Now What? Reflections On Historicizing American "Conservatism"

I spent the better part of my allotted USIH reading time the past few weeks immersed in a round table, published in the December 2011 Journal of American History, titled "Conservatism: A State of the Field." Because the New Right has been an ongoing (to say the least) topic of concern here, since our January 2007 founding, there may be no better place than USIH for reflecting on the JAH round table. As such I expect other USIH contributors will chime in, either here or with additional posts.

My first thought on completing the round table was: now what? What are we going to discuss here, on this topic, now that Kim Phillips-Fein et al have so ably summarized the state of the historiography? It truly is a comprehensive collection. A graduate student could spend her entire education mining the essays, footnotes, and prominent books. And that student would be rewarded well for her effort. Because of its comprehensiveness, I beseech your advance forgiveness for not covering your favorite topics, authors, or passages from the round table.

Since I'm still processing the contents, and hence have neither a complementary nor a counter narrative to offer, I'm going to reflect on the essays as they were presented---beginning and ending with Phillips-Fein.

Phillips-Fein's Introduction


This 20-page essay is clearly the heart of the round table. It's Phillips-Fein's show, and she doesn't disappoint. As such, this piece receives the greatest attention in this post. (Note: I'm going to shorten her name to KPF for the rest of this post.)

KPF [right] praises much of the new scholarship on conservatism and, as expected, notes its tendencies. She posits for the reader some of the now-familiar central themes for the growth of the New Right (not to be confused with just conservatism): anti-communism, opposition to the Civil Rights Movement, reactions to labor unions and their power, and "changing sexual norms" (p. 724). KPF recounts the impoverished psychological accounts of conservatism from consensus historians (think Hofstadter and Daniel Bell), to George Nash's The Conservative Intellectual Tradition since 1945 (which she calls "the most influential synthesis of the subject"---discussed here by Andrew Hartman) and Alan Brinkley's important 1994 AHR article, "The Problem of American Conservatism." Jennifer Burns's recent account of Ayn Rand is covered (also discussed here by Mike O'Connor). Our very own Paul Murphy gets a shout-out for his influential account of the veritable road-not-taken by conservatives as offered by southern agrarians (i.e. criticism of capitalism).* Other topics addressed by KPF include suburban conservatism, the sun belt, Christian conservatism, affluence and middle-class conservatism (not merely backlash or populist varieties). There are so many books covered in KPF's essay that my list above is scanty in comparison.

What of the issues KPF raises? She advocates for more work on "the connections between racial and sexual politics and conservative economic ideas." She also believes that can be written on mass media, local party organizations, "antifeminism and opposition to gay rights," "anti-immigrant and nativist sentiment," "war, nationalism, and patriotism"---the last inclusive of groups like veteran's organizations and the American Legion (p. 735-736). KPF spends a paragraph discussing the need for more work on recent conservative "extremists" (something Wilfred McClay takes issue with in his lead-off response, titled "Less Boilerplate, More Symmetry").

KPF notes the problem of periodization: Does New Right conservatism begin in the 1920s, 1930s (wherein Leo Ribuffo gets a shout out on p. 737), or after World War II? She fairly consistently argues that that 1945 is the legitimate starting point. KPF also reminds readers of the "long exception" argument on liberalism made by Jefferson Cowie and and Nick Salvatore in an essay that first appeared in International Labor and Working-Class History (74, Fall 2008).

The 1970s and 1980s receive special attention at the end of KPF's introductory essay. She notes that recent scholars covering this period are undermining "the 'whiggish' tendency to read conservatism's successes backward through postwar history" (p. 739). KPF argues that recent studies on these decades reveal something of the "fragility" of the conservative movement--that its success may have more to do with the fracturing of liberalism than has been previously discussed. Jefferson Cowie's recent book, Stayin' Alive: The 1970s and the Last Days of the Working Class (whose book has come up in four posts here) is mentioned, as well as neoliberalism via David Harvey and---wait...for...it---the much-discussed-at-USIH "instant classic" by Daniel Rodgers, Age of Fracture.

Near the end KPF acknowledges the need for more work "looking at conservatism from an international perspective...analyzing the ways that the movement drew from intellectual and organizational sources outside the United States" (p. 742-743).

And here's KPF's conclusion: "The real project is to see conservatism with a new perspective---to understand its tenacity through the liberal years, its longstanding relationship to the state and to economic elites, and how its history is intertwined with that of liberalism, as well as the ways its ascendance reflected not only its own political dynamism but also broader changes in American society" (p. 743).

"Less Boilerplate, More Symmetry" by Wilfred M. McClay (pp. 744–47)

I already mentioned one main point from McClay above. I will bring up another below---a useful metaphor. [Aside: For regular USIH commenter Varad Mehta, per your comment on my last post, Herbert Butterfield's The Whig Interpretation of History gets a nod at the end of McClay's piece.]

