Imperialism Without Pretense

America’s Crass President is Pulling Back the Curtain on the American Empire

Venezuelan Emigrants Celebrate in Madrid’s Puerta del Sol. (Photo by Gregory Rodriguez)

When I learned of the news from Caracas, I texted three Venezuelan friends to gauge their reaction. Later in the day, I spoke to several more. With no exceptions, every single one of them was happy that the U.S. had deposed Nicolás Maduro. Everyone was still worried about the future of the country they felt forced to abandon. Two were upset that the U.S. had not captured notorious Venezuelan Interior Minister Diosdado Cabello.

No one was under the illusion that the military action was about U.S. benevolence.  Indeed, there was zero romanticism in their words.  The enemy of their enemy was their friend, but that didn’t make him the second coming of Simón Bolívar.

Dozens of emigrants were celebrating in Madrid’s Puerta del Sol. Their joy was palpable and, in my eyes, legitimate.  I am happy for them.  Whatever valid domestic or international legal issues make this military intervention problematic, it doesn’t take away from the fact that there are likely millions of Venezuelans both inside and outside their country who are thrilled that the wicked warlock is gone.

I don’t see how this act helps the American people, but that holds true for most of the nation’s 400 foreign military interventions throughout its history.

More often than not, leaders of empires neglect the interests of their domestic public. But Donald Trump didn’t invent the American Empire. He just doesn’t pretend American imperialism is about saving democracy.  Indeed, in his press conference today, he mentioned oil at least 9 times without uttering the word democracy once.

Had he bullshitted about the need to preserve democracy or sovereignty in foreign lands,  as have so many U.S. presidents, I’m not sure Venezuelans would have believed him in any case. But plenty of Americans would have fallen for the self-serving language of benevolent interventionism for the umpteenth time. 

Hillbilly Elegy as Tragedy

Gnadenhutten Park & Museum, Gnadenhutten, Ohio. (Photo by Gregory Rodriguez)

In 2016, before he got elected to the United States Senate, the Republican vice-presidential nominee, J.D. Vance, published a memoir exploring what he thought was wrong with working-class white culture. On the one hand, Hillbilly Elegy is a tale of economic instability, addiction, and cultural decline. On the other, it’s a classic story of American upward mobility wherein Vance shakes off his people’s pathologies in order to climb the social ladder. It’s a story that’s been told countless times by Americans who’ve climbed their way out of ghettos and barrios. Some authors blame the system. Others focus more on the self-destructive behaviors of those caught at the bottom. Vance tended toward the latter, so much so that The New York Times called it “tough love” while other critics accused him of “blaming the victim.” Meantime, more than one left-wing reviewer resented the fact that Vance painted a segment of the white population as pathological minorities. They evidently thought that he had crept onto their turf. 

I read Hillbilly Elegy as part of my research into white people. While his memoir didn’t particularly impress me, I appreciated Vance’s choice of looking at his Appalachian roots through an ethnic, rather than a racial lens. His book put a human face on Trump’s politics of white grievance. The primary difference was that Vance emphasized the need for cultural renewal, while Trump is always hammering away on who is to blame. 

For a generation now, newspapers have been beating the drums of demographic change as if they were looking forward to the day when whites become a minority. And here we are, if not numerically, then culturally. Frankly, I was already tired of the politics of grievance, but now we have a new minority eager to play. But, alas, grievance is the language America speaks, and whoever thinks violence is foreign to any aspect of life in America has never actually been to America.

Three years ago this week, I was on a research trip in Vance’s home state of Ohio when I stumbled on a sign marking the birthplace of the first white child in the state. The finding was made all the more unsettling given that I was in Gnadenhutten, where, in 1782, 160 Pennsylvania militiamen massacred 96 pacifist Christian Indians.

Vance called his bestseller an elegy. I called my book of essays on white people a tragedy.  It’s time to take white anger seriously or it will burn us all up. 

You can find Whiteness: An American Tragedy on Amazon. 

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