Gut Check on J.D. Vance

There is a place for visceral dislike in politics.

I was reminded of that last night watching J.D. Vance speak at the Republican National Convention. Of course, I’d had a head start on not liking Mr. Vance because I read his book, Hillbilly Elegy, well, listened to it, several years ago while painting the side of my house.

I found his love-hate thing about Appalachia and his family’s roots to be tortured and tedious. But it was only later, when he ran for office, that I figured out that all his faux angst was meant to create the backstory for his success. Because, you know, your glory is all the more glorious if you started ten steps back and not just six.

J.D. Vance’s mother was in the audience last night. Her addiction played a central role in her son’s book, but it would be unkind to suggest that she was there at the RNC as his prop, that her recovery was now his tool. That’s how it felt but maybe because I disliked him in the first place. He seemed to me to have used other people’s pain and poverty to set himself apart. He went to Yale, you know, so he can be from them but not of them anymore.

There are likeable Republicans. My visceral dislike isn’t universally applied to the entire group. Even the guy in the MAGA hat and hideous anti-Biden t-shirt pets my dog every day and I try to find a civil connection in my pup stopping at this guy’s knee to wait for his attention. My dog is oblivious to politics, although he wouldn’t like J.D. Vance. He’d steer clear, not be fooled.

My gut tells me J.D. Vance is a fake, an imposter, a pretender who built a profitable persona on other people’s misery. I trust my gut.