"Conservatism as a Growing Field of Scholarship" by Alan Brinkley (pp. 748–51)

This piece rehashes and praises many of the points made by KPF. Otherwise, Brinkley meditates on how the post-war movement managed to unify in the face of internal contradictions and paradoxes within (e.g. pro and anti-containment foreign policy). He is also fascinated with how the movement has drawn in new constituencies and used new media. He ends by discussing the problem of neoconservatism within the movement.

"Rethinking American Conservatism: Toward a New Narrative" by Donald T. Critchlow (pp. 752–55)

Critchlow [right] agrees with KPF's assessment of Nash's The Conservative Intellectual Tradition, saying it "remains unchallenged." Critchlow notes problems with the definition of "conservative" and, strange as it may seem, refers to the work of a medieval historian, Robert Stacey, on the concept of limited government. Also, interestingly, Critchlow proposes "a little counterfactual thought experiment" wherein he argues that the notion of "modern liberalism is the ideological anomaly of the twentieth century" (p. 754). Sound familiar? It echoes the Cowie/Salvatore argument mentioned above from 2008. Critchlow concludes as follows: "The story of conservatism in postwar America is one of ideological contradiction, political opportunism, electoral triumph, and of deeply held beliefs about the nature of the individual and the good society."

"On American Conservatism and Kim Phillips-Fein’s Survey of the Field" by Martin Durham (pp. 756–59)

Durham's essay praises KPF's introduction. He argues for closely studying the conservative magazine, National Review, as a unifying force in the history of the New Right. Correspondingly, on the temporal diversity of the movement, he writes that "it would...seem wise to describe conservatism since 1954 as modern conservatism"--acknowledging that libertarianism and anticommunism existed earlier (p. 759).

"Political History beyond the Red-Blue Divide" by Matthew D. Lassiter (pp. 760–64)

Lassiter's thesis seems to be the following: "The new political history has inadvertently replicated some of the blind spots of the liberal consensus school that it supplanted, especially through a linear declension/ascension narrative that has conflated the fate of the New Deal with the political triumph of the New Right. ...The interpretations of political history have tracked too closely to the red-blue binaries of journalism and punditry; ...the literature has taken the contradictions and fragmentation of liberalism as given but smoothed over similar weaknesses and fissures within conservatism" (p. 760).

Lassiter [right] wants us to distinguish between the history of conservatism and broader political history. He also wants us to recognize "the times and places in which liberalism and conservatism have overlapped." And this move "requires a reconsideration of the polarization thesis that has animated the scholarship on the New Right. ...[This] thesis has evolved into a hegemonic framework" (p. 762). Lassiter wants a better periodization of the various conservative elements. He also sees a problem with the lumping of unconnected currents of change with Reagan's election.

Finally, I wondered whether Lassiter had read Rodgers when he wrote (bolds mine): "The phrase 'free market' describes a principled ideological position, if not a concrete reality. It seems more useful to evaluate the rhetoric of 'anti-government' and 'free enterprise' conservatism as a political and cultural construct, a discursive fiction wielded as a form of power in the struggle to shape the nation's political culture and its political economy" (p. 764). It's not an assertion of a "contagion of metaphors," but it goes to Rodgers' point about the changed nature of discourse since the 1970s.

"Now That Historians Know So Much about the Right, How Should We Best Approach the Study of Conservatism?" by Lisa McGirr (pp. 765–70)

The title sort of says it all, or at least articulates something of McGirr's main theme. Like other round table contributors, McGirr admires KPF's "thoughtful survey" (p. 765). While recounting and restating many of KPF's points, she adds several points: (1) We need to study more deeply the "secular shifts in global capitalism" (p. 767). (2) We would do well to study better "the arguably important institutional areanas where conservatives have long held substantial sway," such as in Congress (p. 768). (3) McGirr echoes KPF's call for more study of transnational networks and "the roots of ideas"/origins (pp. 768-769). (4) McGirr is also generally an advocate for looking at conservatism after World War II as a distinct, more cohesive kind of conservatism--an entity "constructed afresh from a new constellation of ideas" (p. 770).

McGirr [right] pushes readers to look again at the demise of Progressivism for some hints at what occurs later. She then makes an artful, relatively concise statement about the stakes of those potential connections: "In no small part due to the traumatic experience of national prohibition in the 1920s, modern liberals drew a thicker line between private behavior and government regulation than had early twentieth-century reformers. Indeed, liberals' increasing emphasis on personal rights and freedoms opened up space after World War II for conservative claims to being the champions of 'moral virtue'" (p. 770).

Finally, McGirr comes out as a proponent of Cowie and Salvatore's "long exception" thesis. The period from the New Deal through the Great Society was unusual---a highpoint for American liberalism as we think of it today.

