JD Vance, Hillbilly Elegy postscript

I’ve been reflecting on my previous post on JD Vance’s powerful memoir Hillbilly Elegy, and have since been looking back through the book (even had to renew it at my local library, as it had reached its due back date). I’d like to add a few more points and quotations; I hope they’ll provide a bit more clarity and detail about what to expect from the book, and what I deduced about its strengths and weaknesses.

 First I’d recommend The Rest is Politics podcast. Rory Stewart (former Tory MP and leadership candidate – he lost to that Trump-light buffoon Boris Johnson) – and Alastair Campbell (former journalist, then press secretary and strategy adviser to Labour Prime Minister Tony Blair) present a regular discussion about current political and related topics. Coming from different positions on the political spectrum, they represent a refreshing ability to ‘agree disagreeably’, listening respectfully to the arguments the other presents, and taking issue with them productively – avoiding the polarised, often nastily aggressive polemic of so many online contributors to political discourse.

Their mini-series on JD Vance runs to six episodes, moving more or less chronologically through Vance’s life and career. The first, therefore, focuses largely on his childhood and early adult life, using Hillbilly Elegy as a basic reference point. They offer some perceptive and strongly expressed insights. It’s only available to subscribers to the podcast, but is well worth checking out if you’re able. Otherwise I’d recommend subscribing to the free platform (with ads), where their other episodes are available. Just use your usual means of accessing podcasts.

They begin by reminding us that before entering politics 3 years ago Vance said he was a ‘never Trump guy, I never liked him’, who likened the current president to Hitler, saying ‘he’s leading the white working class to a very dark place’, but subsequently reversed that position, saying he had been ‘wrong about’ Trump. He’s now foremost among the fawning sycophants who Trump has surrounded himself with in the White House. If he has to choose between his ‘intellectual statements and power he chooses power every time’ (R. Stewart).

He’s found it expedient (for his own ambitions) to side wholeheartedly now with the alt right, advocating that America would be best served by adopting the attitudes of the billionaire tech bros like Peter Thiel – who was one of the biggest financial backers to his early political career: that democracy has failed, and that America would be best served by a regime run by a CEO figure, or, even better, a monarch. At present that would mean, Vance poses as believing, DJT. But ultimately, he has his sights on that role for himself.

Bearing all this in mind as context, here are a few more snippets from the book that stood out for me when I revisited it.

I didn’t say much last time about what Vance says about his years in the marines (before he went to university). He says it was there that he learnt that his mind had previously somehow ‘confused lack of effort’ with ‘inability’; this is why he now says what he’d most like to change about the white working class is ‘the feeling that our choices don’t matter’. Seeing the joy shown by an Iraqi child to whom he’d given a simple gift summed up for him that his experience in the military taught him to value his home country as ‘the greatest’, and to ‘live like an adult’.

That doesn’t seem to be a lesson, however, that determines his behaviour now: witness that belittling performance with the president of Ukraine in February, which was like that of a schoolyard bully, a petulant, vindictive attack dog for his master.

Reflecting on his childhood upbringing, he says ‘Our homes are a chaotic mess’ – meaning in particular the constant violence, fighting, alcohol and drug abuse, serial maternal relationships (his mother was a typical example of creating a ‘revolving door of father figures’). He identifies one of the key reasons for Appalachian kids doing less well at school is this instability at home, evidently not an environment in which studying conscientiously is valued or encouraged. He even admits that he himself considered working hard at school was a feminine trait; for a tough hillbilly boy like him it would invite accusations that he was a ‘pussy’.

I wrote last time about the positive influence his ‘Mamaw’ (grandmother) had when he left his mother’s chaotic home. She and ‘Papaw’ represented one type of hillbilly person: ‘old-fashioned, quietly faithful [though he says Mamaw rarely attended church], self-reliant, hardworking’. Then there’s the other type, as exemplified by his Mom – ‘and, increasingly, the entire neighbourhood…consumerist, isolated, angry, distrustful’.

Of his love for a fellow student at Yale, Usha, who went on to become his wife and the mother to their three children, he says that he found it difficult at first to commit – he wasn’t good at relationships. He’d try to break up with her, but she’d resist; he’d scream and yell at her, then realised this is the behaviour of his mother that had so traumatised and upset him as a child. He was becoming, he realised, ‘the monster in your closet’.

