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November 17, 2016

The Deep History Behind Trump’s Rise

How a ruthless network of super-rich ideologues killed choice and destroyed
people’s faith in politics

By George Monbiot


The events that led to Donald Trump’s election started in England in 1975. At a
meeting a few months after Margaret Thatcher became leader of the Conservative
party, one of her colleagues, or so the story goes, was explaining what he saw as the
core beliefs of conservatism. She snapped open her handbag, pulled out a dog-eared
book, and slammed it on the table. “This is what we believe,” she said. A political
revolution that would sweep the world had begun.

The book was The Constitution of Liberty by Frederick Hayek. Its publication in 1960
marked the transition from an honest, if extreme, philosophy to an outright racket. The
philosophy was called neoliberalism. It saw competition as the defining characteristic
of human relations. The market would discover a natural hierarchy of winners and
losers, creating a more efficient system than could ever be devised through planning
or design. Anything that impeded this process, such as significant tax, regulation,
trade union activity or state provision, was counter-productive. Unrestricted
entrepreneurs would create the wealth that would trickle down to everyone.

This, at any rate, is how it was originally conceived. But by the time Hayek came to
write The Constitution of Liberty, the network of lobbyists and thinkers he had
founded was being lavishly funded by multimillionaires, who saw the doctrine as a
means of defending themselves against democracy. Not every aspect of the
neoliberal programme advanced their interests. Hayek, it seems, set out to close the

He begins the book by advancing the narrowest possible conception of liberty: an
absence of coercion. He rejects such notions as political freedom, universal rights,
human equality and the distribution of wealth, all of which, by restricting the behaviour
of the wealthy and powerful, intrude on the absolute freedom from coercion he
demands. Democracy, by contrast, “is not an ultimate or absolute value”. In fact,
liberty depends on preventing the majority from exercising choice over the direction
that politics and society might take.

He justifies this position by creating a heroic narrative of extreme wealth. He conflates
the economic elite, spending their money in new ways, with philosophical and scientific
pioneers. Just as the political philosopher should be free to think the unthinkable, so
the very rich should be free to do the undoable, without constraint by public interest
or public opinion.

The ultra rich are “scouts”, “experimenting with new styles of living”, who blaze the
trails that the rest of society will follow. The progress of society depends on the liberty
of these “independents” to gain as much money as they want and spend it how they
wish. All that is good and useful, therefore, arises from inequality. There should be no
connection between merit and reward, no distinction made between earned and
unearned income and no limit to the rents they can charge.

Inherited wealth is more socially useful than earned wealth: “the idle rich”, who don’t
have to work for their money, can devote themselves to influencing “fields of thought
and opinion, of tastes and beliefs.” Even when they seem to be spending money on
nothing but “aimless display”, they are in fact acting as society’s vanguard. Everything
the rich might do is, by definition, good.

Hayak softened his opposition to monopolies and hardened his opposition to trade
unions. He lambasted progressive taxation and attempts by the state to raise the
general welfare of citizens. He insisted that there is “an overwhelming case against a
free health service for all” and dismissed the conservation of natural resources. It
should come as no surprise to those who follow such matters that he was awarded the
Nobel Prize for economics.

By the time Mrs Thatcher slammed his book on the table, a lively network of
thinktanks, lobbyists and academics promoting Hayek’s doctrines had been
established on both sides of the Atlantic,  abundantly financed by some of the world’s
richest people and businesses, including DuPont, General Electric, the Coors brewing
company, Charles Koch, Richard Mellon Scaife, Lawrence Fertig, the William Volcker
Fund and the Earhart Foundation. Using psychology and linguistics to brilliant effect,
the thinkers these people sponsored found the words and arguments required to turn
Hayek’s anthem to the elite into a plausible political programme.

Thatcherism and Reaganism were not ideologies in their own right; they were just two
faces of neoliberalism. Their massive tax cuts for the rich, crushing of trade unions,
reduction in public housing, deregulation, privatisation, outsourcing and competition in
public services were all proposed by Hayek and his disciples. But the real triumph of
this network was not its capture of the right, but its colonisation of parties that once
stood for everything Hayek detested.

Bill Clinton and Tony Blair did not possess a narrative of their own. Rather than
developing a new political story, they thought it was sufficient to triangulate. In other
words, they extracted a few elements of what their parties had once believed, mixed
them with elements of what their opponents believed, and developed from this unlikely
combination a “third way”.

It was inevitable that the blazing, insurrectionary confidence of neoliberalism would
exert a stronger gravitational pull than the dying star of social democracy. Hayek’s
triumph could be witnessed everywhere from Blair’s expansion of the private finance
initiative to Clinton’s repeal of the Glass-Steagal Act, that had regulated the financial
sector. For all his grace and touch, Barack Obama, who didn’t possess a narrative
either (except “hope”), was slowly reeled in by those who owned the means of

As I warned in April, the result is first disempowerment then disenfranchisement. If
their dominant ideology stops governments from changing social outcomes and
delivering social justice, they can no longer respond to the needs of the electorate.
Politics becomes irrelevant to people’s lives; debate is reduced to the yabber of a
remote elite. The disenfranchised turn instead to a virulent anti-politics, in which facts
and arguments are replaced by slogans, symbols and sensation. The man who sank
Hillary Clinton’s bid for the presidency was not Donald Trump. It was her husband.

The paradoxical result is that the backlash against neoliberalism’s crushing of political
choice has elevated just the kind of man that Hayek worshipped. Trump, who has no
coherent politics, is not a classic neoliberal. But he is the perfect representation of
Hayek’s “independent”; the beneficiary of inherited wealth, unconstrained by common
morality, whose gross predilections strike a new path that others may follow. The
neoliberal think tankers are now swarming round this hollow man, this empty vessel
waiting to be filled by those who know what they want. The likely result is the
demolition of our remaining decencies, beginning with the agreement to limit global

Those who tell the stories run the world. Politics has failed through a lack of
competing narratives. The key task now is to tell a new story; of what it is to be a
human in the 21st Century. It must be as appealing to some who have voted for
Trump and UKIP as to the supporters of Hillary Clinton, Bernie Sanders or Jeremy

A few of us have been working on this, and can discern what may be the beginning of
a story. It’s too early to say much yet, but at its core is the recognition that – as
modern psychology and neuroscience make abundantly clear – human beings, by
comparison to any other animals, are both remarkably social and remarkably
unselfish. The atomisation and self-interested behaviour neoliberalism promotes run
counter to much of what comprises human nature.

Hayek told us who we are, and he was wrong. Our first step is to reclaim our humanity.