"A Response" by Kim Phillips-Fein (pp. 771–73)

I have already referenced KPF's final response above, and will do so again below. For now I just want to say that she addressed concerns raised in nearly every round table piece. I found this passage particularly intriguing and enlightening (underlines mine):

While recognizing the divide between ideology and policy, it remains important to think about how economic ideas matter. While conservatives have not limited the growth of the state in the ways that their rhetoric might suggest, their opposition to the welfare state has significantly shaped their approaches to public policy. Alan Brinkley raises the question of how to think about the attraction of conservatism to people who are, as he puts it, perched precariously in the middle class. The recent rise of economic inequality, he suggests, may actually have led to the embrace of an antigovernment, antitax politics by middle-class and working-class people, who, facing stagnation of their incomes and living standards, have grown frustrated with a state that seems increasingly incapable of aiding them. The erosion of government...has not led to a call for more government, but rather to a sense of the impotence of the state and a deep pessimism about the possibilities of government activism, and a feeling of resentment about rising tax burdens that yield few tangible benefits (pp. 772-773).

Excellent.

Conclusions

Returning to my original question: What now? Where do we---as a USIH community---go from here? KPF herself, on page one of the round table (p. 723 in JAH) states: "Historians might be forgiven for asking whether there is anything left to study in the history of the Right." I certainly felt that way immediately (but only immediately) after reading the round table.

For her part, KPF synthesized the round table contributions by laying out "three subjects" she believes "will be at the heart of moving the interpretive project forward: [1] the question of origins, [2] the relationship between the radical and moderate parts of the conservative movement, and [3] the role of economic ideas in conservatism" (p. 771). I like [1] and [2], but think that [3] is already well under way---or implicit in many works already done. I like to think that USIH (the field, the society, and this blog) will be integral moving [1] forward.

Corey Robin's The Reactionary Mind obviously helps move the project forward in relation to the "question of origins."** Robin's book was not included in the round table, which is a shame, but most likely due to its recent publication date. Robin [right] goes toward what Brinkley suggests in his round table contribution: namely, synthesis. Robin also addresses something KPF calls for in her final "Response": the need for more work on "deep currents" (p. 771). Robin's book also goes toward KPF's call for internationalizing the conservative movement. Finally, both Brinkley and KPF seem to suggest there is a need for more lumping (though not "über-lumping"!) and less splitting. Robin's book does that too.

But other post-hole, or "splitter" if you prefer, studies are open for exploration. Hartman's work on the Culture Wars will be a welcome addition to the historiography (many of these USIH posts are his), as will Ben Alpers's forthcoming book on the Straussians (several Alpers pieces on that topic have been posted here) and Ray Haberski's forthcoming book on the problem of war in the post-war period (latest installment here). I think my work on Adler and "Great Books Liberalism" (and more) will contribute to delineating some of the intellectual boundaries of the liberal-conservative divide. In other words, several USIH blog contributors are, and will be, at the heart of furthering the historiography on conservatism and liberalism in the near future.

Pardon the self promotion that follows, but two problems noted by several round table authors have been broached here before by me. First, to build on KPF's point about "extremists" (p. 736) and McClay's response to that topic, we need emotional histories of American conservatism. I wrote about this in an April 2011 post titled "The Emotional Panoply of American Conservatism, 1964-Present." In that post I argued that "the array of emotional states covered by recent American conservatism suggests a necessary, renewable source of power behind the ideas and ideology of movement." Or, in the words of Alexander Pope via Nicole Eustace, "passion is the gale." Corey Robin's Fear: A History of a Political Idea also goes to this point.

Second, several round table authors argued that we need more and better histories mid-century liberalism (KPF, pp. 727, 773; McClay, pp. 744-745; Brinkley, p. 750; Critchlow, p. 754; Lassiter, ALL; and McGirr, pp. 766, 770). Around this time last year I suggested (here and here) that our discussions of conservatism would be incomplete so long as we didn't understand better the boundaries between it and liberalism---what mid-century liberalism really was. In his round table contribution McClay called this dialectical tension "the reciprocating engine." He implored us to remember that these "ideological dispositions" are "mutable" (p. 745). I agree.

Although I have not discussed this topic explicitly at USIH, I would suggest that anti-globalism is another splitter line of study worthy of exploration. This was not suggested by KPF in her long list of a dozen or so worthies (pp. 735-736). I've studied this only partially in relation to Hutchins's and Adler's advocacy for world federal government, and reactions to their positions---most notably by Birchers in the 1950s and 1960s. But the Birchers' response was more about nativism (maybe?) than recent fears of global markets (think 1999, Seattle, and the WTO), concerns about the value of labor, conspiracy theories about one-world government (think Limbaugh, Beck, etc.), and fiscal austerity (the Ron Paul position). These later formulations of anti-globalism could be better analyzed.

Whatever we do, we need to fight the kind of garbage offered up by pundits-turned-historians, like this piece by Robert Reich blaming our situation on the Civil War and white southerners---not that any USIH folks would ever produce anything that simplistic.

