Donald Trump on Thursday announced plans to avert World War III, but the former president went off script to launch attacks on neocons and Marxists, among others.
“We have never been closer to World War III than we are today under Joe Biden, a global conflict between nuclear armed powers would mean death and destruction on the scale unmatched in human history. It would be nuclear Armageddon,” the former president said in a video he posted on his Truth Social website.
The former president said new leadership is needed to avoid “that nightmare.”
Trump described Russia’s unprovoked attack on Ukraine a “proxy battle” and that “our objective is to immediately have a total cessation of hostilities.”
“We need peace without delay.”
Trump called for a “complete commitment to dismantling the entire globalist neocon establishment that is perpetually dragging us into endless wars, pretending to fight for freedom and democracy abroad, while they turn us into a third world country and a third world dictatorship, right here at home.
“The State Department, the defense bureaucracy, the intelligence services, and all of the rest need to be completely overhauled and reconstituted to fire the deep Staters and put America first. We have to put America first.”
Trump suggested America needs to reassess its role in NATO and a “foreign policy establishment keeps trying to pull the world into conflict with a nuclear armed Russia based on the lie that Russia represents our greatest threat.”
“But the greatest threat to Western civilization today is not Russia. It’s probably more than anything else. ourselves and some of the horrible, USA-hating people that represent us.”
The America-haters in Trump’s estimation support abolishing national borders and are behind the failure to police our own cities, the destruction of the rule of law from within, the collapse of the nuclear family and (lower) fertility rates, “like nobody can believe is happening.”
“It’s the Marxists who would have us become a godless nation worshipping at the altar of race and gender and environment.”
He said the globalist class that wants to keep America dependent on China aims to “squander all of America’s strength, blood and treasure, chasing monsters and phantoms overseas while keeping us distracted from the havoc they’re creating right here at home.”
“These forces are doing more damage to America than Russia and China could ever have dreamed,” Trump said.
“Evicting the sick and corrupt establishment is the monumental task for the next president. And I’m the only one who can do it. I’m the only one that can get the job done. I know exactly what has to be done.”
“Blood grows hot, and blood is spilled. Thought is forced from old channels into confusion. Deception breeds and thrives. Confidence dies, and universal suspicion reigns. Each man feels an impulse to kill his neighbor, lest he be first killed by him. Revenge and retaliation follow. And all this … may be among honest men only. But this is not all. Every foul bird comes abroad, and every dirty reptile rises up. These add crime to confusion.”
— Abraham Lincoln, letter to the Missouri abolitionist Charles D. Drake, 1863
I. ON THE BRINK
In the weeks before Labor Day 2020, Ted Wheeler, the mayor of Portland, Oregon, began warning people that he believed someone would soon be killed by extremists in his city. Portland was preparing for the 100th consecutive day of conflict among anti-police protesters, right-wing counterprotesters, and the police themselves. Night after night, hundreds of people clashed in the streets. They attacked one another with baseball bats, Tasers, bear spray, fireworks. They filled balloons with urine and marbles and fired them at police officers with slingshots. The police lobbed flash-bang grenades. One man shot another in the eye with a paintball gun and pointed a loaded revolver at a screaming crowd. The FBI notified the public of a bomb threat against federal buildings in the city. Several homemade bombs were hurled into a group of people in a city park.
Extremists on the left and on the right, each side inhabiting its own reality, had come to own a portion of downtown Portland. These radicals acted without restraint or, in many cases, humanity.
In early July, when then-President Donald Trump deployed federal law-enforcement agents in tactical gear to Portland—against the wishes of the mayor and the governor—conditions deteriorated further. Agents threw protesters into unmarked vans. A federal officer shot a man in the forehead with a nonlethal munition, fracturing his skull. The authorities used chemical agents on crowds so frequently that even Mayor Wheeler found himself caught in clouds of tear gas. People set fires. They threw rocks and Molotov cocktails. They swung hammers into windows. Then, on the last Saturday of August, a 600-vehicle caravan of Trump supporters rode into Portland waving American flags and Trump flags with slogans like TAKE AMERICA BACK and MAKE LIBERALS CRY AGAIN. Within hours, a 39-year-old man would be dead—shot in the chest by a self-described anti-fascist. Five days later, federal agents killed the suspect—in self-defense, the government claimed—during a confrontation in Washington State.
What had seemed from the outside to be spontaneous protests centered on the murder of George Floyd were in fact the culmination of a long-standing ideological battle. Some four years earlier, Trump supporters had identified Portland, correctly, as an ideal place to provoke the left. The city is often mocked for its infatuation with leftist ideas and performative politics. That reputation, lampooned in the television series Portlandia, is not completely unwarranted. Right-wing extremists understood that Portland’s reaction to a trolling campaign would be swift, and would guarantee the celebrity that comes with virality. When Trump won the presidency, this dynamic intensified, and Portland became a place where radicals would go to brawl in the streets. By the middle of 2018, far-right groups such as the Proud Boys and Patriot Prayer had hosted more than a dozen rallies in the Pacific Northwest, many of them in Portland. Then, in 2020, extremists on the left hijacked largely peaceful anti-police protests with their own violent tactics, and right-wing radicals saw an opening for a major fight.
What happened in Portland, like what happened in Washington, D.C., on January 6, 2021, was a concentrated manifestation of the political violence that is all around us now. By political violence, I mean acts of violence intended to achieve political goals, whether driven by ideological vision or by delusions and hatred. More Americans are bringing weapons to political protests. Openly white-supremacist activity rose more than twelvefold from 2017 to 2021. Political aggression today is often expressed in the violent rhetoric of war. People build their political identities not around shared values but around a hatred for their foes, a phenomenon known as “negative partisanship.” A growing number of elected officials face harassment and death threats, causing many to leave politics. By nearly every measure, political violence is seen as more acceptable today than it was five years ago. A 2022 UC Davis poll found that one in five Americans believes political violence would be “at least sometimes” justified, and one in 10 believes it would be justified if it meant returning Trump to the presidency. Officials at the highest levels of the military and in the White House believe that the United States will see an increase in violent attacks as the 2024 presidential election draws nearer.
In recent years, Americans have contemplated a worst-case scenario, in which the country’s extreme and widening divisions lead to a second Civil War. But what the country is experiencing now—and will likely continue to experience for a generation or more—is something different. The form of extremism we face is a new phase of domestic terror, one characterized by radicalized individuals with shape-shifting ideologies willing to kill their political enemies. Unchecked, it promises an era of slow-motion anarchy.
Consider recent events. In October 2020, authorities arrested more than a dozen men in Michigan, many of them with ties to a paramilitary group. They were in the final stages of a plan to kidnap the state’s Democratic governor, Gretchen Whitmer, and possessed nearly 2,000 rounds of ammunition and hundreds of guns, as well as silencers, improvised explosive devices, and artillery shells. In January 2021, of course, thousands of Trump partisans stormed the U.S. Capitol, some of them armed, chanting “Where’s Nancy?” and “Hang Mike Pence!” Since then, the headlines have gotten smaller—or perhaps numbness has set in—but the violence has continued. In June 2022, a man with a gun and a knife who allegedly said he intended to kill Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh was arrested outside Kavanaugh’s Maryland home. In July, a man with a loaded pistol was arrested outside the home of Pramila Jayapal, the leader of the Congressional Progressive Caucus. She had heard someone outside shouting “Fuck you, cunt!” and “Commie bitch!” Days later, a man with a sharp object jumped onto a stage in upstate New York and allegedly tried to attack another member of Congress, the Republican candidate for governor. In August, just after the seizure of documents from Trump’s Mar-a-Lago home, a man wearing body armor tried to breach the FBI’s Cincinnati field office. He was killed in a shoot-out with police. In October, in San Francisco, a man broke into the home of Nancy Pelosi, then the speaker of the House, and attacked her 82-year-old husband with a hammer, fracturing his skull. In January 2023, a failed Republican candidate for state office in New Mexico who referred to himself as a “MAGA king” was arrested for the alleged attempted murder of local Democratic officials in four separate shootings. In one of the shootings, three bullets passed through the bedroom of a state senator’s 10-year-old daughter as she slept.
Experts I interviewed told me they worry about political violence in broad regions of the country—the Great Lakes, the rural West, the Pacific Northwest, the South. These are places where extremist groups have already emerged, militias are popular, gun culture is thriving, and hard-core partisans collide during close elections in politically consequential states. Michigan, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Arizona, and Georgia all came up again and again.
For the past three years, I’ve been preoccupied with a question: How can America survive a period of mass delusion, deep division, and political violence without seeing the permanent dissolution of the ties that bind us? I went looking for moments in history, in the United States and elsewhere, when society has found itself on the brink—or already in the abyss. I learned how cultures have managed to endure sustained political violence, and how they ultimately emerged with democracy still intact.
Some lessons are unhappy ones. Societies tend to ignore the obvious warning signs of endemic political violence until the situation is beyond containment, and violence takes on a life of its own. Government can respond to political violence in brutal ways that undermine democratic values. Worst of all: National leaders, as we see today in an entire political party, can become complicit in political violence and seek to harness it for their own ends.
II. SALAD-BAR EXTREMISM
If you’re looking for a good place to hide an anarchist, you could do worse than Barre, Vermont. Barre (pronounced “berry”) is a small city in the bowl of a steep valley in the northern reaches of a lightly populated, mountainous state. You don’t just stumble upon a place like this.