I’ll end with a final thought. He talks about the ‘fight or flight’ impulses, often destructive, caused by childhood trauma (‘adverse childhood experiences’, psychologists call them), particularly prevalent in his hillbilly community, and the devastating impact these have on those children’s later lives: doing badly at school, relationship problems as adults, anxiety, depression, obesity – even ill health and diseases. ‘Chaos begets chaos’.

He suggests that such experiences caused him to give in to an instinctively violent reaction to any ‘perceived slight’ or insult. He cites a road rage incident he’d been involved in when driving with Usha. A driver in another car cut him up; he honked, and the guy ‘flipped [him] off’ – presumably gave him the finger gesture. Stopped at a red light, he opened his car door with the intention of confronting this driver, ‘and fighting the guy if necessary’. But ‘common sense prevailed’, he got back in the car, and Usha was proud of him for ‘not acting like a lunatic’ and ‘resisting my natural instinct’. The guy had ‘insulted my honor, and it was on that honor that nearly every element of my happiness depended as a child.’ Real men stand up and fight when involved in such incidents, was his community’s code.

So much of this provides useful context for and insights into the ways we see Vance pursuing his career as VP. That bullying and humiliating of President Zelensky in the oval office last February. His crude gibe about Democrats being led by ‘childless cat ladies’ who want to make Americans’ lives as miserable as their own. His advocacy of parenthood as a prerequisite for the right to vote, because only those who are parents have the wherewithal to merit a stake in the electoral system. This is the guy whose portrayal of his feckless, drug-addicted mother is hair-raisingly negative.

I’m suggesting, then, as Rory and Alastair conclude, that this man is fuelled by anger, resentment, scorching intolerance and vaulting ambition. He’s also far smarter than his boss, and this makes him so much more dangerous, as I concluded last time, for the Europe that he openly despises, and the wider world, about which he cares little if it doesn’t serve to advance his own interests, and, less importantly, those of his country. He says he loathes elites (especially the liberals), yet has been sponsored and encouraged by super-wealthy and powerful figures like Thiel.

His memoir is a fascinating read as a testament to his ultimate ability to escape from that miserable life of dysfunctional homes and general hopelessness, aided by some loving family members and friends, to rise to the Yale law school (and now the second highest political position in the land). In these posts I’ve also tried to show how it provides evidence of how his experience taught him to abandon any kind of ethics, principles or the usual moral code that we’d hope motivates those who lead our countries, and in Vance’s case, arguably the most powerful country in the world.

JD Vance, Hillbilly Elegy

JD Vance, Hillbilly Elegy. William Collins 2020, paperback; first published 2016. Library copy

The current Vice President of the US, JD Vance, wrote this when he was just 31. He only entered politics three years ago. How did he manage such a meteoric rise?

Vance moved to industrial Ohio from rural poverty in Kentucky, and was brought up in a frighteningly dysfunctional family. It was a rust belt town that was ‘haemorrhaging jobs and hope for as long as I can remember’. Few of his extended family attended college. Kids like him, he writes in the introduction, ‘face a grim future…if they’re lucky, they’ll avoid welfare, and if they’re unlucky, they’ll die of a heroin overdose, as happened to dozens in my small home town just last year’.

His mother had numerous failed marriages and relationships, and descended into addiction. All he knew in his home and community was violence, neglect and hopelessness. His mother would subject him to alternating periods of sentimental affection and violent outbursts.

On one occasion she told him as she drove them that she was going to crash the car and kill them both – he’d said or done something that annoyed her. He escaped and called for help at a stranger’s house. His mother was arrested, and only saved from jail by his lying on her behalf. That was the hillbilly code he had ingrained into him: stick up for your own.

In this highly unstable early period of his life he ‘nearly failed out of high school’ and ‘gave in to the deep anger and resentment harbored by everyone around me.’ Luckily for him, a ‘handful of loving people’ helped, encouraged and saved him: he’s not, he insists, a specially gifted person or a genius. The purpose of the book is, he suggests, that ‘I want people to understand what happens in the lives of the poor and the psychological impact that spiritual and material poverty has on their children.’