What are your thoughts? What of the round table---overall or by piece? And what do you think is left to do? - TL

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* We've covered so much ground on the New Right and conservatism at USIH that I was mildly surprised to see no citations of either our blog posts or book reviews. Perhaps we don't cite enough JAH articles around here? Just kidding, but our work has most certainly contributed to the scholarly conversation. This may be the ultimate argument for creating an S-USIH journal.

** I'm wondering if Robin's book won't also become something of an instant classic. I say this because you don't attract high-profile ire from the likes of Mark Lilla unless you hit a nerve.

The New Historiographic Consensus on the 1970s

Whereas Peter Carroll cheekily titled his classic 1982 account of 1970s America It Seemed Like Nothing Happened, the emergent historiographic consensus on that decade not only claims that, in fact, “something happened,” the title of Edward Berkowitz’s overview of the 1970s, but that it was a “pivotal decade,” the title of Judith Stein’s new book on deindustrialization. Central to this new historiographic consensus is another area of wide agreement: that the 1970s were a crucial decade for conservative political transformation; that the 1970s signaled the beginning of the end of the New Deal Order. This thesis is pondered at length by a dozen authors in Bruce Schulman’s and Julian Zelizer’s edited collection, Rightward Bound: Making America Conservative in the 1970s.

Two excellent books I recently read—Jefferson Cowie’s Stayin’ Alive: The 1970s and the Last Days of the Working Class, and Daniel K. Williams’s God’s Own Party: The Making of the Christian Right—certainly do nothing to challenge these two interrelated consensuses. But the very different subject matter of the two books raises questions about what was most important in shaping the conservative transformation that occurred in the 1970s. Cowie’s and Williams’s divergent treatment of Nixon and the 1972 presidential election is a nice lens through which to view these complicated questions about causation—and will be the focus of my post today.

Cowie’s entertaining mix of political, labor, and cultural history paints a dour but believable picture of the 1970s collapse of Golden Age hopes and expectations. As Rick Perlstein writes in a glowing review of Stayin’ Alive: “The continuous readjustment of expectations—downward: that was a key experience of the 1970s. An expectation can be wrenchingly hard to readjust because there is an awful existential lag involved. As historians go, Jefferson Cowie is that awful existential lag’s bard.” Cowie dedicates two chapters to the compelling history of Big Labor’s dealings with the two presidential candidates from the 1972 election, which might have been landmark had it not been for Watergate: George McGovern and Richard Nixon.

Cowie maintains that we can learn a lot about the white working class of the 1970s by examining the perplexing ways in which it reacted to McGovern and Nixon. Organized labor, especially under the leadership of the AFL-CIO’s cold warrior extraordinaire, George Meany, loathed McGovern and the new social movements given life by the “New Politics” reformation of the Democratic Party following the 1968 disaster in Chicago. This, despite the fact that Senator McGovern had a 93% pro-labor voting record, all the more remarkable given that he represented a state, South Dakota, that had a small labor constituency (Interestingly, organized labor’s hatred of McGovern also persisted in spite of his PhD in labor history at Northwestern, where he wrote what Cowie describes as a very good dissertation [later a book] on the Colorado Coal Strike of 1913-14 and the infamous Ludlow Massacre). In stark contrast, the white working class, and especially its more conservative leadership, respected Nixon, despite his horridly anti-labor record.

Cowie chalks this paradox up to cultural politics. On McGovern, Cowie writes: “Despite his commitment to real material concerns of working people, a long-standing intellectual interest in labor issues, and an exceptional pro-labor voting record, McGovern’s candidacy created an enduring, if distorted, political template for what the white, male American working class was not: radical, effete, movement-based, anti-war, and, perhaps most profoundly, Democratic” (122). Pat Buchanan, writing in his book The New Majority, which came out between Nixon’s 1972 landslide victory and Watergate, called the election “a victory of ‘the New American Majority’ over the ‘New Politics,’ a victory of traditional American values and beliefs over the claims of the ‘counter-culture,’ a victory of the ‘Middle America’ over the celebrants of Woodstock Nation” (161). In short, Nixon was the style candidate, and McGovern was the substance candidate. Style won out. With the ground shifting under their feet, the white-working class aligned with a politician whose values seemed to reflect their own.

Cowie’s portrait of the 1970s working class is in no way a simplistic reading of how the working class was duped by the economic royalists, in the manner of Thomas Frank’s What’s the Matter with Kansas. He complicates such a simplistic rendering by, for instance, highlighting poll data that suggests the working class was less likely to support the war in Vietnam than were college educated Americans. But his sole focus on the relationship between the white working class and the larger political culture—a relationship, which, to his credit, he understands better than any historian—misses something important about the increasingly conservative landscape of the 1970s.

