Friday, September 27, 2024

The Fundamental Crisis and Foundational Contradiction Facing the United States During the Upcoming Presidential Election of 2024: Fascism guided, informed, and enabled by the Doctrines and Practices of White Supremacy, Misogyny, and Global Capitalism--PART 37

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/09/25/opinion/trump-maga-sources-support.html

“...Trump has remained a powerful, if not dominant, political figure by weaving together a tapestry of resentment and victimhood. He has tapped into a bloc of voters for whom truth is irrelevant. The Trump coalition is driven to some extent by white males suffering status decline, but the real glue holding his coalition together is arguably racial animus and general resentment toward minorities.

The political scientists Lilliana Mason, Julie Wronski and John V. Kane captured this phenomenon in their June 2021 paper, “Activating Animus: the Uniquely Social Roots of Trump Support.”

Trump’s support, they wrote, is “tied to animus toward minority groups,” specifically “toward four Democratic-aligned social groups: African Americans, Hispanics, Muslims and gays and lesbians.”

Mason, Wronski and Kane analyzed data collected by the Democracy Fund’s Voter Study Group from polls in which “respondents were asked to indicate their feelings toward these four Democratic-aligned social groups.”

The result?

Animosity toward Democratic-linked groups is strongly related to Trump approval. People who felt strong animosity toward Blacks, Hispanics, Muslims and L.G.B.T. people were significantly more likely to be fond of Trump.

The authors found that among those with the lowest level of animus toward Democratic groups, their favorability toward Trump is around 0.3 on the 0 to 1 scale. This level of favorability increases to over 0.5 among those who have the most animus toward Democratic groups, representing a 23-percentage-point increase.

Interestingly, though, “feelings of animosity toward Democratic groups do not predict favorability toward the Republican Party, Paul Ryan or Mitch McConnell,” Mason, Wronski and Kane wrote. Instead, “Trump support is uniquely predicted by animosity toward marginalized groups in the United States.”

The authors continue:

Among partisans, those who are most hostile toward these groups are about 15 percentage points more supportive of Trump than those who are least hostile. For independents, this relationship doubles in size, where those most hostile toward Democratic-linked groups are about 30 percentage points more favorable toward Trump than the least hostile.

Thus, animosity toward Democratic-linked groups predicts Trump support, rather remarkably, across the political spectrum.

Their conclusion amounts to a warning, even if it’s veiled in academic language:

This research reveals a wellspring of animus against marginalized groups in the United States that can be harnessed and activated for political gain. Trump’s unique ability to do so is not the only cause for normative concern.

Instead, we should take note that these attitudes exist across both parties and among nonpartisans. Though they may remain relatively latent when leaders and parties draw attention elsewhere, the right leader can activate these attitudes and fold them into voters’ political judgments.”


–Thomas Edsall, “The Real Trump Mystery”, New York Times, September 25, 2024
 

At the Republican National Convention, Trump supporters wave signs that read “Trump America First” and “Trump Make America Great Again.”

Credit: Damon Winter/The New York Times

The Real Trump Mystery
by Thomas B. Edsall
September 25, 2024
New York Times


[Mr. Edsall contributes a weekly column from Washington, D.C., on politics, demographics and inequality.]

The mystery of 2024: How is it possible that Donald Trump has a reasonable chance of winning the presidency despite all that voters now know about him? Why hasn’t a decisive majority risen to deny a second term to a man in line to be judged the worst president in American history?

The litany of Trump’s liabilities is well known to the American electorate. His mendacity, duplicity, depravity, hypocrisy and venality are irrevocably imprinted on the psyches of American voters.

Trump has made it clear that in a second term he would undermine the administration of justice, empower America’s adversaries, endanger the nation’s allies and exacerbate the nation’s racial and cultural rifts.

John Podhoretz, in a 2017 Commentary article, “Explaining Trump’s Charlottesville Behavior,” offered one piece of the puzzle, addressing the question, “Whose early support for Trump itself played a key role in leading others to take him seriously and help propel him into the nomination?”

Podhoretz’s prescient answer: a conspiracy-oriented constituency with little regard for truth:

If there’s one thing politicians can feel in their marrow, even a non-pol pol like Trump, it’s who is in their base and what it is that binds the base to them. Only in this case, I’m not talking about a base as it’s commonly understood — the wellspring of a politician’s mass support. I’m talking about a nucleus — the very heart of a base, the root of the root of support. Trump found himself with 14 percent support in a month. Those early supporters had been primed to rally to him for a long time.”

I’m talking about Alex Jones and Infowars, the conspiracy-theory radio show/website on which Trump has appeared for years; the radio show has two million listeners a week, and Jones was said in 2011 to have a larger online presence than Rush Limbaugh or Glenn Beck.

I’m talking about the WWE, which televises wrestling and which, in 2014, could claim a weekly audience of 15 million and on whose programs Trump intermittently served as a kind of special guest villain in the manner of a villain on the 1960s “Batman” show.

I’m talking about American Media, the company that owns The National Enquirer, The Star, The Sun and The Weekly World News, run by Trump’s close friend David Pecker; the combined weekly circulation of its publications is well in excess of two million.

Trump, from the start, was operating in a universe separate from the traditional politics of the Republican and Democratic Parties; he was operating in a world rooted in his 25 years in pro wrestling, in which people put up good money to watch fake fights they know in their hearts were fixed.

The pervasive denial of truth has, in turn, been crucial to Trump’s continued viability.

In “Popular Reactions to Donald Trump’s Indictments and Trials and Their Implications for the 2024 Election,” Gary C. Jacobson, a political scientist at the University of California, San Diego, argued that this denial — “motivated ignorance reinforced by right-wing pundits and social media entrepreneurs” — helps explain “the tenacious loyalty of Trump’s MAGA followers.”

After an analysis of hundreds of surveys, Jacobson concluded:

Republicans and Trump voters downplay the importance of the crimes charged, and large majorities refuse to admit that Trump committed such crimes anyway.


In the abstract and before the fact, a conviction on any of the felony charges would be projected to devastate Trump’s support. But after Trump was convicted in that case, the share of Republicans and prospective Trump voters who said they would not vote for a felon fell sharply.


Not only do a substantial majority of Republicans deny that Trump ever committed a serious crime as president, but an even larger majority of them also believe he should be immune from prosecution if he did.

Jacobson describes the logic of truth denial among MAGA supporters of Trump:

Motivated ignorance differs from the more familiar concept of rational ignorance in that ignorance is motivated by the anticipated costs of possessing knowledge, not acquiring it. That is, it is not simply that the benefits of accurate political knowledge may be less than the cost of attaining it and thus not worth pursuing but that the costs of having accurate information exceed the benefits.

When expressed opinions and beliefs signal identification with a group, it is rational to stay ignorant of contradictory facts that, if acknowledged, would threaten to impose personal and social identity costs for the uncertain benefits of accurate knowledge.

Only by remaining ignorant of such facts as those can Trump supporters avoid facing the painful possibility that they might have been wrong about him and their despised enemies, right? Such a realization could unsettle their self and social identities, estranging them from family and friends who remain within the MAGA fold. As Michael Patrick Lynch, a philosopher who studies political beliefs put it, “To be blunt, Trump supporters aren’t changing their minds because that change would require changing who they are, and they want to be that person.” Staying ignorant, deliberately or unconsciously, is thus rational.

In fact, there appears to be a self-reinforcing feedback loop that rewards Trump for his incessant distortions of the truth.

