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There Is No Trumpism Without Trump

David Frum
 

In the November issue of The Atlantic, Barton Gellman reported that Republican legislators in Pennsylvania were quietly discussing a seemingly mad scheme.

These legislators foresaw that their state, and its 20 electoral votes, would probably be won by the Biden-Harris ticket. But Republicans still possessed a 107–91 majority in the state assembly, and a 29–21 majority in the state Senate. What if they could somehow set aside the vote by the people of their state—and appoint electors who would support President Donald Trump?

“In Pennsylvania, three Republican leaders told me they had already discussed the direct appointment of electors among themselves,” Gellman reported, “and one said he had discussed it with Trump’s national campaign.”

The idea rested upon language in the Constitution: “Each state shall appoint, in such manner as the Legislature thereof may direct, a Number of Electors.” Since 1787, all the states have enacted laws mandating that electors should be nominated by the political parties, with the final selection being determined by the popular vote. Pennsylvania’s current version of the electoral law was enacted in 1937, and has been taken absolutely for granted by all Pennsylvania voters ever since.

But what is law in the age of Trump? Trumpists regard it as little more than a guideline, subordinated to the whims and moods of the president. If Pennsylvania law thwarts Trump, then Pennsylvania law must be discarded for Trump.

Gellman’s report of the Pennsylvania plan was instantly denied by the state’s Republican Party chairman, Lawrence Tabas. Tabas accused Gellman of misinterpreting his words and those of other state Republicans. And there things paused for five weeks.

But within 48 hours of the close of voting on November 3, the radio-show host Mark Levin took to Twitter to urge Republican legislators in Biden states to do just what Tabas had denied any Republican legislator ever thinking of doing: set aside the presidential-election result in their state.

REMINDER TO THE REPUBLICAN STATE LEGISLATURES, YOU HAVE THE FINAL SAY OVER THE CHOOSING OF ELECTORS, NOT ANY BOARD OF ELECTIONS, SECRETARY OF STATE, GOVERNOR, OR EVEN COURT. YOU HAVE THE FINAL SAY — ARTICLE II OF THE FED CONSTITUTION. SO, GET READY TO DO YOUR CONSTITUTIONAL DUTY

Donald Trump Jr. promptly retweeted Levin. When Twitter posted a warning that the Levin tweet was deceptive, the White House press secretary protested. (Don Jr. retweeted her protest, too.)

On Fox News that evening, Sean Hannity asked Senator Lindsey Graham about setting aside the election results. Graham replied that “everything should be on the table.” On November 8, Levin and former independent counsel Ken Starr batted around the idea on Levin’s Sunday-evening Fox News program. Levin strenuously urged it; Starr chucklingly endorsed it.

Two days after that, Axios reported that the Tabas-denied idea was being discussed by Trump’s inner circle.

Here on planet Earth, it remains vanishingly unlikely that any state legislature would dare try such a thing. The idea matters less as an imminent threat, more as a milestone marking the distance that Trump Republicans have traveled from democratic loyalties.

Almost two weeks after the close of voting on November 3, Trump continues to seek ways to remain in office despite his loss in the Electoral College, hurling bizarre allegations of voter fraud. On November 12, the president of the United States twice amplified a claim from an anonymous poster on a right-wing site that voting machines had deleted millions of Trump votes. One tweet was immediately contradicted by Trump’s own Department of Homeland Security. But Fox News talkers promptly repeated the crazy presidential claim.

The work of undermining the 2020 election and the legitimacy of the winner is led by Trump, but supported by much of his party. Many of these Republicans may think they are merely temporarily humoring a childish and emotionally needy president. Some may just enjoy trolling liberals, trashing democracy for clicks and giggles. But cumulatively, they are having an impact. Cowardly or corrupt or cynical as Trump’s partners in destruction may be, they are trusted by millions of well-meaning Americans.

And although the voter-fraud hoax will ultimately fail, this disavowal of democratic procedure will exert powerful influence on U.S. politics for at least the rest of the decade.

After all, Republicans can only even contemplate setting aside the popular vote in Pennsylvania and other states because of their state legislative majorities. And how did Republicans get those majorities? Not by majority vote. In 2018, some 4.6 million votes were cast in the Pennsylvania state House elections. Democratic candidates won nearly 2.5 million of them; Republicans, a little less than 2.1 million.

But deft gerrymanders have combined with geographic concentration to create near-permanent Republican majorities in Pennsylvania, regardless of the popular vote. Republicans will almost certainly retain those majorities.

