Chip Off the Old Block

I used to stutter.

I still do, but I used to too.¹

It’s pretty crazy that we have a president, Joe Biden, who stutters. To be sure, he likes to say he “overcame” it in childhood and often tries to hide it in ways that any stutterer will be familiar with. I long ago recognized many of Biden’s verbal gaffes as the types of things stutterers do to work around our stutter. So it was been disappointing to see his speech, in general, mocked by political opponents.

Still, tribal political identity is a hell of a drug—and whatever was going on with him at that debate can’t be attributed to his stutter. So it’s understandable that most Republicans wouldn’t be inclined to accept his mumblings and stumblings as byproducts of stuttering.

At least, I used to understand it.

It is pretty crazy that our president stutters. But it’s much crazier that we have a former president, and current presidential candidate, who does this:

Trump had danced around mocking Biden’s stutter before, but the example above—from after this year’s State of the Union—was the most explicit I’ve seen. And the reaction from his supporters across the country was incredibly illustrative. Because the reaction was precisely nothing.²

My family and friends who support Trump—people who were understandably filled with righteous indignation when a substitute teacher stupidly mimicked my stutter in class—suddenly take a more nuanced view when confronted with the same behavior by their preferred leader of the free world. People who, in any other context, would be disgusted by, and refuse to be associated with, this juvenile bullying now insist that this is—for some reason—an exception.

What a character

I actually don’t consider this stutter mockery to be especially offensive relative to every other example of Trump’s insults, bullying, lies, selfishness, et cetera. This instance is just in greater focus because, hey, that’s me! But, in my mind, Trump disqualified himself long before he started mocking a trait that I happen to personally relate to.

As someone who voted Republican in every presidential election of my life before 2016, I never believed a petulant, pandering, name-calling liar was worthy of the presidency. And I think his term in office, and beyond, has clearly demonstrated his disregard for anything or anyone but himself. Regardless of his policy views or other beliefs, his character disqualifies him from such a position of power and respect.

“It’s reprehensible, but…”

Character is something my family taught me to value as a child. Some things were more important than winning, I learned. Things like honesty, compassion, integrity. I learned this from people close to me, many of whom now wholeheartedly support Trump.

It’s jarring to see those people say, essentially, “Hey, you know that character flaw that I’ve always said was completely unacceptable? Well, it’s actually totally acceptable if I like the person for a different reason.” (Nobody overlooked my substitute teacher’s mockery because he was really good at teaching math. Some offenses, if not rectified, are truly disqualifying—like, actually for real.)

Sleaze vs. sleaze

In the 1990s, my Republican family made it very clear that Bill Clinton’s sleazy behavior disqualified him from serving as president. It wasn’t about the policy disagreements. It wasn’t even about potential criminality. Those were separate issues. This was about the moral quality of the leader of the free world. Someone who should be a role model. Someone whose behavior should set an example.

There’s no categorical difference between Clinton’s sleaze and Trump’s—other than the “D” or “R” after their names. The only reason to hold them to different standards is if character isn’t really the issue. If Trump’s moral failings don’t disqualify him because other issues are more important, then Clinton’s didn’t disqualify him either. And that means character as a value—as a requirement—is just not very important after all. Telling kids that good character is essential for respectability is a lie.

Truth…

It’s possible the people who told me, as a child, that character mattered were lying. It’s possible they really were secretly supportive of bullies all along. But I don’t think that’s the case. I think, and hope, that powerful and unfortunate psychological forces are at play. Our motivated reasoning leads to accommodation: we surrender pieces of our deeply held principles, bit by bit, for the sake of “the greater good”, to the point we don’t even realize when the past us wouldn’t recognize who we are now.

If we really believe that a president’s character is an essential qualification, we can live up to that principle by not voting for Donald Trump. Or we can admit to ourselves that we don’t care about a president’s “character”—we only care that he’s on our team.

…and no consequences

The irony is, the people I’m talking about—the ones who would undoubtedly stand up for me against Trump-style bullies, yet still support Trump—live in California, a state that voted for Biden by 30 points in 2020. It’s not like their support, or lack of it, is going to change the election outcome one way or the other.

So there’s no electoral consequence of withholding support based on principle. The only effect of admitting Trump is a piece of garbage unbefitting the presidency is one of identity. It means going against one’s political tribe. Admittedly, that’s an extremely difficult thing to do. But it’s the kind of thing we all like to imagine we would do—if we had to—to do what’s right.

Tribal political identity, man… hell of a drug.

1. All credit for this paraphrase goes to Mitch Hedberg. ↩︎
2. In reality, most supporters are probably unaware of it, because it wouldn’t have been mentioned at all in Trump-friendly media. But even when I’ve shown it to Trump supporters, the response has been to say it’s horrible and then immediately try to dismiss it by pointing out other things they think are horrible. ↩︎