I went to Barre in October because I wanted to understand the anarchist who had fled there in the early 1900s, at the beginning of a new century already experiencing extraordinary violence and turbulence. The conditions that make a society vulnerable to political violence are complex but well established: highly visible wealth disparity, declining trust in democratic institutions, a perceived sense of victimhood, intense partisan estrangement based on identity, rapid demographic change, flourishing conspiracy theories, violent and dehumanizing rhetoric against the “other,” a sharply divided electorate, and a belief among those who flirt with violence that they can get away with it. All of those conditions were present at the turn of the last century. All of them are present today. Back then, few Americans might have guessed that the violence of that era would rage for decades.
In 1901, an anarchist assassinated President William McKinley—shot him twice in the gut while shaking his hand at the Buffalo World’s Fair. In 1908, an anarchist at a Catholic church in Denver fatally shot the priest who had just given him Communion. In 1910, a dynamite attack on the Los Angeles Times killed 21 people. In 1914, in what officials said was a plot against John D. Rockefeller, a group of anarchists prematurely exploded a bomb in a New York City tenement, killing four people. That same year, extremists set off bombs at two Catholic churches in Manhattan, one of them St. Patrick’s Cathedral. In 1916, an anarchist chef dumped arsenic into the soup at a banquet for politicians, businessmen, and clergy in Chicago; he reportedly used so much that people immediately vomited, which saved their lives. Months later, a shrapnel-filled suitcase bomb killed 10 people and wounded 40 more at a parade in San Francisco. America’s entry into World War I temporarily quelled the violence—among other factors, some anarchists left the country to avoid the draft—but the respite was far from total. In 1917, a bomb exploded inside the Milwaukee Police Department headquarters, killing nine officers and two civilians. In the spring of 1919, dozens of mail bombs were sent to an array of business leaders and government officials, including Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes.
All of this was prologue. Starting late in the evening on June 2, 1919, in a series of coordinated attacks, anarchists simultaneously detonated massive bombs in eight American cities. In Washington, an explosion at the home of Attorney General A. Mitchell Palmer blasted out the front windows and tore framed photos off the walls. Palmer, in his pajamas, had been reading by his second-story window. He happened to step away minutes before the bomb went off, a decision that authorities believed kept him alive. (His neighbors, the assistant secretary of the Navy and his wife, Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt, had just gotten home from an evening out when the explosion also shattered their windows. Franklin ran over to Palmer’s house to check on him.) The following year, a horse-drawn carriage drew up to the pink-marble entrance of the J. P. Morgan building on Wall Street and exploded, killing more than 30 people and injuring hundreds more.
From these episodes, one name leaps out across time: Luigi Galleani. Galleani, who was implicated in most of the attacks, is barely remembered today. But he was, in his lifetime, one of the world’s most influential terrorists, famous for advancing the argument for “propaganda of the deed”: the idea that violence is essential to the overthrow of the state and the ruling class. Born in Italy, Galleani immigrated to the United States and spread his views through his anarchist newspaper, Cronaca Sovversiva, or “Subversive Chronicle.” He told the poor to seize property from the rich and urged his followers to arm themselves—to find “a rifle, a dagger, a revolver.”
Galleani fled to Barre in 1903 under the name Luigi Pimpino after several encounters with law enforcement in New Jersey. He attracted disciples—“Galleanisti,” they were called—despite shunning all forms of organization and hierarchy. He was quick-witted, with an imposing intellect and a magnetic manner of speaking. Even the police reports described his charisma.
Left: Mug shot of the anarchist leader Luigi Galleani, 1919. Right: The aftermath of the Wall Street bombing outside the J. P. Morgan building, 1920. (Paul Spella; source images: Paul Avrich Collection, Rare Book and Special Collections, Library of Congress; Bettmann / Getty)
The population of Barre today is slightly smaller than it was in Galleani’s day—roughly 10,000 then, 8,500 now—and it is the sort of place that is more confused by the presence of strangers than wary of them. The first thing you notice when you arrive is the granite. There is a mausoleum feel to any granite city, and on an overcast day the gray post-office building on North Main Street gives the illusion that all of the color has suddenly vanished from the world. Across the street, at city hall, I wandered into an administrative office where an affable woman—You came to Barre? On purpose?—generously agreed to take me inside the adjacent opera house, which, recently refurbished, looks much as it did on the winter night in 1907 when Galleani appeared there before a packed house to give a speech alongside the anarchist Emma Goldman.
Galleani almost certainly could have disappeared into Barre with his wife and children and gotten away with it. He did not want that. In his own telling, Galleani’s anger was driven by how poorly the working class was treated, particularly in factories. In Barre, granite cutters spent long hours mired in the sludge of a dark, unheated, and poorly ventilated workspace, breathing in silica dust, which made most of them gravely ill. Seeing the town, even a century after Galleani was there, I could understand why his time in Vermont had not altered his worldview. In the foreword to a 2017 biography, Galleani’s grandson, Sean Sayers, put a hagiographic gloss on Galleani’s legacy: “He was not a narrow and callous nihilist; he was a visionary thinker with a beautiful idea of how human society could be—an idea that still resonates today.” For Galleani and other self-identified “communist anarchists” like him, the beautiful idea was a world without government, without laws, without property. Other anarchists did not share his idealism. The movement was torn by disagreements—they were anarchists, after all.
In Galleani’s day, as in our own, the lines of conflict were not cleanly delineated. American radicalism can be a messy stew of ideas and motivations. Violence doesn’t need a clear or consistent ideology and often borrows from several. Federal law-enforcement officials use the term salad-bar extremism to describe what worries them most today, and it applies just as aptly to the extremism of a century ago.
When Galleani had arrived in America, he’d encountered a nation in a terrible mood, one that would feel familiar to us today. Galleani’s children were born into violent times. The nation was divided not least over the cause of its divisions. The gap between rich and poor was colossal—the top 1 percent of Americans possessed almost as much wealth as the rest of the country combined. The population was changing rapidly. Reconstruction had been defeated, and southern states in particular remained horrifically violent toward Black people, for whom the threat of lynching was constant. The Great Migration was just beginning. Immigration surged, inspiring intense waves of xenophobia. America was primed for violence—and to Galleani and his followers, destroying the state was the only conceivable path.
The spectacular violence of 1919 and 1920 proved a catalyst. A concerted nationwide hunt for anarchists began. This work, which culminated in what came to be known as the Palmer Raids, entailed direct violations of the Constitution. In late 1919 and early 1920, a series of raids—carried out in more than 30 American cities—led to the warrantless arrests of 10,000 suspected radicals, mostly Italian and Jewish immigrants. Attorney General Palmer’s dragnet ensnared many innocent people and has become a symbol of the damage that overzealous law enforcement can cause. Hundreds of people were ultimately deported. Some had fallen afoul of a harsh new federal immigration law that broadly targeted anarchists. One of them was Luigi Galleani. “The law was kind of designed for him,” Beverly Gage, a historian and the author of The Day Wall Street Exploded, told me.
The violence did not stop immediately after the Palmer Raids—in an irony that frustrated authorities, Galleani’s deportation made it impossible for them to charge him in the Wall Street bombing, which they believed he planned, because it occurred after he’d left the country. Nevertheless, sweeping action by law enforcement helped put an end to a generation of anarchist attacks.
That is the most important lesson from the anarchist period: Holding perpetrators accountable is crucial. The Palmer Raids are remembered, rightly, as a ham-handed application of police-state tactics. Government actions can turn killers into martyrs. More important, aggressive policing and surveillance can undermine the very democracy they are meant to protect; state violence against citizens only validates a distrust of law enforcement.
But deterrence conducted within the law can work. Unlike anti-war protesters or labor organizers, violent extremists don’t have an agenda that invites negotiation. “Today’s threats of violence can be inspired by a wide range of ideologies that themselves morph and shift over time,” Deputy Homeland Security Adviser Josh Geltzer told me. Now as in the early 20th century, countering extremism through ordinary debate or persuasion, or through concession, is a fool’s errand. Extremists may not even know what they believe, or hope for. “One of the things I increasingly keep wondering about is—what is the endgame?” Mary McCord, a former assistant U.S. attorney and national-security official, told me. “Do you want democratic government? Do you want authoritarianism? Nobody talks about that. Take back our country . Okay, so you get it back. Then what do you do?”
III. CREEPING VIOLENCE
In another country, and in a time closer to our own, a sustained outbreak of domestic terrorism brought decades of attacks—and illustrates the role that ordinary citizens can sometimes play, along with deterrence, in restoring stability.
On Saturday, August 2, 1980, a bomb hidden inside a suitcase blew up at the Bologna Centrale railway station, killing 85 people and wounding hundreds more, many of them young families setting off on vacation. The explosion flattened an entire wing of the station, demolishing a crowded restaurant, wrecking a train platform, and freezing the station’s clock at the time of the detonation: 10:25 a.m.
The Bologna massacre remains the deadliest attack in Italy since World War II. By the time it occurred, Italians were more than a decade into a period of intense political violence, one that came to be known as Anni di Piombo, or the “Years of Lead.” From roughly 1969 to 1988, Italians experienced open warfare in the streets, bombings of trains, deadly shootings and arson attacks, at least 60 high-profile assassinations, and a narrowly averted neofascist coup attempt. It was a generation of death and bedlam. Although exact numbers are difficult to come by, during the Years of Lead, at least 400 people were killed and some 2,000 wounded in more than 14,000 separate attacks.
As I sat at the Bologna Centrale railway station in September, a place where so many people had died, I found myself thinking, somewhat counterintuitively, about how, in the great sweep of history, the political violence in Italy in the 1970s and ’80s now seems but a blip. Things were so terrible for so long. And then they weren’t. How does political violence come to an end?