If it seems shocking that anybody would consider leveraging minority rule over a state legislature into minority control of that state’s presidential vote—well, perhaps that is only because the idea is new. We have all long since gotten used to minority rule over a state legislature being converted into control of a state’s delegation in the U.S. Congress. In 2018, Republicans converted their minority vote in Pennsylvania into nine of the state’s 18 seats in the U.S. House of Representatives.

Nor is Pennsylvania alone; similar stories can be told of the other Biden states whose electoral votes are now being eyed by Trump.

Democrats got 52 percent of the vote in the Michigan state elections of 2018, a majority. But Republicans won 58 of 110 seats in the state assembly, and 22 of 38 in the state Senate—and seven of Michigan’s 14 seats in the U.S. House of Representatives.

Wisconsin is an even more extreme case. Democrats won 53 percent of the vote in 2018. Republicans won 63 of 99 seats in the Wisconsin assembly; 19 of 33 seats in the state Senate; and five of the state’s eight seats in the federal House.

Donald Trump is a lawless authoritarian. But well before Trump arrived on the scene, his party was consciously building an ever more integrated system of minority rule.

This is not a new thing in the United States. Before the civil-rights era, a similar system of interlocking practices served as a force multiplier for the white South. In 1948, South Carolina and Kansas had approximately equal populations. In the election that year, the 1.9 million people of Kansas cast 789,000 votes. In that same year, the 2 million people of South Carolina cast 142,000 votes.

By suppressing political competition at home, southern Democrats could accumulate seniority in Congress. The most senior members claimed chairmanship of committees. The committees in turn controlled the operations of Congress. From 1955 until 1967, one segregationist southerner—Howard Smith of Virginia—used his chairmanship of the House Rules Committee to determine which bills could be voted on by the whole House, what they could contain, and, most important, what they could not contain. (Smith did not always win. In 1964, he tried to sabotage the Civil Rights Act of that year by inserting a prohibition on sex discrimination—probably in an effort to embarrass northern Democrats, whose labor-union supporters opposed bans on sex discrimination. The scheme, if it was a scheme, backfired: Both race and sex discrimination were banned by the enacted law.)This system had its limits. The white South of the pre-civil-rights era accepted minority status within the United States. Between the Civil War and Jimmy Carter’s presidency in 1976, only two southerners claimed the White House. The first of them, Woodrow Wilson, left the South as a young man; the second, Lyndon B. Johnson, arrived via the accident of assassination.Rather than bid for supremacy over the whole nation, the white South sought to leverage local dominance into a national veto, and then to wield that national veto to claim a disproportionate share of national resources.

The Voting Rights Act and other reforms of the 1960s and ’70s sought to consign leveraged minority rule to the political past.

The question for Republicans post-Trump is this: Do they wish to return to that past?

The Trump presidency presented Republicans with an alluring mirage. Trump’s politics of grievance summoned into being a new coalition—a coalition that won the Electoral College in 2016 and that endured all the crises and scandals of the Trump years. A solid base adhered to Trump through thick and thin. It was not a majority, but it was close enough to a majority that maybe, with some shrewd maneuvering, it could suffice.

The problem was that the things that Trump did to consolidate his base also summoned into existence an anti-Trump base every bit as solid as the pro-Trump base. Trump excited ferocious loyalty, and equally ferocious antipathy. He triggered an arms race of political mobilization, with both Democrats and Republicans heading to the polls in 2018 and 2020 in record-breaking numbers. And unfortunately for the pro-Trump cause, the anti-Trump coalition was not only as fiercely committed as the pro-Trump base but also millions of people larger.Since the election, some of Trump’s supporters have begun to ponder pursuing a “Trumpism without Trump,” crafting a Trumpist ideology severed from Trump’s self-harming personality and grudges.There are at least two big problems with this concept.

First, it’s not at all clear that such a thing as Trumpism exists, apart from Donald Trump’s own personality and grudges. Subtract Trump’s resentments and the myth of Trump the business genius and what’s left? Are immigration restriction, trade war with China, and blowing up NATO really such compelling concerns? Are those goals what energized 71 million Americans? Would they energize voters to support Tom Cotton, Dan Crenshaw, Josh Hawley, or Marco Rubio? That seems unlikely. And while there are potential contenders for the resentment vote—the cable host Tucker Carlson, Trump’s son Don Jr.—they cannot offer the myth of business success. Worse, they overdo the resentment. That’s fine for carving out a cable-TV or Facebook-based business. But if resentment didn’t work politically for George Wallace in 1968, it’s not going to work for George Wallace knockoffs in 2024.

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