Liberalism Versus Authoritarianism

The Lines Have Been Drawn in the Defining Moment of Our Generation

A good friend and fellow denizen of Substack texted me this morning, writing, “Here’s a question: Is Trump’s election the death of neoliberalism?” We proceeded to briefly discuss what neoliberalism is, during which I explained, “I’ve always viewed neoliberalism as a friendlier, more socially conscious liberalism.”

Truthfully, I have no idea whether or not that’s accurate. I asked ChatGPT—which is increasingly becoming my go-to when I need a quick answer—and it says, “Neoliberalism is a political, economic, and ideological framework that emphasizes the role of free markets, deregulation, privatization, and reduced government intervention in economic affairs. It emerged in the late 20th century as a response to the perceived inefficiencies of state-led economic models and is associated with a belief in the efficiency of markets to allocate resources and promote economic growth.”

That sounds an awful lot like just regular “liberalism.” I guess the primary difference is that after the Enlightenment, new forms of government emerged that were driven by government. Of course, this would refer to communism, fascism, and socialism, each of which underscored government inefficiencies, misallocation of resources, and general failures of central planning. Whereas David Hume, John Locke, Adam Smith, and other 17th- and 18th-century liberal thinkers focused on reason, individual liberty, and limiting government, neoliberalism focuses on protecting democratic norms, making government more efficient, privatization, reducing costly barriers, and social inclusivity. (Again, this is more my view of neoliberalism.)

The great liberal thinkers of the Enlightenment, of course, were generally skeptical of democracy. This includes many of the United States' founding fathers, which is why the framers of the Constitution gave us a republic rather than a democracy. The terms are used so interchangeably now that making the clear distinction between a republic and a democracy is almost pointless.

Needless to say, we have a Constitution that limits the size and scope of government, defines and separates the three branches of government, and protects individual rights. This is what the Constitution is supposed to do. Blind partisanship, national security, and economic uncertainty are conveniences or expediencies that have blurred or erased aspects of the Constitution. I suppose the whims of a direct democracy would be less preferable to a republic, as imperfect as it is. The imperfections of a constitutional republic such as ours are the outcome of two problems: a) the two-party system and b) the unwillingness of voters to force meaningful changes to our politics.

Democrats and Republicans thrive on feeding the base of their parties through floor speeches, committee hearings, political rallies, and partisan media. This has always existed in our politics. It’s not new. This is part of our political history. The Digital Age has exacerbated it, with the internet often bringing out the worst in people who are increasingly treating politics like it’s a religion. Those of us who operate outside the traditional two-party sphere–the growing ranks of the politically unaffiliated–have become accustomed to tuning out hyper-partisan politics or, in some cases, disengaging entirely from politics.

During the pandemic, I had an idea for a book I wanted to write related to this problem. The general thesis was to identify the moment when our politics were put on this unsustainable path, identifying various escalations to the then-present day. I tossed the idea out to some close friends, some of whom warned that I could burn some bridges if the book were ever published. I ended up shelving the project, although the prospect of burning bridges wasn’t something I was particularly worried about because I’d spent most of 2021 intentionally tearing down my professional and personal lives.

As someone who identifies as a liberal—in the classical sense—I’ve reflected a lot about the events of the past couple of months. I’m not only referring to the presidential election in the United States. I’ve kept an eye on international politics over the past few years without immersing myself in it. The rise of far-right populist parties in Europe—Fidesz (Hungary), National Rally (France), Alternative for Germany, Reform UK, United Right (Poland), etc.—is of great concern. Some of those far-right parties have been around for a while and held the levers of power while others are relatively new.

Still, these far-right populist parties represent a threat to liberalism and democratic principles, and that threat is very present in the United States. Am I taking a shot at Trump? Not really. Although I believe some of the things Trump said during the campaign and since are highly concerning, I don’t believe he’ll pursue them, largely because there are too many obstacles in his way. Should he actively pursue the worst of what he said on the campaign trail, it’ll be a serious test to our political system, even more so than what we observed in the aftermath of the 2020 presidential election.

What lies beneath the MAGA movement is really what concerns me. MAGA, in and of itself, isn’t a lasting movement. However, the intellectual element of the far-right—the authoritarianism and illiberalism of “national conservatism”—is ultimately what will stick around. Without sounding like an alarmist, our present-day politics aren’t Democrats and Republicans fighting over which party has the best vision for the United States. No, our present-day politics are liberalism against authoritarianism.

The problem with liberalism is that we, as liberals, haven’t really tried to explain why it works, how it has lifted billions out of poverty, and protects people from their governments. We haven’t defended globalism and immigration. We tend to exude arrogance when we do. Another disadvantage we face is that we’re more than 30 years removed from the collapse of the Soviet Union and 80 years removed from the fall of Nazi Germany and fascist Italy. Too few don’t have any memory of these authoritarian regimes and the failures of central planning–and the millions who were purged and died because of government-created famines, gulags, and concentration camps.

Liberals also probably moved too fast on social changes post-Obergefell, considering that Christians constitute more than 60 percent of the population, depending on the survey. Granted, that includes mainline Christians, who are generally more socially tolerant and inclusive than evangelicals. There’s a lot more to say here as it relates to the LGBT community, of which I’m very supportive, and acknowledging the stains in our complicated history when it comes to race in the United States, to which I’m very sensitive because of my disdain for racism. Those are topics for another time.

So, is neoliberalism dead? No, it’s not. The defining lines of this generation have been drawn. We have our work cut out for us to defend liberalism against authoritarianism. Liberalism has endured authoritarianism before, but I’m simply worried about the possibility of history even slightly repeating itself.