In “The Demon of Unrest,” Erik Larson quotes a letter sent early in 1861 by James Hammond, the secessionist former US senator from South Carolina, to a friend from New York who opposed slavery. So strong were Hammond’s sentiments that Larson calls it “a miracle” that his letter “did not ignite the stationery upon which it was written.”
The former senator observed, “I am sick of the subject and feel now as we all do more disposed to fight it out than to argue any more.”
“You think our system an evil — a sin, and one that, therefore, cannot last. We think the same precisely of yours, but while we don’t trouble ourselves about yours, you make all sorts of war on us about ours in which we see no evil, no sin and nothing but good. We think it far better than yours — at least for us — in all respects.”
“Can you not let us alone?”
The passage encapsulates the way the opposing sides viewed slavery, the central moral issue that drove the United States toward civil war. A live-and-let-live approach could not contain the raging passions, with members of the South Carolina aristocracy — the self-described “Chivalry” — convincing themselves that slavery was a positive good, and northern abolitionists calling it out as the abomination it truly was.
Larson began writing the book during the Covid pandemic before the 2020 presidential election, but the Capitol riot of January 6, 2021 gave him “the eerie feeling that present and past had merged.”
In 1861, the president-elect Abraham Lincoln feared that Southern radicals would try to disrupt the certification of his electoral college victory, as the invaders of the Capitol would do in our lifetime. And concern about a possible assassination plot before the inauguration led Lincoln to arrive in Washington in disguise, wearing a felt hat and an old overcoat, “with his shoulders slumped forward.”
Of course, neither of these fears were immediately realized — Lincoln would be sworn in peacefully but would be assassinated four years later at the end of the Civil War — but they lend credence to the portrait of an America where political tensions were reaching an unbearable level.
Facile comparisons between America in 2024 and 1861 obscure the very real differences between the two eras. But as lawn signs sprout with the election three weeks away, there’s a sense that the slogans like the pro-Trump “take back the country” and Kamala Harris’ “we are not going back” are incompatible views of the future.
A Pew poll this week reported that “roughly two-thirds of registered voters (66%) say the threat of violence against political leaders and their families is a major problem.”
“More than eight-in-ten voters (86%) say that when it comes to important issues facing the country, supporters of Trump and Harris not only disagree on plans and policies, but also on basic facts.”
Yard wars
In a thoughtful piece in the Fresno Bee, philosopher Andrew Fiala wrote, “In my neighborhood, political flags are popping up like mushrooms. A house on a corner lot flies two large Trump flags, one on each side. Across the street, a Harris-Walz yard sign glares back…Every so often, you still see those ‘Science is Real, Black Lives Matter’ signs. Some houses wave the rainbow flag. And on a main street nearby, a ‘God, Guns and Trump’ flag plays in the breeze.”
“I worry that by politicizing our front yards we increase our polarization and isolation. In a typical California neighborhood, folks go from car to house without talking to one another. Fences and hedges keep us apart. Flags and yard signs are often the only form of communication between neighbors. But rather than inviting conversation, political placards act as cudgels and shields. These political banners are prime examples of one-way communication. Like a sermon, they proclaim without listening.”
“Rather than inviting conversation, political placards act as cudgels and shields.”
— Andrew Fiala
On one level, the fact that people in the same neighborhoods are displaying signs favoring opposing candidates is a positive, at least compared to the pre-Civil War era when America was geographically split between pro- and anti-slavery states. Even in the reddest of red states, Wyoming, more than a quarter of the voters supported Biden in 2020. And in the bluest, Massachusetts, Trump got nearly a third of the 2020 votes.
Texas + California?
On the surface, Alex Garland’s propulsive 2024 thriller, “Civil War,” loses credibility points by imagining that Texas and California, now on opposite sides of the political divide, unite to rebel against a dictatorial US president.
As the Hollywood Reporter wrote, Garland “explained the ‘intentional’ decision to tie together the two states, saying it was ‘partly to get around a kind of reflexive, polarizing position that people might fall into, that’s one thing, but actually that’s not the main thing. The main thing is to do with how the president is presented and what can be inferred from that.’ The president, played by Nick Offerman, has disbanded the FBI, has used air strikes on American citizens and has established himself as a three-term leader.”
Bridging the partisan divide is a subject that Robert M. Franklin, a theology professor and president emeritus of Morehouse College, has thought a lot about. In a 2021 article for CNN, Franklin recounted serving as a pastor in “Trump country” in upstate New York and regularly traveling to Atlanta, home to “an influential Black middle class.”
“In recent years, we have come to expect our national discourse to be loud, harsh and impatient. It’s time to set a new, constructive and creative tone at the top. Even if we have little or no appetite for moral rhetoric right now, we can all help to improve our habits of communications. Leaders from different sectors report that among the things we need most now are true stories of diverse Americans working together…”
“Our fellow citizens on the far left and right may never come together, but I know that most people across this land do not want to hate each other. My neighbors in Atlanta and in Chautauqua share lots of common ground. They can come together.”
Rob vs. Rob
Americans in the opposing camps can’t agree on the facts and some may have a hard time tolerating even being in the presence of backers of the rival candidate, but there are some hints of a brighter future.
In a report from a north Phoenix neighborhood two weeks ago, Kenzie Beach of Fox10 told the charming story of “the Battle of the Robs.”
They live across the street from each other and are competing to see who can plaster their property with the most signs and flags promoting their opposing choices for president:
“Trump: Make America Great Again!” vs. “Harris – Walz : We’re not going back.”
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” under the photo of Trump after the Butler, Pa. assassination attempt vs. “When we fight, we win: Harris for President.”
“But,” Beach reported, “there is one flag that they both fly proudly — the American flag.”
One of the Robs, the pro-Harris Rob Anderson said, “Because we're [from] different parties doesn't mean, you know, that we can't be friends. I mean, we're all Americans.”