A Radical Ordinary Politics
Don't be weird.
It’s the most cliche thing to say something along the lines of “this has been a crazy year in politics.” But, let’s be real, it has. The re-emergence of Trump, the growing public awareness of Biden’s unfitness for office, the debate, the shooting, the RNC, the Biden drop out, the rise of Kamala, the contrast of JD Vance and Tim Walz, the DNC….I mean, we’ve lived a political lifetime in about three months time. Remember how boring things were in, like, 2009? Except they weren’t, but boy, we’d all take that world again I bet.
I often struggle with how much to engage in politics. Engaging, for me, means reading the news and letting the political reality seep into my brain and become a part of my personal zeitgeist. Politics is a full contact sport for me, and too often becomes totalizing. As I’ve written here multiple times, this isn’t something I always feel is compatible with my life of faith. Being a Christian should be my totalizing reality, and everything else should filter through that. Being a partisan leftist/Democrat/liberal too often gets in the way of that for me. And I don’t believe it is the way Christians are called to live. So, most often, I try to almost completely tune out politics, with a few carefully curated and select exceptions.
But, in some ways, this goes against my nature. Politics was my first love, vocationally speaking. My undergrad was in political science. I was in college during the first Obama term, and I was steeped in the fight over things like health care and the end of the war in Iraq, in the politics of the Tea Party and the filibuster and government shut downs. Not only did I study politics, I worked it. I was state wide campaign staff in 2010, House caucus staff in 2013, county party director in 2014. I even briefly ran for the state House in Oklahoma, in 2013. Politics was everything for me, and my public presence - especially on social media - reflected that. It wasn’t always a good thing. I alienated a lot of people. I gained a reputation that has been hard for the post-political version of me to shake. It still feels weird to me, a decade on from my last political work, to not be in that world full bore. I feel the draw still. I know I could do it very well.
I’ve been reflecting on these things because the politics of the most recent moment have struck a nerve with me like few things have in the last decade. I’m referring primarily to Gov. Tim Walz’s comments about the “weird” nature of Trump and Vance that Democrats have started running with, and the tone and language of the DNC last week. Describing the Trump phenomena as just “weird” - rather than dangerous, which has been the Democratic calling card for years now - is just much better framing, mostly because its much more accurate. I often reflect on the series of events we’ve lived through since 2015, and weird really is the best way to describe it all. Think back to what you were doing in late 2015 or early 2016. Think about the world. How much normal does that world feel? We’ve lived through some profoundly weird times, and almost all of it can be laid at the feel of Donald Trump. That isn’t an accusation, necessarily. It’s just my reading of things.
It boils down to this: catastrophizing our politics has generally proven to a very bad thing, both from an electoral standpoint, and also an ethical one. Donald Trump is, in many ways, dangerous, especially for those of us who prefer democracy and classical liberal values. But I think one of the things we can learn from the recent enthusiasm for Harris-Walz is that people don’t want to be constantly be told how terrible the future is, something both sides have been doing for years now. A positive vision for our country - and an attendant sunny, active demeanor - goes a long way in American politics. People want to be inspired and empowered. Simply telling them over and over again that they are doomed if they don’t do exactly what you want them to do is neither inspiring nor empowering.
Beyond the electoral impact, it has a cultural impact to continue pushing extreme negativity and fear on people. Think back to the Trump years, and the transition out of his administration to the Biden era. One key thing I remember was just the sense of relief over not having such chaos occupying our national consciousness. I didn’t have to agree with every Joe Biden policy to feel this way. It was just nice to not have to be in a heightened state of anxiety about what insane thing our leader would do or say or tweet that day.
Now, Biden didn’t sustain that feeling. As his electoral outlook darkened, so too did his demeanor and messaging. As much as his age was a factor in his decline in support, I think that was compounded by his seeming inability to present a positive, coherent, forward-looking vision for America. Instead, Biden’s campaign became subsumed by the message of Trump’s danger - and an election that was going to be another referendum on Trump was not one Democrats could win, because political memories in this country just simply are not four years long. People were no longer thinking back to 2020; they were (and should be!) thinking about their future, and they weren’t convinced the danger of Trump outweighed the danger of Biden. And, in the face of two dangers, why not try the one that was out of office? Presented with a new choice, one that isn’t trying to scare us into submission but instead is laughing at the weirdness of Trump-Vance and reminding us of the good all around us, it makes sense that Harris’ poll numbers are on a steady, upward rise.
None of this should be construed as downplaying the very real danger that Trump does present to our country and to specific groups of people in it. That is granted. My point is, leading with that as an attempt to persuade voters is a losing strategy. Its the lesson we should have learned from Obama ‘08.