Paul Boyer, in his contribution to the Schulman/Zelizer edited collection, “The Evangelical Resurgence in 1970s,” criticizes Thomas Frank for ignoring religion as a factor in Kansas conservatism. “Broad-brush caricatures aside, Frank hardly addresses the post-1970 history or grassroots specificity of evangelical Protestantism in contemporary Kansas, including the state’s 7 Christian radio stations, 22 evangelical Christian bookstores, 8 Vineyard Christian Fellowships…” “It was not Republican political operatives,” Boyer continues, “but a vast army of pastors, evangelists, writers, musicians, and entrepreneurs, keenly attuned to the post-1960s mood of cultural disorientation and to the media outlets, pop-culture trends, management theories, and marketing strategies of consumer capitalism, who woke the sleeping giant of American evangelicalism in the 1970s” (50). In other words, if we are to understand the 1970s shift to conservatism, we must also come to terms with the political and cultural transformations of American Christianity.

I don’t blame Cowie for ignoring this history—it’s not the subject of his book. But he does sometimes confuse working-class cultural politics with Christian cultural politics. He quotes from a National Review editorial that analyzed the 1972 election results as a way to understand the cultural politics of the white working class: “Plainly, the New Majoritarians are themselves descendents of the anti-modernists and anti-cosmopolitans,” whom, in the words of Cowie, “William Jennings Bryan defended against science and the modern world” (162-163). Cowie should know that the descendents of Bryanism are not the urban “ethnics” who filled the ranks of the labor movement. These two groups represent distinctly different demographics and need distinctly different histories.

This is where Dan Williams serves as an important interlocutor. Though God’s Own Party traces the Christian Right from before W. J. Bryan to the present, Williams does recognize the centrality of the 1970s, when Christian cultural politics—education, family, and eventually, abortion—slowly but surely gained momentum, so much so that by 1980 the Christian Right was considered perhaps the key demographic in the Reagan coalition. Even before Christian cultural politics garnered mainstream attention, Republican politicians recognized the electoral importance of evangelical voters. This especially included Nixon, ever the master of electoral strategy.

Cowie titled a chapter in Stayin’ Alive “Nixon’s Class Struggle,” about how Nixon and his chief “working man” strategist Charles Colson (who, after a prison stint related to Watergate crimes, went on to a career as a Christian Right radio personality), sought to steal the labor vote from the Democratic Party. Williams titled a chapter in his book “Nixon’s Evangelical Strategy,” about Nixon’s success at manipulating the evangelical vote. 1972 election results reveal that both strategies were successful. But whereas Nixon failed to carry organized labor’s rank-and-file voters (somewhere in the range of 35-40% of them voted for him, much higher than in any previous election since FDR, but still not a majority), a startling 84% of white evangelicals voted for Nixon that year. If we are to consider the 1972 election landmark—or, only denied the landmark status granted to the 1980 election because of Watergate—then which demographic is more important? The white working-class vote, or the white evangelical vote?

Cowie shows that many urban ethnics, including union members, supported George Wallace in 1968, and again in 1972, because they saw Wallace as representing their class interests as against a liberal elite that, most egregiously in their eyes, sought to ram forced busing down their throats. Many of these Wallace supporters voted for Nixon in 1972 (when, unlike in 1968, Wallace did not run in the general election as an independent, due to the injuries he suffered at the hands of his would-be assassin during the Democratic primaries—and because, as some have argued, based on circumstantial evidence, Nixon struck a deal with Wallace to keep him out of the general election).

In contrast, Williams shows that most evangelical preachers, even right-wing fundamentalist preachers with an overtly racist streak, like Billy James Hargis, largely rejected George Wallace’s campaigns and instead supported Nixon in 1968 and again in 1972. Williams contends that this was because Nixon focused his campaign on wooing evangelicals due to an intelligent reading of national voting demographics. His campaign knew that the key to electoral success and to a future Republican majority was in winning over the growing Sunbelt. They also knew that evangelicals were the fastest growing population of the Sunbelt. Williams writes: “By the early 1970s, the nation’s ten largest churches were located in the South, West, and socially conservative Midwest, and nearly all of them were evangelical” (94). As such, the Nixon team decided that the best chance they had of reelection in 1972 was an even greater appeal to social conservatism. This analysis was predicated on the books put out by the political gurus of the time: Kevin Phillips, The Emerging Republican Majority; and Richard Scammon and Ben Wattenberg, The Real Majority (who, ironically, pitched their book to the Democratic Party in hopes of turning back the tide of McGovernism and the “New Politics”).

Strangely, Cowie also points to the Phillips and Scammon-Wattenberg tracts as the intellectual rationales for Nixon’s “working man” strategy. Now, insofar as social and cultural conservatism appealed to all who opposed the social and cultural liberalization that came to fruition in the 1960s, including white “ethnics” and conservative evangelicals, Nixon’s strategy worked on both important constituencies. But this is not to say that both constituencies are equally important to the conservative movement that came to life in the 1970s. I would say the Christian Right was much more important, and continues to be much more important to Republican success and failure.

