Donald Trump Taught Me A Lot (Though Not On Purpose)
A NeverTrump conservative on how the Trump presidency changed her opinions of Republicans, Democrats, the media, and herself
Sarah Quinlan
Even as a NeverTrump conservative who thinks Donald Trump is unfit for office, I have to admit there are certain things for which I owe him thanks. His presidency has been both illuminating and catalytic, and it’s shaped my growth while strengthening my own convictions.
For example, I’ve previously admitted Trump’s victory made me realize that before November 8, 2016:
I wasn’t careful about nuance, and, because I felt so strongly and confidently about my own beliefs, I thought what I was saying was more important than how I was saying it. My attitude and approach sometimes made others around me, even friends and family, feel embarrassed or defensive of their politics, beliefs, and knowledge of current events.
Furthermore:
The 2016 election made me realize the extent of other people’s anger. I understood for the first time how dangerous anger can be, if other people can feed your anger and then use it to manipulate you. And I worried about how I contributed to an atmosphere of constant outrage.
New York Post columnist Karol Markowicz had a similar revelation, writing in December 2018 that she became a better person — more compassionate, less partisan, more aware of hypocrisy — as a result of Trump.
Before Trump, I often spoke rashly or in the heat of the moment, without considering the persuasiveness of my argument or any potential damage I could cause.
No longer.
Now I’m more aware of the responsibility each of us carries and the role each of us plays. I better understand that unnecessarily stoking anger makes situations worse — making it more difficult, if not impossible, to find solutions. Miscommunications and misunderstandings on Twitter have taught me how frustrating it is to have someone assume that I’m arguing in bad faith when I’m not or that I have bad intentions when I don’t, which serves as a good reminder to start — or at least attempt to start — discussions by assuming good faith and good intentions. And I’m now more capable of seeing those who disagree with me not as evil Democrats but as Americans who want the best for their country but have a different (and, I must say, wrong) approach for accomplishing that.
Trump’s ascent to power opened my eyes in other ways, particularly after the bending of the knee by so many Republicans, including some I expected to have more integrity.
In a Bulwark essay called “Farewell to Hackery,” Shay Khatiri wrote:
The Trump moment has taught me that politicians can be honorable no matter how wrong I think they are. And they can be complete hacks with zero principles, even if they like judicial originalism and entitlements cuts. …
Just because I think [someone] is wrong on most issues doesn’t mean he is wrong on all issues. … This might seem obvious to people more naturally ambivalent in their politics, or people older than me who had their eyes opened earlier, but I have come to appreciate that just because Democrats believe something doesn’t make it inherently wrong, and just because something is on the Republican platform doesn’t mean that it’s necessarily good.
This resonated with me because it aptly described the way my thinking had evolved over the past few years.
Make no mistake, there were legitimate reasons why I believed Republicans are more honorable and more honest than Democrats (or the media). I saw many Democrats and members of the media repeatedly misrepresent my views — such as claiming my belief in limited government was really a cover-up for anti-poor or automatically anti-women.
In 2008, I watched Democrats and reporters paint John McCain as a racist while ignoring his declaration that Obama was a “decent family man [and] citizen,” shutting down a woman at a McCain rally who expressed fear of the first black presidential nominee.
In 2012, I watched Democrats and reporters paint Mitt Romney as a sexist bigot because he stated (somewhat inarticulately) that he made a point to hire more women. I watched Senator Harry Reid lie about Romney’s taxes, and then gleefully admit to lying to little outrage, or even attention, from anywhere other than the right.
As a result, it was easier for me to believe people were wrong when they made damning statements about the Republican Party. Even when a Republican politician did or said something obviously offensive, I automatically assumed that it was simply being covered as negatively as possible, twisted to look worse than it actually was, or that there was a reasonable explanation.
Because I saw some misrepresentation, I assumed it was all misrepresentation. My knee-jerk reaction was not to listen but to defend, excuse, and blame.
No longer. I still doubt some reporters’ ability to be objective— read their tweets; their bias isn’t subtle — but I no longer assume any story that paints Republicans in a negative light must be biased. Fair reporting about unethical behavior will leave readers with the impression someone acted unethically.
And like I automatically distrusted the media, I automatically trusted the right. Before Trump, there were certain people on the right whom I believed to be so trustworthy, honest, and knowledgeable that I instinctively believed them. I sometimes relied exclusively on what they said, rather than looking for the truth myself.
No longer.
Lastly, Trump’s rise forced me to become more determined to stand up for what I believe, even if it means doing it alone or in opposition to people I like and respect.
My principles haven’t changed. I still believe in the Constitution, limited government, free trade, the free market, fiscal responsibility, free speech, personal responsibility, and individual liberty, among others. My approach for advocating them may have changed, but my support hasn’t wavered.
It’s the Republican Party that no longer consistently supports those principles.
Yet despite this, many Trump supporters often argue that conservatives who criticize Trump or the Republican Party “just want to be liked by the left.” And they often conflate professional NeverTrumpers with everyday, non-famous Republicans who believe in conservative principles but oppose the president, his behavior, or his approach.
It’s a lazy way to dismiss the argument without engaging the substance, similar to when celebrities say anyone who disagrees with them is a “hater” critiquing solely out of jealousy rather than legitimate dissent. By treating dissenting views as inherently illegitimate, they avoid having to defend their position on the merits.
In reality, there’s just as much, if not more, profit these days in fervent, unapologetic Trump support. And certainly there are professional NeverTrumpers who abandoned their former beliefs and pander to the left, who haven’t just changed their approach but have forsaken their actual principles and adopted big government policies. But in a way, they haven’t changed. They still treat things as black and white. The difference is they used to do so on behalf of Republicans and conservatism and now do so in opposition to President Trump.
But the female Republicans leaving the party are not famous or professional NeverTrumpers. They are simply Americans following their consciences. They do exist. And as one of them, it’s frustrating to be overlooked; to see my stances misrepresented or downplayed.
Because of Trump’s rise, I realized the dangers of reflexively defending “my team” — so unwilling to listen to criticism, so quick to assume good faith by “my team” and bad faith by “the other team.” That is the attitude that drags us into tribalism.
I think often of this quote by James Baldwin: “I love America more than any other country in this world, and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.”
I used to take criticism of America personally because my patriotism was shallow. I was blind to her faults because I wanted to be. I saw what I wanted to see and didn’t see what I didn’t want to.
Like Baldwin, I love this country. I think she is the greatest, most free, most exceptional country to have ever existed. I want what is best for America, and what’s best for America is a healthy Republican Party and a healthy Democratic Party. I realize now that criticism can lead to improvement, and I’m no longer content to sit on the sideline and to assume I can trust others to do what is right.
Donald Trump has caused me quite a bit of despair in the past four years. But I unexpectedly owe him gratitude for making me a better conservative, a better person, and a better American.
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