Rich Lowry Thinks Trump Can Win a Character Argument

And, incredibly, he might be right

Built from a 14th century painting and photos by Gage Skidmore and GPA Photo Archive.

Yesterday, National Review editor Rich Lowry had an op-ed in the New York Times called “Trump Can Win On Character”. The response from much of the left was disbelief, which I understand: Arguing that Trump should talk more about character feels like saying that Tim Walz should talk more about growing up as a Puerto Rican girl on the Lower East Side of New York. It’s absurd on its face. And yet, I think that Democrats shouldn’t assume that a character-based line of attack won’t work.

In 2016, voters found Trump more trustworthy than Hillary. In 2004, many felt that John Kerry’s tour of duty in the Mekong Delta was less impressive than George W. Bush bravely keeping the Vietcong from capturing Houston. Both cases seem like inversions of reality, but both affected the election, perhaps decisively. Harris is vulnerable to accusations that she lacks character because her positions have changed since 2019. So, instead of responding to Lowry’s column with “LOL FACEPLANT!!! 🤪”, I think Democrats should engage the character question.

In a perfect world, our leaders would be philosopher kings and queens. They’d be remarkable intellects with pure intentions whose decisions are the product of vigorous debate, and they’d stand on principle with unwavering resolve. We fantasize about this: It’s how we imagine Ancient Greece, the Supreme Court is sometimes thought to be this (by people who don’t pay close attention to the Supreme Court), and the Jedi Council in Star Wars is definitely this. What I find interesting is that these conceptions of sage councils all share one feature: Our wizened leaders always wear robes. We never imagine them wearing, say, Dockers, even though Dockers are comfortable and a robe is an impractical hassle that you have to lift up to pee. Seems like smart people would know that! But our brains clearly feel a need to dress these people in dour, cloth mumus, perhaps to signal that they’re not like you and me.

Unfortunately, people are like you and me. And that’s why a decision-making system that rests on standing on principle is not always a good thing. The Confederacy stood on principle, but that principle was — to paraphrase Grant — one of the worst principles on which anyone has ever stood. We think we want leaders who have the courage of their convictions, but that’s just something we say until those convictions clash with our own. And when that happens, we denounce the out-of-step person and, historically, punish them with a light beheading. People want principled leaders who believe the exact same things that they do, which is like wanting an ethical lawyer who will also use every trick in the book to get you off for driving a semi-truck through a playground.

So, politicians pander. They all do. If you want to be a politician, you have to pander, just like if you want to work at Disneyland, you have to like kids (but not too much). The good news and the bad news about democracy is that the government reflects the people’s will. Our system is basically the American Ninja Warrior obstacle course for pandering, and only elite panderers can complete it, so it’s frankly weird that we criticize politicians for pandering as they conquer the Pandering Pole Vault and the Spinning Spikes Of Sucking Up To Swing Voters.

Kamala Harris appears to be a typical politician, which is to say: She panders. She pandered in 2019, which was unfortunate timing, because 2019 was during an itty-bitty cultural revolution that convinced candidates (incorrectly, as it turned out) that they needed to back bad ideas to win. Harris supported things like a fracking ban and federal jobs guarantee — both of which she now opposes — and that has forced her to choose between being seen as a flip-flopper and being seen as a lefty loon. She’s chosen to flip-flop, which I think is the right call. I would have loved it if Harris had stood up to the weirdness of 2019, but she didn’t, so now she has to laugh off her old positions like they’re a haircut that didn’t quite work, while Republicans run the “flip-flopper” play that’s the pick-and-roll of politics because it’s been around forever but it’s still hard to stop.

Trump flip-flops, too, of course. In 2016, social conservatives were wary about voting for a man who is a sentient ball of horniness who pisses all over the Ten Commandments like Russian prostitutes allegedly pissed all over him. To win conservative votes, Trump promised that he’d appoint judges who would overturn Roe v. Wade. And Trump did appoint those judges, and they did overturn Roe v. Wade, but that turned out to be unpopular, so now Trump acts like Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, and Barrett got on the Supreme Court by wearing fake beards and sneaking in when he wasn’t looking. Trump also flip-flopped on a TikTok ban after meeting with a major donor in what would be a career-defining scandal for any other politician. Trump’s main policy idea this cycle seems to be “never write anything down” — he’s disowned Project 2025, and at his behest, the Republican platform is so short and simplistic that it could be printed on the back of a Happy Meal. Harris panders, Trump panders, all politicians pander, if you don’t like it, then your best option might be to move to a dictatorship where the Dear Leader will gladly tell you that he doesn’t give half a fuck what you think.

But Trump is not just a panderer — he’s worse. Pandering is a decision-making process that accepts the crowd’s judgement; it’s not high-level moral reasoning, but it’s mid-level moral reasoning. Trump’s moral reasoning is beneath that. Trump appears to have the moral reasoning of a child, in that it’s purely ego-centric — whatever is good for Trump is what is right, no exceptions. Many times, Trump has had to choose between what’s good for him and what’s popular, and he’s always chosen what’s good for him.

The most obvious example is the 2020 election. Trump lost — a more clear expression of the people’s will is not possible. But he tried to defy America’s decision using every means at his disposal, including, eventually, violence. This wasn’t a one-off: In every election of Trump’s career — primary or general — he’s made it abundantly clear that he’ll only accept the result if he wins. There can be no doubt at this point: Trump will ignore the public will if that’s what he needs to do to get what he wants.

Trump used his office for personal enrichment. That’s why he shook down Ukraine for a personal favor and why he repeatedly flouted ethical norms. It’s funny to think how different Trump’s political career would be if he hadn’t done those things — what would Rachel Maddow have talked about from 2016-2020? Trump kept doing highly unpopular things for personal reasons, and the most logical explanation is that he simply prioritizes his own needs over political popularity.

Trump thinks that the law shouldn’t apply to him. This was a recurring theme of his presidency, and it’s continued into his post-presidency. I can’t think of any reason why he would repeatedly rebuff the FBI’s request for classified documents except for a childish “you’re not the boss of me!” attitude. He’s seeking immunity with a zeal so ominous that it’s hard to read his argument without hearing a Mr. Burns-esque evil cackle in the background. In fact, Trump’s pursuit of a second term might be mostly an effort to make his legal troubles go away. Trump’s habitual lawbreaking puts him at odds with the public in a way not matched by a major American politician in our lifetimes, which is a sentence that people who lived through the Nixon administration probably never thought they’d read.

So: In a way, Trump is the most principled candidate in the race. It’s just that his principle is that he always does what’s best for Trump. And that’s far worse than Kamala’s garden variety pandering. It would be great if we had a candidate who is a paragon of unwavering ethics and vision, but — for the 236th year in a row — we don’t. We’ve got these two pants-wearing clods. Of course, the fact that neither of them are perfect doesn’t mean that they’re remotely the same.

* I’m trying to invite Rich Lowry to come on the podcast to discuss his article and my response, but his contact info isn’t public. Rich, if you’re reading this: You’re invited.

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