The New Historiographic Consensus on the 1970s

Whereas Peter Carroll cheekily titled his classic 1982 account of 1970s America It Seemed Like Nothing Happened, the emergent historiographic consensus on that decade not only claims that, in fact, “something happened,” the title of Edward Berkowitz’s overview of the 1970s, but that it was a “pivotal decade,” the title of Judith Stein’s new book on deindustrialization. Central to this new historiographic consensus is another area of wide agreement: that the 1970s were a crucial decade for conservative political transformation; that the 1970s signaled the beginning of the end of the New Deal Order. This thesis is pondered at length by a dozen authors in Bruce Schulman’s and Julian Zelizer’s edited collection, Rightward Bound: Making America Conservative in the 1970s.

Two excellent books I recently read—Jefferson Cowie’s Stayin’ Alive: The 1970s and the Last Days of the Working Class, and Daniel K. Williams’s God’s Own Party: The Making of the Christian Right—certainly do nothing to challenge these two interrelated consensuses. But the very different subject matter of the two books raises questions about what was most important in shaping the conservative transformation that occurred in the 1970s. Cowie’s and Williams’s divergent treatment of Nixon and the 1972 presidential election is a nice lens through which to view these complicated questions about causation—and will be the focus of my post today.

Cowie’s entertaining mix of political, labor, and cultural history paints a dour but believable picture of the 1970s collapse of Golden Age hopes and expectations. As Rick Perlstein writes in a glowing review of Stayin’ Alive: “The continuous readjustment of expectations—downward: that was a key experience of the 1970s. An expectation can be wrenchingly hard to readjust because there is an awful existential lag involved. As historians go, Jefferson Cowie is that awful existential lag’s bard.” Cowie dedicates two chapters to the compelling history of Big Labor’s dealings with the two presidential candidates from the 1972 election, which might have been landmark had it not been for Watergate: George McGovern and Richard Nixon.

Cowie maintains that we can learn a lot about the white working class of the 1970s by examining the perplexing ways in which it reacted to McGovern and Nixon. Organized labor, especially under the leadership of the AFL-CIO’s cold warrior extraordinaire, George Meany, loathed McGovern and the new social movements given life by the “New Politics” reformation of the Democratic Party following the 1968 disaster in Chicago. This, despite the fact that Senator McGovern had a 93% pro-labor voting record, all the more remarkable given that he represented a state, South Dakota, that had a small labor constituency (Interestingly, organized labor’s hatred of McGovern also persisted in spite of his PhD in labor history at Northwestern, where he wrote what Cowie describes as a very good dissertation [later a book] on the Colorado Coal Strike of 1913-14 and the infamous Ludlow Massacre). In stark contrast, the white working class, and especially its more conservative leadership, respected Nixon, despite his horridly anti-labor record.

Cowie chalks this paradox up to cultural politics. On McGovern, Cowie writes: “Despite his commitment to real material concerns of working people, a long-standing intellectual interest in labor issues, and an exceptional pro-labor voting record, McGovern’s candidacy created an enduring, if distorted, political template for what the white, male American working class was not: radical, effete, movement-based, anti-war, and, perhaps most profoundly, Democratic” (122). Pat Buchanan, writing in his book The New Majority, which came out between Nixon’s 1972 landslide victory and Watergate, called the election “a victory of ‘the New American Majority’ over the ‘New Politics,’ a victory of traditional American values and beliefs over the claims of the ‘counter-culture,’ a victory of the ‘Middle America’ over the celebrants of Woodstock Nation” (161). In short, Nixon was the style candidate, and McGovern was the substance candidate. Style won out. With the ground shifting under their feet, the white-working class aligned with a politician whose values seemed to reflect their own.

Cowie’s portrait of the 1970s working class is in no way a simplistic reading of how the working class was duped by the economic royalists, in the manner of Thomas Frank’s What’s the Matter with Kansas. He complicates such a simplistic rendering by, for instance, highlighting poll data that suggests the working class was less likely to support the war in Vietnam than were college educated Americans. But his sole focus on the relationship between the white working class and the larger political culture—a relationship, which, to his credit, he understands better than any historian—misses something important about the increasingly conservative landscape of the 1970s.

Paul Boyer, in his contribution to the Schulman/Zelizer edited collection, “The Evangelical Resurgence in 1970s,” criticizes Thomas Frank for ignoring religion as a factor in Kansas conservatism. “Broad-brush caricatures aside, Frank hardly addresses the post-1970 history or grassroots specificity of evangelical Protestantism in contemporary Kansas, including the state’s 7 Christian radio stations, 22 evangelical Christian bookstores, 8 Vineyard Christian Fellowships…” “It was not Republican political operatives,” Boyer continues, “but a vast army of pastors, evangelists, writers, musicians, and entrepreneurs, keenly attuned to the post-1960s mood of cultural disorientation and to the media outlets, pop-culture trends, management theories, and marketing strategies of consumer capitalism, who woke the sleeping giant of American evangelicalism in the 1970s” (50). In other words, if we are to understand the 1970s shift to conservatism, we must also come to terms with the political and cultural transformations of American Christianity.

