Jimmy Carter & the America we long for

In the aftermath of Watergate, Vietnam, the impeachment of Richard Nixon, routine economic shocks, and the upheavals and violence of the late 1960s onward, the United States desperately needed a reset in 1976. The man Americans turned to that year was Jimmy Carter.

Regardless of Carter’s ultimate performance in office, his presidential campaign is a useful touchstone for what resonated with Americans as a viable path forward after years of chaos and government by vengeance.

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In The Invisible Bridge, Rick Perlstein keys in on one speech Carter delivered in Watts, California, in June 1976 at the dedication of a new wing of Martin Luther King Hospital.

Carter began by discussing King’s legacy, and what King meant to him as a southerner. He then appealed to the unachieved promise of America, before launching into a clear and direct vision he sees for America:

The America we long for is still out there, somewhere ahead of us, waiting for us to find her. 

For all our progress, we still live in a land held back by oppression and injustice.

The few who are rich and powerful still make the decisions, and the many who are poor and weak must suffer the consequences. If those in power make mistakes, it is not they or their families who lose their jobs or go on welfare or lack medical care or go to jail.

We still have poverty in the midst of plenty.

We still have far to go. We must give our government back to our people. The road will not be easy.

But we still have the dream, Martin Luther King’s dream and your dream and my dream. The America we long for is still out there, somewhere ahead of us, waiting for us to find her.

I see an America poised not only at the brink of a new century, but at the dawn of a new era of honest, compassionate, responsive government.

I see an American government that has turned away from scandals and corruption and official cynicism and finally become as decent as our people.

I see an America with a tax system that does not steal from the poor and give to the rich. 

I see an America with a job for every man and woman who can work, and a decent standard of living for those who cannot.

I see an America in which my child and your child and every child receives an education second to none in the world.

I see an American government that does not spy on its citizens or harass its citizens, but respects your dignity and your privacy and your right to be let alone. 

I see an American foreign policy that is firm and consistent and generous, and that once again is a beacon for the hopes of the world.

I see an American President who does not govern by vetoes and negativism, but with vigor and vision and affirmative leadership, a President who is not isolated from our people, but feels their pain and shares their dreams and takes his strength from them.

I see an America in which Martin Luther King’s dream is our national dream.

I see an America on the move again, united, its wounds healed, its head high, a diverse and vital nation, moving into its third century with confidence and competence and compassion, an America that lives up to the majesty of its Constitution and the simple decency of its people.

This is the America that I see, and that I am committed to as I run for President. 

Carter argued that America deserves a government that lives up to the best of the country’s promise and character. He envisioned a new administration that roots out corruption and unwinds a system rigged for the rich. He vowed to pursue the dreams of employment for all and high-quality education for every child. He promised to be a positive force for American society and government—one in touch with the pain, dreams, and strength of the American people.

It’s a utopian vision, as all progressive visions must be. Progressives wish to improve society to achieve the promise of America. Implicit in that wish is faith that those ideals and values can be achieved by flawed, mortal human beings. The inherent hope and optimism in that faith must be reflected in the vision and speeches of progressive leaders.

Former Obama White House aide David Axelrod has a theory that presidential incumbents are consistently replaced by their polar opposites. “Voters rarely seek the replica of what they have,” Axelrod wrote. “They almost always seek the remedy, the candidate who has the personal qualities the public finds lacking in the departing executive.” The “grandfatherly” Dwight Eisenhower was replaced by the young, vibrant John F. Kennedy. The cool-headed, cerebral Barack Obama replaced the trust-your-gut, down-home George W. Bush. Obama in turn was replaced by the antagonistic, emotion-driven Donald Trump.

In the dark, chaotic days of the Trump administration, voters may again seek an opposite come 2020. After a presidency defined by cynicism, bellicosity, trenching division, and resentment, Americans may look for the opposite: a politics of hope, love, and optimism. A spin on the forward-looking politics offered by past progressives like Carter and Obama.

Carter’s speech was titled “The Power of Love.” And in 1976, Perlstein writes, “people yearned to believe.” They may yearn again come 2020. Donald Trump has offered a fundamentally negative vision—of American carnage and a crippled America.

Progressives must be prepared to counter this vision by explaining the hope they see for America. They must paint a vision for American voters — one that doesn’t react to Trumpism, but that transcends it entirely. The power of anger can only be vanquished by the power of love.

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Hope in the wilderness

Crooked Media is soliciting suggestions for its new podcast on how to fix the Democratic Party. Below is my submission:

When I think about how to fix the Democratic Party, I think of my family back home in Syracuse, New York. My mom’s parents were first- and second-generation Italian immigrants, and were union workers and loyal New Deal Democrats. My mom is a nurse and inherited their Democratic association, but is surrounded by colleagues that support Trump or otherwise feel totally disconnected from the Democratic Party.

Democrats have always conceived of themselves as the party of the underdog, the little guy, the working people. Something is deeply wrong if they are not reaching workers like nurses in a place like Syracuse when, just a few generations ago, these people were the heart of the Democratic Party.

While Democrats think of themselves as the party of working people, they are increasingly perceived as a party led by cultural elites. This isn’t a recent change, but the product of several decades of Democrats shifting the party’s center of gravity higher and higher up the income scale.

The truth is, Democrats win elections where they are seen as the party of working people and Republicans as the party of bosses. Think 2012 with Barack Obama vs. “guy that just fired your dad” Mitt Romney.

Of course, the Democratic Party cannot count on another Barack Obama walking through that door. But what Democrats can do is run more working people as candidates—like teachers, and nurses, and blue-collar workers. The kind of citizen candidates that have been winning in off-cycle elections like Virginia.

Democrats must fuse a working class politics that cuts across all races and religions, ages and backgrounds. And not just for electoral success, but to vindicate the American experiment: that people from all walks of life share common values and can form shared civic institutions and ultimately a shared democracy.

The Democrats’ story must be the universal story of people fighting against injustice and sticking up for themselves against interests bigger and more powerful than their own—all to demand the dignity and respect guaranteed to them as Americans.

As the party seeking to make a better society, Democrats are inherently the party of hope. They must articulate a message of hope and inspiration, grounded in a clear vision of what that society looks like, and how it makes life better and more fulfilled for regular Americans. From Roosevelt to JFK to Barack Obama, Democrats win when they inspire hope.

