“While historians have displayed impressive powers
of imagination in creating empathetic accounts of the past, they have seldom
done so in considering the character of conservative lives and ideas.” —Columbia
University professor of history Alan Brinkley (1949-2019), “The Problem of
American Conservatism,” American
Historical Review, April 1994
The history department at Columbia University
was one of the principal factors attracting me to the school in the late 1970s.
Looking back on my four years being taught by its excellent faculty, I have no
regrets whatsoever.
Well, okay, maybe one. Because he didn’t arrive at
Morningside Heights until nearly a decade after my graduation, I never had a
chance to take a course with or even attend a lecture by Alan Brinkley.
Brinkley—who died on Monday at age 70—quickly became
one of the university’s most acclaimed teachers, and even, despite his
professed distaste for academic administration, even provost of the school for
a couple of years.
His influence on a generation at the university,
then, was considerable. But so was his impact on how historians came to view
liberalism, conservatism, and the catastrophe that redefined these movements
for nearly the next century: the Great Depression.
Brinkley’s article for American Historical Review might
not have significantly kick-started the intensive study of conservatism that
has occurred in the last two decades (surely, the electoral success of Ronald
Reagan might have had something to do with that).
But it instilled a sense in
academe that conservatism should be examined in all its varieties, with at
least something approaching the same rigor and seriousness accorded liberalism.
But Brinkley had already exerted influence early in
his career through his first book, Voices of Protest (1982), an
outgrowth of his doctoral thesis that ended up winning him the National Book
Award for history.
Though conceived as an analysis of two populist movements of
the past—Huey Long’s Share Our Wealth Society and Fr. Charles Coughlin’s
National Union for Social Justice—it should be read now as a warning of the discontents
with the latent potential to disrupt the American political landscape that was
finally realized in the last Presidential race:
“This casual mingling of themes commonly
associated with opposite political poles did not originate with the Long and
Coughlin movements; nor did it end with them. The populists, from whom both men
derived so much ideological strength, had exhibited similar contradictions; so
did later political phenomena: the George Wallace movement of the 1960s and the
New Right of the 1980s, which combined populist rhetoric with cultural
conservatism. Underlying all such movements in varying degrees has been a
common impulse: the fear of concentrated power, the traditional American
resistance to being governed—whether by private interests or by public
institutions.”
And this sentence seems
especially ominous:
“Were
these many protest movements to unite into a single force, they might be
capable of toppling the entire structure of traditional party politics."
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