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Ending the Interregnum: A Way through the Culture War

Politics is fundamentally agonistic. Not all interests and desires can be harmonized. Periods of cultural and economic hegemony sup­plant one another through material and ideational conflict. Within these periods there are winners and losers. Competing political parties quibble at the margins, but it is rare that an election gives rise to more than superficial change.

Today, the discredited consensus of economic and social liberalism is failing to reproduce itself in either domain. Its progressive teleology is looking increasingly untenable too. It may still be domi­nant, but it is no longer hegemonic; it has lost the loyalty of majorities in several countries and is starting to lose elections. In 2016, in the United States and Great Britain, opponents of the liberal consensus won electorally but not politically, and no way out of this impasse has yet been found. These ruptures have only served to taunt those who held out hopes for thoroughgoing political and economic reform. We are in an interregnum, and we are stuck.

We have been stuck for a while. In the midst of liberalism’s boom years, Brit-pop singer Jarvis Cocker asked of rave culture, “Is this the way the future’s supposed to feel / Or just twenty thousand people standing in a field?” The late cultural theorist Mark Fisher expanded these musings into theory: in music, as in politics, it was becoming impossible to imagine new futures, and the culture was steeped in Amy Winehouse–style nostalgia.1 In visual art the modernist avant-garde had lost its ability to shock or provoke, while bringing new light to the state of the human condition had long been abandoned as a worthwhile artistic endeavor. Late capitalism was effecting the slow cancellation of the future. Surveying contemporary art today, with its reifying of psychosexual pathology and its saturation of post-inter­net imagery, it is hard to make the case that things have improved.

But some things have changed. The hedonism and individualism of the 1990s have come to an end without setting us free. Instead they have made us anxious. If the 1990s were characterized by a crass materialism, by ski resorts and cocaine and MDMA, by Tony Blair strumming the guitar and hanging out with Oasis and an optimism that was smoke and mirrors, the years since 2008 have been an ex­tended comedown. The orgy, as Baudrillard put it, is over. Today’s drugs of choice are mostly downers, with SSRIs providing the coun­terweight. Interpersonal ethics are once again undergoing a necessary tightening, driven not by orthodox religion but by intersectionality and the #MeToo movement. Old and young alike, people have fewer friends and see those that they do have less often. We are having fewer children, and a stable family is now a luxury for the well-off. In our old age the extended networks of kith and kin that used to care for us have been replaced, if we are lucky, by the state. Life expectancy is stagnating and, in places, falling.

Above all, technology is transforming the nature of selfhood, first by replacing given identity with chosen identity, and then shattering it into pieces as we attempt to navigate the digital world that more and more resembles some Lovecraftian monster. David Harvey de­scribes the process of globalization as time-space compression: in other words, time and space cease to act as buffers on the transmission of people, goods, information, and ideas. Time and space become increasingly unimportant economically, politically, and culturally as we experience a “speed-up in the pace of life, while so overcoming spatial barriers that the world sometimes seems to collapse inwards upon us,” further dizzying our sense of who we are.2

It is not surprising, then, that during this interregnum new, dys­topian ideologies and subcultures are being born. All emerge out of exhaustion with the present and an inability to seriously imagine the future. Techno-communism, for example, a self-conscious project of left-modernism, aims at the destruction of human work and the work ethic through automation. Ultimately, it envisions a world in which “cyborg augmentations, artificial life, synthetic biology, and technologically mediated reproduction” take the place of the human sub­ject.3 Whether found on the left or right, such propositions point to an acceleration of, rather than a break with, modern trends that dis­solve human agency and the human subject itself. But these too should be seen as morbid symptoms groping for a way out of the interregnum.

Plan C, the British autonomist Marxist group, argues that each phase of capitalism has its accompanying pathology. Early industrialization was associated with material immiseration as peasants became proletarians and moved from the fields to the factories. As Fordism took hold and the worker’s role in industry became specialized and routine, workers faced boredom and drudgery. Despite that, the mass nature of production provided relative household security and a base for strong unions and other working-class institutions. Post-Fordist capitalism, meanwhile, with its emphasis on meritocracy, flexibility, and soft skills, produces anxiety as its dominant affect and makes effective organizing nearly impossible. The days that were once lost to strike action are now lost through sick days. In the UK last year, for each day lost to strike action more than one hundred were lost because of sickness.4

One does not need to accept Plan C’s history wholesale to see its explanatory power or the disorientation that “liquid modernity,” to borrow Zygmunt Bauman’s term, has wrought. The Left might blame neoliberalism and the Right social progressivism for this state of affairs. The emergence of woke capitalism, however, shows the diffi­culty in separating the two, and attributing blame is a thankless task. The central point is that the liquid in Bauman’s formulation turned out to be acidic in both social and economic realms.

