CRB: Let's start by talking about Donald Trump and you. In the first sentence of the first chapter of your book Making It, recently republished by the New York Review of Books Press, of all people—
NP: Hell froze over!
CRB: —you write famously, “One of the longest journeys in the world is the journey from Brooklyn to Manhattan….” How does your journey compare to Trump's journey from Queens to Manhattan?
NP: Well, of course that's very dated now. Nobody can afford to live in Brooklyn anymore. Escaping from Brooklyn was the great thing in my young life, but I have grandchildren who would like nothing better than to have an apartment there.
Trump's move from Queens to Manhattan was, as I understand the real estate business, a quite daring move. Maybe that was the longest journey in the world because the Manhattan real estate world is a world unto its own. The competition is very fierce, you're dealing with many, many clever people. I think it was Tom Klingenstein who said he always thought Trump was Jewish because he fit in so well with the real-estatenicks in Manhattan, most of whom were, and are, Jewish.
CRB: What does that comparison mean?
NP: I take it as an affectionate remark. He had the qualities that all those guys had in common, and you might have thought, other things being equal, that he was one of them. And in a certain sense he was, but not entirely. I know a few of those guys and they're actually very impressive. You have to get permits, and you have to deal with the mob, and you have to know how to handle workers who are very recalcitrant, many of whom are thuggish. You're in a battlefield there, so you have to know how to operate politically as well as in a managerial capacity, and how to sweet talk and also how to curse. It's not an easy field to master.
CRB: Some people say that Trump has a blue collar sensibility. Do you see that?
NP: I do see it and even before Trump—long before Trump—actually going back to when I was in the army in the 1950s, I got to know blue-collar Americans. I'm “blue collar” myself, I suppose. I'm from the working class—my father was a milk man. But in the army I got to know people from all over the country and I fell in love with Americans—they were just great! These guys were unlike anybody I had ever met in New York or in England or France. They were mostly blue-collar kids and I think Trump has, in that sense, the common touch. That's one of the things—it may be the main thing—that explains his political success. It doesn't explain his success in general, but his political success, yes. Also—I often explain this to people—when I was a kid, you would rather be beaten up than back away from a fight. The worst thing in the world you could be called was a sissy. And I was beaten up many times. Trump fights back. The people who say: “Oh, he shouldn't lower himself,” “He should ignore this,” and “Why is he demeaning himself by arguing with some dopey reporter?” I think on the contrary—if you hit him, he hits back; and he is an equal opportunity counter puncher. It doesn't matter who you are. And actually Obama, oddly enough, made the same statement: “He pulls a knife, you pull a gun.”
CRB: “The Chicago way.” Your own attitude towards Trump as a political figure has changed over time. How would you describe that evolution?
NP: Well, when he first appeared on the scene, I disliked him because he resembled one of the figures that I dislike most in American politics and with whom I had tangled, namely Pat Buchanan—I had tangled with him in print and I had accused him of anti-Semitism. And he came back at me, and I came back at him. And it was a real street fight. And I said to my wife: “This guy [Trump] is Buchanan without the anti-Semitism,” because he was a protectionist, a nativist, and an isolationist. And those were the three pillars of Pat Buchanan's political philosophy. How did I know he wasn't an anti-Semite? I don't know—I just knew. And he certainly wasn't and isn't, and I don't think he's a racist or any of those things.
CRB: But you still think he's an isolationist and a nativist?
NP: No, that's what's so interesting. At first, I disliked him because I thought he was a Buchananite, and then when he said that they lied us into Iraq—that put me off, because that is itself one of the big lies of the century, and no matter how often it's been refuted and refuted decisively, it just stays alive. And when Trump committed himself to that, I thought, “well, to hell with him.”
CRB: You refuted that lie in your book World War IV.
NP: Yes, and I'm actually quite proud of that section of the book—it certainly convinced me! So for a while I was supporting Marco Rubio and I was enthusiastic about him. As time went on, and I looked around me, however, I began to be bothered by the hatred that was building up against Trump from my soon to be new set of ex-friends. It really disgusted me. I just thought it had no objective correlative. You could think that he was unfit for office—I could understand that—but my ex-friends' revulsion was always accompanied by attacks on the people who supported him. They called them dishonorable, or opportunists, or cowards—and this was done by people like Bret Stephens, Bill Kristol, and various others. And I took offense at that. So that inclined me to what I then became: anti-anti-Trump. By the time he finally won the nomination, I was sliding into a pro-Trump position, which has grown stronger and more passionate as time has gone on.