Michael Bang Petersen, a political scientist at Denmark’s Aarhus University, responded by email to my inquiries, suggesting that “the paradox is that people who are fed up with the political system don’t support Trump despite Trump’s behavior and the charges against him but, to some extent, because of his behavior and the charges against him.”

“According to our research,” Petersen added, “people who feel anger and feel threatened reach out to dominant politicians who are willing to act in aggressive and transgressive ways. Such a personality is seen as attractive because people expect them to be able to prevail in conflicts against opponents, including, in this case, the overarching political system.”

Support for Trump, Petersen continued,

is part of a greater attraction toward populist politicians that we see across Western democracies, yet, with its most clear expression in the United States. Our own research on extreme antipathy toward the political system — what we term a need for chaos — shows that such emotions are rooted in feelings of loneliness and being stuck in your place in the social hierarchy. Essentially, having an unfulfilling life and not being able to change that. American politicians and many European counterparts have not been able to remedy such feelings, and we are seeing the result of that.

In a 2020 paper, “Dominant Leaders and the Political Psychology of Followership,” Petersen and Lasse Laustsen argued that “followers strategically promote dominant individuals to leadership positions in order to enhance their ability to aggress against other groups.”

In a paper from 2023, “The ‘Need for Chaos’ and Motivations to Share Hostile Political Rumors,” Petersen, Mathias Osmundsen and Kevin Arceneaux made the case that “some individuals circulate hostile rumors because they wish to unleash chaos, to burn down the entire political order in the hope they gain status in the process.”

What drives this need for chaos?

Feelings of status loss and marginalization, even if imagined rather than real, have shaped recent political events, including the election of Donald Trump as president of the United States and the rise of populism in Europe.

Frustrations about status loss have been observed among members of traditionally privileged groups (e.g., white men), but actual experiences of historical injustices to members of marginalized groups can also trigger deep dissatisfaction with the political system (e.g., among Black individuals).

While the destructive impulses of those high in measures of the need for chaos would appear to be maladaptive, Petersen and his colleagues argued that “there may be functional benefits to displays of destructive intent for marginalized individuals.”

For example:

First, displays of destructive tendencies may serve as hard-to-fake signals of the motivation to impose costs and, hence, operate as a general deterrence device. Second, if individuals react with severe aggression to rejection, others may be pressured to invest in burnishing the person’s sense of self as a way to reduce the person’s ire. Finally, as a dominance strategy, marginalized individuals may see destruction as a form of niche construction, in which they cultivate a social ecology where they are more likely to be successful.

After analyzing eight surveys in the United States with a total of 10,921 respondents from February 2018 to February 2022, Petersen, Osmundsen and Arceneaux found that white men, a core Trump constituency, were unique in many respects:

White men react more aggressively than any other group to perceived status challenges. While white men do not feel highly status-challenged on average, they are more likely to seek chaos when they do.

The threat of marginalization is a powerful force among those in this constituency. According to Petersen, Osmundsen and Arceneaux:

Group-based feelings of being unable to advance in society fuels a need for chaos among white men. Consistent with notions of aggrieved entitlement among historically dominant groups, many white men are preoccupied with their societal standing and react with aggression against any threat.

Both Black men and white men may be high in need for chaos but for different reasons. Thus, Black men, on average, face more significant status threats than white men, but consistent with theories of aggrieved entitlement of historically privileged groups, white men react more aggressively when they feel threatened.

In one of the blunter attempts to explain support for Trump, Oliver Hahl, Minjae Kim and Ezra W. Zuckerman Sivan addressed this support in their 2018 paper, “The Authentic Appeal of the Lying Demagogue: Proclaiming the Deeper Truth about Political Illegitimacy,” asking, “How can a constituency of voters find a candidate authentically appealing, i.e., view him positively as authentic, even though he is a lying demagogue, someone who deliberately tells lies and appeals to nonnormative private prejudices?”

The authors’ answer:

A particular set of social and political conditions must be in place for the lying demagogue to appear authentically appealing to his constituency. In short, if that constituency feels its interests are not being served by a political establishment that purports to represent it fairly, a lying demagogue can appear as a distinctively authentic champion of its interests.

In this context, Trump’s brazen disregard for truth, tradition and custom works to his advantage:

The greater his willingness to antagonize the establishment by making himself persona non grata, the more credible is his claim to be his constituency’s leader. His flagrant violation of norms (including that of truth telling) makes him odious to the establishment, someone from whom they must distance themselves, lest they be tainted by scandal.

But this very need by the establishment to distance itself from the lying demagogue lends credibility to his claim to be an authentic champion for those who feel disenfranchised by that establishment.

Working to Trump’s advantage is the fact that many voters are not willing to punish politicians in their own party who violate democratic norms.

Jan G. Voelkel, a sociologist at Stanford, noted in an email:

Voters value candidates’ support for democracy but not very much. Only 13 percent defect from an undemocratic in-party candidate. Even candidates who had political scandals typically get a large share of the vote from their base.

Voelkel cited an April 2020 study, “Democracy in America? Partisanship, Polarization, and the Robustness of Support for Democracy in the United States,” by Matthew H. Graham and Milan W. Svolik, political scientists at Temple and Yale.

Graham and Svolik found “the U.S. public’s viability as a democratic check to be strikingly limited: Only a small fraction of Americans prioritize democratic principles in their electoral choices, and their tendency to do so is decreasing on several measures of polarization, including the strength of partisanship, policy extremism and candidate platform divergence.”

“Most voters,” Graham and Svolik concluded,

are partisans first and democrats second: Only about 13.1 percent of our respondents are willing to defect from a co-partisan candidate for violating democratic principles when the price of doing so is voting against their own party.

Partisan loyalty is crucial to Trump’s success. He has a base — roughly 43 to 45 percent of the electorate — that sticks with him through good and bad times.

One reason for this is what Yphtach Lelkes, a political scientist at the University of Pennsylvania, called the crystallization of the electorate. In an email, Lelkes explained what he meant:

Crystallization describes a world where people’s attitudes won’t be swayed, no matter what new information they get. Campaign dynamics do very little to move attitudes. Polarization is the engine of crystallization.

Intense partisan hostility works to Trump’s advantage in a number of ways, according to Lelkes. First, MAGA loyalists believe “the investigations against Trump are witch hunts and baseless.” Lelkes added that, taking this logic a step further,

people think that the other side is dangerous and that we need someone willing to do whatever it takes to stop them. That is, they think they are protecting democracy by supporting Trump. Finally, in a polarized world, people value policy and partisan outcomes over democracy — they are willing to tolerate some authoritarianism to further their own political goals.

Well before Trump’s ascendance, key Republican leaders and strategists set the stage for his near deification within the ranks of the party.

Marc Hetherington, a political scientist at the University of North Carolina, replied by email to my inquiry, making the case that Republican elites adopted strategies that allowed Trump to wrest power from them:

Something important had been occurring for decades at the elite level in the G.O.P. Starting with Black civil rights in the 1960s, leaders started to take positions that would ultimately attract a different party base than the one that existed before.

Next it was opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment and abortion rights, with clear implications for women’s equality. Then it was a stance against L.G.B.T. rights. The G.O.P. remained steadfastly religious in its orientation, while Democrats started to embrace secularity.

The thing that ties all these issues together is a stance toward societal change. Traditional or modern, some call it closed or open.

