The Americans Who Saw All This Coming—but Were Ignored and Maligned

Cassandras make their
arguments in simple and straightforward ways. They’re earnest. They don’t bury
their politics in 12 layers of eye-rolling irony or pad it out with jargon or
clever-sounding phrases. All this sincerity would become negatively associated
with femininity throughout the Trump era. There would be a trend toward
“considering earnestness cringe,” to use Alex’s words. She told me: “I got a
little sinking feeling when ‘cringe’ became a common epithet. It’s like, ‘Do we
like the alternative?’”

Many in the media
have a cynical, mercenary,
“we all know this is bullshit, so let me let you in
on the con” attitude that, ironically, makes them less able to
understand the world, Alex observed. I think most anti-alarmists don’t have
strong values, so they assume no one else does, either. To them, political
commentary is a gig, it’s a game. Within that, they have preferences,
certainly, but not deep principles. People who really believe something—liberal
or illiberal—are alien to them.

“I think they like to
feel savvy,” Alex said. Anti-alarmists instinctively reject the simple,
female-coded narrative that we’re in a battle over core liberal principles.
They think they’re seeing through the professed values of the Republican base,
its commentators, Trump himself, to the grift, political strategy, economic
anxiety, and “legitimate concerns” with liberalism underneath. Again, they have
not seen the elephant. But even just logically, those pieces cannot hang
together. If Trump is just “performing for the crowd,” the crowd must want the
thing he is performing. Anti-alarmists thus imagine that the country is
becoming literally fascist without there being a single sincere fascist among
us. 

When they picture
Cassandras, they imagine we’re letting gender get in the way of our thinking.
That we (delicate liberals/women) are so appalled by Trump’s crassness (his
maleness) that we’re overreacting, not being rational. Again, this is
projection. In fact, it’s the anti-alarmists who are driven by their gender
hang-ups. The Cassandras’ case seems feminine to them, so they find them
annoying. More than that, they desperately want the approval of male-coded
groups, and the way they make their arguments reflects that. They want to be
clever, savvy, and cynical, and this makes them very poorly placed to
understand a world increasingly driven by deep values. 

Anti-alarmists love
to use highly gendered language—“hysterical,” “cringe”—evocative of sexist
stereotypes. Immediately after the 2016 election, Corey Robin launched into a furious attack on Cassandras from the left: “I loathe this kind of politics. At a very deep and
personal level. I loathe its operatic-ness, the way it performs concern and
care when all it really is about is narcissism.”

It
didn’t seem to matter that he had been wrong in thinking Trump could never win.
Robin would continue dismissing those who feared the worst, even
as events proved them right, again and again. Ironically, perhaps, given
their constant suggestion of sexist stereotypes, the anti-alarmists were the
ones putting their emotion before their reason. 

“The Fences Fail”

This male
insecurity–driven irrationality would persist for a decade. It would die down a
bit after the most egregious attacks on our politics. After January 6, “a lot
of reporters were genuinely shaken up about it,” Alex observed, “but it very
clearly didn’t last.” The usual anti-alarmist framings would just creep back
in.

It was commonplace in the 2024 election to hear talk about checks and balances, about how the guardrails would hold. Go back to the home invasion story. The
intruders are now trying to break down the bathroom door, throwing their full
weight against it. And they’re succeeding; the hinges are coming loose. All the
time, they are screaming the vilest death and rape threats at you and your
family. Yet your partner seems more aggravated by your fear. No, they won’t
call for help. The door will hold. Stop being hysterical. They don’t really
mean those things, maybe you should listen more to them, find common
ground. 

This seems utterly
absurd—and it is. Yet it is no less absurd than our last election. 

It’s not that the
media was entirely complacent. There are, as we have seen, some Cassandra
commentators. And there would be plenty of stories on Trump’s failings, or even
the odd editorial that did seem to get it. But the overall picture shows that
most in the industry, at some level, bought the anti-alarmists’ case more than
the Cassandra one. They just weren’t taking it seriously, as Alex observed:
“Going back to the 2016 election, just compare the endless amount of ink that
was spilled over Hillary’s emails or, more recently, how many words have been
typed on ‘Biden is old’ and so little on what are the actual stakes.”