After the debate debacle in late June, I wrote a long Facebook post about my intention to not vote for Joe Biden. As I wrote there, I first supported Biden in 2020 as a “bridge candidate”, which was his own term for his candidacy. Despite his age, he promised us, he would end Donald Trump’s presidency and get us onto the next era of American politics. And then, despite his advanced age and rapid decline, Biden went back on that promise and pursued re-election, something that seemed destined to undo the successes of his administration. So, living as I do in a deep red state where my vote will have very little impact on the Electoral College, I committed myself to publicly voting for a third party in protest against Biden and the Democrats.
Biden’s decision was the precipitating event in this decision, but in many ways, it was a culmination of a years-long drift away from partisan politics. That has been very well documented here and on my blog. It has been driven mainly by my faith commitments, which have soured me on party politics, and taught me about the importance of always being a thorn in the side of political leaders and movements. I may agree with different politicians and plans and ideas, but they don’t get my allegiance, merely my acquiescence at best. As a professing Christian, who works in a church and strives to write theology, a healthy separation from identifying too closely with any one side, even if I am in large agreement with that side, is a good way to operate.
This has never come easy to me, however. As I mentioned above, politics runs deeply in me; its long been part of who I am. One of the things I’ve done over the last few years is try to find a healthy balance between my faith and my political commitments. I’ll write more about this soon, but integrating these two parts of my life is a lot healthier than trying to completely stifle one. Its a challenge, but a good one.
One of the keys to a healthier political engagement for me has been developing a personal politics that is individual to me and my priorities, rather than one pre-determined for me by the Democratic Party, which is what I had for a long time (and what I think the vast majority of politically-engaged people have.) Personal integrity demands a healthy level of independence from any outside influences, even positive ones, as a decent measure of character and will.
It’s a politics weighted heavily with Christian suspicion of power and those who strive to wield it. I strongly align with the classic Anabaptist take on political theology (extolled most excellently by the Barth-Yoder-Hauerwas school of theology), shaped as it is by pacifism and a deep-seated reluctance to take the reigns of power, or to ally too strongly with those in power, even those we may count as friends otherwise. I think Christianity inherently carries a prophetic mission to always critique worldly power, no matter who is in charge or what good they may aim to do with it. I think Christians have a duty to put their citizenship in God’s kingdom well before their national citizenship, and to refuse to pledge their allegiance to any earthly nation, flag, party, or leader.
That skepticism has to exist in tension in my mind with my aforementioned inclination to be political. I can carry that skepticism while also recognizing the necessity of politics, as the means by which all of us navigate life together in a liberal democracy, the form of government I take the be the best option out there this side of some form of Christian anarchy. Add to all of this my liberal proclivities, and my moderate/conservative temperament towards action and change, and you’ll be able to plot me politically. I obviously identify strongly with the Democratic Party in a lot of ways (but certainly not all), but I also have a strong aversion to radicalism or extremism, whether of the right or the left. I think the work of democracy demands a measured pace of change, one which brings along those who might oppose us rather than simply bulldozing them in the name of progress. That caution, however, is not a vote for the status quo. Social injustice exists in a lot of places, and I think we have a duty to address them politically. I hold tight to a strong critique of capitalism, as well as militarism, and towards overbearing government intrusion into the lives and personal choices of regular people. Most firmly of all, I abhor poverty and income inequality, and view massive accumulations of wealth as morally reprehensible so long as poverty and need exists. We have a lot of absolute rights on this world - the desire to hoard and wield economic power in the hands of a few is not one of them.
Finally, I strongly believe that politics in a liberal democracy is limited in nature. There is a push on both sides of the spectrum for politics to become all-encompassing in one’s life. This way of thinking pushes the idea that politics should permeate all areas of our life, including our relationships. I strongly reject this imposition. Politics are one aspect of our social location, one we can silo or opt out of, if we so choose. That is the beauty of liberalism, that it refrains from prescribing the way we ought to be live our lives. Now, we each individually can have those opinions, and we can try to influence others about them. But we don’t get to force them on anyone, and while we can express disagreement, the casting of moral aspersions of those who live differently should be done carefully and rarely. Politics is a limited thing for me. It takes a backseat to my faith, to my love for reading and writing, to my family and my friends, to my desire to be outside, to enjoy good food, to live a good and rich life.
With all of that said, I think the name I chose for this Substack - The Radical Ordinary - fits rather well. As I wrote about in the past, this term is drawn from a book that has had a huge impact on my thought, Christianity, Democracy and the Radical Ordinary by theologian Stanley Hauerwas and political theorist Romand Coles. I love the tension in the phrase “radical ordinary” - the sense of a radicalism that is tempered by a love for the ordinary and the small. I think it captures the personal politics I just roughly outlined above, the one I desire to exist more publicly in our polis.