Squabbling over the Rubble

As we survey the culture, then, we might expect the political Left to lament the decline of the social and imagine ways to revive the public realm and restore working-class dignity. It could draw on the aspect of Marx’s theory that was always more compelling than the labor theory of value—his account of our alienation from our labor and from the products of our labor, from each other and ultimately from ourselves. In his Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts of 1844, he defines humans as possessing a social and creative species-being which capitalism denies the possibility of fulfilling. It is for this reason that more thoughtful conservatives such as Sir Roger Scruton find much to commend in Marx’s thought, as well as a more worthy political opponent than the desiccated progressivism which views humans as self-creating blank slates. A Left that returned to these sources might come to place alienation, estrangement, and disenchantment alongside exploitation and oppression in its critique of modern capitalism.

And we might expect the political Right to think seriously about how to conserve the status of human beings as constituted by loving relationships and particular attachments—not screens, drugs, capital accumulation, and delusions of self-actualization. We might anticipate an interest in the actual conservation of local and national communities, understanding them in public policy terms as distinct homes rather than international hotels or placeless corporations.

Perhaps there could be a conversation between Left and Right, and even some coming together around the principle that human beings are not commodities. A defense of the non-commodity status of na­ture might offer fertile common ground for cultural renewal, too.

Instead, the depth of the rot and the foreclosure of radical possi­bilities have given rise to an increasingly febrile and futile culture war. In America and Britain at least, political disagreement is being recast as a war between good and evil. Political adversaries become cultural enemies, either committed to all manner of reactionary sins or to tear­ing down the fabric of Western civilization. Salt of the earth, rooted folk are contrasted with rootless global elites; racist backwaters with openness, progress, and forward thinking.

Paradoxically, it seems that the lower the stakes, the more strained the conflict. Both sides are disenfranchised by a world that is not living up to its promise. Culture war, a sublimated form of ressentiment, is the consequence. In the same way the ruling class has historically used race to prevent working-class organizing, the two sides of the culture war squabble over the rubble of our cultural debris.

The level of liberal understanding of conservatism is not famously high. But conservatives in the public domain too often do their best to confirm their opponents’ worst perceptions. They frequently and absurdly reduce the “Left” and “liberals” to a homogenous block. You can find any number of hypocrisies if you treat a varied group comprising roughly half the population as possessing one single voice and standard to which they must be held accountable.

Apparently serious people on the Right debase themselves when they complain about LGBT-jihadis or shriek about how the excesses of undergraduate culture mean the downfall of civilization. In the United States, conservatives—many of whom privately know bet­ter—are held hostage by an outdated donor class that has confined cultural conservatism to a select group of electoral “wedge issues,” intentionally separated from any larger social, political, and—espe­cially—economic vision. The dynamics on the left are somewhat different, though they produce a similar result. In so doing, both sides look not only cruel but hopelessly lost, worrying about fringe issues while all around them the culture is being transformed, and families, communities, and nations are breaking down entirely.

It is hard to believe that writing another article bemoaning the state of the times—whether in the Spectator or the National Review, or in the Guardian or Vox—is going to do much good. It is hard to believe that the authors believe it, either. It is not just liberals who appear like the soixante-huitards Michel Houellebecq describes in Submission: “those progressive mummified corpses—extinct in the wider world—who managed to hang on in the citadels of the media, still cursing the evils of the times and the toxic atmosphere of the country.”5 Conservatives on both sides of the Atlantic are stuck in a 1990s mindset.