No one can say precisely what alchemy of experience, temperament, and circumstance leads a person to choose political violence. But being part of a group alters a person’s moral calculations and sense of identity, not always for the good. Martin Luther King Jr., citing the theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, wrote in his “Letter From Birmingham Jail” that “groups tend to be more immoral than individuals.” People commit acts together that they’d never contemplate alone.
Vicky Franzinetti was a teenage member of the far-left militant group Lotta Continua during the Years of Lead. “There was a lot of what I would call John Wayneism, and a lot of people fell for that,” she told me. “Whether it’s the Black Panthers or the people who attacked on January 6 on Capitol Hill, violence has a mesmerizing appeal on a lot of people.” A subtle but important shift also took place in Italian political culture during the ’60s and ’70s as people grasped for group identity. “If you move from what you want to who you are, there is very little scope for real dialogue, and for the possibility of exchanging ideas, which is the basis of politics,” Franzinetti said. “The result is the death of politics, which is what has happened.”
In talking with Italians who lived through the Years of Lead about what brought this period to an end, two common themes emerged. The first has to do with economics. For a while, violence was seen as permissible because for too many people, it felt like the only option left in a world that had turned against them. When the Years of Lead began, Italy was still fumbling for a postwar identity. Some Fascists remained in positions of power, and authoritarian regimes controlled several of the country’s neighbors—Greece, Portugal, Spain, Turkey. Not unlike the labor movements that arose in Galleani’s day, the Years of Lead were preceded by intensifying unrest among factory workers and students, who wanted better social and working conditions. The unrest eventually tipped into violence, which spiraled out of control. Leftists fought for the proletariat, and neofascists fought to wind back the clock to the days of Mussolini. When, after two decades, the economy improved in Italy, terrorism receded.
The second theme was that the public finally got fed up. People didn’t want to live in terror. They said, in effect: Enough. Lotta Continua hadn’t resorted to violence in the early years. When it did grow violent, it alienated its own members. “I didn’t like it, and I fought it,” Franzinetti told me. Simonetta Falasca-Zamponi, a sociology professor at UC Santa Barbara who lived in Rome at the time, recalled: “It went too far. Really, it reached a point that was quite dramatic. It was hard to live through those times.” But it took a surprisingly long while to reach that point. The violence crept in—one episode, then another, then another—and people absorbed and compartmentalized the individual events, as many Americans do now. They did not understand just how dangerous things were getting until violence was endemic. “It started out with the kneecappings,” Joseph LaPalombara, a Yale political scientist who lived in Rome during the Years of Lead, told me, “and then got worse. And as it got worse, the streets emptied after dark.”
A turning point in public sentiment, or at least the start of a turning point, came in the spring of 1978, when the leftist group known as the Red Brigades kidnapped the former prime minister and leader of the Christian Democrats Aldo Moro, killing all five members of his police escort and turning him into an example of how We don’t negotiate with terrorists can go terrifically wrong. Moro was held captive and tortured for 54 days, then executed, his body left in the back of a bright-red Renault on a busy Rome street. In a series of letters his captors allowed him to send, Moro had begged Italian officials to arrange for his freedom with a prisoner exchange. They refused. After his murder, the final letter he’d written to his wife, “my dearest Noretta,” roughly 10 days before his death, was published in a local newspaper. “In my last hour I am left with a profound bitterness at heart,” he wrote. “But it is not of this I want to talk but of you whom I love and will always love.” Moro did not want a state funeral, but Italy held one anyway.
Top: A bodyguard slain by the Red Brigades during the kidnapping of former Italian Prime Minister Aldo Moro, 1978. Bottom: Graffiti in Milan supporting the Red Brigades, 1977. (Paul Spella; source images: Gianni Giansanti / Gamma-Rapho / Getty; Adriano Alecchi / Mondadori Portfolio / Getty)
The conventional wisdom among terrorism experts had been that terrorists wanted publicity but didn’t really want to kill people—or, as the Rand Corporation’s Brian Jenkins put it in 1975, “Terrorists want a lot of people watching, not a lot of people dead.” But conditions had become so bad by the time Moro was murdered that newspapers around the world were confused when days passed without a political killing or shooting in Italy. “Italians Puzzled by 10-Day Lull in Terrorist Activity,” read one headline in The New York Times a few weeks after Moro’s murder. “When he was killed, it got a lot more serious,” Alexander Reid Ross, who hosts a history podcast about the era called Years of Lead Pod, told me. “People stopped laughing. It was no longer something where you could say, ‘It’s a sideshow.’ ”
The Moro assassination was followed by an intensification of violence, including the Bologna-station bombing. People who had ignored the violence now paid attention; people who might have been tempted by revolution now stayed home. Meanwhile, the crackdown that followed—which involved curfews, traffic stops, a militarized police presence, and deals with terrorists who agreed to rat out their collaborators—caused violent groups to implode.
The example of Aldo Moro offers a warning. It shouldn’t take an act like the assassination of a former prime minister to shake people into awareness. But it often does. William Bernstein, the author ofThe Delusions of Crowds, is not optimistic that anything else will work: “The answer is—and it’s not going to be a pleasant answer—the answer is that the violence ends if it boils over into a containable cataclysm.” What if, he went on—“I almost hesitate to say this”—but what if they actually had hanged Mike Pence or Nancy Pelosi on January 6? “I think that would have ended it. I don’t think it ends without some sort of cathartic cataclysm. I think, absent that, it just boils along for a generation or two generations.” Bernstein wasn’t the only expert to suggest such a thing.
No wonder some American politicians are terrified. “We’ve had an exponential increase in threats against members of Congress,” Senator Amy Klobuchar, a Democrat from Minnesota, told me in January. Klobuchar thought back to when she was standing at President Joe Biden’s inauguration ceremony, two weeks after the attempted insurrection. At the time, as Democrats and most Republicans came together for a peaceful transfer of power, she felt as though a violent eruption in American history might be ending. But Klobuchar now believes she was “naive” to think that Republicans would break with Trump and restore the party’s democratic values. “We have Donald Trump, his shadow, looming over everything,” she said.
This past February, Biden sought to dispel that shadow as he stood before Congress to deliver his State of the Union address. “There’s no place for political violence in America,” he said. “And we must give hate and extremism in any form no safe harbor.” Biden’s speech was punctuated by jeers and name-calling by Republicans.
IV. A BROKEN SOCIAL CONTRACT
The taxonomy of what counts as political violence can be complicated. One way to picture it is as an iceberg: The part that protrudes from the water represents the horrific attacks on both hard targets and soft ones, in which the attacker has explicitly indicated hatred for the targeted group—fatal attacks at supermarkets and synagogues, as well as assassination attempts such as the shooting at a congressional-Republican baseball practice in 2017. Less visible is the far more extensive mindset that underlies them. “There are a lot of people who are out for a protest, who are advocating for violence,” Erin Miller, the longtime program manager at the University of Maryland’s Global Terrorism Database, told me. “Then there’s a smaller number at the tip of the iceberg that are willing to carry out violent attacks.” You can’t get a grip on political violence just by counting the number of violent episodes. You have to look at the whole culture.
A society’s propensity for political violence—including cataclysmic violence—may be increasing even as ordinary life, for many people, probably most, continues to feel normal. A drumbeat of violent attacks, by different groups with different agendas, may register as different things. But collectively, as in Italy, they have the power to loosen society’s screws.
In December, I spoke again with Alexander Reid Ross, who in addition to hosting Years of Lead Pod is a lecturer at Portland State University. We met in Pioneer Courthouse Square, in downtown Portland. I had found the city in a wounded condition. This was tragic to me two times over—first, because I knew what had happened there, and second, because I had immediately absorbed Portland’s charm. You can’t encounter all those drawbridges, or the swooping crows, or the great Borgesian bookstore, or the giant elm trees and do anything but fall in love with the place. But downtown Portland was not at its best. The first day I was there I counted more birds than people, and many of the people I saw were quite obviously struggling badly.
On the gray afternoon when we met, Ross and I happened to be sitting at the site of the first far-right protest he remembers witnessing in his city, back in 2016; members of a group called Students for Trump, stoked by Alex Jones’s disinformation outlet, Infowars, had gathered to assert their political preferences and provoke their neighbors. Ross is a geographer, a specialty he assumed would keep him focused on land-use debates and ecology, which is one of the reasons he moved to Oregon in the first place. After that 2016 rally, Ross paid closer attention to the political violence unfolding in Portland. We decided to take a walk so that Ross could point out various landmarks from the—well, we couldn’t decide what to call the period of sustained violence that started in 2016 and was reignited in 2020. The siege? The occupation? The revolt? What happened in Portland has a way of being too slippery for precise language.
We walked southwest from the square before doubling back toward the Willamette River. Over here was the historical society that protesters broke into and vandalized one night. Over there was where the statues got toppled. (“Portland is a city of pedestals now,” Ross said.) A federal building still had a protective fence surrounding it more than a year after the street violence had ended. At one point, the mayor had to order a drawbridge raised to keep combatants apart.
On the evening of June 30, 2018, Ross found himself in the middle of a violent brawl between hundreds of self-described antifa activists and members of the Proud Boys and Patriot Prayer, a local pro-Trump offshoot. Ross described to me a number of “ghoulish” encounters he’d had with Patriot Prayer, and I asked him which moment was the scariest. “It’s on video,” he told me. “You can see it: me getting punched.” I later watched the video. In it, Ross rushes toward a group of men who are repeatedly kicking and bludgeoning a person dressed all in black, lying in the street. Ross had told me earlier that he’d intervened because he thought he was watching someone being beaten to death. After Ross gets clocked, he appears dazed, then dashes back toward the fight. “That’s enough! That’s enough!” he shouts.
