Whenever I teach undergraduate survey courses in American history, those are two questions I ask during the semester’s first lecture. Once in awhile, I’ll get an answer that surprises me, but I typically get variations of the old line “so we don’t repeat our mistakes.”
Ideally, it would be wonderful if we learned from our past misdeeds and never committed those transgressions again. But humans are humans, and we have a knack for committing our sins on repeat. (Cut scene to me in a McDonald’s drive-thru line wearing a look of self-loathe.)
Historical awareness is, unfortunately, no antidote against patterns of destruction.
Indeed, there are many correct responses to the question about the value of knowing history, and I love talking through some of those answers with students. My favorite — the one that helps them engage in class the most, anyway — is that by developing an appreciation for the past, we can gain a comprehension for our modern lay of the land.
Quite often, society asks itself, “How did we get here?” And the best way to arrive at an accurate answer is with a clear-eyed analysis of what’s in the rearview mirror.
Which brings me to the 2016 presidential primaries.
Commenters, politicians, operatives, and millions of everyday voters are scratching their heads, wondering how in the world we woke up in this insane asylum. To that end, there has been no shortage of articles and television interviews trying to explain today’s tumult by flipping back through the pages of political history.
Now, you might agree with some treatments of the primaries more than others, but I’d argue that this approach is the most beneficial approach: when themes and trends from yesterday facilitate “lightbulb moments” today.
On the opposite end of the helpful spectrum, the most inappropriate use of history is comparing current political candidates to some of the worst people who have ever lived in hopes of smearing their names. “See, they’re just like Hitler!” It happens all the time, particularly during intraparty Republican squabbling.
Two Sundays ago on Meet the Press, Donald Trump’s right hand man, Roger Stone, equated Ted Cruz’s delegate maneuvering to “gestapo tactics.” When host Chuck Todd responded, “that’s a strong word,” Stone brushed him off and kept on talking about the imperfections of the primary system. Ridiculously, Stone and other Trump backers are able to draw a straight line between a presidential candidate hustling for delegate support and the Nazi regime’s murderous secret police.
Anti-Trump folks, too, employ the same hollow tactic. Seeking to place the GOP front-runner’s knack for authoritarian remarks in an historical context, it’s become popular for his detractors to compare him to former Italian dictator Benito Mussolini (that is, when they’re not using a Third Reich analogy themselves).
Of course, Trump has provided plenty of fodder for that likeness, most notably when he was duped into retweeting a Mussolini quote to his 7-million-plus Twitter followers. But it’s ridiculous to argue that Trump is like an Italian fascist because he’s unaware of famous fascist lines.
Associations like these are complete garbage — and they’re also incredibly lazy. Sure, it looks horrible when Trump asks event attendees to raise their hands and swear they’ll vote for him, but there are plenty of details separating Orlando, Fla., 2016 from the Nuremburg Rallies of the 1920s and 1930s.
History can be a powerful and helpful tool. But its true worth is only realized when used suitably. As for the people making careless comparisons to villains, history should remember them as imbeciles.
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