Power without Hegemony

An argument growing in influence suggests that the culture war is inevitable, and that the manner in which it is conducted therefore hardly matters. The divide between the two (at least) sides is unbridgeable, because they have incommensurable accounts of justice and what constitutes the good life. The seeming superficiality of most culture war debates—rainbow flags on public buildings, gender pro­nouns, etc.—in fact masks profundity. As T. S. Eliot, prefiguring Alasdair MacIntyre, put it in a 1933 speech, the “acrimony which accompanies much debate is a symptom of differences so large that there is nothing to argue about. We experience such profound differ­ences with some of our contemporaries, that the nearest parallel is the difference between the mentality of one epoch and another.” He is surely right, as is MacIntyre when he describes the shrillness and sanctimony that has come to characterize moral disagreement. Rea­soned debate about practical means is no longer possible because of the degree of divergence about ends.

As MP Jon Cruddas has argued, the UK Labour Party—my party—has at least three irreconcilable accounts of justice that have been the source of internal contention for over a century: a liberal rights-based tradition; a materialist, utilitarian tradition which comes in both Marxist and Blairite varieties; and an older, now largely submerged tradition of virtue ethics and reciprocity. It is not simply that Labour members disagree about political and economic means to achieve a set of given ends. The disagreement is far more fundamental and concerns radically different ideas of the good life and desirable ends—and indeed whether it is realistic to draw a distinction between means and ends at all. If one political party contains these competing moral traditions, what hope is there for highly complex, globally integrated mass societies?

The argument for the incommensurability of conservative and lib­eral accounts of the good life has been bolstered by a flurry of re­search arguing that these differences are genetic in origin. Both sides can draw on research that flatters. On the one hand, for example, those with high IQs tend to report more liberal views; on the other, some hypothesize that the part of the brain which is attuned to external threats is underdeveloped in liberals. But both sides should be skeptical of these claims, especially those which seem to strengthen their case. This form of pseudoscientific justification requires retro­spectively applying a reductive conservative-liberal framework on all human history. Such a framework cannot account for the messiness of human conflict, nor times of consensus and cohesiveness, nor the transformative power of political action.

Nobody, however, can seriously deny the radical divergence that has arisen since the Enlightenment. Contrary to the arguments of its cruder critics, there is a rich tradition of liberalism which takes this divergence as its starting point. Embodied in the likes of Karl Popper, Isaiah Berlin (one of whose books takes its title from Kant’s claim that, out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made), and John Gray, it acknowledges the imperfectability of man and the impossibility of any utopia in which human conflict is resolved. It focuses instead on the endlessly difficult task of negotiating some kind of settlement that can allow those with conflicting interests and ideas of the good life to live together with toleration and perhaps respect.

Liberalism seen from this view is not a progressive project at all but rather the tragic and always incomplete task of sustaining a mo­dus vivendi amidst difference. This—in theory at least—is neither a covert attempt to push through a progressive universalism, nor an anarchic relativism, but instead a value pluralism that maintains a place for moral judg­ments regarding both the means and ends of jus­tice. It echoes Aristo­telian traditions of virtue ethics in its view that there are different forms of human flourishing—the nun, the farmer, and the soldier will not only live radically different lives but may also orient their lives towards different ideas of the good—without denying the existence of bad nuns, farmers, and soldiers. In the absence of one common ac­count of justice, there must at least be shared faith in common institutions which uphold the possibility of living out varied—but not endless or unbounded—forms of the good.

Culture war is what happens when faith in institutions, and with it the modus vivendi, breaks down. This could be because of the inher­ent difficulty in sustaining value-pluralist liberalism. As Mac­Intyre puts it, “On the dominant liberal view, government is to be neutral as between rival conceptions of the human good, yet in fact what liberal­ism promotes is a kind of institutional order that is inimical to the construction and sustaining of the types of communal relationships required for the best kind of human life.”6 Or it could be because of the particular, concrete failures of political elites over the last decades as they have transferred loyalties from the parochial and the national to the abstract and the global.7 Either way, pluralism has lost out to oscillations between relativism and universalism, which in the end amount to the same thing. All sides come to see politics, the judiciary, and the media as potential means to advance their exclusive account of the good. Some on the religious right see the organs of the state being wielded instrumentally by a progressive elite and wonder why they shouldn’t attempt to do the same. It is a reasonable question to ask (even if those asking it have no shown capacity to achieve or exercise power in this way).