By the time of this fight, Patriot Prayer had become a fixture in Portland. Its founder, Joey Gibson, has said in interviews that he was inspired to start Patriot Prayer to fight for free speech, but the group’s core belief has always been in Donald Trump. Its first event, in Vancouver, Washington, in October 2016, was a pro-Trump rally. From there, Gibson deliberately picked ultraliberal cities such as Portland, Berkeley, Seattle, and San Francisco for his protests, and in doing so quickly attracted like-minded radicals—the Proud Boys, the Three Percenters, Identity Evropa, the Hell Shaking Street Preachers—who marched alongside Patriot Prayer. These were people who seemed to love Trump and shit-stirring in equal measure. White nationalists and self-described Western chauvinists showed up at Gibson’s events. (Gibson’s mother is Japanese, and he has insisted that he does not share their views.) By August 2018, Patriot Prayer had already held at least nine rallies in Portland, routinely drawing hundreds of supporters—grown men in Boba Fett helmets and other homemade costumes; at least one man with an SS neck tattoo. In 2019, Gibson himself was arrested on a riot charge. Patriot Prayer quickly became the darling of Infowars.
Paul Spella; source image: Nathan Howard / Getty
The morning after I met Ross, I drove across the river to Vancouver, a town of strip-mall churches and ponderosa pine trees, to meet with Lars Larson, who records The Lars Larson Show—tagline: “Honestly Provocative Talk Radio”—from his home studio. Larson greeted me with his two dogs and a big mug of coffee. His warmth, quick-mindedness, and tendency to filibuster make him irresistible for talk radio. And his allegiance to MAGA world helps him book guests like Donald Trump Jr., whom Larson introduced on a recent episode as “the son of the real president of the United States of America.” Over the course of our conversation, he described January 6 as “some ruined furniture in the Capitol”; suggested that the city government of Charlottesville, Virginia, was secretly behind the violent clash at the 2017 “Unite the Right” rally; and made multiple references to George Soros, including suggesting that Soros may have paid for people to come to Portland to tear up the city. When I pressed Larson on various points, he would walk back whatever he had claimed, but only slightly. He does not seem to be a conspiracy theorist, but he plays one on the radio.
Larson blamed Portland’s troubles on a culture of lawlessness fostered by a district attorney who, he said, repeatedly declined to prosecute left-wing protesters. He sees this as an uneven application of justice that undermined people’s faith in local government. It is more accurate to say that the district attorney chose not to prosecute lesser crimes, focusing instead on serious crimes against people and property; ironically, the complaint about uneven application comes from both the far left and the far right. When I asked Larson whether Patriot Prayer is Christian nationalist in ideology, the question seemed to make him uncomfortable, and he emphasized his belief in pluralism and religious freedom. He also compared Joey Gibson and Patriot Prayer marching on Portland to civil-rights activists marching on Selma in 1965. “What I heard people tell Patriot Prayer is ‘If you get attacked every time you go to Portland, don’t go to Portland,’ ” he told me. “Would you have given that same advice to Martin Luther King?”
Gibson’s lawyer Angus Lee accused the government of “political persecution”; Gibson was ultimately acquitted of the riot charge. Patriot Prayer, Lee went on, is “not like these other organizations you referenced that have members and that sort of thing. Patriot Prayer is more of an idea.” Gibson himself once put it in blunter terms. “I don’t even know what Patriot Prayer is anymore,” he said in a 2017 interview on a public-access news channel in Portland. “It’s just these two words that people hear and it sparks emotions … All Patriot Prayer is is videos and social-media presence.”
The more I talked with people about Patriot Prayer, the more it began to resemble a phenomenon like QAnon—a decentralized and amorphous movement designed to provoke reaction, tolerant of contradictions, borrowing heavily from internet culture, overlapping with other extremist movements like the Proud Boys, linked to high-profile episodes of violence, and ultimately focused on Trump. I couldn’t help but think of Galleani, his “beautiful idea,” and the diffuse ideology of his followers. One key difference: Galleani was fighting against the state, whereas movements like QAnon and groups like Patriot Prayer and the Proud Boys have been cheered on by a sitting president and his party.
When I met with Portland’s mayor, Ted Wheeler, at city hall, he recalled night after night of violence, and at times planning for the very worst, meaning mass casualties. Portlanders had taken to calling him “Tear Gas Ted” because of the police response in the city. One part of any mayor’s job is to absorb the community’s scorn. Few people have patience for unfilled potholes or the complexities of trash collection. Disdain for Wheeler may have been the one thing that just about every person I met in Portland shared, but his job has been difficult even by big-city standards. He confronted a breakdown of the social contract.
“Political violence, in my opinion, is the extreme manifestation of other trends that are prevalent in our society,” Wheeler told me. “A healthy democracy is one where you can sit on one side of the table and express an opinion, and I can sit on the other side of the table and express a very different opinion, and then we have the contest of ideas … We have it out verbally. Then we go drink a beer or whatever.”
When extremists began taunting Portlanders online, it was very quickly “game on” for violence in the streets, Wheeler said. In this way, Portland stands as a warning to cities that now seem calm: It takes very little provocation to inflame latent tensions between warring factions. Once order collapses, it is extraordinarily difficult to restore. And it can be dangerous to attempt to do so through the use of force, especially when one violent faction is lashing out, in part, against state authority.
Aaron Mesh moved to Portland 16 years ago, to take a job as Willamette Week’s film critic, and since then has worked his way up to managing editor. He is sharp-tongued and good-humored, and it is obvious that he loves his city in the way that any good newspaperman does, with a mix of fierce loyalty and heaping criticism. Like Wheeler, he trained attention on the dynamic of action and reaction—on how rising to the bait not only solves nothing but can make things worse. “There was this attitude of We’re going to theatrically subdue your city with these weekend excursions,” Mesh said, describing the confrontations that began in 2016 as a form of cosplay, with right-wing extremists wearing everything from feathered hats to Pepe the Frog costumes and left-wing extremists dressed up in what’s known as black bloc: all-black clothing and facial coverings. “I do want to emphasize,” he said, “that everyone involved in this was a massive fucking loser, on both sides.”
It was as though all of the most unsavory characters on the internet had crawled out of the computer. The fights were enough of a spectacle that not everyone took them seriously at first. Mesh said it was impossible to overstate “the degree to which Portland became a lodestone in the imagination of a nascent Proud Boys movement,” a place where paramilitary figures on the right went “to prove that they had testicles.” He went on: “You walk into town wearing a helmet and carrying a big American flag” and then wait and see “who throws an egg at your car or who gives you the middle finger, and you beat the living hell out of them.”
Both sides behaved despicably. But only the right-wingers had the endorsement of the president and the mainstream Republican Party. “Despite being run by utter morons,” Mesh said of Patriot Prayer, “they managed to outsmart most of their adversaries in this city, simply by provoking violent reactions from people who were appalled by their politics.” The argument for violence among people on the left is often, essentially, If you encounter a Nazi, you should punch him. But “what if the only thing the Nazi wants is for you to punch him?” Mesh asked. “What if the Nazis all have cameras and they’re immediately feeding all the videos of you punching them to Tucker Carlson? Which is what they did.”
The situation in Portland became so desperate, and the ideologies involved so tangled, that the violence began to operate like its own weather system—a phenomenon that the majority of Portlanders could see coming and avoid, but one that left behind tremendous destruction. Most people don’t want to fight. But it takes startlingly few violent individuals to exact generational damage.
V. THE COMPLICIT STATE
America was born in revolution, and violence has been an undercurrent in the nation’s politics ever since. People remember the brutal opposition to the civil-rights struggle, and recall the wave of terrorism spawned by the anti-war movement of the 1960s. But the most direct precursor to what we’re experiencing now is the anti-government Patriot movement, which can be traced to the 1980s and eventually led to deadly standoffs between federal agents and armed citizens at Ruby Ridge, Idaho, in 1992, and in Waco, Texas, in 1993. Three people were killed at Ruby Ridge. As many as 80 died in Waco, 25 of them children. Those incidents stirred the present-day militia movement and directly inspired the Oklahoma City bombers, anti-government extremists who killed 168 people at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in 1995. The surge in militia activity, white nationalism, and apocalypticism of the 1990s seemed to peter out in the early 2000s. This once struck me as a bright spot, an earlier success we might learn from today. But when I mentioned this notion to Carolyn Gallaher, a scholar who spent two years following a right-wing paramilitary group in Kentucky in the 1990s, she said, “The militia movement waned very quickly in the 1990s not because of anything we did, but because of Oklahoma City. That bombing really put the movement on the back foot. Some groups went underground. Some groups dispersed. You also saw that happen with white-supremacist groups.”
A generation later, political violence in America unfolds with little organized guidance and is fed by a mishmash of extremist right-wing views. It predates the emergence of Donald Trump, but Trump served as an accelerant. He also made tolerance of political violence a defining trait of his party, whereas in the past, both political parties condemned it. At the height of the Patriot movement, “there was this fire wall” between extremist groups and elected officials that protected democratic norms, according to Gallaher. Today, “the fire wall between these guys and formal politics has melted away.” Gallaher does not anticipate an outbreak of civil strife in America in a “classic sense”—with Blue and Red armies or militias fighting for territory. “Our extremist groups are nowhere near as organized as they are in other countries.”