After the defeat of Mitt Romney in 2012, Hetherington wrote, “party elites decided in their autopsy that they needed to take a more open tack in trying to attract a more racially and ethnically diverse base of support.”


Trump, however, “challenged this leadership consensus. Elites lost control of the base right there — but bear in mind that Republican appeals on race, gender and sexual orientation were responsible for creating that base.”

Trump has remained a powerful, if not dominant, political figure by weaving together a tapestry of resentment and victimhood. He has tapped into a bloc of voters for whom truth is irrelevant. The Trump coalition is driven to some extent by white males suffering status decline, but the real glue holding his coalition together is arguably racial animus and general resentment toward minorities.

The political scientists Lilliana Mason, Julie Wronski and John V. Kane captured this phenomenon in their June 2021 paper, “Activating Animus: the Uniquely Social Roots of Trump Support.”

Trump’s support, they wrote, is “tied to animus toward minority groups,” specifically “toward four Democratic-aligned social groups: African Americans, Hispanics, Muslims and gays and lesbians.”

Mason, Wronski and Kane analyzed data collected by the Democracy Fund’s Voter Study Group from polls in which “respondents were asked to indicate their feelings toward these four Democratic-aligned social groups.”

The result?

Animosity toward Democratic-linked groups is strongly related to Trump approval. People who felt strong animosity toward Blacks, Hispanics, Muslims and L.G.B.T. people were significantly more likely to be fond of Trump.

The authors found that

among those with the lowest level of animus toward Democratic groups, their favorability toward Trump is around 0.3 on the 0 to 1 scale. This level of favorability increases to over 0.5 among those who have the most animus toward Democratic groups, representing a 23-percentage-point increase.

Interestingly, though, “feelings of animosity toward Democratic groups do not predict favorability toward the Republican Party, Paul Ryan or Mitch McConnell,” Mason, Wronski and Kane wrote. Instead, “Trump support is uniquely predicted by animosity toward marginalized groups in the United States.”

The authors continue:

Among partisans, those who are most hostile toward these groups are about 15 percentage points more supportive of Trump than those who are least hostile. For independents, this relationship doubles in size, where those most hostile toward Democratic-linked groups are about 30 percentage points more favorable toward Trump than the least hostile.

Thus, animosity toward Democratic-linked groups predicts Trump support, rather remarkably, across the political spectrum.

Their conclusion amounts to a warning, even if it’s veiled in academic language:

This research reveals a wellspring of animus against marginalized groups in the United States that can be harnessed and activated for political gain. Trump’s unique ability to do so is not the only cause for normative concern.

Instead, we should take note that these attitudes exist across both parties and among nonpartisans. Though they may remain relatively latent when leaders and parties draw attention elsewhere, the right leader can activate these attitudes and fold them into voters’ political judgments. 

Pulitzer Prize winning author Jhumpa Lahiri Turns Down Noguchi Award Over Keffiyeh Ban at their Museum

 
Author Jhumpa Lahiri Turns Down Noguchi Award Over Keffiyeh Ban

The Noguchi Museum in New York City terminated three workers who refused to comply with a dress code policy prohibiting the headscarves.


by Valentina Di Liscia
September 26, 2024
Hyperallergic


 
Jhumpa Lahiri (photo by Jacopo M. Raule/Getty Images for Miu Miu)


Pulitzer Prize-winning author Jhumpa Lahiri has declined the Noguchi Museum’s 2024 Isamu Noguchi Award in a gesture of support for former workers at the institution who were fired for wearing keffiyehs, headscarves popular in many Arab countries and symbolic of Palestinian heritage and solidarity.

“Jhumpa Lahiri has chosen to withdraw her acceptance of the 2024 Isamu Noguchi Award in response to our updated dress code policy, which removes political statements from the workplace,” a Noguchi Museum spokesperson confirmed in a statement to Hyperallergic. “We respect her perspective and understand that this policy may or may not align with everyone’s views.”

The Queens institution has come under mounting pressure from workers and community members in the last month after announcing a new policy that bans staff from wearing keffiyehs. Billed as a dress-code update that prohibits “political” statements to avoid “unintentional alienation of our diverse visitorship,” the policy was immediately repudiated by employees, over 50 of whom signed an internal petition calling for its reversal. The petition text, reviewed by Hyperallergic, cited the keffiyeh’s significance as a cultural garment and warned that the policy would “decrease the museum’s credibility and tarnish its public image” if it became public.

Three gallery attendants who said they would not comply with the rule, Trasonia Abbott, Natalie Cappellini, and Q. Chen, were terminated on Wednesday, September 4, as first reported by Hyperallergic. A fourth worker, the museum’s director of Visitor Services, was previously let go amid the policy fallout.

That weekend, dozens of supporters rallied outside the institution in protest. They wore keffiyehs and held signs referencing Isamu Noguchi’s legacy as a socially engaged artist, and called for leadership Director Amy Hau, Deputy Director Jennifer Lorch, and board co-chairs Spencer Bailey and Susan Kessler to be held accountable.



Noguchi Museum workers and supporters protested outside the institution on Sunday, September 8. (photo Hrag Vartanian/Hyperallergic)

Lahiri’s refusal of the award is the latest development in a story that has catapulted a largely beloved local museum to the headlines as institutions around the country face accusations of silencing pro-Palestine expressions. Recently in New York, a program manager at the 92Y lost her job after she refused to remove a watermelon sticker and take down a poster that read “Ceasefire Now, End the Genocide, Free Palestine.”

The writer’s decision also coincides with the unanimous passage of a United States Senate resolution honoring Wadee AlFayoumi, a six-year-old Palestinian-American boy who was stabbed to death in a brutal hate crime in Plainfield, Illinois, last October. The statement, which marks the first time Congress has recognized Palestinian Americans in a resolution, according to the Arab American Anti-Discrimination Committee, also acknowledges the keffiyeh as a Palestinian cultural symbol.

The Isamu Noguchi Award, conferred annually since 2014, honors individuals who show “the highest level of artistic integrity.” Previous awardees include sculptor Thaddeus Mosley, novelist Hanya Yanagihara, and artist Theaster Gates. This year, Lahiri and Korean-born artist Lee Ufan were selected to receive the award at the museum’s benefit gala on October 29.

Lee’s studio and gallery have not yet responded to a request for comment. He is expected to accept the prize, the museum’s spokesperson said.

Lahiri, a British-born American writer, is known for works that examine the South Asian immigrant experience in the United States. She received the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction for her debut collection of short stories, Interpreter of Maladies (1999), and was a finalist for the Booker Prize and the National Book Award for Fiction for her second novel, The Lowland (2013). In May, the author signed an open letter addressed to university presidents in support of Gaza solidarity protests on campuses nationwide.

Lahiri has not yet responded to Hyperallergic’s inquiry. Via her agent, the author declined to comment to the New York Times, which first reported on her decision.

“I’m glad that there are people of principle in the world,” Abbott, one of the three terminated gallery attendants, told Hyperallergic, expressing gratitude for Lahiri’s withdrawal. “I hope Lee Ufan follows suit and rejects the award as well.”

The Noguchi Museum, Abbott noted, has previously made public statements against systemic racism, white supremacy, and violence toward people of color under the banner of its namesake artist’s commitment to freedom and equality.

Now, a message from Director Hau recently posted on the institution’s website reads: “The Museum was not established as an advocacy or social justice organization, and because Noguchi passed away in 1988, we cannot speak on his behalf or claim to represent his views on today’s complex global issues.”

