Contributors

Brian Allen is the art critic for National Review. He directed the museum division of the NewYork Historical Society (2013–15) and the Addison Gallery of American Art, Phillips Academy, in Andover, Massachusetts (2004–13).

Theodore Dalrymple is a contributing editor of City Journal, a senior fellow at the Manhattan Institute, and the author of many books, including Out into the Beautiful World and Grief and Other Stories.

Nicole Gelinas is a City Journal contributing editor, a senior fellow at the Manhattan Institute, and the author of After the Fall: Saving Capitalism from Wall Street—and Washington.

Judge Glock is the chief policy officer at the Cicero Institute, a contributing editor of City Journal, and the author of The Dead Pledge: The Origins of the Mortgage Market and Federal Bailouts, 1913–1939.

Martin Gurri is a former CIA analyst and the author of The Revolt of the Public and the Crisis of Authority in the New Millennium.

Heather Mac Donald is the Thomas W. Smith Fellow at the Manhattan Institute, a contributing editor of City Journal, and the author of The Diversity Delusion: How Race and Gender Pandering Corrupt the University and Undermine Our Culture.

Steven Malanga is the senior editor of City Journal and the George M. Yeager Fellow at the Manhattan Institute.

James B. Meigs is a senior fellow at the Manhattan Institute, a City Journal contributing editor, cohost of the How Do We Fix It? podcast, and the former editor of Popular Mechanics.

Andrey Mir is a media researcher and the author of Postjournalism and the Death of Newspapers.

Daniel Edward Rosen is a writer whose work has appeared in New York Magazine, Esquire, the New York Times, and other publications.

Harry Stein is a contributing editor of City Journal and the author of I Can’t Believe I’m Sitting Next to a Republican! and other books.

Robert VerBruggen is a fellow at the Manhattan Institute.

William Voegeli is the senior editor of the Claremont Review of Books and the author of Never Enough: America’s Limitless Welfare State.

Soundings:

Seth Barron is managing editor of The American Mind and the author of The Last Days of New York. Benedict Beckeld is a New York–based philosopher and the author of Western Self-Contempt: Oikophobia in the Decline of Civilizations. Milton Ezrati is a contributing editor at The National Interest, an affiliate of the Center for the Study of Human Capital at the University at Buffalo (SUNY), chief economist for Vested, and the author of Bite-Sized Investing. Connor O’Brien is a research and policy associate at the Economic Innovation Group.

Artists:

Mark Lennihan recently retired as a staff photographer after four decades with the Associated Press in New York. Alberto Mena is a graphic artist living in New York. For cover artist Robert Jones, see page 2.

Hamptons Diarist

Friendly Persuasion

Harry Stein

Well, it’s election time again—in our house, that special season when we get to toy with Democratic campaign callers.

See, my wife and I are what you might call DINOs—Dems In Name Only. Or maybe DFTHOI—Dems For the Hell Of It. Not that we started out that way. When we first registered to vote in the halcyon days of the early 1970s, Richard Nixon was in the White House and Saturday nights meant Mary Tyler Moore. Who could imagine being anything else? Still, as the years passed and, as they say, the party left us, we remained Democrats on the books. Why? I’d like to say that it was so that we could work to nudge the party back toward its JFK and Trumanesque roots. But closer to the truth is that, when arguing with someone shrugging off the latest Dem outrage—say, the savaging of Robert Bork, or Clarence Thomas, or Brett Kavanaugh—we got to say, “Look, I’ve been a Democrat my whole life, but. . . .”

Plus, as New Yorkers, we could vote in the only election that really counts—the Democratic primary—and do our part to help our once-great party fully transform into exactly what it seemed hell-bent on becoming. In 2004, I said, “Okay, guys, if this is really what you want”—and cast my presidential primary ballot for Al Sharpton. Rotten choice? Tell that to the 57,455 other Democrats who did the same, enabling the “civil rights leader,” famed of Tawana Brawley and Freddy’s Fashion Mart, to run a strong third in a nineman field. Arguably, Sharpton was not the greatest moral reprobate in the bunch. John Edwards finished second.

So, my course was set. If I couldn’t alter the drift of the party, I could at least have fun at its expense.

I don’t mean to be cynical. I know as well as every other Democrat that our democracy is under siege, and it dies in darkness, and . . . what is it that Biden’s deposed disinformation czarina trilled on TikTok? “It’s when a huckster takes some lies and makes them sound precocious.” I’m not sure what that means, but I think it pertains.

Not that election season is the only time I enjoy myself at the expense of random callers. Whenever our landline rings, it’s a good bet that it will be someone concerned about our car’s lapsed warranty, or a South Asian named “Tom Johnson” who has detected a problem with our Internet service. As a service to humanity, I’ll sometimes keep him on the line for 20 minutes or so, convinced that he’s about to get my credit-card info.

But all that’s practice for my favorite callers: the local Dem stalwarts. They’re always upbeat at first because, hey, we’re on the same team. “Hi, Harry, just calling to remind you to be sure to vote Tuesday for [insert Nancy Pelosi– or Charles Schumer–lite local pol].”

“Uh, sorry, but I don’t think I can.”

Instantly, there’s confusion on the other end, and with deep regret I explain myself: the candidate they’re pushing is simply not up to my hyperprogressive standards. It might be that he/she/they has not expressed him/her/themself with sufficient zeal in support of teaching critical race theory to kindergarteners. Or in support of trans athletes. Or of the green agenda. Or maybe I’m disturbed to have learned that the candidate eats meat. Or maybe I’ve heard that the candidate’s former spouse was in the military. Or—the one I’ve used most—the candidate is a man or straight and refused to step aside for a woman or gay in the primary.

Here’s the thing: the Democratic activist never objects. Because the vital element of the whole business is that my attack comes from the left, and I hold the moral high ground. The caller may halfheartedly go through the motions, but we both understand that no obligatory reading of talking points about guns, voter suppression, or even abortion can change the fact that I am the better person. If anything, it is the caller whose faith in the Democratic candidate has been shaken.

Who says that you can no longer have a productive conversation with anyone on the other side?