To me, that is how Democrats can get back on their feet: to have a clear-eyed vision of what the good society looks like that speaks to the hopes and aspirations of all Americans—rather than a flurry of white papers checking off the siloed interests and needs of individual groups of Americans. And this vision must come from the mouths of candidates and leaders drawn from the ranks of working people themselves.

That’s the identity that has led the Democratic Party to the greatest triumphs of its history from the New Deal to the Great Society to the Affordable Care Act. And it’s the identity that can create the kind of coalition that might match those triumphs for a new generation.

Robert Kennedy’s challenge to liberalism

We are in the midst of the fiftieth anniversary of Robert F. Kennedy’s brief 1968 presidential campaign, which began in March 1968, and was over less than three months later when he was felled by an assassin’s bullet. Kennedy’s campaign is often remembered as one of the great lost hopes for American liberalism—a campaign that had the promise of uniting a coalition of white ethnic voters and inner city black voters. But Kennedy also posed a challenge for liberalism.

In May 1968, Kennedy issued a press release on reforming the welfare system. (The press release—which I’ve written about previously—is included in abridged form in a collection of Kennedy’s speeches.) Kennedy railed against the indignities of welfare, and condemned a politics that limited the reaches of its imagination to monetary redistribution as hopelessly inadequate.

“Perhaps the area of our greatest domestic failure is in the system of welfare—public assistance to those in need,” Kennedy said. This was the height of Lyndon Johnson’s war on poverty—a period when poverty plunged in the United States. The national unemployment rate was 3.5 percent.

Kennedy argued that welfare breeds division, resentment, and alienation. But he brushed over the hostility felt by “the taxpayer” funding welfare programs, and focused on the humiliation experienced by welfare beneficiaries themselves. “[T]here is greater resentment among the poor, the recipient of our charity. Some of it comes from the brutality of the welfare system itself: from the prying bureaucrat, an all-powerful administrator deciding at his desk who is deserving and who is not, who shall live another month and who may starve next week.”

Having one’s survival chained to a cold bureaucracy was bad enough. Even worse, Kennedy argued, was the fundamental lack of purpose that plagued the souls of welfare recipients. “[T]he root problem is in the fact of dependency and uselessness itself. Unemployment means having nothing to do—which means nothing to do with the rest of us,” Kennedy said.

Welfare was inadequate because it failed to bridge this foundational alienation between the poor and society at large. To Kennedy’s mind, nothing less than the pillars of American democracy were at stake. “We often quote Lincoln’s warning that America could not survive half slave and half free,” Kennedy said. “Nor can it survive while millions of our people are slaves to dependency and poverty, waiting on the favor of their fellow citizens to write them checks. Fellowship, community, shared patriotism—these essential values of our civilization do not come from just buying and consuming goods together. They come from a shared sense of individual independence and personal effort. They come from working together to build a country—that is the answer to the welfare crisis.”

Consumerism and materialism were frequent targets of Kennedy’s campaign. Days after declaring his candidacy, he gave a now-famous speech in Kansas that warned about taking too much solace in America’s ever-growing gross national product. A war on poverty was not enough, for “even if we act to erase material poverty, there is another greater task,” Kennedy said, “it is to confront the poverty of satisfaction – purpose and dignity – that afflicts us all. Too much and for too long, we seemed to have surrendered personal excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things.”

To Kennedy, filling empty stomachs was just the start. The true goal was to fulfill empty souls.

Kennedy’s answer to the inadequacies of welfare was work. “We need jobs, dignified employment at decent pay,” Kennedy argued. “The kind of employment that lets a man say to his community, to his family, to his country, and most important, to himself, ‘I helped build this country. I am a participant in its great public ventures. I am a man.’”

Kennedy specifically took on proposals for a guaranteed minimum income that gained currency toward the end of the Johnson administration. “It is a myth that all the problems of poverty can be solved by ultimate extension of the welfare system to guarantee to all, regardless of their circumstances a certain income paid for by the federal government,” he said. “Any such scheme, taken alone, simply cannot provide the sense of self-sufficiency, of participation in the life of the community, that is essential for citizens of a democracy.”

Welfare dependency was fundamentally at odds with the human spirit, Kennedy thought. “Human beings need a purpose. We need it as individuals; we need to sense it in our fellow citizens; and we need it as a society and as a people.”

Kennedy proposed specific policies to replace welfare. He wanted to create government incentives for the private sector to provide jobs for everyone willing and able to work. He would have replaced the existing welfare bureaucracy with an automatic system based entirely on need. He also called for an improved and expanded day care system.

Though Kennedy found government welfare payments insufficient to meet the challenge of poverty, he was no absolutist. When powerful House Ways and Means Chairman Wilbur Mills tried to freeze welfare payments in 1967, Kennedy attacked the bill as the “most punitive measure in the history of the country, [punishing] the poor because they are there and we have not been able to do anything about them.”

“We will never succeed in restoring dignity and promise to the lives of people … until we develop a system which provides jobs,” Kennedy continued. “Welfare is neither the cause nor the remedy. But welfare has its role: helping those in need.”

The goal of liberalism is to secure dignity and self-determination for all Americans. To Kennedy, welfare was necessary but not sufficient. Public assistance, no matter how generous, simply could not fill the void of having a job—a stake in society and a contribution to take pride in as your own.

Redistributing resources may be an easy and familiar function of liberal government. Kennedy’s challenge to liberalism was to transcend that transactionalism—to fulfill the material needs of Americans, then move on to satisfy the needs of the spirit and soul as citizens.

The rise of the New Democrats

Rick Perlstein’s The Invisible Bridge is the final tome in his trilogy (so far) on American conservatism. The contemporaneous developments in liberalism take a back seat throughout the trilogy. But one subplot lurking in Perlstein’s chronicle of the post-Watergate era is the breakthrough of a new breed of Democrat. The rise of the Democrats swept into power in the wake of Watergate may portend what’s in store for the class jockeying for power in the midst of Russiagate today.

The emergence of the New Democrats began before the dust had settled on Watergate. In December 1973, then-Representative Gerald Ford was confirmed to serve as vice president after the scandal-ridden resignation of Spiro Agnew.   This led to a special election for the House of Representatives seat in Michigan that Ford had vacated.

The Democratic candidate for that district—which no Democrat had won in over sixty years—was Richard Vander Veen. Hoping to capitalize on public disgust with the illicit governance of the Nixon administration, he ran heavily on Watergate, insisting that his special election bid could be a “referendum on Richard Nixon” in the manner of a vote of no confidence in the British political system.