Abbott views this as a bias against Palestinian and Arab people amid Israel’s intensifying military escalation in Lebanon and Gaza’s rising death toll.

“Before Amy Hau and the board decided to rewrite history, they had no problem capitalizing on Noguchi’s more activist leanings and applying them to the current world,” Abbott said. “To attempt to take a neutral stance in the face of this is disgusting, especially given Noguchi’s anti-war sentiments while he was still alive.”




ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Valentina Di Liscia


Valentina Di Liscia is the News Editor at Hyperallergic. Originally from Argentina, she studied at the University of Chicago and is currently working on her MA at Hunter College, where she received the Brodsky Scholarship for Latin American Art History. 
 
Send your inquiries, stories, and tips to valentina@hyperallergic.com.

Fredric Jameson (1934–2024)



Culture


The Gifts of Fredric Jameson (1934–2024)

The intellectual titan bestowed on us so many things, chief among them a reminder to Always Be Historicizing.

by Kate Wagner
September 26, 2024
The Nation


 
The late literary and cultural critic.(Creative Commons)

On Sunday, the literary theorist and critic Fredric Jameson—an intellectual titan and one of the torchbearers of Marxist thought through the tenebrous night of neoliberalism—passed away at the age of 90. The outpouring of mourning that followed seemed to unite even the most fractious of intellectual combatants within the broader left. Through screenshots of e-mails, testimonials of generosity, and reflections on seminars, a depiction emerged of a man who not only amassed one of the most impressive bodies of work within his field but who also was, fundamentally, someone who believed in criticism as a discourse, between teacher and pupil, between the work and the public.

Jameson, a literary critic, may not be the first name that comes to mind when considering the field of architecture, but he is perhaps the preeminent critic of postmodernism—an embattled term that spanned whole swaths of cultural production, buildings included. He worked during one of the most transformational periods of architectural production and discourse of the long 20th century, namely, the transition between high modernism and an emerging postmodernism. He carefully dissected this transition in his most well-known work, Postmodernism: or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (1991), which analyzed the shift across architecture, literature, film, and economics. At the time, there was not yet a consensus on what to call the period of economic development that emerged in the imperial core after World War II, when classical market capitalism began to evolve into a new stage, one defined by consumerism and technocracy. Conservative thinkers such as Daniel Bell called it the “post-industrial society”; Jean Baudrillaud deemed it “the consumer society”; and, following the economist Ernest Mandel, Jameson came to call it “late capitalism” for most of his career. (These days, we have generally come around to the term “neoliberalism.”)

Within art and culture, according to Jameson, these new economic forces, an attempted populist synthesis of high and low art, a penchant for pastiche, an explosion in post-structuralist theory, and a general repudiation of modernism all congealed into a large-scale development called postmodernism. Despite being best known as a literary critic, Jameson pursues architecture with special gusto in Postmodernism simply because, of all the arts, architectural postmodernism was the one most concerned with the total rejection of modernist ideals. Jameson unpacks the faux-populism of proponents of postmodernism like the architect Robert Venturi—who claimed to privilege messy, vernacular buildings over the austere, monochromatic ones produced under dogmatic modernism—by rooting this alleged emancipation of taste in the material economics of its day. His analysis remains relevant in a time when unimaginative, technocratic architects like Thomas Heatherwick and Bjarke Ingels still thrive on the same rhetorical techniques, except in a far more patronizing way than their much cleverer predecessors. But of all the passages in Postmodernism, the one whose prescience haunts me the most is this:

If the ideas of a ruling class were once the dominant (or hegemonic) ideology of bourgeois society, the advanced capitalist countries today are now a field of stylistic and discursive heterogeneity without a norm. Faceless masters continue to inflect the economic strategies which constrain our existences, but they no longer need to impose their speech (or are henceforth unable to); and the postliteracy of the late capitalist world reflects not only the absence of any great collective project, but also the unavailability of the older national language itself….

For with the collapse of the high-modernist ideology of style…the producers of culture have nowhere to turn but the past: the imitation of dead styles, speech through all the masks and voices stored up in the imaginary museum of a now-global culture.

He was a thinker of vast scope. In reading his essays, one wonders how it was even possible for someone to have read so much material across so many different fields. Yet, despite pulling from so many sources—film, philosophy, literature, architecture, art—he never did so in a way that narrowed his audience. On the contrary, he often expanded it. There is a reason his work is perhaps the most beloved of all his contemporaries by autodidacts. He believed fundamentally in the intelligence of the reader and understood that the readers of his work may not be as well-acquainted with certain terms or thinkers from outside his core field of literary studies, so he filled his essays with brisk, accessible summaries, helpful footnotes, or short tangents that solidified his own purpose in using such references.

I started reading Jameson in my sophomore year of music school, which is a very specialized, almost trade-like field of study. While I was familiar with some important critics and thinkers, namely the Frankfurt School, which had an outsize influence on music, through Jameson I gained access to many texts and cultural artifacts I would have never heard about otherwise, simply because he included me, the reader, in his writing. He introduced me to texts by Barthes, Eco, Lacan, Deleuze, Foucault, and more, simply because he bothered to take that small amount of time to introduce their ideas.

Despite his reputation as an academic writer, Jameson was equally erudite, sprawling, concise, chatty, conversational, witty, and even funny. He would always use this lecture-like technique, which I imitate a lot, of introducing some concepts or texts at the beginning of the essay and then sticking a pin in them, trusting the reader to hold that thought—it’ll come back, often like a magic key, later. He always took the reader on a journey with him, and when you conclude a Jameson essay, you often experience a distinct sense of being unable to look at something the same again. (And also of wanting to stop by the nearest bookstore.) Furthermore, at a time when the left was fractured by the world-historical developments of the latter half of the 20th century, he never shied away from exploring heterodox strains of thought, whether Gramsci, Lefebvre, or Althusser, or ideas as diverse as Spanish autonomous communities and Yugoslav self-management.

Above all, he was a dialectical critic, and his adage of “always historicize” was potent at a time when people believed history itself to be over. He juxtaposed ideas with their opposites to illuminate how they came to be within the impossible situation of their historical moment. He respected ideas and engaged with them at length, even those it’s obvious he disagreed with. He put competing ideas in dialogue with one another, found the slippages in both, and often emerged with an understanding or reckoning that left them in balance, despite being sometimes irreconcilable.

His 1985 essay “Architecture and the Critique of Ideology” typifies a Jamesonian synthesis. Among Marxist thinkers in architecture, there were conflicting views on what the death of modernism would herald. On the one hand, there were thinkers like Henri Lefebvre who, following Gramsci, believed in the possibilities of “emergence” from within small, potentially utopian cavities that would form in the great mouth of hegemonic capitalism. On the other hand (and this is very much a reduced summary), the theorist Manfredo Tafuri saw architecture as being so inextricably linked with capitalism, so embedded within its ideology and material conditions, that there would never be any possibility to resist within the field; the only way forward was the end of capitalism and the development of a new social order. I was and remain extremely sympathetic to this perspective, pessimistic as it may be. So when I first read Jameson talking about Tafuri, I was on guard. (“Mommy and Daddy are fighting,” I said to a colleague at the time.)

However, Jameson does something interesting by unifying these views under a common theme, that of a “necessary failure” to which these writers must “painfully submit in order to practice dialectical thinking.” He writes:

[D]ialectical history must somehow always involve a vision of Necessity, or, if you prefer, must always tell the story of failure…. dialectical interpretation is always retrospective, always tells the necessity of an event, why it had to happen the way it did, and to do that the event must have already happened, the story must already come to an end.… The restructuring of the history of an art in terms of a series of situations, dilemmas, contradictions, in terms of which individual works, styles, and forms can be seen as so many responses or determinate symbolic acts; this is then a first key feature of dialectical historiography.