I don’t blame Cowie for ignoring this history—it’s not the subject of his book. But he does sometimes confuse working-class cultural politics with Christian cultural politics. He quotes from a National Review editorial that analyzed the 1972 election results as a way to understand the cultural politics of the white working class: “Plainly, the New Majoritarians are themselves descendents of the anti-modernists and anti-cosmopolitans,” whom, in the words of Cowie, “William Jennings Bryan defended against science and the modern world” (162-163). Cowie should know that the descendents of Bryanism are not the urban “ethnics” who filled the ranks of the labor movement. These two groups represent distinctly different demographics and need distinctly different histories.

This is where Dan Williams serves as an important interlocutor. Though God’s Own Party traces the Christian Right from before W. J. Bryan to the present, Williams does recognize the centrality of the 1970s, when Christian cultural politics—education, family, and eventually, abortion—slowly but surely gained momentum, so much so that by 1980 the Christian Right was considered perhaps the key demographic in the Reagan coalition. Even before Christian cultural politics garnered mainstream attention, Republican politicians recognized the electoral importance of evangelical voters. This especially included Nixon, ever the master of electoral strategy.

Cowie titled a chapter in Stayin’ Alive “Nixon’s Class Struggle,” about how Nixon and his chief “working man” strategist Charles Colson (who, after a prison stint related to Watergate crimes, went on to a career as a Christian Right radio personality), sought to steal the labor vote from the Democratic Party. Williams titled a chapter in his book “Nixon’s Evangelical Strategy,” about Nixon’s success at manipulating the evangelical vote. 1972 election results reveal that both strategies were successful. But whereas Nixon failed to carry organized labor’s rank-and-file voters (somewhere in the range of 35-40% of them voted for him, much higher than in any previous election since FDR, but still not a majority), a startling 84% of white evangelicals voted for Nixon that year. If we are to consider the 1972 election landmark—or, only denied the landmark status granted to the 1980 election because of Watergate—then which demographic is more important? The white working-class vote, or the white evangelical vote?

Cowie shows that many urban ethnics, including union members, supported George Wallace in 1968, and again in 1972, because they saw Wallace as representing their class interests as against a liberal elite that, most egregiously in their eyes, sought to ram forced busing down their throats. Many of these Wallace supporters voted for Nixon in 1972 (when, unlike in 1968, Wallace did not run in the general election as an independent, due to the injuries he suffered at the hands of his would-be assassin during the Democratic primaries—and because, as some have argued, based on circumstantial evidence, Nixon struck a deal with Wallace to keep him out of the general election).

In contrast, Williams shows that most evangelical preachers, even right-wing fundamentalist preachers with an overtly racist streak, like Billy James Hargis, largely rejected George Wallace’s campaigns and instead supported Nixon in 1968 and again in 1972. Williams contends that this was because Nixon focused his campaign on wooing evangelicals due to an intelligent reading of national voting demographics. His campaign knew that the key to electoral success and to a future Republican majority was in winning over the growing Sunbelt. They also knew that evangelicals were the fastest growing population of the Sunbelt. Williams writes: “By the early 1970s, the nation’s ten largest churches were located in the South, West, and socially conservative Midwest, and nearly all of them were evangelical” (94). As such, the Nixon team decided that the best chance they had of reelection in 1972 was an even greater appeal to social conservatism. This analysis was predicated on the books put out by the political gurus of the time: Kevin Phillips, The Emerging Republican Majority; and Richard Scammon and Ben Wattenberg, The Real Majority (who, ironically, pitched their book to the Democratic Party in hopes of turning back the tide of McGovernism and the “New Politics”).

Strangely, Cowie also points to the Phillips and Scammon-Wattenberg tracts as the intellectual rationales for Nixon’s “working man” strategy. Now, insofar as social and cultural conservatism appealed to all who opposed the social and cultural liberalization that came to fruition in the 1960s, including white “ethnics” and conservative evangelicals, Nixon’s strategy worked on both important constituencies. But this is not to say that both constituencies are equally important to the conservative movement that came to life in the 1970s. I would say the Christian Right was much more important, and continues to be much more important to Republican success and failure.

What would an intellectual history of the 70s look like?

Building off of Ben’s post earlier this week, my Friday post is premised on a question: what would an intellectual history of the 70s look like? In relating Jennifer Ratner-Rosenhagen’s excellent paper that she gave at the recent U.S. Intellectual History Conference—“Philosophy Out of Doors: Thinking as Handicraft and Spiritual Practice in Robert Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”—Ben nodded in the direction of an intellectual history of the New Age “as an important part of the broader intellectual history of a crucial era of which we're only now beginning to take historical stock.”