Because it is chaotic, Americans tend to underestimate political violence, as Italians at first did during the Years of Lead. Some see it as merely sporadic, and shift attention to other things. Some say, in effect, Wake me when there’s civil war. Some take heart from moments of supposed reprieve, such as the poor showing by election deniers and other extremists in the 2022 midterm elections. But think of all the ongoing violence that at first glance isn’t labeled as being about politics per se, but is in fact political: the violence, including mass shootings, directed at LGBTQ communities, at Jews, and at immigrants, among others. In November, the Department of Homeland Security issued a bulletin warning that “the United States remains in a heightened threat environment” due to individuals and small groups with a range of “violent extremist ideologies.” It warned of potential attacks against a long list of places and people: “public gatherings, faith-based institutions, the LGBTQI+ community, schools, racial and religious minorities, government facilities and personnel, U.S. critical infrastructure, the media, and perceived ideological opponents.”
The broad scope of the warning should not be surprising—not after the massacres in Pittsburgh, El Paso, Buffalo, and elsewhere. One month into 2023, the pace of mass shootings in America—all either political or, inevitably, politicized—was at an all-time high. “There’s no place that’s immune right now,” Mary McCord, the former assistant U.S. attorney, observed. “It’s really everywhere.” She added, “Someday, God help us, we’ll come out of this. But it’s hard for me to imagine how.”
The sociologist Norbert Elias, who left Germany for France and then Britain as the Nazi regime took hold, famously described what he called the civilizing process as “a long sequence of spurts and counter-spurts,” warning that you cannot fix a violent society simply by eliminating the factors that made it deteriorate in the first place. Violence and the forces that underlie it have the potential to take us from the democratic backsliding we already know to a condition known as decivilization. In periods of decivilization, ordinary people fail to find common ground with one another and lose faith in institutions and elected leaders. Shared knowledge erodes, and bonds fray across society. Some people inevitably decide to act with violence. As violence increases, so does distrust in institutions and leaders, and around and around it goes. The process is not inevitable—it can be held in check—but if a period of bloodshed is sustained for long enough, there is no shortcut back to normal. And signs of decivilization are visible now.
A pro-Trump demonstrator at the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021, when insurrectionists stormed the building (Paul Spella; source image: Brendan Smialowski / AFP / Getty)
“The path out of bloodshed is measured not in years but in generations,” Rachel Kleinfeld writes in A Savage Order, her 2018 study of extreme violence and the ways it corrodes a society. “Once a democracy descends into extreme violence, it is always more vulnerable to backsliding.” Cultural patterns, once set, are durable—the relatively high rates of violence in the American South, in part a legacy of racism and slaveholding, persist to this day. In The Delusions of Crowds, William Bernstein looks further afield, to Germany. He told me, “You can actually predict anti-Semitism and voting for the Nazi Party by going back to the anti-Semitism across those same regions in the 14th century. You can trace it city to city.”
Three realities mark the current era of political violence in America as different from what has come before, and make dealing with it much harder. The first—obvious—is the universal access to weaponry, including military-grade weapons.
Second, today’s information environment is simultaneously more sophisticated and more fragmented than ever before. In 2006, the analyst Bruce Hoffman argued that contemporary terrorism had become dangerously amorphous. He was referring to groups like al-Qaeda, but we now witness what he described among domestic American extremists. As Hoffman and others see it, the defining characteristic of post-9/11 terrorism is that it is decentralized. You don’t need to be part of an organization to become a terrorist. Hateful ideas and conspiracy theories are not only easy to find online; they’re actively amplified by social platforms, whose algorithms prioritize the anger and hate that drive engagement and profit. The barriers to radicalization are now almost nonexistent. Luigi Galleani would have loved Twitter, YouTube, and Telegram. He had to settle for publishing a weekly newspaper. Because of social media, conspiracy theories now spread instantly and globally, often promoted by hugely influential figures in the media, such as Tucker Carlson and of course Trump, whom Twitter and Facebook have just reinstated.
The third new reality goes to the core of American self-governance: people refusing to accept the outcome of elections, with national leaders fueling the skepticism and leveraging it for their own ends. In periods of decivilization, violence often becomes part of a governing strategy. This can happen when weak states acquiesce to violence simply to survive. Or it can happen when politicians align themselves with violent groups in order to bolster authority—a characteristic of what Kleinfeld, in her 2018 book, calls a “complicit state.” This is a well-known tactic among authoritarian incumbents worldwide who wield power by mobilizing state and vigilante violence in tandem.
Complicity is insidious. It doesn’t require a revolution. You can see complicity, for example, in Trump’s order to the Proud Boys to “stand back and stand by” in the months ahead of January 6. You can see it in the Republican Party’s defense of Trump even after he propelled insurrectionists toward the U.S. Capitol. And you can see it in the way that powerful politicians and television personalities continue to cheer on right-wing extremists as “patriots” and “political prisoners,” rather than condemning them as vigilantes and seditionists.
Americans sometimes wonder what might have happened if the Civil War had gone the other way—what the nation would be like now, or whether it would even exist, if the South had won. But that thought experiment overlooks the fact that we do know what it looks like for violent extremists to win in the United States. In the 1870s, white supremacists who objected to Reconstruction led a campaign of violence that they perversely referred to as Redemption. They murdered thousands of Black people in terror lynchings. They drove thousands more Black business owners, journalists, and elected officials out of their homes and hometowns, destroying their livelihoods. Sometimes violence ends not because it is overcome, but because it has achieved its goal.
Norbert Elias’s warnings notwithstanding, dealing seriously with society’s underlying pathologies is part of the answer to political violence in the long term. But so, too, is something we have not had and perhaps can barely imagine anymore: leaders from all parts of the political constellation, and at all levels of government, and from all segments of society, who name the problem of political violence for what it is, explain how it will overwhelm us, and point a finger at those who foment it, either directly or indirectly. Leaders who understand that nothing else will matter if we can’t stop this one thing. The federal government is right to take a hard line against political violence—as it has done with its prosecutions of Governor Whitmer’s would-be kidnappers and the January 6 insurrectionists (almost 1,000 of whom have been charged). But violence must also be confronted where it first takes root, in the minds of citizens.
Ending political violence means facing down those who use the language of democracy to weaken democratic systems. It means rebuking the conspiracy theorist who uses the rhetoric of truth-seeking to obscure what’s real; the billionaire who describes his privately owned social platform as a democratic town square; the seditionist who proclaims himself a patriot; the authoritarian who claims to love freedom. Someday, historians will look back at this moment and tell one of two stories: The first is a story of how democracy and reason prevailed. The second is a story of how minds grew fevered and blood was spilled in the twilight of a great experiment that did not have to end the way it did.
*Lead image source credits from left to right: Kathryn Elsesser / AFP / Getty; Michael Nigro / Sipa USA / Alamy; Mathieu Lewis-Rolland / AFP / Getty; Alex Milan Tracy / AP; Michael Nigro / Sipa USA / Alamy; Michael Nigro / Sipa USA / AP; Mathieu Lewis-Rolland / AFP / Getty; Mark Downey / ZUMA / Alamy; Mathieu Lewis-Rolland / AFP / Getty
This article appears in the April 2023 print edition with the headline “The New Anarchy.” When you buy a book using a link on this page, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.
Marjorie Taylor Greene has called for a “national divorce,” voter suppression, and now seemingly civil war, appeals made all the more concerning by the key committee positions she holds in Congress.
In an interview Tuesday night with Fox News’s Sean Hannity, the Georgia representative lamented the fact that the country was so polarized and her “way of life” was under attack from the left.
“The last thing I ever want to see in America is a civil war,” she said. “But it’s going that direction, and we have to do something about it.”
In the same segment, Hannity also said he couldn’t see another option aside from splitting up the country, touting supposed benefits including continued fossil fuel use, paper-only ballots, and full state control of public education.
Greene’s outrageous comments came just hours after she told Charlie Kirk that Democratic voters who move to Republican-controlled states should lose the right to vote for five years. The day before that, she tweeted that the U.S. “[needs] a national divorce.”
Her borderline seditious rhetoric is made all the more frightening by the fact that Greene sits on several powerful committees in the House of Representatives, including the Oversight and Homeland Security committees. She earned those appointments through a shrewd rebrand, during which she allied herself closely with House Speaker Kevin McCarthy, but her true colors seem to be coming back out. McCarthy has yet to speak publicly on Greene’s comments.
Despite her complaints about divisive “abuse” from the left, Greene has shared conspiracy theories, peddled racist and antisemitic beliefs, and helped incite the January 6 riot. And when she talks about “our way of life” being under attack, it’s a pretty safe bet she doesn’t mean a way of life that includes equal rights for all.
Experts on violence are projecting that the coming weeks will see an increase in heated political arguments online — including violent right-wing rhetoric about an impending “civil war” — due to the fast-approaching midterms and continued investigations into former President Donald Trump.
Analyses have shown a significant rise in far right violence over the past few years. Much of the right wing’s violent rhetoric has centered around Trump, with some of his loyalists suggesting that violence to protect him from an investigation into his removal of government documents from the White House would be justified.
“If you look at the words and meaning of the awkward and angry Biden speech tonight, he threatened America, including with the possible use of military force,” Trump said. (Biden made no such threats during his speech.)
Other Trump loyalists, including Republicans in Congress and former members of his administration, have also stepped up their use of violent rhetoric in recent weeks.
At a campaign event this month that was headlined by Trump, Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-Georgia) alleged that Republicans were the victims of a violent, coordinated campaign being orchestrated by Democrats — a claim that has no basis in fact whatsoever, as none of the violence she described ever occurred.