The other, of course, is materialism, the acknowledgment that ideologies are not independent, that they are inherent in and shaped by the way human beings fashion, from the stuff of life, material relationships and the productive world. Or, as Marx put it succinctly, “Life is not determined by consciousness, but consciousness by life.” It’s imperative not to lose sight of this during our present time of profound failure—of institutions, of media, of politics as we knew it in the past century, and of technology. Fortunately, Fredric Jameson did the next generation of critics an invaluable service by practicing and perfecting what he preached.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
 

Kate Wagner is The Nation’s architecture critic and a journalist based in Chicago and Ljubljana, Slovenia.



Thursday, September 26, 2024

Mehdi Hasan vs Eylon Levy on Gaza: FULL DEBATE

‘You’re a Sociopath’: Mehdi Hasan vs Eylon Levy on Gaza

 

FULL DEBATE

Zeteo

VIDEO:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HOQTgfS3PbI

 


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HOQTgfS3PbI


September 23, 2024

“You can choose to be on the side, not of cruelty, not of criminality, but on the side of the innocent people of Gaza who are being killed as we speak by Eylon’s former colleagues in the Israeli military on the orders of Eylon’s former bosses in the Israeli government.”

Watch the debate between Mehdi Hasan, award-winning journalist and Zeteo founder, and former Israeli government spokesperson Eylon Levy that took place in New York City on Saturday, September 21st.

The event was organized by ‪@OpentoDebate‬, around the question: "Were Israel’s Actions in the Gaza War Justified? "

Chapters:

9:26 Debate introduction

11:10 Meet our debaters

12:50 Eylon opening statement

19:00 Mehdi opening statement

24:30 Eylon- What justifies the proportionality of Israel's response to Oct 7?

30:18 Mehdi- What would've been an appropriate response?

34:44 Eylon- What's the greater good to justify this war?

41:45 Is the war in Gaza making Israel more secure?

48:10 US involvement in the war: justified?

52:45 Questions from journalists

1:07:40 Eylon closing statement

1:10:47 Mehdi closing statement



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https://zeteo.com/subscribe


FIND ZETEO:

Twitter: / zeteo_news
Instagram: / zeteonews
TikTok: / zeteonews


FIND MEHDI:

Substack: https://substack.com/@mehdirhasan
Twitter: / @mehdirhasan
Instagram: / @mehdirhasan
TikTok: / mehdirhasan  

 

Wednesday, September 25, 2024

The Fundamental Crisis and Foundational Contradiction Facing the United States During the Upcoming Presidential Election of 2024: Fascism guided, informed, and enabled by the Doctrines and Practices of White Supremacy, Judicial Corruption, and Global Capitalism--PART 36

 
How Immigration Became a Lightning Rod in American Politics

Anti-immigrant think tanks and advocacy groups operated on the margins until Trump became president. Now they have molded not only the GOP but also Democrats in their image.

by Gaby Del Valle
September 25, 2024
The Nation

 
Photomontage by The Nation. This article appears in the October 2024 issue, with the headline “How Immigration Became a Lightning Rod in American Politics.”

On one of his few lucid moments during the only debate of the 2024 election cycle between Donald Trump and Joe Biden, the sitting president suggested he would be tougher on the border than his predecessor, blaming the former president for the demise of a “bipartisan border deal” that would have boosted the Border Patrol’s funding and significantly reduced access to asylum. Biden and top congressional Democrats had spent months negotiating its provisions, granting more and more concessions to conservatives in the hopes that they’d stop claiming that Biden had lost control of the southern border. But “when we had that deal done,” Biden said, Trump “called his Republican colleagues and said, ‘Don’t do it. It’s going to hurt me politically.’” The far right had refused to grant Biden a “win” on immigration, even if it meant forgoing exactly what they claimed they wanted.

This was a very different Biden than the one who had gone up against Trump four years earlier. When the two shared a debate stage in 2020, Biden accused Trump of presiding over unimaginable cruelty toward migrants: babies torn from their mothers’ arms at the border, some never to be reunited; undocumented workers rounded up on the job; asylum seekers shunted back to Mexico without a hearing. But there Biden was, a little over three months ago, saying in effect that he’d tried to finish the job Trump had begun, only to be stymied by Trump himself.

Biden’s pronouncements would soon take a backseat to the flurry of concern over his pitiful debate performance and his visibly declining health. He soon dropped out of the race, passing the torch to Vice President Kamala Harris, whom he’d once tasked with addressing the “root causes” of migration from Central America. But Biden’s pivot in the debate and the months preceding it symbolized a rightward lurch on immigration that may have been initiated by the GOP but has since become the dominant position of the Democratic Party. Meanwhile, in his campaign to get back to the White House, Trump has tacked even further to the right. Immigrants, Trump has said, are “poisoning the blood of our country.” If elected, he’s declared to thunderous applause, he’ll begin “mass deportations” on day one. “Send them back!” the crowd chanted when “illegal aliens” were mentioned at the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee, holding signs that read “Mass Deportation Now!”

This shift came stunningly fast. Just three election cycles ago, in the aftermath of Mitt Romney’s loss in the 2012 election, a postmortem by the Republican National Committee (RNC) attributed Romney’s defeat to his poor performance among Latino voters and recommended that the party should become more inclusive, perhaps softer on immigration. Even Trump—at the time an outspoken businessman with no public political ambitions—said that Romney’s stance on immigration was ridiculous. “He had a crazy policy of self-deportation, which was maniacal,” Trump said in 2012. “It sounded as bad as it was, and he lost all of the Latino vote. He lost the Asian vote. He lost everybody who is inspired to come into this country.” Three years later, announcing his own run for president, Trump descended a gilded escalator at Trump Tower on Fifth Avenue and promised to build an impenetrable border wall. Throughout his 2016 campaign, Trump ignored the RNC’s recommendations and embraced the ethos of the Tea Party, channeling incoherent populist rage into a nativist platform.

The promises of mass deportations and a “big, beautiful wall” were all Trump, but a policy wonk he was not. Trump’s immigration policy was devised by the alumni and allies of a single ecosystem of intertwined think tanks, nonprofits, and advocacy groups—one that once operated largely on the margins but that, beginning with Trump’s ascension to the presidency, has set the tone of the national immigration debate. Few of Trump’s immigration policies survived legal challenge, and even fewer are still in place today. Congress didn’t pass a single immigration bill during Trump’s term, nor has it under Biden. But immigration restriction is now dogma among Republicans and Democrats alike. The choice is no longer between a party that wants to turn away migrants and one that claims to welcome them, but rather between opposing sides that, despite their broader differences, disagree only on the best way to “secure” the border at any cost.

