Don't Mistake Rudeness for Honesty

Many years ago, I lived with a woman -- one of those fortunate enough to escape my marriage proposals -- who did not believe that true love permitted locked doors.

(You will forgive me for beginning far too many of my personal essays with a reference to past romances. In my aging chasteness, I like to remind myself that, as Andrew Aguecheek put it in the saddest line Shakespeare ever wrote, “I was adored once, too.”)

Anyhow, this ex of mine wanted me to leave the bathroom door open when I showered or used the toilet. She felt it not only normal but desirable for lovers to poop and pee in front of each other.  “We should be honest with each other about everything,” she said, arguing that a shyness about defecation was somehow indicative of other dishonesties. She made a point about coming in to sit upon the toilet whenever I was in the shower or brushing my teeth. I did not get used to it.

When I tried to point out that a desire for privacy was hardly the same as a compulsion for secrecy, she dismissed that argument as “a distinction without a difference.”  We finally compromised on permitting me to shut the door when I was using the toilet, as long as I agreed not to lock it.  We lived together for only a few months, and I imagine that wherever she is, she still insists that true love not only endures all things, but witnesses and smells them too.   I suspect most of you will agree that this ex (she was very young, and raised by hippies) made a fundamental mistake in confusing the desire to excrete in solitude with the desire to keep all sorts of dark secrets.  

I think of this ex often when I think of a particular argument I hear from Donald Trump’s admirers. For many of his most devoted fans, part of Trump’s appeal is that he is crass and vulgar. He says mean things. His private conduct – even if only a fraction of what is alleged is true – is ungentlemanly.  For his supporters, his absence of restraint is proof of his trustworthiness.  For the MAGA faithful, rudeness and bluntness symbolize transparency, just as for my ex, an open bathroom door symbolized intimacy and honesty. “I like that he tells it like it is,” say Trump fans; “It means he’s being real. So many politicians are fake.”

At one point, my ex said  (I promise it was so!): “If you truly love me, you won’t mind me taking a shit in front of you.” I thought to myself, “Darling, not only do I not wish to see you defecate, I also do not wish to even hear you use that sort of language.”  I couldn’t bring myself to say it, because I knew she would call me what she would call me anyway towards the end of our relationship: “Dishonest, uptight, and so fucking fake.” 

“Dishonest, uptight, and fake” are adjectives that MAGA nation like to use to describe traditional Republicans. George Bush, Mitt Romney, Mitch McConnell – in Trumpland, the courtesy and civility these men evinced is dispositive proof that they are untrustworthy and ineffectual.  To be well-mannered is proof of weakness and unreliability; coarseness, on the other hand, is evidence of competence and conviction.  It is not just that those naturally disposed to vulgarity rejoice in the triumph of one of their own – it is that many who should otherwise be troubled by incivility have increasingly bought into the damnable lie that courtesy is a byword for cowardice and corruption.

“We need to take the gloves off.”  I’ve spent time around activists from the Marxist left to the Christian Nationalist right, and if there’s one cliché both sides never tire of using, it’s that one. Go to any rally or gathering anywhere on the political spectrum, and chances are excellent that someone will get up and say, “You know why we keep losing? It’s because the other side fights dirtier than we do! We’re too concerned with process, and not focused enough on outcome! Our opponents are ruthless, and we – we are too dang weak, civil, and genteel. Let’s fight fire with fire! Let’s stop bringing a knife to a gun fight and start bringing bazookas!” 

A touch of hyperbole, but not much.

Partisans on all sides believe their failures are attributable to tactics rather than policy.  (I mean, you can’t start to question your foundational beliefs. Where does that lead you? Much better to call for a more aggressive and brutal strategy in attempting to ensure your own unchallenged beliefs prevail.)

Donald Trump’s supporters trust he wears no gloves. He does not fight by the Marquess of Queensberry rules. To his admirers, his crassness becomes a proxy for capability; his churlishness somehow testifies to his competence.  The left hungers for the same sad thing; ask most liberal Democrats about Barack Obama’s negotiations with Republicans, and they will lament that their cool and unflappable hero was unwilling to get “down and dirty” with the right. The dominant view on the contemporary left is that Obama was too trusting of the process, too beholden to institutional decorum, too polite, too nice.  Many of my lefty friends are frustrated with Joe Biden less because of his policies but because they fret that in his current state, he no longer has the capacity for the bare-knuckled fray they long for.

(Fighting by the Queensberry rules)

Many years ago – not long after I broke up with the gal who hated closed doors – I spent time worshipping and praying among the Mennonites. It was not a good fit culturally, but I found much to admire about their intentionality, their sincerity, and their theology.  The Mennonites are famous for their pacifism, which boils down to a basic precept: “The means determine the ends.”  If you want peace, in other words, you must use peace to achieve it. The tools you use decide the outcome you get.

The Mennonites may have been simple in their dress, and they may have had a disconcerting obsession with jello casseroles, but they were not fools. They knew that the world mocked them. They were accustomed to being called naïve, and foolish, and complicit with injustice. They’d heard it all before. They pointed to Christ, and they pointed to history. Our lamb has conquered, they’d say. If a man can rise from the dead and prove victorious over violence, so too will we defy violence even unto death. The means and the ends must be radically congruent.

I’m not a Mennonite anymore. I’m not a pacifist. But I am quite certain that how we fight is every bit as important as what it is we are fighting for.  As I tell my children when they are doing drills for soccer, the outcome you seek depends entirely on the process you embrace. 

My ex was wrong: a closed door is not proof of deception. MAGA is wrong: Donald Trump’s rudeness is not some perverse proof of his rectitude. We are all wrong: we don’t need to take the gloves off. We do need to fight in a way that is consistent with our deepest values, not out of an affected and antiquated sense of propriety, but because on some level we know – we know – the outcome we get hinges on nothing so much as the tools we use to achieve it.