Vander Veen also distanced himself from the Democratic Party. He “was a peculiar kind of Democrat,” Perlstein writes, “one apparently indifferent to being a democrat at all. He spoke rarely if at all about the New Deal accomplishments upon which the party of Jefferson and Jackson had been winning elections for a generation.” Instead, Vander Veen modeled himself upon Michigan’s moderate Republican former governor George Romney, and hoped to undertake a nonpartisan citizens’ commission to brainstorm ideas to reform Washington.

Indeed, Vander Veen saw Watergate as a not a Republican scandal, but a Washington one. “Democrats can take an equal share of the blame for failing to present the country a candidate of sufficiently broad base in the presidential election of 1972,” he maintained—a shot at the liberalism of failed candidate George McGovern. This pox-on-both-their-houses attitude engaged a cynical strain of public thought at the time that both parties habitually partake in Watergate-style underhanded shenanigans, but Nixon just happened to be the one who got caught.

On Election Day in February 1974, Vander Veen pulled off a stunning upset, defeating his Republican opponent in a district that Gerald Ford had won thirteen times. Vander Veen’s anti-Washington nonpartisanship had resonated with his Michigan district. But Democrats drew national implications from his unlikely win. Vander Veen’s crusade, Perlstein writes, “was just the sort of antipolitician, it turned out, Americans longed for to effect their political deliverance.”

With voters looking to wash away the rot of Watergate three months after Nixon stepped aside, Democrats were elected in a wave election in the 1974 midterms. Democrats picked up 49 seats in the House, winning a dominant two-thirds majority. In the Senate, Democrats won four seats, holding 60 seats in total.

The “Watergate baby” generation of freshmen Democrats elected in 1974 was notable for its hostility not just to Nixon’s Washington, but also to the traditional New Deal ethos of their own party. Democrats picked up where Vander Veen left off, running on a reform agenda resistant to partisan labels and contemptuous of Congress itself.

These Democrats eschewed government-based solutions for the economy in favor of centrist neoliberalism. Where old school liberal Senator Scoop Jackson wanted to nationalize energy companies to solve the 1970s energy crisis, new school centrist candidate Gary Hart wanted pubic-private partnerships—“cooperative ventures between the environmentalists and the energy developers,” as he put it.

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Hart—the soon-to-be junior senator from Colorado—was among the most visible of the New Democrats running in 1974. The former McGovern presidential campaign whiz kid was the candidate most eager to announce a clean break with the New Deal generation that crashed and burned two generations’ worth of political capital in Vietnam. Hart’s stump speech was titled “The End of the New Deal.” He declared American liberalism to be “near bankruptcy.” He blasted LBJ’s “ballyhooed War on Poverty” for “succeed[ing] only in raising the expectations, but not the living conditions, of the poor.” He chastised the American consumer that “The party’s over, the day of having it all is gone . . . We’re entering a period of history when conspicuous consumption and waste just must end.” The post-World War II age of affluence must give way to a post-Vietnam age of austerity, Hart argued.

The New Democrats shifted the Democratic Party’s center of gravity further up the income ladder. The New Deal coalition assembled by Franklin Roosevelt had elevated two generations of Democrats to electoral success as a fundamentally working-class party. The Watergate Babies of were intent on turning the ‘70s Democratic Party into a middle-class one. The New Democrats eschewed economic populism for middle-class “lifestyle issues,” like environmentalism and conservation, Perlstein writes.

The insurgency of the New Democrats had immediate tangible consequences for domestic policy. Despite the Democrats’ newly dominant position in Congress, the House failed to override President Ford’s veto on a public jobs bill backed by the AFL-CIO. The Senate also buried a $9 billion economic relief bill introduced by liberal stalwart Sen. Walter Mondale with labor’s backing. One labor lobbyist summed it up, saying, “The freshman Democrat today is likely to be an upper-income type. I think a lot of them are more concerned with inflation than with unemployment.”

Hart endorsed this assessment, saying that his post-Watergate freshmen class was “not a bunch of little Hubert Humphreys.” The New Democrats had no use for an old ardent champion of liberalism.

In 1974, taking on the Democratic establishment meant challenging it from the right. Hart preached austerity, and California governor Jerry Brown advocated for smaller government. After all, liberals had gotten the U.S. stuck in Vietnam, and had led Democrats to consecutive presidential losses to Richard Nixon. Rebelling against entrenched and discredited party leaders demanded a right-flank action.

By coasting in with a Democratic landslide, the New Democrats landed on a formula that would come to dominate the party’s electoral strategy for much of the rest of the century: triangulate toward an inoffensive and uninspiring brand of centrism, and stand ready as an acceptable alternative when Republicans abused their power or bungled the economy. A “Democrats by Default” strategy won the party power at the turns of the political pendulum, but never truly came close to permanently altering the rhythms of that pendulum again.

The shift in the Democratic Party that labor activists glimpsed in the 1970s hardened in the 1980s, as the New Democrats became techno-optimist Atari Democrats more at home in Silicon Valley than in the Rust Belt. The one-time party of the workingman was bidding Lunch-Pail Democrats adieu. The party of Roosevelt, Johnson, and Humphrey belonged to Hart, Clinton, and Gore now.

Perhaps the drift was inevitable. The racial confrontations of the 1960s—in the streets, at the lunch counters, and in the policy arena—began to polarize the parties. The dog-whistling campaigns run by Nixon expedited this realignment, making a successful bid for a large chunk of the Democrats’ working-class base. The New Democrat sentiment may have merely accelerated the unavoidable.

Yet nostalgia for the New Deal coalition persists. Democrats have never recaptured the feats and widespread loyalty that a coalition grounded in class politics achieved in reshaping American life from 1932 through the mid-1960s. The Obama coalition came closest, but has so far proved unable to endure without the twenty-first century’s first great Democrat on the ballot.

There are signs that today’s Democratic Party stands at another inflection point. Like in 1974, the party establishment has steered the party wrong in humiliating fashion against an unacceptable presidential opponent. Only now, it’s the center-left descendants of the New Democrats making up the party establishment. The insurgency now comes from the left, demanding prominent Democrats sign on to social democratic objectives, and levying primary challenges against congressional Democrats sitting comfortably in deep blue districts. Perhaps Hillary Clinton’s galling 2016 loss will prove to be the last gasp of the New Democrats.