Turning point: Launching his 2016 presidential run, Trump pledged to “build a great wall” between the US and Mexico, signaling his dramatic shift on immigration.(Christopher Gregory / Getty Image)

It’s not an overstatement to say that the modern immigration restriction movement owes its existence to one man: a charismatic eye doctor from rural Michigan named John Tanton. Once described by a former ally as “the most influential unknown man in America,” Tanton spent decades building a network of anti-immigration groups from the ground up, transforming post–World War II nativism from a fringe view held by a small group of white supremacists into a mainstream political movement. Tanton, a veteran of the mid-century conservationist and population control movements, saw population growth as a major hurdle to long-term sustainability. Trying to convince his fellow nature lovers of the connection between international migration and environmental ruin, Tanton founded the Federation for American Immigration Reform, or FAIR, in 1979, dedicating himself to reversing the demographic changes that had taken hold in America in his lifetime. Over the next three decades, Tanton would found and help provide funding for a constellation of anti-immigration advocacy groups, including the Center for Immigration Studies (CIS), U.S. English, and NumbersUSA.

Tanton was born in Detroit in 1934, a decade after the Immigration Act of 1924 put the first permanent numerical limits on immigration in US history. The legislation capped immigration from Europe and allocated slots using a quota based on the composition of Americans’ national origins as of the 1890 census. The effect was an immediate and drastic reduction in immigration from Southern and Eastern Europe: More than a million European immigrants arrived in the United States in 1907; in 1925, that figure was just over 160,000. As a result of the act, Southern and Eastern Europe were no longer the main source of immigrants to the US. (African and Asian migration were effectively banned; no restrictions were implemented on migration from Latin America.)

The 1924 law kept America overwhelmingly white and Western European through Tanton’s young adulthood. But in 1965, a year after he graduated medical school, the country changed forever. The Immigration Act of 1965, also known as the Hart-Celler Act, overturned the national-origins quota system, replacing it with one that prioritized family reunification. The new law more than doubled the number of immigrant visas issued each year and didn’t count the immediate relatives of US citizens against these quotas. At the same time, Hart-Celler imposed numerical limits on Latin American and Caribbean migration for the first time in US history, unwittingly creating the conditions for a rise in unauthorized migration decades later. The law led to new patterns of immigration that slowly shifted America’s racial composition. The descendants of the Southern and Eastern European immigrants who had been considered unassimilable decades earlier were, after a rocky start, incorporated into the American melting pot; the newcomers, meanwhile, were regarded with hostility, accused of being inferior to the generation of immigrants who had come before them.

As was the case at the turn of the 20th century, the wave of immigrants who arrived after 1965 were met with hostility. In 1977, David Duke, the grand wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, said that he and his followers would be patrolling the US-Mexico border in search of migrants. Two years later, Klan members descended on a Texas fishing village that had recently become home to Vietnamese refugees.

Tanton and his wife were mostly insulated from these changes in Petoskey, the tiny northern Michigan town where he found work as an ophthalmologist. A decade earlier, at the end of the 1960s, Tanton had read The Population Bomb, the biologist Paul Ehrlich’s polemic on overpopulation. For Tanton, each refugee who resettled in America meant another drain on resources, another blight on the environment. He conceived of FAIR as a liberal anti-immigration group, and its early talking points were about how unfettered immigration hurt working-class people of color at home and contributed to a brain drain abroad, not to mention its effects on population growth.

All these decades later, it’s hard to grasp how out of step this was. After Hart-Celler and before FAIR’s emergence as a major political player, immigration restriction was the domain of Klansmen and white separatists. It wasn’t, as Tanton wrote in his 1978 funding request to Cordelia Scaife May—the reclusive Mellon heiress who would go on to bankroll his movement—“a legitimate position for thinking people.”

The first test arrived quickly. Months after FAIR’s founding, Congress began working on the Refugee Act of 1980, an effort to streamline the ad hoc system that allowed people fleeing their countries to find protection in the United States. FAIR hired a lobbyist to push for a provision that would cap the number of refugees admitted each year at 50,000. Instead, the bill that President Jimmy Carter signed into law allowed the sitting president to choose the annual limit in consultation with Congress. That year, more than 207,000 refugees were resettled in the United States. Six years later, FAIR once again got caught up in—and lost—a legislative battle, this time over the 1986 Immigration Reform and Control Act, which provided a path to citizenship for nearly 3 million undocumented immigrants living in the US. The bill passed with bipartisan consensus, and President Ronald Reagan signed it into law. Few in Congress were swayed by FAIR’s arguments for deporting unauthorized immigrants. “We didn’t convince anybody,” founding member Otis Graham told The New York Times in 2011. FAIR had built a membership base of 4,000 by 1982, but it wasn’t enough for Tanton, who, according to notes taken during a board meeting that year, believed it was “time to change our methods.” Tanton was realizing that environmental issues didn’t appeal to most Americans; what did was watching their communities change and feeling powerless to stop it. In a 1986 memo, Tanton wrote that FAIR had been too reliant on large donors and too focused on lobbying members of Congress, with little to show for it. Instead, he outlined a “long-range project” to “infiltrate” congressional immigration committees. “Think how much different our prospects would be if someone espousing our ideas had the chairmanship!” he wrote. Until then, it would be difficult to influence national politics. Tanton decided to start small.

 
About face: In the 2020 presidential debates, Joe Biden decried Trump’s immigration policies. By 2024, that had changed.(Morry Gash / AP)

Tanton got his first chance to test his new theory of the power of a grassroots immigration restriction movement in 1988, when another organization he’d founded earlier that decade, U.S. English, placed the question of language on the ballot. Tanton had created U.S. English to help organize campaigns to make English the official language of several states, some of which had large and steadily growing Latino populations. The crusade began in California, where U.S. English bankrolled a local group’s efforts in support of an English-only ballot initiative. After the California measure succeeded, U.S. English led similar campaigns in a far-flung mix of states, including Arkansas, Mississippi, North Carolina, North Dakota, and South Dakota in 1987, and Arizona, Colorado, and Florida the following year. Some were states where the demographics were shifting, while others, like North Dakota, were trying to preempt these changes. In all, however, the question was about more than language; it was about who belonged in America—and to whom it should belong in the future.

The English-only campaigns were marred by allegations of racism from the outset. Opponents criticized Tanton’s groups for taking money from the Pioneer Fund, a New York–based eugenicist organization. But it wasn’t until someone leaked a memo from Tanton written two years earlier that the Arizona campaign seemed doomed. “Can homo contraceptivus compete with homo progenitiva if borders aren’t controlled?” he mused in the 1986 memo, which was distributed to attendees of the annual anti-immigration retreat he had begun hosting a year earlier. “Or is advice to limit one’s family simply advice to move over and let someone else with greater reproductive powers occupy the space?” He posed other troubling questions in the memo: Will Latino Catholics be able to assimilate to American culture? Will they bring their customs of bribery, violence, and disregard for authority to the United States? And why do they have so many kids in the first place?

The people who attended Tanton’s retreat—including Jared Taylor, the publisher of the white nationalist journal American Renaissance—must have welcomed these questions, but the public didn’t. Despite U.S. English’s bipartisan background and high-profile endorsements—its first director was former Reagan aide and prominent Latina activist Linda Chavez, and Walter Cronkite was on the board—it could no longer claim plausible deniability regarding allegations of racism. Chavez resigned after the memo leaked and disavowed the organization; Cronkite, too, bailed. But with the help of a last-minute canvassing push funded by May, U.S. English eked out a victory, with 50.5 percent of Arizona voters supporting the measure. The elections weren’t as close elsewhere in the country: More than 60 percent of Colorado’s voters supported the amendment, as did 84 percent of Florida’s.