To exert dominance solely through such instrumental means, how­ever, terminates in empty power without hegemony, as today’s liber­als are slowly discovering. If there is a way through the culture war, it lies not in one side winning dominance over the other but in the creation of a common good, which is not the same thing as the enforcement of an exclusive or universalist notion of the good. The common good is a product of political action, not abstract reasoning, in which estranged values and interests are reconciled to one another—even if they are not perfectly harmonized. This process creates a self-conscious demos in which there is shared loyalty to the same first‑person plural, the same “we,” even if it contains different values.

This is not just theoretical. A politics of national and cultural renewal cannot be built by giving succor only to a contingent of hardened 1990s culture warriors. But nor is this about some muddling, middling compromise; there is no reason to think the “moder­ate” center has any particular validity. Instead we need to move en­tirely be­yond the categories and scope of contemporary debate. The start­ing point for a realignment of cultural politics and thus the crea­tion of a common good—which transcends partisan and value lines—is the recognition that the current settlement fails on both conservative and left-liberal terms. That contemporary politics fails for both sides is perhaps why each side views its opponents as the entrenched power: if it’s not working for us, it must be working for them.

But, plainly, it is working for neither. Liberal graduates who emerge from even the best universities find themselves laden with student debt, working jobs in the knowledge economy which require living in global cities where housing costs make a decent life or the prospect of starting a family prohibitively expensive, and unclear about their pur­pose in life. A life of libidinally charged freedom, of constantly dis­covering and recreating oneself through travel and new experiences and career change, is largely a myth, and the young protagonists of progressive liberalism know it.

Likewise, those conservative by disposition—who “prefer the familiar to the unknown . . . the tried to the untried, fact to mystery, the actual to the possible, the limited to the unbounded, the near to the distant, the sufficient to the superabundant, the convenient to the perfect, present laughter to utopian bliss”—find living a modest life of security and order beyond their means, too.8 Transience and constant disruption to settled ways of life are brought about not by student activists or postmodern academics but by globalization and free trade, unaccountable power concentrated in finance and monopolistic firms with no place-based loyalties, and a (corrupted) meritocratic educational system in which the ladder up is a ladder out and away.

A plausible description of the near future consists of a core econo­my dominated by a few global cities, unmoored from the nations they ostensibly belong to, centered on finance, the knowledge economy, and the so-called creative sectors. A few wealthy elites in these mega­cities will be catered to by a largely immigrant working class living in poor conditions, with long commutes to increasingly distant exurbs. Most of those working in the seemingly affluent industries will strug­gle to afford the space or time off work to start families. A vast geographical, economic, and cultural periphery of small towns, rural areas, and midsize cities, hollowed out by outsourcing, automation, and financialization, is then left to survive on an economy of low-value-added services. Economic purposelessness compounding cul­tural purposelessness.

Those who really support or benefit from this setup—ideologically committed libertarians and performatively woke corporate leaders, for example—number very few. Identifying most lay-liberals or con­servatives with this development is, therefore, a mistake. Instead, in response to this tendency, a new form of class politics will need to arise which can bring into being a practical common good.

The Economics of the Common Good

In both the United States and the United Kingdom there are electoral majorities for a politics that delivers cultural and economic goods and that can reconcile conservative and liberal accounts of justice. Psepho­logical evidence shows Trump and Leave voters tended to view things like immigration, globalization, and human rights with skepticism. Clinton and Remain voters, meanwhile, viewed them positively. The likes of David Goodhart and Jonathan Haidt have theorized about the difference between these two groups: “somewheres” on the one hand value parochialism, security, and stability, while the commitments of “anywheres” are more abstract and scattered.

But across demographics there is a shared interest in reforms of the economy that can unite cultural conservatism and socialist economics. Polls on economic matters show majority support for blunt policy instruments such as higher corporate and upper-income tax rates and greater state intervention in key industries. From there, it is not too great a leap of logic to suppose that there might be similar support for deeper structural reform of the economy. And this reform has far greater capacity to deliver a fundamental cultural reorientation to­wards the values of family, home, and place than any culture war fixation.

First and foremost, both Britain and America urgently need na­tional industrial policies. Elite policy choices, driven in part by naïve­té about free trade and in part by a self-serving myth of an emerging knowledge economy, have allowed productive capacities in both countries to deteriorate significantly, even to the point of threatening national security. As well as undermining the economy and social fabric outside global cities, globalization has contributed to national purposelessness and eroded democratic sovereignty. An industrial policy could rebalance economic and social esteem across regions.