Time will tell whether the Democratic class of 2018 can emanate political reverberations on the magnitude of the class of 1974. But if the Watergate babies proved anything, it’s that when a party is at its lowest ebb is when its foundations are ripe for shaking.

Progressive health reform in 2020

Progressives are readying the next era of health reform. Bernie Sanders has introduced a Medicare-for-all bill, with substantial support among prominent Senate Democrats. Other Democratic proposals include letting people buy into Medicare, or letting them buy into Medicaid, or creating a “Medicare X” plan that would let people buy into a new form of Medicare on Obamacare’s marketplaces. The left-of-center terrain is rife with ideas about what comes next in healthcare.

A new symposium hosted by the American Prospect and the Century Foundation adds to this terrain. All six contributions from healthcare experts are worth reading (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6). I’d like to focus on two of these ideas, and what they mean for how health reform thinking is evolving on the left-of-center.

The first comes from Jacob Hacker, a political scientist at Yale. He is also the godfather of the public option—the Affordable Care Act-era proposal to create a government-run insurance plan to compete with private insurers.

In 2007, Hacker proposed a healthcare plan that paired a mandate on employers to provide insurance with a Medicare-like public plan to cover the uninsured. At the time, Hacker’s plan was out of step with mainstream Democratic priorities on healthcare. As I’ve written, Democrats felt burned about being tagged as overreaching statists during Bill Clinton’s 1993 health reform effort. When Barack Obama made another attempt at health reform, Democrats opted for a centrist approach built around government facilitation of competitive private insurance markets.

Within this framework, Hacker’s proposal was whittled down to a public option that would offer plans within Obamacare’s insurance marketplaces. This was the chief liberal imprint on the Affordable Care Act debate. But the public option ultimately proved too much for the Senate Democrats that held the decisive votes on health reform. Hacker’s public option was unceremoniously excised from the bill.

Obamacare went into effect with no alternative to private insurance for most people. The law has made tremendous gains in getting people covered. But most of these gains have come from the law’s expansion of public insurance under Medicaid. Obamacare’s private insurance marketplaces have been wobbly and in flux, constantly under attack by Republican opponents, and prone to price increases and exits by insurers.

Now Hacker is back with a new contribution to the liberal healthcare brainstorm session. He proposes a plan he has called “Medicare Part E”—Medicare for everyone who wants it. “All Americans should be guaranteed good coverage under Medicare if they don’t receive it from their employer or Medicaid,” Hacker writes.

The key features of Hacker’s plan include:

  • Automatic guaranteed coverage for all Americans under a new Medicare Part E.
  • You can opt out of this default Medicare coverage by enrolling in an employer-sponsored plan or other private insurance plan with benefits at least as good as those offered by Medicare.
  • A “pay or play” requirement on employers, who would be responsible for either providing good health insurance to their workers or contributing toward the cost of Medicare Part E.

Hacker’s plan has a lot going for it. It takes the best part of single-payer—guaranteed coverage—while leaving room for consumer choice. Medicare Part E wouldn’t jeopardize the employer-provided coverage that people have and like (as long as those plans meet quality standards). And the experience of Obamacare shows that employers are unlikely to ditch their insurance offerings in droves to dump workers on to a new public plan.

Medicare Part E builds on the public preference for voluntary, rather than coercive, government healthcare programs. The idea for a voluntary public option has been consistently popular, while Obamacare’s now-stricken individual mandate was consistently not. Rather than banning private insurance (as some single-payer plans would), Hacker would supplement private insurance with a Medicare fallback available to all Americans as a right of citizenship. Like the idea of making Medicare the default coverage for kids (which I’ve written about), those who prefer private coverage could still get it.

The second proposal comes from John Holahan and Linda Blumberg of the Urban Institute’s Health Policy Center. They argue that instead of creating a public option, we should cap the payment rates that hospitals and providers can charge to insurers.

The strongest version of a public option would help control healthcare costs by paying providers the same low rates that Medicare pays. But this public option would draw fierce industry opposition from both insurance companies and providers.

Blumberg and Holahan suggest that we can capture the same cost savings of a public option by simply applying the same payment caps to private insurers. Under their proposal, private insurers would pay providers at rates capped at what Medicare pays (or the Medicare rate plus a percentage more). This would achieve cost savings while defusing potential opposition among insurers.

This plan would essentially import the regulatory structure used in Medicare Advantage into the rest of the health insurance system. Medicare Advantage is the program that allows private insurers to compete with traditional single-payer Medicare. It currently enrolls about one-third of all Medicare beneficiaries. Under Medicare Advantage, out-of-network providers cannot charge private insurers more than Medicare rates, which also implicitly caps the rates paid by in-network providers, too.

Blumberg and Holahan would expand these rules beyond the Medicare Advantage market and into the broader health insurance market. In effect, the insurance industry would become more like a public utility—the broader market would functionally be a public option. “This approach would control costs in areas where premiums are high,” Blumberg and Holahan write, “and it would reduce barriers for insurers in markets where monopoly conditions currently exist.”

It’s not clear that this proposal would lure health insurers off the sidelines to sell in the nearly barren areas underserved by Obamacare’s marketplaces, like rural regions. And it wouldn’t provide an alternative to the administrative complexity of the private insurance system.

But Blumberg and Holahan are right that absurd costs are at the root of much of what ails our healthcare system. Rate-setting and price controls should be in the discussion for the next phase of health reform. Healthcare simply isn’t a market where we can let prices fluctuate with supply and demand. “Consumers” aren’t able to easily shop around or walk away from healthcare services that are just too essential to turn down. This removes the downward price pressure that exists in other true markets for goods and services. Government can step in and restore that price pressure by limiting the prices that doctors and hospitals can charge.

“Medicare-for-all” is a good campaign slogan for progressives to run on. But it’s also a bull-in-a-china-shop approach that would upend the existing system. There are other ideas on the table that more gingerly navigate the political headwinds that Health Reform Phase 2 will inevitably face. Coupling national price controls while making Medicare available to everyone may just be the way forward.

The CHIP crisis shows that we must Republican-proof government

The Children’s Health Insurance Program has been running on fumes for more than one hundred days. The program provides health insurance for 9 million children in low-income families. But millions of those children stand on the brink of losing coverage because the Republican-controlled Congress hasn’t bothered to renew long-term funding for the program. It’s a needless crisis—and a stark reminder that when progressives are in power, they must fortify government to withstand neglect and ruin at the hands of the right.

