For many years, going back to around the end of Obama’s first term, I’ve had a feeling about the dynamic between the Republicans and the Democrats — specifically, that it reminds me of an abusive marriage.
This comes from direct personal experience: My biological father was a monster who gleefully mistreated my mother when he wasn’t emotionally tormenting or physically beating me and my brother. And for my own part, I showed I hadn’t really learned from my childhood when I spent a few years married to a sad and angry person who actively worked to sabotage my relationships with friends and family so she could drag me down as a full-time collaborator in her black hole of despair. (I’m much better now, thank you.)
In that context, the behavior of both sides makes a lot of sense. The GOP is an aggressive gaslighter, claiming to be defending elections while eroding universal suffrage, pretending to be financially responsible while hollowing out the middle class and destabilizing the economy, waving the flag of law and order while assembling administrations vastly more criminally corrupt than their opposition, and on and on. Whenever the Dems raise a voice of disagreement or take tentative steps toward a progressive policy, the GOP’s wild overreactions sound very much like the abuser’s rationalization: “It’s your fault I’m punching you in the face; I don’t like it but you asked for it.”
And the Dems, for their part, are the fearful, desperate appeasers, forming political strategies not in the interest of moving forward but on the basis of avoiding getting punched again. They implicitly validate the GOP’s arguments and accept the implied reality behind their talking points by responding to them directly instead of calling them on the begged questions and working to establish an alternative foundational perspective. They pre-emptively filter and dilute their own agenda in anticipation of the GOP’s negative response, they apologize for their actions as provocations, and they deny to outside observers the hostility and maltreatment they constantly receive. “The GOP isn’t that bad,” they say, “it’s just going through a phase, and if we can reach out to them, show them we’re willing to compromise, we just know they’ll work with us again.” And this happens over and over, the Republicans constantly on the attack, whittling away at the foundations of stable governance, and the Dems occasionally being called on to clean up GOP messes and restore a semblance of normalcy without the ability to claim credit or describe openly what’s happening.
The thing is, though, I’ve avoided talking about this too much, or too directly, because I’m aware that as a cishet male, it’s distasteful and problematic for me to make blunt pronouncements about marital abuse. Especially coming from my side of the divide in cultural power, casual statements about this deeply fraught topic can come off as detached and patronizing and gross. You’ll note that, even here, I was careful to couch my perception as coming straight from my own personal life, because I don’t want this analogy to feel like a mere “observation” from a perch of condescension. I’m also very conscious that, like every analogy, it’s not a perfect match for reality. And because it can be nitpicked, it’s vulnerable to angry fault-finding rebuttals from people who take offense from all sides (conservatives: how dare you accuse me of being a wife-beater; women’s advocates: how dare you minimize this tragedy by reducing it in your metaphor).
For those reasons, I’ve kept this mostly to myself, using it as a private lens for looking at and understanding the political dynamic, and arguing indirectly from the insights it provides. For example, Donald Trump is a literal abusive husband and misogynist, the ur-pig among chauvinist pigs, so it makes perfect sense why the GOP would actualize its inner self by latching onto him so strongly. And the Dems get traction against Trump and his minions not when they normalize his breaks from political custom and human decency but when they outright reject and mock his delusions and puncture his inflated bubble of power, the same way one confronts a puffed-up bully.
So it was intensely gratifying to read Rebecca Solnit’s recent essay about the Left “reaching out” to the Right and see her come to the exact same analogy. “I grew up in an era where wives who were beaten were expected to do more to soothe their husbands and not challenge them,” she writes, “and this carries on as the degrading politics of our abusive national marriage. … Feminism is good for everything, and it’s a good model for seeing that this is both outrageous and a recipe for failure. It didn’t work in marriages, and it never was the abused partner’s job to prevent the abuse by surrendering ground and rights and voice.” And then this is picked up and elaborated in the comments; one poster says that if one accepts this model, “it becomes clear why Democrats have to do all the emotional labor: the compromising, the reaching out, the understanding, the conciliation, the apologizing.”
The point of all this is to sum up my perspective, as follows: The GOP’s current line of argument, where they grudgingly concede the loss but warn the Dems that the concerns of Trump voters “better be listened to,” along with the Dems’ agonized internal debate about the extent to which they should “reach out” to those voters and “make peace” with them, feels almost exactly like a spouse who has sobered up and found himself on the lawn, locked out of the house, and is now begging to be re-admitted, while his partner watches quietly from a window, wondering whether to open the door.
The GOP will never stop trying to get back into the house, and Lord knows they may still find a way to get inside on their own. But it would be madness for the Dems to willingly open the latch and issue an invitation.