This would need to be supported by reforms to banking and high­er education. Revising banking regulations to support the creation of regional banks endowed with place-based mandates would encourage local investment in industry, prevent the proliferation of exploitative payday loan companies, and minimize reliance on insecure supply chains.

Meanwhile, the higher education industry is currently sustained by making entry into even relatively low-skilled jobs conditional on a degree. This justifies the functional uselessness of most degrees, espe­cially in the arts, and operates as a far more coercive form of power than trade union closed shops ever did. Breaking up universities and investing instead in vocational colleges (teaching everything from nursing and care work to scientific and technical expertise needed for high-value-added manufacturing) in peripheral regions would counter regional inequalities and spread growth outside global cities. It would also encourage a reorientation to craft, manufacturing, and industry, and protect the classical university. It may serve to disrupt the politi­cal uniformity of graduates, as well.

Contrary to the opinion of some conservatives, most liberals and left-wingers want children too. A serious family policy that reduced the financial penalty on having children and enabled parents to spend considerable time at home would have widespread appeal across the political spectrum. Public works programs, meanwhile, could invest in infrastructure and social housing while encouraging the local dis­tinctiveness, public beauty, and walkability that would help families to build homes and wider networks of mutual obligation in the places where they live.

Ecology should run through all these aspects of economic policy. Not just because of climate change, but because humanity’s relationship with nature has been pushed so far out of kilter. The Right’s failure to reckon with the latter is as absurd as the environmental Left’s strategy of reducing climate change to a set of menacing and abstract targets. As the Welsh Marxist Raymond Williams understood, in words that could have been Scruton’s, environmental loss is, “for any particular man, the loss of a specifically human and historical landscape, in which the source of feeling is not really that it is ‘natu­ral’ but that it is ‘native.’”9 Imbuing the future of national industry with environmental purpose and protecting the distinctiveness of local landscapes and ecosystems offers another pole around which a common good can take shape.

An economic program of this sort could command majorities and provide for the possibility of human flourishing for conservatives and liberals alike. Each component would increase economic security while also adding richness to cultural life and signaling a reorientation towards family, community, and nation.

Sinking Giggling into the Sea

In a 2013 London Review of Books article on the “collected wit and wisdom” of a leading British politician, Jonathan Coe warned that my country was in danger of falling “sinking giggling into the sea.”10 Satire had become so prevalent that it served to inoculate the powerful from, rather than expose them to, critique. After the politician in question had been recorded promising to help a fraudster friend beat up an unsympathetic journalist, he hosted the country’s foremost satirical panel show and successfully deflected any criticism—disarm­ing his critics through a bumbling parody of British upper-class toff­ishness and charm.

The show, like most of the culture, has now descended into polit­ically uniform pseudo-outrage, its viewing figures down, its panelists more John Oliver than Peter Cook, and its whole approach anachronistic in the digital age. The apparently anti-fragile politician, Boris Johnson, has moved on to bigger and better things.

This denouement appears to confirm Coe’s thesis: it is not just satire, but mockery, sanctimony, and vindictiveness that can backfire. A wider application of the argument might lead those inclined to sup­port a realignment of politics around economic radicalism and cultur­al coherence to rethink their approach, too. Building this politics requires a change in tack from both Left and Right.

When placed alongside aesthetics, culture, and identity, policy comes a dismal second as a guide to political affiliation. To win sup­port, political actors must first signal through social cues and mores, aesthetic and linguistic conventions, the tribe to which they belong—and more importantly the tribe which they oppose. With credentials secure they have a reasonable amount of freedom to act in ways contrary to their purported position. This is how Obama and his Harvard Kennedy School administration managed to oversee a re­sponse to the financial crisis that took the side of concentrated finance capital over those facing foreclosure while still keeping his progressive credentials largely intact. It is why Marco Rubio can advance radical ideas on industrial policy and nobody—despite the National Review’s fatuous criticism of him for citing “odd theories from left-wing commentators”—is seriously questioning his place in the Re­publican party or his conservative credentials. Or why saviors of liberal Europe Emmanuel Macron and Angela Merkel can an­nounce policies on asylum seekers to the right of anyone in UK politics while remaining blemish-free in the eyes of the liberal media. To be polit­ically successful outside of one’s in-group requires a careful balancing act.

