There’s one thing Donald Trump knows how to do well: maximizing suspense in an elimination contest and treating contestants with exquisite cruelty. Competing for a spot on his presidential ticket is as close as politics can get to The Apprentice, the show that fooled millions of Americans into thinking that Trump was a successful businessman.
A number of Republican candidates for running mate, from the endlessly self-humiliating Tim Scott to the nondescript Doug Burgum, are vying for what surely looks like a political suicide mission: they must know that Trump betrays everyone eventually, yet they seem to think that their fate as a faithful no 2 will be different. Not all aspirants are equally threatening to American democracy, though. The top prize not just for sycophancy, but for clear and present authoritarian danger must go to the man widely considered the “veepstakes” frontrunner, JD Vance.
The junior senator from Ohio has a massive advantage that makes him more similar to Trump than any other contender: a presence in popular culture, created by Hillbilly Elegy, the moving memoir to which both conservatives and liberals dumbfounded by Trump’s triumph turned eagerly to understand why the “left behind” were opting for rightwing populism.
People think they know Vance, because they know his narrative: growing up in poverty in Appalachia and making it to Yale Law School and Silicon Valley, only to then turn into political champion of blue-collar folks. Josh Hawley et tutti quanti might have more impressive credentials (Yale and Stanford), but only Vance has spawned a Netflix series. Why opt for a cold rightwing technocrat when you can have the rock star of “national conservatism”?
Vance has perfected what, on the right, tends to substitute for policy ideas these days: trolling the liberals. Mobilizing voters is less about programs, let alone a real legislative record (Vance has none; his initiatives like making English the official language of the US are just virtue signaling for conservative culture warriors). Rather, it’s to generate political energy by deepening people’s sense of shared victimhood.
The point for the rightist trolls is not that Democrats have all the wrong goals, but that they are hypocrites who say one thing and do another. Vance faults Trump’s opponents for pontificating about the rule of law, but in practice only caring about power – an update of the “limousine liberal” slogan for an age of rightwing autocracy.
Few others would try to impress readers of the New York Times with an invocation of the Nazi legal theorist Carl Schmitt, who, in the 1930s, claimed that liberals were either weaklings or prone to betray their own ideals. Schmitt is an obscure reference to most outside the hallowed halls of Yale Law School, but a signal to cognoscenti that Vance is all in on antiliberalism.
As with so many self-declared rightwing champions of the working class, economics isn’t ultimately where the action is; much more than factory floors, “elite campuses” feature in an increasingly feverish Maga imagination. Vance has declared universities the enemy and asserted that “the closest that conservatives have ever gotten to successfully dealing with leftwing domination of universities is Viktor Orbán’s approach in Hungary”. Supposedly the lesson is not to “eliminate universities, but to give them a choice between survival or taking a much less biased approach to teaching”.
The reality is that Orbán has simply shut down entire academic subjects which conservatives don’t like – no more gender studies – and handed over Hungarian universities to cronies; he also managed to chase out the country’s best school, Central European University. When pressed, Vance re-describes his Orbánism as giving taxpayers a say in how their dollars are spent in education – a startling admission that politicians should be in control, and of course a blatant contradiction with the free speech pieties Vance’s allies in Congress have become so good at weaponizing. How the hillbillies of Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy will benefit from removing Judith Butler from reading lists at Harvard is anyone’s guess.
Like so many faux populists, Vance talks the anti-elite talk, but walks the walk of what observers rightly call plutocratic populism. Slapping ever more tariffs on Chinese imports, promoting the fossil fuel industry in the name of helping the “heartland”, deporting people – whether these policies actually happen is open to question. But not a word is said about the promises Trump is actually most likely to implement (since no court will stop him): further cutting taxes for the wealthy and corporations; deregulating such that companies can dump even more toxic waste, including into the pristine parts of what Trumpists like to call “real America”.
Of course, the game of “no, you’re the real hypocrite!” isn’t much of a political strategy against aspiring authoritarians. But it is significant that a very intelligent man who also likes to describe himself as highly “self-aware” appears willing to change beliefs at any time for the sake of amassing power. Having called Trump an “idiot”, a “moral disaster” and a potential “American Hitler”, Vance now fawns over Trump as a man of depth and complexity with merely minor issues of style.
Maybe he genuinely changed his mind: after all, the point of a free society is also that we can all learn from our mistakes. But praising a man who evidently relishes cruelty as a paragon of “compassion” beggars belief. Of course, despite all the sycophancy, Trump might pick someone else: the very fact that Vance can seem a bit of a “mini-me” of the aspiring autocrat might turn the political showmaster off.
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Jan-Werner Müller is a professor of politics at Princeton University and a Guardian US columnist