Since its inception twenty years ago, CHIP has been an uncontroversial program with bipartisan support. But funding for the program ran out at the end of September. Two leading senators had struck a bipartisan agreement to extend CHIP’s funding earlier that month, but the GOP’s last-ditch push to repeal Obamacare swallowed up their deal. After Obamacare repeal failed again, Senate Republican leadership leaped straight into tax reform, and the CHIP deal faded away.

Meanwhile, state CHIP programs are quickly running out of money to keep kids insured. Congress kicked the crisis a few months down the road before breaking for the holidays, passing short-term funding meant to keep CHIP afloat until March. But that funding actually may not even be enough to sustain CHIP through the end of January in some states, according to the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services. Congressional recklessness has already exacted a psychic toll on families frantic at the prospect of their children losing access to health care, with some states sending letters to families warning that they will be forced to terminate coverage without action by Congress, and others readying emergency plans to wind down their CHIP programs entirely.

In the midst of this crisis, Republicans in the House played politics with the issue. At the end of October, they proposed to fund CHIP in part by shortening the grace period for Obamacare enrollees who miss a premium payment. This would pay for CHIP using money saved on Obamacare subsidies after throwing people off of their insurance faster. It was a poison pill bill—Republicans knew Democrats wouldn’t support any move to weaken Obamacare—but the House passed it along party lines anyway.

Since then, Republicans enacted a tax bill that could leave up to 13 million fewer people with health insurance—meaning there now may be fewer bounced premiums to draw on to fund CHIP. That tax bill sucked up all of the oxygen in Washington, along with most of the revenue. Even Sen. Orrin Hatch—one of CHIP’s original sponsors—bemoaned that renewing CHIP is difficult “because we don’t have money anymore.” Yet he and his GOP colleagues had no trouble finding the money—plus stomaching $1 trillion in new federal debt—for the sake of cutting taxes primarily on the wealthy and corporations.

This isn’t a surprise—conservatives have long pledged fealty to Tax Cut Exceptionalism. Many believe there’s no need to pay for tax cuts at all, while social insurance programs should be paid for by robbing one to pay for another. It’s part of a larger strategy to shrink the size of government by starving it of funds—one that inevitably targets programs that serve the poor and vulnerable.

CHIP serves a relatively narrow subset of American children whose parents earn too much to qualify for Medicaid but too little to afford private coverage. It’s usually temporary coverage that children weave in and out of as their parents’ incomes rise and fall—a safety net that families can fall back on in hard times.

CHIP may have been a bipartisan priority once upon a time. But progressives must reckon with the modern GOP, which is no longer a reliable partner in support of any social welfare program. It is now a nihilistic party that rejects any role of government to do things like expand healthcare coverage. This puts a program like CHIP squarely in the crosshairs when Republicans are in power.

So when the political pendulum swings back to the left, progressives must tailor their agenda with an eye toward Republican-proofing government. That means making important public programs too big to cut. For instance, Democrats could transform children’s health insurance into a commitment to provide automatic Medicare coverage for all American children starting at birth. As progressives from Lyndon Johnson’s administration on through Sen. Bernie Sanders have proposed, American children should receive a Medicare card when they are born, covering their healthcare needs up until early adulthood.

By enlisting all American children into one healthcare program, Medicare-for-Kids would become another third rail too politically painful for conservatives to attack. Moreover, because Medicare is funded through payroll taxes, children’s coverage would no longer be subject to the gamesmanship of congressional deal-making.

Conservatives recognize that expanding social insurance programs makes these programs stronger, and therefore resist expansion attempts accordingly. Over a decade ago, a bipartisan coalition in Congress passed a bill that would have expanded CHIP and covered more children. President George W. Bush vetoed the CHIP expansion twice, saying that it “moves our country’s health care system in the wrong direction” by supposedly threatening private insurance. The CHIP expansion became law shortly after President Barack Obama took office in 2009.

The bill that Obama signed had notably less Republican support than the bills passed out of Congress under Bush—an early sign of the hardening anti-healthcare direction of the GOP. That shift is now complete. Congress may still avert total disaster and pass meaningful CHIP funding. But this calamitous episode should remind progressives of the need to ratchet up the welfare state so that it can survive shifts in the political winds. Health insurance for children and similar programs must be bolstered to weather the cold during periods of conservative rule.

Kamala Harris & the progressive healthcare message, take 2

In May, Democratic Senator Kamala Harris sat down with the Pod Save America guys for and laid out a somewhat jumbled four-part message on healthcare, vowing to: (1) protect Obamacare from then-active Republican repeal efforts, (2) empower government to combat prescription price gouging, (3) “look at the Cadillac Tax and deal with that,” and finally, (4) pursue a Medicare-for-All-type system.

observed at the time that Harris’s rough-draft answer showed that there was work to be done on honing the affirmative message communicating the progressive vision for healthcare.  Burying a tepid endorsement of Medicare-for-All behind Cadillac Tax repeal left much to be desired.

Harris has significantly tightened up her healthcare message.  On Wednesday, she announced that she would co-sponsor Sen. Bernie Sanders’s upcoming single-payer bill.  “I intend to cosponsor the Medicare for All bill,” Harris tweeted.  “Health care is a right, not a privilege.”

Harris is a probable 2020 contender for the presidential nomination.  While others have expressed support for single-payer, she is the first establishment Democratic to put her name on actual legislation.

This is yet another indicator that the center of gravity within the Democratic Party is swarming to the left.  Harris took some flack from the left for allegedly lacking progressive bonafides.  I argued that Harris and other prominent center-left Democrats are actually testaments to the left’s success in reshaping the party’s agenda.  Her unequivocal embrace of single-payer now adds to that success.

She endorsed the view that healthcare is a fundamental right.  This is a common rhetorical assertion among progressives.  But it has the benefit of uniting the party’s supposed rift between those prioritizing economic issues and others prioritizing social and identity issues.  “Healthcare is a right” presents universal coverage as an issue of both economic and social justice.

Still, there is reason to slow down the Democratic rush to sign on to single-payer healthcare.  Democrats may quickly find themselves on the wrong side of the public’s deep status quo bias toward healthcare–the same fear of change that stymied Republicans’ Obamacare repeal efforts this year.  The public may express support for a single-payer system as a way of voicing dissatisfaction with our current healthcare system.  But when the rubber hits the road, for many people, there’s just too much at stake in healthcare to venture too far away from the system they already know.

