In 1967, antiwar activists were groping their way toward answers to similar questions. At least we have one advantage. We can look back at their answers and use them to help make sense of our own situation. As it happens, theirs are still depressingly relevant because the systemic malady that produced the Vietnam War is a close cousin to the one that has now given us President Trump.
Diagnosing Our Deep Sickness
The Sixties spawned many analyses of the ills of the American system. The ones that marked that era as revolutionary concluded that the heart of the problem was a distinctive mode of consciousness -- a way of seeing, experiencing, interpreting, and being in the world. Political and cultural radicals converged, as historian Todd Gitlin concluded, in their demand for a transformation of "national if not global (or cosmic) consciousness."
Nor was such a system uniquely American, they discovered. It was nothing less than the hallmark of Western modernity.
In exploring the nature of that "far deeper malady," Martin Luther King, for instance, turned to the European philosopher Martin Buber, who found the root of that consciousness in modernity's "I-It" attitude. From early childhood, he suggested, we learn to see other people as mere objects ("its") with no inherent relation to us. In the process, we easily lose sight of their full humanity. That, in turn, allows us free rein to manipulate others (or as in Vietnam simply destroy them) for our own imagined benefit.
King particularly decried such dehumanization as it played itself out in American racism: "Segregation substitutes an 'I-it' relationship for the 'I-thou' relationship and ends up relegating persons to the status of things." But he condemned it no less strongly in the economic sphere, where it affected people of all races. "The profit motive, when it is the sole basis of an economic system," he said, "encourages a cutthroat competition and selfish ambition that inspire men to be more I-centered than thou-centered... Capitalism fails to realize that life is social."
Another influential thinker of that era was a German-American philosopher, Herbert Marcuse. (Some radicals even marched in rallies carrying signs reading "Marx, Mao, Marcuse.") For him, the dehumanization of modernity was rooted in the way science and technology led us to view nature as a mere collection of "things" having no inherent relation to us -- things to be analyzed, controlled, and if necessary destroyed for our own benefit.
Capitalists use technology, he explained, to build machines that take charge both of the workers who run them and of aspects of the natural world. The capitalists then treat those workers as so many things, not people. And the same hierarchy -- boss up here, bossed down there -- shows up at every level of society from the nuclear family to the international family of nations (with its nuclear arsenals). In a society riddled with structures of domination, it was no accident that the U.S. was pouring so much lethal effort into devastating Vietnam.
As Marcuse saw it, however, the worst trick those bosses play on us is to manipulate our consciousness, to seduce us into thinking that the whole system makes sense and is for our own good. When those machines are cranking out products that make workers' lives more comfortable, most of them are willing to embrace and perpetuate a system that treats them as dominated objects.
Marcuse would not have been surprised to see so many workers voting for Donald Trump, a candidate who built his campaign on promises of ever more intensified domination -- of marginalized people at home, of "bad hombres" needing to be destroyed abroad, and of course, of nature itself, especially in the form of fossil fuels on a planet where the very processes he championed ensured a future of utter devastation.
One explanation for the electoral success of Trump was the way he appealed to heartland white working-class voters who saw their standard of living and sense of social status steadily eroding. Living in a world in which hierarchy and domination are taken for granted, it's hardly surprising that many of them took it for granted as well that the only choice available was either to be a dominator or to be dominated. Vote for me, the billionaire businessman (famed for the phrase "You're fired!") implicitly promised and you, too, will be one of the dominators. Vote against me and you're doomed to remain among the dominated. Like so many other tricks of the system, this one defied reality but worked anyway.
Many Trump voters who bought into the system will find themselves facing even harsher domination by the 1%. And as the Trumpian fantasy of man dominating nature triggers inevitable twenty-first-century blowback on a planetary scale, count on growing environmental and social disasters to bring disproportionate pain to those already suffering most under the present system. In every arena, as Marcuse explained back in the 1960s, the system of hierarchy and domination remains self-perpetuating and self-escalating.
"The Long and Bitter But Beautiful Struggle for a New World"
What's the remedy for this malady, now as lethally obvious at home as it once was in Vietnam?
"The end of domination [is] the only truly revolutionary exigency," Marcuse wrote. True freedom, he thought, means freeing humanity from the hierarchical system that locks us into the daily struggle to earn a living by selling our labor. Freedom means liberating our consciousness to search for our own goals and being able to pursue them freely. In Martin Luther King's words, freedom is "the opportunity to fulfill my total capacity untrammeled by any artificial barrier."
How to put an end not only to America's war in Vietnam, but to a whole culture built on domination? King's answer on that April 4th was deceptively simple: "Love is somehow the key that unlocks the door... The first hope in our inventory must be the hope that love is going to have the last word."
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