“I am not going to mince words with you all. Democrats want Republicans dead and they have already started the killings,” Greene claimed.
Some have suggested that right-wing talk of civil war is allegorical, or that it alludes to a “cold” civil war, in which physical violence doesn’t actually take place.
“The question is what does ‘civil war’ look like and what does it mean,” Elizabeth Neumann, a security expert who served as assistant secretary for counterterrorism at the Department of Homeland Security under Trump, said to The New York Times.
One in 20 U.S. adults, for example, believes that using violence to reinstate the ex-president into the White House midway through Biden’s first term would be justified, according to a survey CPOST conducted last month. That amounts to around 13 million Americans. Even more Americans — around 15 million — would support the use of violence to keep Trump from being prosecuted by the Department of Justice, according to the poll.
“We have not just a political threat to our democracy, we have a violent threat to our democracy,” said Robert Pape, the director of CPOST, in a recent interview.
Heather Cox Richardson’s wildly popular Substack newsletter, Letters From an American, achieves what historical studies do at their best: shed light on the politics of the moment by telling parallel stories from the past. As often as the word “unprecedented” comes up in modern political discussions, the comparisons it conjures are usually limited to living memory—which historians know to look beyond. In this episode of How to Save a Country, hosts Michael Tomasky and Felicia Wong talk with Richardson, a professor of nineteenth-century American history at Boston College and the author of six books, about today’s polarization, the last time anti-democratic forces threatened to take hold of Congress, and the unique dangers democracy faces now.
“We actually have people within our government
who are working against our democracy, and that is a whole different kettle of
fish than we’ve ever had to deal with before,” Richardson says. “Taking back our
country into our own hands is the first step, I think, to changing our
democracy.” Later, Richardson digs into the difference
between freedom from and freedom to, and explains why democracy and
capitalism are not interchangeable.
How to Save a Country is a production of the Roosevelt Institute, The New Republic, and PRX. Generous funding for the podcast was provided by the William and Flora Hewlett Foundation and Omidyar Network. Views expressed do not necessarily reflect the opinions and beliefs of its funders.
Michael: I’m Michael Tomasky, editor of The New
Felicia: And I’m Felicia Wong, president
and CEO of the Roosevelt Institute.
Michael: This is How to Save a Country, our podcast on the
ideas and the people contributing to a
new political vision and a new economic vision for the United States. We
connect the economy, democracy, and freedom …
Felicia: Because progressives need a common purpose and a common
strategy to win.
Michael: Our guest
today is Heather Cox Richardson. You may know that name already if you’re one
of the hundreds of thousands of subscribers to her daily Substack newsletter.
It’s called Letters From an American, and it’s a guide to the politics of the
moment with prior context drawn from Heather’s work as a professor of nineteenth-century American history
at Boston College.
[Excerpt of Heather speaking]: I’m not Bruce
Springsteen. You know, I’m somebody who is voicing what a lot of people think.
I’m the voice of what I think is a political moment and a political movement.
Felicia: You know, I think we should say something right up top here in
this interview. Heather often jumps
around from talking about the nineteenth century to talking about the present day, which is
amazing but can be a little confusing. So as a reminder, the Republican Party of 150 years ago, which she refers to, that was the party of Lincoln. And after the North won the
Civil War, it was the Democratic Party that clung to the Confederate cause and
even promoted it within the halls of Congress, which we’ll get into.
Michael: What I enjoyed so much about this conversation is that every time we ask
her about this or that aspect of modern politics, she would give of course an
astute diagnosis of the current situation, but
then she would also turn around and rewind things and find a comparison to some
of the wheeling and dealing that went on in this or that decade of the nineteenth
century, and it’s just fascinating stuff.
Felicia: And as for why we wanted
to have her on this program now, you know, she’s particularly good at
explaining polarization. Heather has studied some of our nation’s most divided
times—the Civil War, Reconstruction—and so she has great insights about today’s divisions too.
Michael: Coming right up, it’s our interview with Heather Cox Richardson. Heather Cox Richardson, welcome to How to
Save a Country.
Heather: Oh, it’s such a pleasure
to be here.
Michael: We’re thrilled to have
you. I want to start with a broad and rather grim question. How much trouble is this
country in right now?
Heather: A lot. Would you like me
Heather: We are in
a unique moment because we have, certainly in our past, had plenty of times
when there were people who did not believe in the democratic experiment and who
were trying to impose an oligarchy or some form of a hierarchical government.
But this is the first time in our history that those people who wanted to do that have a
significant footprint within our government. We actually have people within our
government who are working against our democracy, and that is a whole different
kettle of fish than we’ve ever had to deal
Michael: It’s different even, I believe, from the
late 1850s. Would you agree? Worse. By different, I mean worse.
Heather: Well, there are a lot of
similarities. That is, during the 1850s, the large enslavers from
the American South did in fact take over the government. They took over the
Supreme Court, they took over the Senate, they took over the presidency, and it
really looked as if they were going to be able to take over the House of
Representatives as well and force their system of a hierarchical government, really an
oligarchy, on the rest of the country by spreading their system of enslavement
across the American West, and by simply outnumbering the number of states that
emphasized free labor. So it really did look as if that were going to be the
case, but when, in fact, Americans elected
Abraham Lincoln to the presidency in 1860, those people took their marbles and
went home. So Americans were able to redefine American democracy during those
early years of the 1860s without
there being a group of people who were actively trying to destroy that
democracy. Now there was a moment in 1879—
Michael: After the
Heather: Yes, when, in fact, former Confederates did stay in the government and did try to destroy
it from within, and they were quite thoroughly put down by the American people.
Michael: Indeed, a few
years after the Civil War and the defeat of the Confederates, that is the Democrats, the party threw up further resistance
from inside the federal system that they had just rejoined basically. Talk a
little bit more about that moment. What happened exactly?
Heather: At the
time it was a huge deal and most people, of
course, haven’t even heard about today. But what happened was that in 1874, the
Democrats take back over the House of Representatives, largely because there was an economic depression in 1873, and they were mad at
the Republicans about that, but the former
Confederates took that as a sign that in fact, Americans did not want to have Black rights, they did not
want equality, they did not want the
Republican program that was designed to help the American economy, that they
wanted to go back to the years before the Civil War. Then in 1878, the Democrats take
over control of the Senate as well, and what
that meant was when Congress was seated in 1879, they had Congress and they
decided literally to defund the government until the president, who was Rutherford B.
Hayes, did what they wanted—that is, removed
all the troops from the South—and at the time,
people recognized that that was essentially the resurgence of the Confederacy
within the government itself. And in fact, Democrats said so. They said, you know, “We were stupid to actually secede. We should have stayed here and did what we wanted all
When that happens, there is a real movement among Americans
to say, “No, this is just the Confederacy by
another means,” and this becomes this huge
popular moment. There are cartoons and there are poems and there are songs, and there are
articles in newspapers, and everybody’s saying, “Hey,
we fought this war once. We’re not going to
fight it again. We’re gonna put these people down.” The president, Rutherford B. Hayes, vetoes those demands, bills that went
through five times. The Confederates end up backing down, recognizing that there is an upcoming election in 1880 and
that they look like complete idiots.
Now, that was a long way to tell a really, to my mind, cool story,
but one that most people may not be as interested in as I am. But on
the heels of that catastrophe, if you
will, the Confederacy trying to take over the
government from within, the Democratic Party split, said, “We got a problem. We have to throw these former Confederates
overboard.” It’s at that moment that the
Democratic Party starts to focus on urban
workers, urban people of color, and tries to move the
country forward as an urban party. It’s a moment that looks quite a bit like
where we are, I hope anyway, today.
Felicia: Right,you see a
lot of this debate also amongst conservative, Republican-aligned thinkers. So are
you going to see, I think of it as, either a softer safety net, the kind of
family protections that Mitt Romney is arguing for? Are you going to see the kind of public investments that Marco Rubio is arguing for?
right, that’s the $64,000 question. The Republican Party coming out of the 1850s was
a true conservative party, and it took its cues from people like Edmund Burke,
although not deliberately name-checking him, with the idea that the government should protect instruments of stability. So
the idea of returning to sort of conservatism
within the Republican Party is a real mouthful
because the current-day Republican Party is no
longer a conservative party.
The Republican Party in the middle of the twentieth century really stood for that— Planned Parenthood, for example—to strengthen the ability of the family to plan its own future, and to strengthen churches, and to strengthen the ability of
people to feed their children, and all the sorts of things that one would associate with a Burkean conservatism in the twentieth
century. The modern-day Republican Party has gone quite far from
that. What has happened since the rise of
Donald Trump, who’s a symptom by the way, not
only a cause, the
Republican Party has really focused on their
base voters, and the base voters are being turned out by racism, anti-immigrant
sentiment, misogyny. They’re really the kinds of themes that people like [Prime
Minister] Viktor Orbán have pushed in Hungary, and they’re themes that frankly are what
helped the Nazi parties to rise not only in
Germany but also in other places in Europe and that people focused on in
America in the 1920s and the 1930s as well. Those are not things that will
attract that famous suburban woman, which is
what the Republican Party so desperately needs.
Felicia: I wanna ask about the Fourteenth Amendment,
which guarantees people equal protection under the law. It’s come up a lot in recent politics, especially
after the overturning of Roe v. Wade.
So what do you think? Is it alarming or encouraging that we are still talking about equality and equal
protection at this most basic level.
Heather: You know, I joke
sometimes that I stop people in the supermarket to talk about the Fourteenth
Amendment, but there’s a reason that the Fourteenth Amendment matters as much as it ever has at this moment.