On the question of his isolationism, he doesn't seem to give a damn. He hires John Bolton and Mike Pompeo who, from my point of view, as a neoconservative (I call myself a “paleo-neoconservative” because I've been one for so long), couldn't be better! And that's true of many of his other cabinet appointments. He has a much better cabinet than Ronald Reagan had, and Reagan is the sacred figure in Republican hagiography. Trump is able to do that because, not only is he not dogmatic, he doesn't operate on the basis of fixed principles. Now some people can think that's a defect—I don't think it's a defect in a politician at a high level. I remember thinking to myself once on the issue of his embrace of tariffs, and some of my friends were very angry. I said to myself for the first time, “Was thou shalt not have tariffs inscribed on the tablets that Moses brought down from Sinai? Maybe Trump has something on this issue, in this particular”—and then I discovered to my total amazement that there are a hundred tariffs (I think that's right) against America from all over the world. So the idea that we're living in a free trade paradise was itself wrong, and in any case, there was no reason to latch onto it as a sacred dogma.
And that was true of immigration. I was always pro-immigration because I'm the child of immigrants. And I thought it was unseemly of me to oppose what not only had saved my life, but had given me the best life I think I could possibly have had. I wrote a book called My Love Affair with America, and that states it accurately. So I was very reluctant to join in Trump's skepticism about the virtues of immigration.
CRB: And you used to debate immigration with John O'Sullivan and Peter Brimelow when they were at National Review in the 1990s, I guess. They were turning NR's position on immigration around in a sort of anticipation of Trump.
NP: Yes, though if anyone deserves the epithet “rootless cosmopolitan,” which has been applied to the Jews, it's John O'Sullivan, whom I'm very fond of.
CRB: Do you find yourself repudiating the arguments you were maintaining then, or do you think the circumstances have changed?
NP: Well, both. I mean it's hard for me to repudiate those arguments because I think there was a lot of validity in them. We weren't arguing about illegal immigration. We were arguing about immigration. And one of my favorite stories about immigration had to do with Henry James. Henry James was taken on a tour of the Lower East Side in 1905—I forget the name of the sociologist who took him; it was a WASP of course. The Lower East Side was then a heavily Jewish ghetto, and James visited a café filled with artists who were speaking animatedly in English and in Yiddish. And he said to himself, “Well, if these people stay,” (or something like that) “whatever language they speak, we shall not know it for English.” And I would then point out, well, the only people who are reading Henry James and indeed writing doctoral dissertations on him are the grandchildren of those people. So that was something to be borne in mind. But that was on the issue of immigration in general.
In 1924, immigration virtually stopped and the rationale for the new policy was to give newcomers a chance to assimilate—which may or may not have been the main reason—but it probably worked. What has changed my mind about immigration now—even legal immigration—is that our culture has weakened to the point where it's no longer attractive enough for people to want to assimilate to, and we don't insist that they do assimilate. When I was a kid, I lived in a neighborhood that had immigrant Jews, immigrant Italians (mainly from Sicily), and immigrant blacks—that is, they had come up from the South recently. It was incidentally one of the things that made me a lifelong skeptic about integration because far from understanding each other and getting to know each other, all we did was fight. In any case, the stuff that went on in the public schools! I had an incident when I went to school at the age of five. Although I was born in Brooklyn, I was bilingual and Yiddish was in a sense my first language, so I came to school with a bit of an accent. And the story was: I was wandering around in the hall, and the teacher said: “Where are you going?” And I said: “I'm goink op de stez.” And they slapped me into a remedial speech class. Now, if anyone did that now, federal marshals would materialize out of the wall and arrest them for cultural genocide. But, of course, they did me an enormous favor. I imagine my life would have been very different if I had not been subjected to that “speech therapy,” as they called it. And parents then did not object—on the contrary, they were very humble. If the teacher thought so, and the school thought so, they must be right. That was the culture of the prewar period. You certainly wanted your children to be Americans—real Americans—even if you wanted them to hold on to their ancestral culture as well. You were free to do that on your own time and your own dime. And it worked. It worked beautifully.
So when I got into the army and I began meeting other kinds of Americans—native Americans—so to speak, I was floored. I didn't like the army particularly, but I got on very well with the guys I met. Their humor, and their irreverence, and their camaraderie—it was great!
CRB: Well, there you go. So you began by looking at Trump as a kind of warmed over Pat Buchanan—
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