There are always painful tradeoffs in healthcare.  There are transitions that must be navigated, revenues that must be raised, and industries that must be displaced or accommodated.  By putting their names to legislation, Harris and other Democrats will be taking sides in those tradeoffs.  Medicare-for-All will no longer be an abstract wishful preference.  It will be real dollars and cents, legislative carve-outs and burdens.

The progressive healthcare vision is coming together in refreshingly bold terms.  But Harris and other Democrats need to make sure that they are prepared to stand by all that this entails.

Hofstadter on FDR

I’ve been reading Richard Hofstadter’s classic The American Political Tradition and the Men Who Made It. His analysis of Franklin Roosevelt’s handling of the Great Depression is immensely valuable, both for its humanization of the modern progressive hero, and its lessons for progressives today.

Even though Roosevelt’s administration is remembered as a testament to countercyclical Keynesian spending, Roosevelt campaigned as a deficit scold even as the Depression worsened throughout 1932. According to Hofstadter, Roosevelt “called the Hoover administration ‘the greatest spending Administration in peace time in all our history.’” Roosevelt implored the country to “have the courage . . . to stop borrowing to meet continuing deficits.”

Roosevelt was also originally resistant to taking extraordinary measures to rehabilitate the country’s banking system. “In his first press conference,” Hofstadter writes, “he was asked if he favored federal insurance of bank deposits. He said that he did not.” Roosevelt did not want government on the hook for the losses of bad banks. Nonetheless, he soon signed into law the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation for precisely this purpose—“a concession to a bloc of insistent Western Senators,” Hofstadter explains.

Roosevelt made a slew of conflicting promises to the country about how he would rescue the economy. As Hofstadter put it: “All Roosevelt’s promises—to restore purchasing power and mass employment and relieve the needy and aid the farmer and raise agricultural prices and balance the budget and lower the tariff and continue protection—added up to a very discouraging performance to those who hoped for a coherent liberal program.”

While admiring progressives look back in retrospect at Roosevelt’s economic rescue effort as a dedicated application of government ingenuity and Keynesian economics, his course was hardly deliberate. “The New Deal will never be understood by anyone who looks for a single thread of policy,” Hofstadter argues, calling Roosevelt’s eventual economic program a “series of improvisations.”

John Maynard Keynes himself met with Roosevelt in 1934. FDR was overwhelmed by what he called Keynes’ “rigmarole of figures.” And Keynes came away disheartened, remarking that he had “supposed the President was more literate, economically speaking.”

Hofstadter divides Roosevelt’s economic policy into two distinct ideological approaches. The first New Deal, enacted between 1933 and 1934, tried to spark a supply-side recovery by adopting “the retrogressive idea of recovery through scarcity,” Hofstadter writes. The key recovery efforts during these years were business-friendly initiatives to boost agricultural and business revenues. The Agricultural Adjustment Act, for instance, set farm quotas to withhold supply and boost agricultural prices. “[T]he policy seemed to have solved the paradox of hunger in the midst of plenty only by doing away with plenty,” Hofstadter laments.

The heart of Roosevelt’s initial economic program was the National Recovery Act, which allowed businesses to set price agreements and production quotas in exchange for wage increases and improved working conditions. This idea originated with the Chamber of Commerce. Still, Roosevelt called the NRA the “most important and far-reaching legislation ever enacted by the American Congress . . . a supreme effort to stabilize for all time the many factors which make for the prosperity of the nation.”

The NRA took a decidedly business-friendly approach to economic stimulus. “It is not unfair to say that in essence the NRA embodied the conception of many businessmen that recovery was to be sought through systematic monopolization, high prices, and low production,” Hofstadter writes. Yet it is far from clear that the NRA had a positive impact on the economic recovery—the economy’s best years came in the two years after the Supreme Court ruled the NRA unconstitutional.

Roosevelt’s first New Deal was conceived as a “true concert of interests,” as he put it on the campaign trail—a consensus approach to benefit business, farmers, and workers alike. “Although he had adopted many novel, perhaps risky expedients,” Hofstadter observed, “he had avoided vital disturbances to the interests.” Roosevelt refused calls to resolve the banking crisis by nationalization the country’s banks, for example, and instead relied on government to prop up the private banking system.

Roosevelt’s eventual populist shift was driven by venom from the right and pressure from the left. Conservatives and wealthy interests wielded vehement political opposition against Roosevelt. “His political struggle with the ‘economic royalists’ soon became intensely personal,” Hofstadter writes.

From the left, influential populist Louisiana Senator Huey Long was clamoring for a more radical economic program and making noise about challenging Roosevelt’s reelection in 1936. Roosevelt’s political operatives thought Long had enough political support to swing the election. Long was also advocating for a “Share Our Wealth” platform that would have capped annual incomes at $1 million to fund a $2,500 annual basic income; provided for an old-age pension and free kindergarten through college; and government-provided automobiles and washing machines for every family.

Roosevelt wished to do something “to steal Long’s thunder” during the latter half of his first term in the White House. “The result,” Hofstadter writes, “was a sharp and sudden turn toward the left, the beginning of the second New Deal.” Roosevelt latched on to the Wagner Act, which had been floating around Congress for some time, to create the National Labor Relations Board. And he even sought a drastic Long-style “wealth tax.” And of course, Roosevelt piggybacked on Long’s old-age pension idea to enact Social Security.

After winning reelection, Roosevelt executed an ill-advised and harmful pivot toward austerity in 1937. Believing the economy to be on better ground, government spending was cut, and the Federal Reserve raised interest rates. This mistake, Hofstadter writes, produced “a sharp downward trend [in the economy], which reached alarming dimensions in early 1938.”

Roosevelt eventually realized his mistake, and sought new government spending that spring, which Congress quickly approved. It was not until 1940, Hofstadter writes, that Roosevelt “finally accepted in theory what he had long been doing in fact, admitted the responsibility of government retrenchment for the recession, credited the revival of spending for the revival in business, and in general discussed the problem of the federal budget in Keynesian terms.”

By 1944, Roosevelt was speaking of a new “economic bill of rights” and guaranteed full employment within the confines of “our democratic system of private enterprise.” “With the economy operating at fall speed under war time conditions,” Hofstadter writes, “it was easy for him to forget the incompleteness of recovery under the New Deal and to refer proudly to the manner in which ‘we . . . fought our way out of the economic crisis.’”