After the Thirteenth Amendment
becomes part of our Constitution in 1865, the end of human enslavement except for punishment
for a crime for which somebody has been duly convicted, the Southern states
remand formally enslaved people to a system that is not exactly slavery, but it
definitely is second-class citizenship. What
happens then is a real revolution in the way they think about the American
government and the relationship of the states to the federal government. And what the Fourteenth Amendment does is it says that no state can take away
equality, no state can violate the equal
protection of the laws, that every American
citizen has equal protection of the laws, and that their rights cannot be taken
away from them without due process of those laws. So it puts the federal
government in charge of guaranteeing that no state can take away rights from
anybody within those states, any citizen within those states, and that becomes part of the U.S. Constitution in 1868.
Then, in 1870, Congress
establishes the Department of Justice to make sure that’s going to be the case.
Now that plays forward in the twentieth century, after people start to look away from what the
Fourteenth Amendment should be able to do, and there’s a couple of Supreme Court cases that say that in
fact, so long as discrimination is done by individuals, that the federal
government can’t step in to change that, but of course by the early twentieth century, we have a system
in which African Americans and Mexican Americans and Hispanic Americans are
living under systems of Jim Crow and Juan Crow laws that relegate them to a
second-class citizenship. The Supreme Court under Justice Earl Warren begins to use the Fourteenth
Amendment to protect the rights of individuals within the states, and of course
it is those laws that now the current-day Supreme Court, under the radical
control of the Republicans that have been really put over the top by the three
new justices appointed by Donald Trump, are dismantling. They’re saying that, in
fact, that is not something that the Fourteenth Amendment should be doing and that
they will not use the Fourteenth Amendment to
protect individuals from discrimination at the state level.
really at a moment that looks very much like a period in which the
Confederates are gaining the upper hand. That
is, they are concentrating power at the state level and essentially
ignoring the Fourteenth Amendment. We’ve taken it
for granted, and it’s time to reassert what that actually means and why our
ancestors put it in our fundamental law, into
Felicia: You know, one of the things that I think is distressing to everyone that I know or speak to is just how much appetite
there seems to be for conspiracy theories, fact-free
conversation, wild speculation everywhere in our politics right now, but let’s be honest, particularly on the right, the far
right. Is there any precedent for this much craziness in any political party? I know there’s a long history in American politics of
anti-intellectualism and leaning toward being attracted by conspiracy, but why
is it so
intertwined with one of our major parties right now?
Heather: Those are two different
questions. One, has there ever been a major political party that adhered to conspiracy theories and basically
lies the way we have now? And the answer to that is no. We’ve certainly had
plenty of politicians who were opportunistic
and told their followers things that weren’t true, but they were not major
with the possible exception of Joe McCarthy, who of
course has a direct line to people like Donald Trump. Why is it so deeply
rooted in our society today is a really more
interesting question, and that is, first of all, like I say, the Republican Party, since at least 1986,
recognized that it needed to convince its followers of something that was not
true. Actually you can go back all the
way to Nixon, but really it was Ronald Reagan who tried to sell people on a
narrative that was not rooted in reality. If
you look at when Reagan was the governor of California, the reporters covering him
kind of thought he was a joke. For example, he
talked about how many lives he had saved when he was a lifeguard, and all the other lifeguards on the beach were like, “You know, the rest of us have been here and we’re not saving
anybody, nobody needs us.” And they thought it was just sort of a joke really, that
he would tell these stories that were creating a narrative of heroism, that were
not true. So you could push it all the way back to that.
You can see it in a number
of candidates nowadays, but certainly what
springs to mind is Donald Trump’s “American carnage” speech, when he took the oath of office, in which he described an America
that was just a hellscape. And similarly, the idea
that in the summer of 2020, there were
literally cities that had been burned down, that
was just simply not true. So I think part of it is the bread and butter, at this
point, of the Republican Party.
Felicia: All right, we’re gonna
take just a quick break, and don’t forget that Michael and I will talk between ourselves about this interview
later on. Stay tuned.
Michael: And we’re
back with Heather Cox Richardson on How to Save a Country. Heather, I want to ask you a question about a word. The
word is freedom. You wrote a book called To Make Men Free: A History of
the Republican Party, an excellent book and a
very fair and judicious book. You chose
that word in the title for a reason, and I’m guessing you, if you’d written the history of the Democratic Party,
you might not have used the word “free.”
me just explain first of all why I used “to make men free” as the title of that. That was a bit of a tweak, if
you will, at the Republican Party because it’s a line from Julia Ward Howe’s “Battle-Hymn of the Republic:” “As he died to make men holy, let
us die to make men free.” “The Battle-Hymn of the Republic” has been played at the Republican National Convention
every year until the year I wrote that book. I haven’t checked since. I did not
hear it at Donald Trump’s, but it was the song for the Republican Party,
and of course what they did is they made men free. Of course she wrote
that, she was up to something else when she wrote that. And since the rise of
Reagan, I believe that the Republican Party has very much worked to get rid of the idea of
universal human equality and replace it with an idea of a heteronormative
cowboy dad in charge of his women and children, and hence the focus on getting women back into the home, out of professional settings, even things like the prairie dresses that became so popular in the
1970s and into the 1980s, and by the way, are back today.
Felicia: I was going to say they’re back. The
prairie dresses were back.
Heather: Which is, wow.
Fully shipped. Do you react the same way I do to those?
Felicia: I do,yes. The ruffles are back.
holy smokes. But here we are in a situation: The Republican Party owns
this word freedom and owns this concept. It’s completely associated with the
Republican Party. They have their Freedom Caucus. They have freedom: this liberty, that. Yet their
definition of freedom is utterly perverse: the
freedom not to wear a mask and to cough on somebody in the supermarket and get
them sick. I think the Democrats have a real
failing here in having ceded this word, this
concept that is cherished by Americans, that Americans are taught to cherish
from the time they can cherish any idea. The Democrats have been very derelict
in letting the Republicans have that word and not having their own definition of freedom. I think in fact that these economic ideas have to do with the democratic
vision of freedom. These ideas, these programs, these supports, these
investments, will give people more freedom to fulfill their potential as human
beings and to live better lives. So this is a
pet peeve of mine about our contemporary political discourse and culture. What
do you think?
Heather: Well, I hate to do this
to you, but you sound very much like a nineteenth-century Republican.
That is precisely what Abraham Lincoln and Theodore
Roosevelt would’ve said. I will suggest, though, that there is embedded in the
concept of freedom a really important distinction between the freedom from
something and the freedom to something.
Heather: And that
is one that I think the Republicans have exploited, the current-day Republicans, and I think that’s an
important distinction to make. The current-day Republicans, since the Reagan
revolution, are really very different than
traditional Republicans that they have celebrated with the freedom from
regulation, the freedom from having to share
civil rights with anybody who is not—fill in all the blanks—white, heteronormative, male, et cetera, but they haven’t talked about exactly what you’re talking about, the fact that both Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt, for
example, but then later on, FDR and Eisenhower focused on the fact that an
active federal government actually worked to create a world in which
individuals had the freedom to do things: to
be creative, to have jobs that would support their families, to travel, to be
healthy, to do all sorts of things that are part
of a definition of freedom that is far more inclusive than being a person of
privilege who has the freedom from things, but rather has the freedom to
Felicia: I think that one of my hypotheses
about how the left lost the freedom narrative is that the
libertarian neoliberal, if you will, economists took it over, and freedom in the late ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s came to mean the freedom to transact, the freedom to hold
property, et cetera, narrowly, and therefore the left
lost the freedom that was part of the abolition movement, the freedom that was
part of the women’s liberation movement. The
activist in me, the earnest person in me, thinks that that means that freedom
is there again, to be expanded as a political
concept and recaptured, but it’s gonna take a lot of work to do that.
Heather: Well, I think we made a
terrible error, as well, after the fall of the Soviet Union, grabbing hold of the idea that democracy and capitalism
were interchangeable. The focus on capitalism
and the rise of capitalism standing for democracy, which was something of
course that had been pushed as far back as Reagan, and certainly before that: the Powell memo in 1971 and all the way, of course, back to William F.
Buckley in God and Man at Yale in 1951. That idea that as
long as you had capitalism, you would have democracy
has come home to haunt us because, of course, we now have proof that you can have capitalism and not have
democracy. You need to look no further than China and look at the rising forms
of capitalism there. At the same time, we very deliberately don’t have
democracy, and you have people thinking along those lines and trying to redefine
democracy as having stuff. That’s a real loss
because, of course, the whole concept of democracy and our democracy, American
democracy, is that all people are created equal and, crucially, that they have a right to consent to the government under
which they live. They’re allowed to have a say, and that idea of having a say we seem to be tossing over at a frightening pace, and you really can’t have the
one without having the other. I have a
theory about that.
Heather: My theory
is when Americans talk about socialism, they
think they’re talking about international socialism, which really takes form after 1917, but they’re not.
They’re talking about Black voting, and that
took place in 1871. Opponents in the South,
former Confederates, say, “Well, all they’re
doing is they are creating socialism. They’re turning this country into a
socialist country.” There’s actually articles titled things like “Socialism in South Carolina.” People in the nineteenth century put race and class together when
people started to talk about socialism, basically saying that if you let Black people vote, they would vote for things like roads and schools and hospitals, and that would cost tax
dollars, and since white people were the only
ones who had property to tax in the post–Civil
War South, that meant a redistribution of
wealth from white people to Black people.
