JD Vance may be conniving and off-putting, but his most lethal tools in this election are the narratives he spins to promote an alarming political agenda.
Vance’s trek through the minefield that is U.S. politics is like a hero’s journey — the plot arc of literary greats like Odyssesus, Beowulf and Dorothy Gale. His story of leaving Ohio for Appalachia to escape a childhood marked by addiction and poverty, serving in the military, and attending Yale before ascending to the political stage mimics the classic trajectory of overcoming adversity and achieving greatness. Unlike these popular literary heroes, though, the lesson Vance gleaned from his expedition was not to help people like himself; it was to consolidate his own power at the expense of others.
Vance uses his own compelling story to snake his way into the hearts and hopes of so many people — he is the American Dream personified. He did the seemingly impossible and pulled himself up by his bootstraps and onto the front door of the White House. It is appealing to anyone, especially working people wanting the same future for their children and their neighbors. His story is remarkable, and Vance knows it. Because he sold it.
Vance’s autobiography “Hillbilly Elegy,” hitting shelves across the U.S. in 2016, tells Vance’s story of his difficult adolescence. In the book, he extrapolates his Kentuckian-upbringing to explain how a rebellious and vociferous politician like Donald Trump could have such a tight grip on white, working-class voters. For many people, Vance explained the inexplicability of a Trump presidency.
It should shock nobody that the Dorothy Gale of American politics found his higher calling in government — at the end of the day, politicians are excellent storytellers; they sell voters on a fable of the next four years. They promise to work for a future where groceries cost less, where kids are safe at school, where income is taxed less or any other combination of key issues that might appeal to the single mother in Florida or the steel worker in Pennsylvania.
For instance, during the Vice Presidential Debate, when asked about regulating immigration, Vance told the tale of the disempowered law enforcement, unable to stop people from crossing the border. He talked about hospitals, schools and housing markets overrun by illegal immigrants in Springfield, Ohio. He told all of these stories about victims of immigration, but failed to mention that the large number of Haitian immigrants in Springfield have temporary protected status. These are not criminals taking over midwestern towns, these are people fleeing instability and conflict.
This strategy of omitting key details goes far beyond textbook fear mongering. On the topic of abortion, Vance argued that the problem at the core of the reproductive healthcare debate is that women do not trust the government. Did he ever consider why women might not trust the government? Of course not. Instead, he told the story of an unnamed woman that he knows and loves, who had to have an abortion because she was in an abusive relationship. Did he suggest a way for the government to support people trying to leave abusive relationships? Nope. Instead, he continued to harp on his pro-family stance and highlight the “barbaric” choice women make to terminate pregnancies.
However, unlike wicked witches and cowardly lions, these tales must be based on some version of the truth — not even the best politicians can sell ideas of grandeur without facts. It is clear Vance does not care about the truth, if lying on the Vice Presidential Debate stage and whining when moderators called him out on it is any indication (and it should be an indication). The difference between Vance and any other storytelling politician is that he tries to hide the truth with narrative.
If Vance truly cared about the people whose rights he claims to champion, working Americans, he would not blame them for their circumstances. He would not use his own story to relate to them and then stab them in the back by opposing policies like universal healthcare or taking a muddled stance on unions, both of which would benefit blue-collar workers and help them get their foot in the door. He would not use their stories for political fodder and then neglect their pleas for help. It is this hypocrisy and willingness to benefit from the underprivileged that makes Vance’s actions profoundly unsettling.
Vance tells that tale of a brighter future so effectively it is nearly impossible to detect the deceit, but it is not just a tool to explain policy — it is a calculated strategy to gain power at the expense of the very citizens he claims to fight for.
Until Vance’s unnerving blue-eyed stare manages to hypnotize the American public, he can only gain power from the election. At the ballot box, most voters will not think about the specific policy — they will think of the story about how that policy will change their life. His stories, as fallacious as they may be, stick with people.
Recall that his narrative retelling of politics is the very basis of Vance’s career — perhaps Trump hoped that Vance could spin enough yarn to turn an attempted coup d’etat into an eager demonstration of support.
While Vance’s childhood may mirror Dorothy Gale’s quest, today he bears more resemblance to the Wizard of Oz — spewing false promises from behind a sheet.
It is up to voters to pull back the curtain and see through the smoke and mirrors to reject the deceit and demand truth.