Reading Hofstadter’s then-fresh history (published in 1948) of the Roosevelt administration holds wisdom from our own recent history. Hofstadter’s warts-and-all account of Roosevelt’s handling of Great Depression doesn’t look all that dissimilar from Barack Obama’s economic recovery efforts eighty years later. Obama too gravitated toward consensus reforms, opting for a stimulus package tilted toward tax cuts and money for the states. Obama too resisted calls for bank nationalization, promoting financial liquidity and stress tests instead. Obama favored stabilizing industry rather than bailing out individual homeowners.

Unlike Roosevelt, Obama did not enjoy a pliant Congress willing to cede economic deference to the White House and rubberstamp new recovery legislation. Roosevelt was able to experiment with a wide variety of programs with quick congressional approval—and was even able to course correct after his premature pivot to austerity.

Obama, on the other hand, never got a second bite at the apple for more stimulus because of a polarized Congress exhausted after one round of new government spending in 2009. Obama’s administration was too quick to pronounce economic triumph, seeing “green shoots” around every corner in 2009, with Treasury Security Timothy Geithner declaring “Welcome to the Recovery” in August 2010—years before most Americans felt anything resembling a return to economic normalcy. Obama too spoke of the need for Washington “belt-tightening” as early as April 2009, in the depths of the recession. Obama acceded elite Washington deficit scare mongering and pivoted toward austerity too early in 2011. When he tried to counteract the continuing sluggish economy by proposing a jobs bill in September, Congress never even considered it.

Which is to say that Obama was a fallible and imperfect progressive president—just like Roosevelt. Progressives routinely chastised Obama for falling short of hopes that he’d be the second coming of FDR. But as Jonathan Chait notes in Audacity, liberals have a penchant for perpetual disappointment and despair. Even in Roosevelt’s time, there was a contingent of the political left that incessantly criticized him for enacting policy that was too conservative.

Where Roosevelt differed from Obama was in the external leftward pressure he faced. Roosevelt faced real and imminent electoral pressure to move in a more progressive direction. For all the dismay with Obama from some progressives, the left never mobilized to become a political counterforce.

Since Obama’s administration, the American left has begun mobilizing. Bernie Sanders mounted an insurgent candidacy against Hillary Clinton, and extracted policy concessions that shifted Democratic economic policy decidedly to the left. Sanders remains the country’s most popular politician and a major force in the Democratic Party. And the Democratic Socialists of America have seen an upsurge in enrollment and activism since Donald Trump’s victory.

Hofstadter’s honest contemporaneous appraisal of Roosevelt’s administration avoids the sanctification that so many progressives are prone to when lionizing the Democratic Party’s most towering figure of the twentieth century. Roosevelt was a great progressive, but was hardly without missteps and oversights in his economic management, and was made better by a mobilized left.

The lesson of Hofstadter’s take on FDR is that progressives should not be discredited for failing to meet a standard of purity and perfection—and that those same progressives might benefit immensely from being challenged in the policy sphere from an engaged left.

Social democracy as the answer to Trump

I’ve been reading Tony Judt’s Ill Fares The Land, his 2010 plea for social democracy in the last days of his life.  It turns out that Judt presciently anticipated the appeal of Trumpian authoritarianism in our insecure age — and offered social democracy as our best hope to withstand it.

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Tony Judt (New York Times)

Judt was a steadfast if begrudging admirer of social democracy–a political ideology that “does not represent an ideal future; it does not even represent the ideal past.  But among the options available to us today, it is better than anything else to hand.”

Social democracy is the true center of modern political thought.  Where socialism outright rejects capitalism, social democracy accepts it.  Social democracy aims to harness the engines of capitalism while tempering its rough edges, crafting the institutions and guardrails necessary to balance capitalism’s chaotic dynamism with a measure of ordered security.

That sense of security is dangerously amiss today, roiling much of the West with anxiety.  “We have entered an age of fear,” Judt wrote.  “Insecurity is once again an active ingredient of political life in Western democracies.”  This is the insecurity of terrorism, of technological change, of globalization, of economic inequality, of the prospect of job loss.  “And, perhaps above all,” Judt wrote, “fear that it is not just we who can no longer shape our lives but that those in authority have also lost control, to forces beyond their reach.”

This combination — an electorate both gripped by fear and inflicted with skepticism of their leaders’ ability to do anything about it — produces anti-democratic movements that offer stability by turning aggressively inward.  “If we can have democracy, we will,” Judt observed.  “But above all, we want to be safe.  As global threats mount, so the attractions of order will only grow. [. . .]  Outsiders, however defined, will be seen as threats, foes and challenges.  As in the past the promise of stability risks merging with the comforts of protection.”  That’s the lure of Trumpism that Judt saw coming.

The fearful society craves stability.  This stability can be provided one of two ways: First, it can be anti-democratic stability.  This is the order promised by a strong man — one who exploits this insecurity by vilifying the weak and the “other.”  One who looks at blighted communities cast to the margins of the American story and declares “I alone can fix it.”  One who assures those forgotten communities that he will “give you everything. I will give you what you’ve been looking for for 50 years.”

“Unless the Left has something better to offer,” Judt warned, “we should not be surprised to find voters responding to those holding out such promises.”

Fortunately, the Left does have something to offer — Trumpism isn’t the only answer to insecurity.  Stability can also be provided through democracy by crafting institutions to truly protect people from the risks of modern life.  “Social democracy in Europe, the New Deal and the Great Society here in the US, were explicit responses” to challenges and threats wrought by previous eras of insecurity, Judt wrote.  Where Trumpism offers recriminations in response to insecurity, the Left must offer reassurance.

What does that reassurance look like?  By and large, it means insuring individuals against commonly-shared risks in the twenty-first century.  Political scientist Lane Kenworthy laid out a full agenda for a Social Democratic America, including wage insurance to protect workers from cuts in pay, sick leave to insure workers in case of illness, a child benefit to insure parents against the costs of child rearing, and other social insurance programs.  It might also include an aggressive program of targeted government investment to stimulate stagnant communities, coupled with a federal works program, to function as a form of insurance against creative destruction discarding whole regions of the country.

Of course, a program of that scale and ambition will directly confront a public with ever-diminishing expectations in the capacity of its civic institutions and their leaders.  As Chris Hayes wrote in The Twilight of the Elites, we face a crisis of authority in the United States after a generation of catastrophic elite failure at every turn across virtually every pillar of society. This makes for a receptive audience for the authoritarians promising anti-democratic stability that bludgeons these very institutions, and a much more doubtful audience for those looking to achieve democratic stability through better and more comprehensive institutions.

