my life, I’m a man without a party. I have no “tribe.” And I must confess that it has opened my eyes. I see things differently than I used to, and I understand the perspective of my political opponents better than I did before.
For a long time you didn’t have to convince me of the problems with the American left. As a Christian conservative lawyer, I dedicated much of my professional life to protecting free speech and religious freedom. I’ve been a pro-life activist my entire adult life. In 1992, I formed a pro-life student group at Harvard Law School, and I’ve been writing, speaking, fundraising, and litigating to protect unborn children ever since.
I filed my first constitutional case more than twenty years ago. I represented my local church in a dispute with our local zoning board and was grateful to win a victory that launched a litigation career that took me into federal courts from coast to coast. But I wasn’t just a civil liberties lawyer; I was a proud Republican. I bought the whole package—or what I thought was the package.
Ronald Reagan was the first president I truly followed, and to my young mind he wasn’t just right on the issues, he inspired me. He appealed to my highest ideals. He asked us to be our best selves. No, I didn’t think he was perfect—even my young teen self could see that he was human, and like all humans, he had profound flaws. No politician is perfect. But between Reagan and the first President Bush, a brave and decent man who led by example, I believed I understood the leadership model for the Republican Party. The GOP didn’t just share my political values, it shared my moral values. It was the party of good (but imperfect) people and good (but imperfect) ideas.
In the 1990s, I believed the distinctions between Republican and Democrat sharpened. I had seen the Democrats more charitably, as people of good character but flawed ideas. Then I watched, utterly appalled, as the Democrats circled the wagons around Bill Clinton. He was a liar. He was an adulterer. Women came forward to accuse him of sexual misconduct so severe that Democrats would have demanded that any Republican facing such accusations resign. There was even strong evidence that he was guilty of rape—yet there he was, basking in the roar of the Democratic crowds, behaving like a rock star at the 2000 Democratic National Convention, even after the sordid details of the worst claims against him had been aired all over national television.
Yes, I could see that multiple Republicans faced their own sex scandals. Newt Gingrich was having his own affair even as Republicans pursued Clinton, for example. But I possessed the normal partisan mind. The normal partisan is able to see flaws on his own side—only a fanatic is totally blind to their side’s faults—but he sees them as exceptional. Flaws on the other side, by contrast, are emblematic. They’re a “tell,” providing evidence of the underlying ideological or moral rot of your opponents.
When confronted by wrongdoing in his own tribe, the normal partisan indignantly turns to the media and to their fellow citizens and demands, “Don’t judge us by the crazy few.” And then, just as indignantly, he looks at the worst actors from across the aisle and says, “Look at what your ideas cause. Look at what they’re really like. The mask has slipped.”
Moreover, partisans know their own narratives intimately. We believe our own stories. And my story was that I was a son of the New South—the region that had turned the page on its racist past. Yes, voting was still divided between black and white, but this time the white vote was about the Cold War, about faith, and about economics. The race wars were over, the culture war was under way, and it was only a matter of time before our Christian African American brothers and sisters recognized that reality and began to separate from their secular, progressive allies.
It’s not that I believed my opponents were evil. In fact, I zealously defended the civil liberties of my political opponents. I believed then (and still believe) that the blessings of liberty accrue to all Americans, and the rights of my political opponents are every bit as precious as the rights of my political allies. Yet nothing truly shook my deep conviction that the GOP was just better. It was the party of better people and better ideas. It was the party of my friends and neighbors, and my friends and neighbors were people I loved and often admired.
My political opponents, by contrast, I saw as increasingly angry—increasingly unhinged at the extremes—and dangerous for the long-term health of the republic. I believed that even when my progressive friends were sterling individuals in their personal and professional lives, their political ideas were deeply misguided, and their bad ideas were leading to bad outcomes for America.
By the middle of the second George W. Bush administration, I was so deeply entrenched in partisanship that shortly before I deployed to Iraq (I was then a captain in the Army Reserve) in 2007, I gave a speech at a conservative conference where I actually made this ridiculous statement: “I believe the two greatest threats to America are university leftism at home and jihadism abroad, and I feel called to fight both.”
Then I went to war. And now I’m ashamed of those words.
It’s one thing to understand intellectually William Tecumseh Sherman’s observation that “war is hell.” It’s another thing entirely to see it up close. Let me be clear: I served as a JAG officer (Army lawyer) for an armored cavalry regiment. I am not in any way comparing my service to the cavalry scouts and armor officers who went outside the wire every day, facing IEDs, mortars, and snipers. But I lost friends. I felt the tension of driving across uncleared roads deep into enemy-held territory. I know what it’s like to patrol through hostile towns and villages.
And I saw what one human being can do to another. The atrocities were horrifying. I watched a DVD that was left in the dust of an empty village, a DVD featuring al Qaeda terrorists beheading innocent women and cheering like they’d scored a soccer goal even as they sawed off their heads. We received a report of a man who placed a bomb in his unwitting nephew’s backpack and remotely detonated it at his own brother’s wedding. In one awful incident, a terrorist shot a three-month-old baby to death in front of its mother, then shot the mother as she cradled her son’s body in her arms.
Our area of operations was known for a time as the female suicide bombing capital of the world. Terrorists would “recruit” young women to transform themselves into bombs by raping them, thus “shaming” them (in their perverted worldview) so profoundly that only by martyring themselves could they receive redemption.
As I interacted with Iraqi police officers, soldiers, and translators, there were two things I noticed about the hatred that was then dominating Iraqi life. First, each side had its own substantially true narrative of grievance and atrocity. For every single example of Shiite violence, one could muster up a story of Sunni viciousness. And while it was absolutely correct that Saddam Hussein had brutally repressed the Shiite population, by 2007 the Shiite militias had made it abundantly clear that they could give as good as they got.
Second, the conflict itself thus became reason enough for sustaining the conflict. While the combatants may have had some sense of the ultimate policy differences in a Sunni- or Shiite-dominated Iraq, as a general rule the motive for the fight was much more primal—those horrible people cannot be permitted to win. The person who killed a brother, son, mother, or uncle had to die. It’s trite to say “violence begets violence,” but it’s quite often simply true. When a militia slaughters a family member, it’s human to seek vengeance. Across the scope of human history it’s normal to seek vengeance. The aberration is the modern embrace of the rule of law and the shedding of revenge for justice.
Copyright © 2020 by David French