This guiding star - The Radical Ordinary - plays a role in why, despite myself and my recent political history, I found myself quite gripped by the vision of politics set forth by the Democratic Party of Kamala Harris and Tim Walz at the DNC this last week. Now, let me preface this by saying that I am a seasoned political hand, and I know big event like conventions are basically just advertisements meant to tug our heartstrings and push us towards an emotional attachment to parties and candidates. I get the cynical, realist critique, and I don’t wholly disagree with it. That said, I think the focus of the Democratic Party as a whole on themes around ordinariness - as contrasted the “weirdness” of Trump and Vance - and joy and positivity and an optimistic vision of what politics and government can be at its best was a strong, winning message, and it struck the right note with me in many ways. As I noted above, I’m just sick of the doom and gloom, apocalyptic, identity-based politics of the last decade, and I’m primed to be enthused by a return to Obama-style hope and change politics, one that tries to draw the circle as wide as possible and make an argument for why we are a people together, not separate and apart.
Matt Yglesias captured it best on his own Substack newsletter:
You saw very clearly, in their analytical moments, that the leaders of the Democratic Party know that the American people are not obsessed with the specter of warmer weather, worry that Dems might be too left wing, do not want to overthrow neoliberalism, think that Donald Trump is a really bad guy, and would like Democrats to be chill and normal so they can vote for them and freeze out MAGA psychos, without worrying that this means big changes to their personal lives. Political revolution? Probably not. Keeping Social Security and Medicare on track while reducing the cost of widely used prescription drugs? Absolutely.
The stark contrast that the DNC was able to draw was between the joyful tone of Kamala Harris and Tim Walz and the doom, anger, and divisiveness of Trump and Vance was striking. The spotlight pointed at the cultural wing of the GOP and their desire to interfere in families and marriages and doctor’s offices and such was bright and glaring. The hatred that people like JD Vance channels towards people who are unlike his own vision of what an American is was palpable, and is what I’m really sick of in American politics. Here’s the thing: we can disagree with others, and not have to think they are terrible human beings bent on destroying us and our way of life. We can live together better than that.
The response to Gus Walz’s enthusiasm about his father really epitomizes it for me. It doesn’t really matter is you agree with Tim Walz’s politics or policies. You can disagree with those. But to go after his son because his son has enthusiasm and love for his father, all because you have political disagreements with the man? Come on people, grow up. What a sad way to be. What a depressing, hateful politics demanded by Trump and the right in this country.
Former Rep. Adam Kizinger, a hard right Republican from Illinois, spoke at the DNC and was a vision for a better way to do politics that I wish more on the right - and the far left! - had watched. Kizinger made his name over the last few years by being one of the few elected Republicans to stand up to Donald Trump, going so far as serving on the January 6th committee that investigated the armed mob that stormed the US Capitol Building. In his speech, he made known his identity as a conservative. He began by expressing his admiration for Ronald Reagan. He did an amazing job of drawing the line from his conservatism and his patriotism to his unwillingness to submit to the personality cult that has become the Republican Party since 2016. None of this was a compromising of his policy commitments to conservativism. I have no doubt that if he was back in Congress, he would vote again and again against progressive and liberal bills, and do what he could to stall out the policy agenda of a Harris-Walz administration. But, despite that, he is willing to publicly support them, because of his overriding commitment to American democracy, the rule of law, and a politics of compromise and camaraderie. What a vision for a world we could have.
I don’t want to spend too much time on the DNC itself. I have lots of strong opinions about a lot of it. That’s not my point here. My point is this: I am striving to find a healthier relationship between my faith and my politics. And, for me, that requires an acknowledgement - not a denial - of my liberalism and my affinity for the policy and the vision of the Democratic Party. Not in full, and not without critique and reservation in some areas. But to deny it is to lie to myself and to those around me. To shove down my political instincts - the ones that I think at their best are motivated by my moral and faith commitments - is to do a disservice to my intellectual integrity. This isn’t a claim that these instincts are infallible. Far from it. But they are the best that I have, and for too long, I’ve let the perfect be the enemy of the good. So, consider this a marker of future intention here: I’d like to get back into the business of writing about politics more, from my place as a Christian and a leftist and an American liberal and a small-d democrat. Not solely; I think I’d like to continue to write about theology, and to also write about the things in my life that inspire a lot of passion in me - books, culture, television, sports, the outdoors. My hope is that this space becomes a little more wide ranging in topics. But, politics, culture, and religion will more than likely occupy the main spots in what I write about, as I keep grappling with just what the Radical Ordinary is.