There was a setback: A federal judge later blocked Arizona’s English-only measure. Even so, grassroots activism, Tanton came to understand, was the key to enacting policies that curtail immigration. All Tanton had to do was help people realize what they already knew in their hearts to be true: America was a nation of immigrants, yes, but the newcomers were unlike those who came before. “I think there is such a thing as an American culture, however difficult it may be to define,” Tanton said in a 1989 oral history of his advocacy. Some could argue that “hyphenated Americans” belong to this culture just as much as people whose forebears date back to the colonial period, Tanton said, but that was “an incorrect view.” In a 1986 interview with The New York Times, FAIR’s first executive director, Roger Conner, a former environmental lawyer, described previous waves of immigrants as “entrepreneurial,” while more recent arrivals had little interest in working or assimilating. “For some reason,” Conner said, “Mexican immigrants are not succeeding as well as other groups.”

By 1990, FAIR claimed to have 50,000 members, and the organization was finding other state-level initiatives to support. In 1994, the group backed Proposition 187, a ballot initiative in California that banned undocumented immigrants from using any government services in the state, including public schools and non-emergency healthcare. In 1986, Tanton had written that California’s system could do this, “but the political will is lacking to implement it.” To build that will, Tanton created and funded groups like Americans for Border Control through his umbrella organization, U.S. Inc. Proposition 187’s supporters claimed that not only were the undocumented overburdening public services and contributing to overcrowding in the state, but their presence in California would lead to long-term gains in political power for Hispanic Americans.

Nearly 60 percent of Californians voted for Proposition 187, but a federal judge blocked the initiative from going into effect. Still, as with Arizona’s English-only measure, the defeat of Proposition 187 provided a valuable lesson for FAIR: Change happens when ordinary people decide they’re fed up with something and come together to do something about it. If the groups that allow people to do that don’t exist, why not create them?

Everywhere they passed, anti-immigrant ordinances like Proposition 187 and the English-only measures granted a degree of legitimacy to long-held racial animus. In Colorado, someone posted a sign reading “No Ingles, No Travato“—an attempted translation of “No English, No Job”—at the entrance to a construction site. “We checked. Because of the English-only bill, we know it’s legal,” a superintendent at the site told the Los Angeles Times. In California, Proposition 187 proved to be just as effective a recruitment tool as it would have been had it been implemented. Tanton’s journal, The Social Contract, has published dozens of articles about Proposition 187 in the decades since the referendum passed. “When thousands of [people] marched to protest” the measure, an article from The Social Contract’s 1996 issue on so-called “anchor babies” declared, “they carried the flag of Mexico, not the Stars and Stripes.”

Tanton’s organizations not only activated dormant anti-immigrant feeling; they actively fomented it, often using the news media to launder their talking points. FAIR, the Center for Immigration Studies, and NumbersUSA—the latter founded in 1996 by Tanton’s acolyte Roy Beck—became reporters’ go-to sources for all things related to immigration restriction, largely because there were few other groups to quote. Representatives of the three organizations blamed nearly every problem, from littering in public parks to gridlock on the highways, on immigration. At the height of the tough-on-crime ’90s, immigration was being portrayed as a gangs and quality-of-life issue; after the September 11 attacks, the permeability of the border became a national security threat.

FAIR and its allies were succeeding in changing public sentiment on immigration. Soon FAIR, through its legal arm, the Immigration Law Reform Institute, began offering its legal services to local governments. In 2006, when the city of Hazleton, Pennsylvania, passed a law fining landlords for renting apartments to undocumented immigrants and employers for using them as workers, it hired Kris Kobach, who would become one of the foremost attorneys pushing immigration restriction. Not long after, the town council of Valley Park, Missouri, unanimously voted to implement a similar policy. Kobach defended Valley Park after a landlord sued over the measure, then went on to draft legislation for other cities—and defended the cities when those policies were challenged in court. The measures faced years of lawsuits, and the cities had to pay Kobach hundreds of thousands of dollars in legal fees. “It was a sham,” the mayor of Farmers Branch, a Texas city that hired Kobach in 2007, told ProPublica, which reported that Kobach earned at least $800,000 for his legal and advocacy work over a 13-year period. Ineffective and expensive as they were, the ordinances helped cement Kobach’s status as the go-to lawyer for local and state governments that wanted to take a hard line on immigration. In 2010, Kobach drafted Arizona’s infamous SB 1070, colloquially referred to as the “Show Me Your Papers” law. An Arizona state senator later described it as “model legislation” for dissemination through the American Legislative Exchange Council, a right-wing “bill mill.” Copycat bills were soon introduced around the country. By 2012, Kobach was informally advising the Romney campaign on immigration.

Most of the bills that Kobach drafted or defended were blocked by the courts, never implemented, or watered down to the point of meaninglessness. But every city that passed or even debated an anti-immigrant ordinance helped Tanton’s groups send a message to Congress: Americans aren’t interested in immigration reform or amnesty for the undocumented; they want those people out. “God forbid he ever gets hit by a Mack truck or something,” the Immigration Law Reform Institute’s general counsel said in 2012 of Kobach, who by that point was working for the group on the side while serving as Kansas’s secretary of state. “It would change the course of history.”

Tanton’s “long-range project” to affect national politics by starting at the local level was working. The organizations under the umbrella of FAIR and U.S. Inc. had built a grassroots army and won over small-town mayors. And some of those mayors were now entering national politics. After three failed bids for a seat in Congress, Lou Barletta, the Hazleton mayor who hired Kobach to defend the city’s anti-immigrant ordinance, was elected to the House of Representatives in 2010. Among Tanton’s other supporters were Colorado Representative Tom Tancredo, who kicked off his first term in 1999 by founding the Congressional Immigration Reform Caucus; Iowa Senator Chuck Grassley; and Jeff Sessions, the soft-spoken Alabama senator whose diminutive presence belied his virulent racism. In 2000, FAIR and its sister organizations helped defeat the Latino and Immigrant Fairness Act, which would have provided a path to citizenship for qualifying undocumented immigrants. The following year, in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, the Congressional Immigration Reform Caucus’s membership nearly doubled overnight, from 16 to 30 members.

FAIR would face its biggest tests yet beginning in 2006, when Congress appeared poised to pass a bill granting green cards to more than 6 million undocumented immigrants. The legislation failed, but in 2007 a group of senators once again attempted to persuade their colleagues—and the nation—to support immigration reform. The bill sponsored by the “Gang of 12,” including Lindsey Graham and John McCain, had bipartisan support and was backed by President George W. Bush. Its opponents had something stronger: a grassroots army, hundreds of thousands strong, who threatened to withhold their votes from politicians who put “illegals” ahead of Americans.

Most Americans, in fact, were in favor of granting citizenship to undocumented immigrants who met certain conditions—but they, too, were swayed by the campaign against the bill. Polls found that many voters who agreed with the 2007 bill’s provisions opposed the idea of “amnesty” and the bill specifically. The discrepancy between what people said they wanted and what they actually supported was the result of a coordinated effort by FAIR, CIS, and NumbersUSA. Every day, as part of a campaign led by NumbersUSA, lawmakers received thousands of calls, letters, and faxes urging them to vote against the bill. “The fax machines would run out of paper,” a Republican House staffer recalled years later. Most of the messages came from a familiar group of people—“frequent fliers,” the staffer called them—but the volume of calls swayed those who were undecided. The callers “lit up the switchboard for weeks,” Senator Mitch McConnell, who voted against the bill, said in 2011, when immigration reform was back on the table. “And to every one of them I say today: Your voice was heard.”