The tough Scots-Irish subgroup of immigrants to which he says his ancestors belonged (although others have disputed these claims about his ancestry), are the so-called hillbillies (after King William – ‘Billy’ – of Orange, the Protestant monarch invited to take the British throne to keep out the pesky Catholic line), ‘rednecks or white trash…I call them neighbours, friends, and family’. They have, he claims, that ‘intense sense of loyalty, a fierce dedication to family and country.’

This is the man who is now promulgating vindictive anti-immigrant policies; I suppose he doesn’t class his forebears as ‘real’ immigrants. But then he’s also converted to Catholicism, so can’t be described as particularly loyal to the values of his ancestors, or technically claim to be a hill-Billy.

The darker side of this mentality he outlines is that ‘we do not like outsiders or people who are different from us, whether the difference lies in how they look, how they act, or most important, how they talk.’ There are some pretty unpleasant, clearer terms for views like that. This is a community, he adds, leaving aside these factors, returning to his unconvincing attempt at sympathy, whose fortunes seem ‘dimmest, from low social mobility to poverty to divorce and drug addiction’; ‘my home’, he states, ‘is a hub of misery.’

After moving in with his grandmother, however, he experienced for the first time a period of relative stability. She encouraged him to do well at school. He had a spell in the marines as a media relations specialist. From there he went to university, then to Yale law school.

This was a different world, and he felt out of place – a ‘cultural emigrant from one group to the other’. But he learned the lesson that might explain his current political position: how to be a chameleon, do and say the right thing to impress powerful, influential people. Expediency, cold-eyed pragmatism. He adds, tellingly, that ‘sometimes I view members of the elite with an almost primal scorn.’ When he pauses the academic references and the polished prose style, his visceral anger and resentment burn through this scathing memoir.

He claims to be writing not just a memoir of his rise from misery and turmoil to success, acceptance and wealth, but also a sociological analysis of why the rural white poor communities like his turned away from voting Democrat to supporting the Republican party, and, by inference, though his name isn’t mentioned, Donald Trump.

What then is his message? He portrays these ‘poor white trash’ as bringing about much of their own deprivation and failure – a conservative attitude that’s quick to blame the poor for their own plight. He describes many of them as lazy, workshy, ‘welfare queens’, people who are quick to blame the government, the rise of China as an economic force and the decline of American industry, anyone and anything rather than take responsibility for their own lives. He mentions a young man and his pregnant girlfriend who worked in the same warehouse as him when he was young; they were habitually late for work, took unfeasibly long rest breaks, and were eventually sacked for being so feckless and irresponsible. Young men like that, he says, are ‘immune to hard work’, lack agency, yet feel the victims.

People in his community were no good at budgeting. They’d buy expensive items like cars and TVs that they couldn’t afford. People on welfare had cell phones when he, who was working while studying, couldn’t afford one. At Christmas they’d splash out on costly gifts for their children, gambling on getting a tax refund or taking out a punitive payday loan to cover the cost.

At the same time, paradoxically, he lauds what he sees as their ‘good’ points (the loyalties mentioned above), finding fault with a system in which family instability and opioid addiction make it almost impossible for most kids like him to get out of the poverty trap they’re stuck in. Public policy can help, he concedes, but ‘there is no government that can fix these problems for us. We created them, and only we can fix them.’

There are some glaring inconsistencies in these conclusions, then. It’s possible from reading this depressingly miserable memoir to perceive a man who’s proud of his own achievement – maybe even a bit arrogant and boastful about it. Yet he’s also full of simmering disgust with what he sees as the violent, profligate people from his background who he also claims to admire and sympathise with. He insists that they’re both not to blame for their own misery, but also irresponsible and habitually making the bad choices that he managed eventually to avoid.

This is the man who’s just a heartbeat away from the presidency. I can see why he changed his anti-Trump stance of a few years ago, and now chooses to voice the venomous opinions he claims to espouse. He’s a clever man who will say and do whatever is necessary to climb to the top, and this memoir reveals why he’s such a dangerous, angry force, not just for American politics and society, but for the world.