The Violence Metaphor in Modern Politics

Mike Lindell in an uncharacteristically composed and businesslike moment

Mike Lindell, “the My Pillow Guy,” has announced his intent to run for the chairmanship of the Republican National Committee. Lindell, 61, has no prior experience in elective office or party organizing, and apparently no particular political experience beyond campaigning for Donald Trump. He’s spent the last two years yelling directly into the microphone on all-night basic cable about how Trump got ripped off, and in his mind, this apparently qualifies him for political authority.

Lindell’s on-camera outbursts started out comical, and for some people, still are. NBC comedian Seth Meyers still mimics Lindell’s grotesque behavior for cheap yuks. But more than two years later, his tantrums have crossed the line into something else, something downright tragic. Either he continues mishandling the microphone because he knows True Believers find his emotional outbursts persuasive, or something far darker is going on. It’s possible he has nothing left besides his spitting anger.

Over four years ago, I wrote that anger has become modern conservatism’s only emblem of seriousness. I wrote this after both Brett Kavanaugh and Lindsay Graham pulled Lindell-like antics inside the Senate Chamber. But four years ago, such anger was an isolated display. Lindsay Graham’s prior political career was predicated on displays of folksy charm that belied his deep party machine connections. And Brett Kavanaugh was previously (and has largely returned to being) publicly anonymous.

Since then, these displays have become something much more persistent. Mike Lindell’s two-year rage bender is perhaps an extreme example, crossing the line from pathos to bathos. But earlier this year, in the state where I live, Nebraska, an entire cadre of political neophytes seized control of the state Republican party, driven largely by displays of rage heaved clumsily into the microphone. This “leadership” then got Jim Pillen elected governor by stoking fears of CRT.

On the local level, another political novice, Paul Hazard, got elected to my city’s school board. Before running for office (he previously failed to get elected to the city council), Hazard was a state trooper—which, I shouldn’t have to specify, isn’t the same as being an educator. His qualification (singular) for office is his track record of getting screaming mad during school board meetings and town halls and, yes, shouting directly into the microphone.

Yeah, it's safe to say Justice Kavanaugh resembles Senator Graham

All these candidates pale, however, before the tragicomic spectacle that is Herschel Walker. Like his idol, Donald Trump, Walker has difficulty stringing together coherent sentences or staying on topic. This is perhaps understandable in Walker’s case: after fifteen years in the NFL, he probably has Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, a common brain injury in retired football (hand-egg) players. Also like Trump, Walker shows no prior familiarity with, or interest in, government or the entire legislative process.

More important than Walker’s tragic incompetence, however, is his behavior. Herschel Walker is a demonstrably bad person, with multiple credible accusations of domestic abuse, child abandonment, and attempting to induce various girlfriends to get abortions. Public progressives question how Republicans, the “party of family values,” can get behind a man who’s abandoned so many children and paid for so many abortions. Walker, like Trump, spits in the face of the values they claim to uphold.

However, placing Walker in the context of Donald Trump, Brett Kavanaugh, and Mike Lindell, a definite pattern emerges. Today’s Republican Party sees anger and violence as leadership qualities. Displays of macho savagery are more important to Republican leaders than competence, experience, or familiarity with the law. A leader, to today’s Republican party, isn’t someone who unites or gives vision. A leader is somebody who socks enemies in the jaw—even “enemies” like his own ex-wife.

Seriously, look at whom Republicans have supported recently. Donald Trump’s entire career was predicated on the promise to bring the hammer down on dissidents. Paul “ACAB” Hazard pledged to bring the same roided-out anger to the school board as he did to the highway patrol. And neither Mike Lindell’s nor Herschel Walker’s candidacies are predicated on policy, as they have none. They simply promise to shout down, or punch, anybody who dares to challenge them.

And unfortunately, this seems to work. Republican voters keep getting behind this series of reality TV stars, athletes, and camera-huggers. Herschel Walker is currently in a statistical tie with Raphael Warnock, an incumbent Senator, minister, and career civil activist. Real or promised violence has become the motivation of today’s Republicans, and it works. Faced with a panoply of digital-age problems, one major party pledges to answer with Stone-Age force, and their voters clamor for more.