In a nice review essay at The Nation, Rick Perlstein, author of Before the Storm and Nixonland, also seeks to take historical stock of the 1970s. In the article, he mentions 15 books on the 1970s! Add to that the book Perlstein’s currently writing on the “me decade” and it becomes obvious that the 1970s are a hot era of study. More than an era of study, the 70s have become a topic in their own right, much like the fabled 60s, even though we as historians should know better—we should know that history does not align with the decimal system.

Perlstein’s analysis of 70s historiography pauses to focus on two books: Judith Stein’s Pivotal Decade: How the United States Traded Factories for Finance in the Seventies and Jefferson Cowie’s Stayin’ Alive: The 1970s and the Last Days of the Working Class. His review leads me to believe both books are extremely important, even though he faults Stein for “excoriat[ing] historians’ tendencies to ‘psychologize the decade’s conflicts.’” Whereas Perlstein likes the cultural history of the decade, history that gives account to “the world-making cultural traumas that were precisely what made the period feel so distinct,” Stein wants a more laser-like focus on jobs, jobs, and jobs. Given this, it is hardly surprising that Stein has an essay in the Adolph Reed, Jr., and Kenneth Warren volume, Renewing Black Intellectual History, since they accentuate historical materialist approaches.

Although Perlstein concedes that Stein’s book is “a highly original illumination of how the American century collapsed,” he much prefers Cowie’s cultural history of the working class. As Perlstein pithily writes: “The continuous readjustment of expectations—downward: that was a key experience of the 1970s. An expectation can be wrenchingly hard to readjust because there is an awful existential lag involved. As historians go, Jefferson Cowie is that awful existential lag’s bard.” Touted by The New Press as documenting “the tortuous path from Nixon to Reagan—think Archie Bunker, Dog Day Afternoon, and Merle Haggard,” Cowie’s book sounds like great cultural history. But his, and none of the other books on the 70s mentioned by Perlstein, seem like intellectual history, neither in the old-fashioned sense—the study of intellectuals writ large—nor in a more updated sense, which allows for analysis of a “culture-bearing book,” as Robert Pirsig retrospectively described Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. This leads me to my question: what would an intellectual history of the 70s look like?

What would an intellectual history of the 70s look like?

Building off of Ben’s post earlier this week, my Friday post is premised on a question: what would an intellectual history of the 70s look like? In relating Jennifer Ratner-Rosenhagen’s excellent paper that she gave at the recent U.S. Intellectual History Conference—“Philosophy Out of Doors: Thinking as Handicraft and Spiritual Practice in Robert Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”—Ben nodded in the direction of an intellectual history of the New Age “as an important part of the broader intellectual history of a crucial era of which we're only now beginning to take historical stock.”

In a nice review essay at The Nation, Rick Perlstein, author of Before the Storm and Nixonland, also seeks to take historical stock of the 1970s. In the article, he mentions 15 books on the 1970s! Add to that the book Perlstein’s currently writing on the “me decade” and it becomes obvious that the 1970s are a hot era of study. More than an era of study, the 70s have become a topic in their own right, much like the fabled 60s, even though we as historians should know better—we should know that history does not align with the decimal system.

Perlstein’s analysis of 70s historiography pauses to focus on two books: Judith Stein’s Pivotal Decade: How the United States Traded Factories for Finance in the Seventies and Jefferson Cowie’s Stayin’ Alive: The 1970s and the Last Days of the Working Class. His review leads me to believe both books are extremely important, even though he faults Stein for “excoriat[ing] historians’ tendencies to ‘psychologize the decade’s conflicts.’” Whereas Perlstein likes the cultural history of the decade, history that gives account to “the world-making cultural traumas that were precisely what made the period feel so distinct,” Stein wants a more laser-like focus on jobs, jobs, and jobs. Given this, it is hardly surprising that Stein has an essay in the Adolph Reed, Jr., and Kenneth Warren volume, Renewing Black Intellectual History, since they accentuate historical materialist approaches.

Although Perlstein concedes that Stein’s book is “a highly original illumination of how the American century collapsed,” he much prefers Cowie’s cultural history of the working class. As Perlstein pithily writes: “The continuous readjustment of expectations—downward: that was a key experience of the 1970s. An expectation can be wrenchingly hard to readjust because there is an awful existential lag involved. As historians go, Jefferson Cowie is that awful existential lag’s bard.” Touted by The New Press as documenting “the tortuous path from Nixon to Reagan—think Archie Bunker, Dog Day Afternoon, and Merle Haggard,” Cowie’s book sounds like great cultural history. But his, and none of the other books on the 70s mentioned by Perlstein, seem like intellectual history, neither in the old-fashioned sense—the study of intellectuals writ large—nor in a more updated sense, which allows for analysis of a “culture-bearing book,” as Robert Pirsig retrospectively described Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. This leads me to my question: what would an intellectual history of the 70s look like?