The 2011 bill failed as well and was reintroduced in 2014, this time by a “Gang of Eight”—a sign of waning support in Congress. “The longer it stays in the sun, the more it smells, as they say about the mackerel,” Sessions said of the reform bill in 2014. Certain that it would pass in the Senate, Sessions—at the time still a fringe member of his party—set his sights on tanking the bill in the House. To ensure that the legislation failed, he enlisted his young aide, a 29-year-old from California named Stephen Miller.

 
Sowing seeds: Jeff Sessions, left, one of the most prominent anti-immigration voices in the Senate, with his aide Stephen Miller.(CQ Roll Call via AP)

Miller—the son of Santa Monica liberals who would introduce himself to college classmates by saying, “My name is Stephen Miller, I’m from Los Angeles, and I like guns”—started his career as a press secretary for Minnesota Representative Michelle Bachmann. After he took a job with Sessions, Miller became close with researchers at CIS; he used the group’s data to convince other Republicans of the harms that immigrants posed. Sessions had long been close with FAIR and CIS, but with Miller’s help, he became a leader of the anti-immigration-reform movement within Congress and was instrumental in defeating the bill in 2014. “The whole point was to taint the bill in the eyes of Republicans in the House,” CIS president Mark Krikorian told Miller’s biographer. “Sessions, with Miller’s help, really did succeed in preventing that bill from passing.”

Miller, too, was influenced by Tanton, sometimes in obscure ways. In 1983, Tanton persuaded May, his billionaire patron, to cover the costs of reprinting and distributing The Camp of the Saints, a French novel that depicts a dystopian future in which Europe and the US are besieged by hordes of dark-skinned migrants. The book didn’t receive much acclaim outside white supremacist circles when it was first published in 1973. But Tanton acquired the rights and arranged for it to be published through the Social Contract Press. It’s unclear when Miller read the novel, but in September 2015, he persuaded Breitbart to run a story about it, according to e-mails obtained by the Southern Poverty Law Center. “I think it was growing up in California, he saw the role that mass migration played in turning a red state blue,” a former Senate colleague of Miller’s told Politico. “He was fearful that would happen to the rest of the country.”

After Trump announced his candidacy in 2015 by calling Mexican immigrants “rapists,” Miller persuaded Sessions to become the first sitting senator to endorse him. Miller offered his services as an informal adviser to the campaign and then, after a few months, demanded a job. Trump shared Miller’s instincts; in 2014, he’d cautioned Republican legislators against supporting immigration reform by implying that the beneficiaries of amnesty would vote for Democrats. Miller wrote Trump’s speeches and helped turn his xenophobic promises—a border wall, a Muslim ban—into policy proposals. And when Trump took office, Miller and Sessions were rewarded: Sessions was named attorney general, and Miller became a senior policy adviser for Trump. With Miller’s help, Trump stocked his agencies with alumni of the anti-immigration think tank ecosystem. Trump appointed Francis Cissna, a former employee of FAIR ally Chuck Grassley, to head US Citizenship and Immigration Services, the agency that oversees legal migration. Julie Kirchner, the executive director of FAIR from 2007 to 2015, was hired to advise the acting director of Customs and Border Protection in April 2017, before moving to USCIS a month later. During his first few months in office, Trump implemented dozens of policies—including expanding immigrant detention, reviving partnerships between Immigration and Customs Enforcement and local law enforcement agencies, and expediting certain deportation proceedings—that seemed to have been lifted from a 2016 wish list that CIS had published before Trump secured the nomination. In 2017, for the first time, CIS was invited to ICE’s semiannual stakeholder meeting. Representatives from FAIR and NumbersUSA also attended.

But Trump’s Department of Homeland Security was tumultuous. Staffers resigned with an alarming frequency, often after Miller pressured them to implement increasingly hard-line policies. Miller and a key ally, Gene Hamilton, senior counsel for Trump’s first DHS secretary, spent months pushing for a family separation policy at the US-Mexico border. Elaine Duke, Trump’s second DHS secretary, balked; Kirstjen Nielsen, her successor, eventually gave in to the pressure. It didn’t fare well for her: After mass protests and calls for congressional inquiries, Trump ended the family separation policy and Nielsen handed in her resignation.

Miller’s position as an adviser to the president gave him wide latitude in the White House. “The process for making decisions didn’t exist when we came in,” an immigration official in the Biden administration recently told The New Yorker. “It was calls with Stephen Miller in which he yelled at the career officials, and they went off to do what he said, or to try.”

For a brief moment in the wake of Biden’s 2020 victory against Trump, immigrant advocacy groups felt relief. The nation had voted against separating migrant families and banning Muslims. This optimism was cut short by Republicans, who started to spout immigrants-are-invading rhetoric almost as soon as Biden took office. Two months into Biden’s term, the Heritage Foundation accused him of causing a “crisis” at the southern border. Miller and his crew seized the narrative early, pushing the Biden administration into a defensive posture. Biden’s team quickly abandoned the promises they had made during the 2020 campaign to undo the harms that had been perpetrated by Trump’s DHS and to build a new, humane immigration system in its place. While Biden has rolled back some of Trump’s harshest policies at the border and created pathways for migrants from certain countries to lawfully enter and work in the United States on a temporary basis, these are half-measures at best.

Public sentiment on immigration has shifted significantly since Biden took office—and now, with Kamala Harris as the nominee, the Democrats are sending a far different message than they did in 2020. One of Harris’s first campaign ads touts her experience as a “border state prosecutor” who “took on drug cartels and jailed gang members” and reminds voters that as vice president, she backed the “toughest border control bill in decades.” Harris’s warning to would-be migrants in 2021—“Do not come”—is now the kind of thing a growing number of Democratic voters seems eager to hear. In February, a Gallup poll found that immigration was the most important issue for voters. And in July, a poll found that 55 percent of American adults want to see immigration to the United States go down—the first time in more than 20 years that a majority of voters have said they want fewer immigrants in the country.

Having convinced the public that illegal immigration is out of control, the nativist right is now shifting its efforts toward limiting legal migration. The Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025 to remake the federal government under a Trump presidency includes a chapter on the DHS that recommends reducing or outright eliminating visas issued to foreign students “from enemy nations”; reimplementing USCIS’s denaturalization unit to strip certain naturalized citizens of their status; retraining USCIS officers to focus on “fraud detection”; eliminating the diversity visa lottery; ending so-called “chain migration”; and creating a “merit-based system that rewards high-skilled aliens instead of the current system that favors extended family-based and luck-of-the-draw immigration.”

John Tanton, more than anyone else, understood the power of harnessing the public’s fears and anxieties in the service of a broader political project. FAIR, CIS, and NumbersUSA’s public campaigns may have focused on illegal immigration, but the organizations were founded to undo the harms that Tanton believed stemmed from the legal immigration facilitated by the Immigration Act of 1965. Project 2025, if it comes to fruition, may be what he and his disciples have long been waiting for. The indefatigable Tanton, who died in 2019 after a long battle with Parkinson’s, did not live to see the very Democrats who once chanted “Immigrants are welcome here” embrace policies of restriction. If he had, it’s hard to imagine that he would’ve been surprised. In the 1989 oral history, Tanton said that those who “deal in the world of ideas” come to expect a common trajectory: “The first response of many people is to say, ‘I never heard of it before.’ And the second response after they thought about it for a bit was to say, ‘It’s anti-God.’ And the third response after they’d realized the idea was right was to come around and say, ‘I knew it all along.’”



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Gaby Del Valle is a freelance immigration reporter who is based in Brooklyn.