You still see that nowadays when people talk about how the Democrats are dangerous, radical leftist socialists. I mean, it’s kind of a list of buzzwords there. But I
got thinking last year, I was teaching a course and wanted to talk about the rise of international capitalism, and I
thought, “When did Americans start
talking about capitalism?”
because Lincoln talked all the time about capital. In fact, during the 1860s, Lincoln and
people like him talked about capital and defined it quite literally as pre-exerted labor. They believed it was a product of labor. But
while they talk about capital in the 1860s and the 1870s, they start to talk
about capitalists, they don’t talk about
capitalism. So I actually did a word search and discovered that they talk about
capitalists as people who have money. It’s not an economic system, it’s an identifier of who people are who have money. So if
they’re talking about, for example, in New York City, a law that would help
people with money, they say the capitalists like it.
And then they start to use the word capitalism in America to stand
against the idea of socialism, socialism
being the poor people voting, immigrants in
New York is what they’re worried about, but Black
people in the American South, they start to say, “We don’t want a system of socialism. We want a system of
by that they mean that people with capital should be the ones who determine the
political system. If you think about
capitalism in the American context, not as being about an economic system but
rather thinking about it as a political system, it changes the entire way you think about the relationship between
democracy and capitalism.
Felicia: I want to turn now to talking a little bit about you, because
your work and frankly your popularity are kind of fascinating, so tell us a little bit more about your project, Letters From an American. How did it start? And say a little
bit about what you think your popularity means about the kind of political
analysis, historical analysis, that everyday people are really looking for
not Bruce Springsteen. I’m
somebody who is voicing what a lot of people think. I’m the voice of what I
think is a political moment, and a political movement in that people want to
have a government that works and that they feel proud of and that reflects them, and they are decent human beings. They’re also
talented human beings. I hear from a
lot of people, and there’s extraordinary talent in this country. I am literally just holding up
a mirror to America at this moment, and it’s a
mirror that I really like. I like the people I’m dealing with, and I think
people are eager to have a say in their government and to be able to
participate in it, and that’s really what I
Michael: The show is called How to Save a
Country. So Heather Cox Richardson,
give us a couple ideas, concrete ideas for how to
save the country.
Heather: It’s worth
mentioning here that I am an idealist, by which I mean, I think ideas change
the way people behave. What I always tell people is the way you change this
country is you change the way you talk about it. You change the way you think about it, and you make it known that you feel that way and that you think that way,
and that you include people in your vision of the world to make it the way you
want it to be. So for example, if you
look at the rise of the John Birch Society, which was a right-wing society that really got its teeth in the country after Brown v. Board of
Education, the way the Birchers organized was literally by going out and talking to
people. That idea of changing our country by
talking to people about what this country could be, what you want our
government to do, whether or not it’s what I want our government to do, taking
back our country into our own hands is the first step to changing our democracy.
there’s the other things, of course, that everybody talks about: Run for office, vote,
give money to causes, stand up for things you believe in. All those things are
part of participating in our political system. But the first of those to me is
speak up: Speak up to your neighbors, speak up to your local
newspapers, speak up to TheWall Street Journal when you don’t like
what it’s doing, take back oxygen from those radical
people who are trying to destroy our country. People tend to forget that when
in fact we embraced civil rights in this country in the 1950s, first with the
Civil Rights Act of 1957 and then in the 1960s, those were white men who voted for the changing laws, and they
did not do that because they suddenly saw the light and thought it would be a
great thing for them to give rights to Black
women, for example. It’s because people like the NAACP and the organizers with
them and Black Americans spoke up and said,
“This is not the kind of country we want to live in.” They were able,
as I say, to push that incredibly heavy boulder uphill. So we have precedent,
we have hope, and the way you participate in that
is simply by stepping up and starting to do it.
Felicia: I want to thank
you, Heather Cox Richardson, for your time on
this show. We have so appreciated learning from you today and learning from you
every morning at 3:00 a.m. or whenever I
receive your newsletter.
Heather: Thank you for having me. It’s been a real
Michael: Pleasure was
ours. Thanks so much.
Felicia: Michael, what did you think?
Michael: I guess one of the main
things that I take away from this is the idea that political parties change. The
Democratic Party changed in that time
quite dramatically over the course of a couple of decades, and I don’t want
to overstate my optimism here, just the mere fact that it has happened in our history
means that it can happen again.
Felicia: Really what we’ve been
talking about this whole episode is about party instability. The optimist in me hopes that instability will actually lead to
realignment. But today the question for me is who
is going to be in what part of this
realignment? I really wonder how Black Americans and Latino Americans and Asian
Americans end up aligning with what party.
perfect world, both parties would have the economic policies demonstrating that
they’re competing for the votes of people of color, kind of race to the top. That
is not what we’re seeing right now. And instead, our politics of race are
ugly within one party, and they’re at risk of being
somewhat dismissed by the other party. I hope that’s not going to happen, but I could imagine that happening. So instead, I
really fear a kind of race to the bottom, around
race, and whether that can flip is part of what
we’ll be discussing with the next two guests
to Save a Country,Dorian Warren …
[Excerpt of Dorian Warren speaking]:There is
something really going on across the spectrum
in terms of one’s class, background, racial and gender background. This is actually an
exciting time for the labor movement.
Felicia: And Deepak Bhargava …
[Excerpt of Deepak Bhargava speaking]: So why not
awaken the best parts of our national
identity, which admittedly we rarely live up to, but they’re there, of being a welcoming country.
Felicia: We’re happy to have them
joining How to Save a Country,
which is a production of PRX in partnership
with the Roosevelt Institute and The New Republic.
Michael: Our associate producer
is Alli Rodgers. Our lead producer is Pierre Bienaimé. Our executive producer
is Jocelyn Gonzalez.
Felicia: Our theme music is courtesy
of Codey Randall and Epidemic Sound with
other music provided
by APM. How to Save a Country is made possible with support
from Omidyar Network, a social change venture
that’s reimagining how capitalism should work. Learn more about their
efforts to recenter our economy around individuals, community, and societal
wellbeing at omidyar.com.
Michael: Support also comes from
the Hewlett Foundation’s Economy and Society Initiative, working to foster the development of a new common
sense about how the economy works and the aims it should serve. Learn more at hewlett.org.
you’re not yet subscribed, please do it.
Michael: As you’ve
heard, on just about every podcast, yes, rating and reviewing us would definitely help the show. Thank you.
Felicia: Bye, Michael.
Michael: Bye, Felicia.
Michael: Yeah, and I love the fact that I
sound like Lincoln.
yeah, Michael likes it even more than Baby Joe Biden would.
Talk of civil war in the United States stretches the imagination, but only so far. After all, the United States already had a Civil War in the 19th century and the 1960s protests against the Vietnam War and for civil rights showed a very polarized and violent country. How far were our imaginations stretched in More
Fox News and other right-wing media outlets are often quick to report “Real Time” host Bill Maher’s commentaries slamming “political correctness” and “woke” culture, which he believes are harmful to the Democratic Party and the liberal/progressive cause — a view Maher shares with veteran Democratic strategist James Carville. What Fox News doesn’t report on as often is Maher’s view of the modern Republican Party, former President Donald Trump and the MAGA movement, all of which he views as a dangerously authoritarian departure from the conservatism of the past.
Maher told Variety, “I said from the very beginning, he’s definitely going to run again. There’s no doubt. He hasn’t conceded the last election. He’s absolutely going to run again. I can’t imagine, if he wants the nomination, the Republican Party denying it to him — and I can very easily see him beating (President Joe) Biden. But it doesn’t matter because even if Biden beats him, which he probably will, Trump will never concede. And this time, of course, he’s put people in place who will back up his phony claims of winning the election. So, the coup that he tried last time could work much better this time. That’s what I worry about and have been worrying about.”
Before the 2020 election, Maher predicted that if Trump lost, he would refuse to concede. Sure enough, Trump lost the election; Biden picked up 306 electoral votes and defeated Trump by more than 7 million in the popular vote. And just as Maher predicted, Trump refused to admit that he lost the election.
During the Variety interview, Maher reiterated his disdain for “woke” culture — which he views as a major liability for the Democratic Party at a time when Democrats need to be doing as much as they can to combat MAGA extremism.
Maher believes that “woke” and “politically correct” terms like “Latinx” and “pregnant people” make Democrats less accessible to voters. When liberal Democratic Rep. Rubén Gallego of Arizona appeared on “Real Time” in February, Maher argued that it makes no sense for Democrats to use the term “Latinx” when only about 2 percent of Latinos use the term —and Gallego, who also hates the term and refuses to use it, was in complete agreement.
When Variety asked Maher to cite the “Democrats’ biggest problem heading into 2024?” he responded, “The biggest problem with the Democrats is their woke baggage.”
Maher told Variety, “I think the Democrats could easily win every election if they didn’t do the kind of things that make people go, ‘Oh my God, this is the party of no common sense.’ Stop talking about pregnant men and stuff that makes people go, ‘Who are these f*****g people? What are they talking about? Men don’t get pregnant.’ It’s the stuff that makes them very vulnerable because it’s very close to home. The environment is an issue, and democracy is an issue. But those are rather vague in a lot of people’s minds.”
More than half of ‘strong Republicans’ think such a conflict is at least somewhat likely, poll finds
More than two-fifths of Americans believe civil war is at least somewhat likely in the next 10 years, according to a new survey – a figure that increases to more than half among self-identified “strong Republicans”.
Amid heated rhetoric from supporters of Donald Trump, the findings, in research by YouGov and the Economist, follow similar results in other polls.