Which means the Left’s message and messenger matter.  A compromised center-left version of social democracy in the hands of a leader closely tied to decades of institutional failure won’t be compelling.  While Hillary Clinton pushed an agenda packed with progressive technocratic reforms and programs, her institutional ties were too unshakable and her ambition to restructure the American economy too trimmed to compete with the vociferous anti-democratic stability offered by Trump.

The Left will need an outsider insurgent that can credibly lay claim to moving the country in the direction of social democracy.  Barack Obama pushed a centrist progressive agenda, but did so as an outsider reformer offering hope and relief from the failures and disappointments of the previous generation.  Bernie Sanders positioned himself as an outsider to the political class vowing social democratic revolution of the country’s institutions, but lacked the inspirational and heroic appeal of Obama that cut across all core Democratic constituencies.  Some combination of the two is what’s called for.

Moreover, a social democratic response to Trump isn’t necessarily about specific policies.  Rather, it requires making an unabashed positive case for the role of government to better citizens’ lives; for the capacity of a democracy to craft institutions to guard against threats new and old; for the ability of elected leaders to chart a course that enlivens struggling communities and ensures that prosperity is broadly shared.

Even if Trump’s presidency crumbles under the weight of chaos, incompetence, and scandal, the resonance of his dark message won’t necessarily follow suit in four years.  As the closest approximation of the Left in mainstream American politics, Democrats will only defeat Trump by offering voters their own vision of how to achieve security in the twenty-first century.  In an age of fear, the hostile illusion of security of the Right can only be matched by a hopeful communal security of the Left.

The missing Democratic narrative

In the fall of 2015, the economists Anne Case and Angus Deaton discovered something disturbing: the mortality rate for middle-aged white Americans—and only them—had sharply increased over the previous 15 years.  Most of this increase was from an alarming explosion in the number of suicides and “poisonings” from drug overdoses among this population.

Meanwhile, Donald Trump was on his warpath toward the Republican nomination.  And he was winning heavily in the distressed communities that Case and Deaton studied, cleaning up in the counties with the highest middle-aged white mortality rates.  These places were littered with the skeletons of abandoned factories, but were ghost towns when it came to jobs and degrees.  The misery and desperation was ripe for Trumpism.

Case and Deaton had landed upon the most troubling and violent indication of what is a larger existential unease within much of the country.  Deaton speculated that these Americans had “lost the narrative of their lives — meaning something like a loss of hope, a loss of expectations of progress.”

Donald Trump became president-elect last week in part because he filled in that narrative with what had gone wrong.  For “the forgotten men and women of our country,” as he called them, who feel that they have been forcibly displaced from the American economy and society, Trump provided a story grounded in resentment and named culprits.  They’d been shafted by Washington elites cutting bad trade deals that ship jobs overseas, he told them.  They’d been cast aside for immigrants pouring over the border with drugs and crime, he warned.

This narrative aligned with what many people want to believe and what they see around them.  They see shuttered manufacturing sites that once employed thousands.  They see superstores where nothing is made in America or by Americans.  They see neighbors and family members consumed by opioids.  They see the lives of minorities and immigrants who “cut in line” ascending, while theirs languish.

Liberals can and should object to the honesty and intolerance embedded in Trump’s tale.  Yes, we’ve done too little to cushion workers from the dislocations of trade.  But neither Trump nor any other politician is bringing wide-scale manufacturing employment.  And while immigrants are an easy scapegoat, they have little impact on the wages or employment of native-born Americans.

Trump’s story is a manipulative con.  But it’s the only one that Americans were offered in this election.  Hillary Clinton did little to offer a competing narrative that spoke to the continuing anxieties and inequalities of millions of Americans.  For all the progressive policy ideas Clinton developed, she never synthesized them beyond the contentless message “Stronger Together.”  The reach of her campaign left her unable to develop a message with any specificity.  Hoping to rout Trump by a historic margin, she crafted a tent so big that it collapsed in on itself.

This has revealed a fundamental problem for Democrats.  For six years, the party has gotten walloped in virtually every national and state election  where Barack Obama’s name has not been on the ballot.  As he exits the national stage, the Democrats can no longer depend on his coattails.  They need to win by standing for something that connects with voters.

There is one clear narrative percolating within the Democratic Party.  And it’s coming from the party’s left flank.  Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders are interpreting the election results as reflecting widespread frustration with an economy rigged by and for the wealthy and powerful.  In their version, there has been a thirty-five year project of deliberate government policy and tax cuts that redistributed money to the most well-off.  This hollowed out the programs, investments, and institutions that once upon a time created a thriving and secure American middle class.  The wealthy reached the highest rung of the social ladder and then pulled the ladder up behind them.

This too makes for a compelling story.  And there’s a good deal of truth to it.  The growth in inequality in the United States closely corresponds with the onset of the Reagan revolution and the shift toward supply-side economics.  At the same time Reagan was slashing taxes on the rich, deregulating industry, and implementing free market reforms in the early 1980s, inequality began rising.  Economists on the left argue that these kinds of unbalanced tax cuts and reductions in public programs increase inequality.  As inequality boomed, incomes for the middle stagnated.  And for those becoming displaced and rendered obsolete by the economy, the bottom fell out.

This would be an exceptionally opportune time for liberals to start loudly making this case to the public.  With unified conservative control of Washington, Republican leaders are gearing up to pass a round of massive tax cuts tilted heavily toward the wealthy.  Both Trump and Paul Ryan have proposed trillions of dollars in tax cuts.  They’ll just need to sort out whether half of all the benefits will go to the top 1 percent (Trump’s plan) or if 99.6 percent will (Ryan’s).

These tax cuts will inevitably rob from important social spending on education, healthcare, food assistance, and poverty programs.  They will suck more money out of the very communities that need it the most.  This will exacerbate inequality, not reverse it.

By offering up this kind of narrative, Democrats can accomplish two things in one fell swoop.  First, they can counter the fraudulent story that Trump has successfully sold so far.  Second, they can show that Trump never had the back of working people—that he’s looking out for his interests and those of his class by passing yet another typical Republican supply-side tax cut.

To build a party that isn’t dependent on one man, the Democrats need to contextualize and offer solutions for the discontent afflicting many Americans.  Trump did that, even if his pitch was a working-class sham.  To mount an effective opposition and win back power, Democrats need to offer voters a narrative of their own.