It was obvious, in
advance, that the fascists would aggressively work to destroy the guardrails in
which so many placed so much faith. Trump spent his entire first term looking
for ways around or through them. “Like a velociraptor testing the fences,” as
Jennifer, a nonbinary, white 38-year-old from North Dakota, put it. This
metaphor has been around for a bit, and Sonia also referenced
it. Cassandras seem to like Jurassic Park, perhaps because the original
movie has, in Jeff Goldblum’s Ian Malcolm, one of the best depictions of a
Cassandra in modern fiction. His “Boy, do I hate always being right,” as the
T-Rex broke though the barrier, perfectly encapsulated how many of us feel. I’ve
also heard Ellen Ripley from Alien (Sigourney Weaver) mentioned in a similar vein. 

The fences are now
down, the alien loose on the ship. The bathroom door is off its hinges, and
you’re face to face with the intruders, your child behind you, husband cowering
in the bathtub. What do we do now? The Cassandra’s answer is a single word: Fight. 

“Fight”

Democrats “need to
make specific changes to fight fascism,” Megan said, mentioning Supreme Court
expansion. Ryan wanted “full opposition.” Cassandras were clear that Republican
bills or nominees should not get a single democratic vote unless normal
constitutional governance was restored. Sonia summed it up as, “I’d like them
to fight for their voters, and I’d like to see them fight for this country.”

Were they not? I
asked. Some, somewhat, some of the time, seemed to be the prevailing feeling. Illinois
Governor JB Pritzker was praised by seven interviewees
for his robust response to the administration sending the National Guard to his state.
Legislative leaders like Chuck Schumer and
Hakeem Jeffries, much less so. Cassandras want much more aggressive rhetoric
and actions to match. “People need to see Democrats literally putting their
bodies on the line,” said Irina, a 37-year-old Hispanic woman who worked in
immigration advocacy in New York for most of the Trump era and recently moved
to Edinburgh, Scotland (and, disclosure, my wife). If this was fascism, and
it is, then that was what was required. 

To the extent that
Democrats controlled law enforcement or had judicial power, they needed to be
arresting ICE agents who broke the law, or GOP officials who took bribes. Not
securing a quick conviction against Trump following January 6 had been a catastrophic
failure, they felt. “No more water, the fire next time,” Alex said, quoting an old spiritual. 

And it isn’t just the
Democratic Party; the entire institutional apparatus of liberalism has yet to
fully go on a war footing. “The right has this great ability to rally around
the people they think are righteous warriors,” Irina observed. They’ll praise
them, elevate them, fundraise for them, close ranks to protect them. When
someone shows courage on our side, we can often “leave them standing there by
themselves.”

Finally, Cassandras
understood our current circumstance as one of total war—across all aspects of
our culture. All of us need to be in the game, and they certainly were. Many
mentioned volunteering to help elect Democrats or advance other progressive efforts.
They would also try to persuade those around them. Erin’s husband was more
apolitical and, initially, had something of
an anti-alarmist reaction. She had challenged, pushed back, and had many long
conversations. “He’s getting there … I think he’s way more aware than a lot
of people I know. That’s because he has
three kids and a wife who won’t shut up about it.”

What of the
reactionary centrist strategy of making policy concessions to attract swing
voters? Cassandras just didn’t think it would work
as an election pitch. “What that has actually led to is no messaging, like
there’s no values, there’s no morals, there’s no thing we belong [to] and
believe [in] anymore,” said Melissa (a second Melissa), a white 46-year-old
who works in health care in Baltimore.

Several of the
Cassandras mentioned Ezra Klein as an example of someone pursuing the wrong
political strategy, so I paraphrased a line of his back to them: “We are going to
have to live here with each other, believing what we believe, disagreeing in
the ways we disagree…. I think we also have to be looking for what we can
recognize in each other.” What, I asked, was wrong with compromise and trying
to find common ground? 

“That statement
assumes we want to eradicate them the way they want to eradicate us … it’s
disingenuous and frankly a bit badly intentioned,” Irina replied. “I don’t find
civility a virtue when people wish me ill,” Melissa
(from Baltimore), who has a trans teenager, said. “You’re asking me to be civil
to people who are, in public, on TV, daily, discussing why I should be, if not
jailed, investigated for child abuse for supporting medical care affirmed by
major medical institutions and societies for my kid.” The Cassandras’ political
strategy flows directly from having seen the elephant, from having understood
that those on the right believe what they are telling us they believe. They are not
against finding common ground in principle, but don’t think it’s possible with
fascists. As Melissa put it, “I’m not opposed to discussion, I’m opposed to
having a discussion with people whose beginning point for the discussion is the
deprivation of my liberty.”

