Pat Buchanan is more than a conservative—he’s Nixon meets Spengler.
By Michael Brendan Dougherty
Patrick J. Buchanan stood beside a window in Chicago’s Conrad Hilton hotel during the 1968 Democratic convention and looked over the panorama of dissent raging below. At about two in the morning, the phone rang—it was Nixon. “Buchanan, what is happening there?”
“I said, ‘Listen’,” Buchanan recalls, then pantomimes how he stuck
the phone out the hotel window. “All you could hear was ‘F-you Daley!
F-you Daley!’”
“That’s what’s going on,” he told Nixon, and hung up. He smiled taking it in.
Later the police, tired of the verbal abuse being hurled at them,
charged into the park and at the protestors, looking for a brawl. “The
cops shouldn’t have done it,” says Buchanan, remembering the savage way
they beat the demonstrators. “But the country saw the pictures of cops
racing into the park. And the country was with the cops.”
The continental plates of America’s politics were grinding into new
positions beneath Buchanan’s feet. That shift tilted ethnic whites and
eventually Southern evangelicals into the Republican coalition, awarding
the party five of the next six presidential elections, including two
49-state victories. In a phrase crafted by Buchanan, Nixon called it
“the great silent majority.” Buchanan prefers to call it the New
Majority.
In the generalizations of political history, Buchanan—as a wordsmith
and veteran of two Republican White Houses—is lumped with the broad
postwar conservative movement. Since the Cold War ended and that
movement degenerated into a set of interlocking cliques, he has been
identified more finely as a “paleoconservative.” The man who wrote
incendiary editorials on Goldwater’s behalf for the St. Louis Globe Democrat,
who attends Latin Mass regularly, and who injected the term “culture
war” into the heart of political discourse is certainly a conservative.
But that label is incomplete.
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