Prime Minister Johnson’s special advisor Dominic Cummings, he of a thousand think pieces, has used this insight to win majorities in repeated UK referenda. He observes that most people, particularly those with cultural capital who are protected from the immediate material effects of policy, tend to mirror Oblonsky in Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina:

Oblonsky never chose his tendencies and opinions any more than he chose the style of his hat or coat. He always wore those which happened to be in fashion. Moving in a certain circle where a desire for some form of mental activity was part of maturity, he was obliged to hold views in the same way he was obliged to wear a hat. . . . Thus liberalism had become a habit with Oblonsky and he enjoyed his newspaper, as he did his after-dinner cigar, for the slight haze it produced in his brain.11

There are times when out-and-out confrontation with the opinions of the fashionable set is required, but building countervailing power requires not immediately casting oneself outside the pale of acceptability.

If politics is about signaling, however, then it is not clear whether much of the Right or Left today is interested in signaling to anyone other than their own friends and donor class. Cummings, on the other hand, deliberately kept the likes of Nigel Farage off the television. For every person Farage would mobilize, he would put off two or three more who found his demeanor off-putting.12 Winning the referendum for Leave meant building a broad and generous enough politics that people who paid attention to the views of the high-status class could feel culturally secure in joining those with nothing to lose in voting Leave.

The task for those seeking a realigned politics is to create a counter‑hegemonic movement that becomes the new common sense of all major political parties. Were it to be seen as the exclusive do­main of one party, or one faction of a party, it would drive the opposition further in the direction of social and economic liberalism. The vote to leave the EU in the UK has strengthened pro-EU senti­ment in the country, summoning a Euro-nationalism into existence where none existed previously. Similarly, the election of Trump has played a substantial role in the cultural radicalization of the Democrats. A counter-hegemonic realignment must resist the temptation for ultimately self-defeating sniping and narrow culture war, and in its place build a generous language of cultural and national renewal and a political economy to match.

The giggling that now accompanies our lurches into the depths is increasingly nervous. Vitriol and vindictiveness alternate with smug­ness and sanctimony to define political language. Even publications like the Economist are forced to acknowledge liberalism’s exhaustion and shortcomings,13 yet none of the postliberal alternatives have radically reformed the economy or carved a loving and generous politics.

The task is to develop a cultural politics that rectifies these short­comings. Conservatives need to reconsider what it means to conserve, and socialists must rediscover the social.

This article originally appeared in American Affairs Volume III, Number 4 (Winter 2019): 199–212.


1 Mark Fisher, Capitalist Realism: Is There No Alternative? (Winchester, UK: Zero Books, 2008).

2 David Harvey, The Condition of Postmodernity (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2000), 240.

3 Nick Srnicek and Alex Williams, Inventing the Future: Postcapitalism and a World without Work (London: Verso, 2016).

4 Working Days Lost in Great Britain,” UK Health and Safety Executive, accessed October 24, 2019; “Labour Disputes in the UK: 2018,” UK Office for National Statistics, May 17, 2019.

5 Michel Houellebecq, Submission: A Novel, trans. Lorin Stein (New York: Penguin Random House, 2015), 126.

6 Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007), xv.

7 Christopher Lasch, The Revolt of the Elites and the Betrayal of Democracy (New York: Norton, 1996).

8 Michael Oakeshott, Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays (London: Methuen, 1962), 168–96.

9 Raymond Williams, The Country and the City (London: Hogarth Press, 1985).

10 Jonathan Coe, “Sinking Giggling into the Sea,” London Review of Books 35, no. 14 (July 18, 2013): 30–31.

11 Quoted in Dominic Cummings, “On the Referendum #21: Branching Histories of the 2016 Referendum and the Frogs before the Storm,” Dominic Cummings’s Blog, January 9, 2017.

12 The reality was slightly more complicated; Farage served a role in mobilizing a minority of hardline support, while his public disavowal from the mainstream campaign enabled “moderates” to vote leave without associating themselves with anything regarded as suspect.

13 Some Thoughts on the Crisis of Liberalism—and How to Fix It,” Economist, June 12, 2018.

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