Fight. You may not
win, but at least fight. This is now the dominant view among core Democratic
voters. The Cassandras’ numbers have grown. Let’s say there were—and I’m just spitballing this—three million of them when Trump first ran: 1 percent of America; 10
percent of the Democratic primary electorate. Subsequent events created more.
Let’s say Charlottesville, January 6, and Project 2025 each created that many
again.

And they’ve not been
universally ignored. If each Cassandra pulled two or three people around them
from not liking Trump to strong opposition, that would mean there are 36 to 48
million Americans who want full opposition from their leaders and are ready to
take significant actions themselves. That’s the whole Democratic primary
electorate, and more on top. This would match polling showing most Democratic voters want
more aggressive opposition. Not a majority of the country, but at least equal
to the size of the deep MAGA zealots—and similarly distributed through all levels
of society. 

This has led to one
of the weirder dynamics of the Trump era: When we picture a disaster scenario,
we imagine those in charge trying to alert an apathetic public. But this seems
to be the reverse; liberalism’s leaders seem unsure, while the rank and file
are screaming at them to fight. Some seem to be getting the message—there’s a
clear incentive to do so, in the form of primary votes—but it’s still strange.
The troops are giving inspiring speeches to the general. 

You’re Not
Alone 

It’s often overlooked
due to the pervasive sexist assumption of female weakness, but Cassandras are
not merely bewailing bystanders. Cassandras fight. When it counts, they show
courage. 

The mythical
Cassandra, in one version of the story, grabbed an ax in one hand, a flaming
torch in the other, and rode a (real) horse toward the wooden one in an attempt
to destroy it. Ripley in Alien works better as a
female character, but she’s no damsel in distress, outthinking and eventually
outfighting the predator her crew mates so foolishly brought onboard. Jurassic
Park’s Grant and Malcolm are academics, not action heroes, and they have
many of the foibles of those who lead an intellectual life. But then the fences
fail, and to protect other people’s children, both will run into the rain to
face a monster from another world. 

I realized this is
the final thing that predisposes someone to being a Cassandra, and allows us to
complete our personality sketch: Cassandras are clear, critical thinkers who
can connect the dots between different types of bad behavior. They have encountered
the modern far right directly. They are earnest and have strong and consistent
political values. And they have a quiet courage.

Courage isn’t part of
Cassandras’ self-conception—again, they do not understand themselves as doing
or saying anything exceptional. But there is a resoluteness to them. They don’t
aspire to be cynical, savvy operators, they aspire to be good people. Some have
demonstrated physical courage—Yona received threats of violence from their family. The Cassandras who came out or started
transitioning in deeply red regions did so at some risk to themselves. Many
Cassandras are parents, and their fears for the country are tied up in what
they want for the next generation. When they talked about this, their voices
took on the direct, declarative tone of those who would, without question, walk
into traffic for their children. 

We all like to think
of ourselves as someone who’ll tell hard truths, or go against our groups’
consensus, but it’s much rarer than people imagine because it’s much harder
than people imagine. Humans are hardwired to look to others for a model to
follow. Just look at the anti-alarmists: Being a critical thinker with the
courage to say unpopular things is at the heart of the justificatory myth they
tell themselves. But these are virtues they have spectacularly failed to
demonstrate over the last decade.

It’s easy to be angry
about this. But at the end of the day, it’s all too human: taking the path of
least resistance at every turn, even if that road ultimately ends in disaster, especially if that’s what everyone else in your tribe is doing. Going along,
keeping your head down, is contagious. 

But so is
courage. 

It is hard to say
something that other people don’t want to hear, to be looked at like you’re
crazy. Or to speak up in an environment where free speech can no longer simply
be assumed. But it becomes so much easier when you have others with you. “I’m
very fortunate in that some family members kinda took a similar journey …
we’ve had each other, and that’s been exceedingly helpful” Ryan told me.

We owe the Cassandras
a great debt for being the first among us to raise their voices. It is largely
because of them that we are not alone when we do; that there remains a critical
mass of people, at all levels of society, resolutely opposed to our authoritarian
drift. An army ready, eager even, to fight, if liberalism’s generals can only
find it in themselves to actually lead it. 

It is because of them
there is hope.