Ezra Klein, have you considered just hosting a potluck?

Or volunteering for an ICE Watch, or organizing a childcare cooperative, or throwing an intergenerational block party...

Dear Ezra,

You don’t know me, and I suspect you’ll never read this. We have mutual friends, and ostensibly do the same job, but let’s be real. I am a dad in Milwaukee with a newsletter that reaches 25,000 people on a good day. I run trainings where I tell people to get to know their neighbors and wave my arms around a lot. You, in turn, have an audience of millions and an inbox full of messages from very powerful people. When you told Joe Biden to drop out of the Presidential race, he did so (eventually). Meanwhile, I launched a podcast last week, and our listenership is mostly my co-host’s mom. We are not the same. You also have a beard now. Congratulations on that. I too am a middle aged man, so I’ve considered one myself, but my wife convinced me that I wouldn’t be able to pull it off.

I’m not writing about your beard, actually. I’m also not quite writing to critique you. There’s been a lot of the lately, hasn’t there? Critiques, I mean. I don’t want to pile on, but yes, I generally agree with all the guff you’ve been getting lately. I don’t feel, as you famously noted, that Charlie Kirk was “doing politics the right way.” Nor do I believe that the secret to future progressive electoral success is for the Democratic Party to run anti-abortion candidates in red states. Your takes have been heartfelt and earnest, which I appreciate, but also myopic, reflecting the perspective of a famous man hung up on his own fears of political impotence than empathy for those most under attack in this fraught moment (you’d disagree on that point, I know; we’ll get there). Some of the best writers in the game— the Ta-Nehisi Coateses and

lyz

Lenzes of the world— have already taken you to task. No need for me to say much more there.

If I’m being honest, I’m surprised that I’ve been paying you so much attention these past couple weeks. I’m not negging you there. There’s just so much else that could occupy my attention. Any day now, ICE vans might come for my neighbors. What does it matter if that one guy from the New York Times made a bad take?

It’s a testament, I suppose, to your reach and influence that I am so aware of all this, both your recent statements and the critiques they’ve engendered. So congratulations that I care, I suppose. And also sorry for the parasociality. Weird phenomenon, that one. But understandable, since we all feel so immensely powerless, and one of the few areas where we find agency is our inalienable right to yell at the famous people in our headphones.

But yes, as much as I’d like to pretend that I am very cool and aloof, I have been fascinated by this public-facing policy debate journey you’ve been on. I’ve tuned in, Ezra, as you’ve waded back into the fray, over and over again. I could be wrong (again: parasociality) but in a lifetime of take-making, this one feels like it’s particularly stuck in your craw. There you are, with Ross Douthat, with David Remnick, with Coates, with yourself. My guy, you can’t stop talking about it. To men, exclusively, and mostly other white men, which seems notable. You keep saying that your critics have a point, but then you dig in anyway. You appear to be trying to prove, in public, that you are Not Mad, though we both know that’s not the same as actually not being mad.

The interview you did with Coates was particularly interesting, which should surprise nobody. You talked a lot about feeling like a failure (both individually and collectively), because you (we) did not prevent the second coming of Trump. Coates reminded you gently that, from his perspective as both a Black man and a scholar of Black freedom struggles, backlash politics never comes as a surprise. You called him fatalistic, a term to which he took umbrage. I hope you heard him.

I was fascinated by your despair in that conversation. Please trust that I means this descriptively, not pejoratively, Ezra. It was just so self-aggrandizing. You talked as if you truly believed that you, a single person with a large platform, could stop fascism. If only you could steer everybody with left-of-center politics in a winning direction. If only you could make the best possible argument. If only we’d listen for a change, rather than impressing each other with our ability to dunk on you.

If I understand the point you’ve been making, it’s that your critics want you to speak to the most vulnerable amongst us— to show more empathy to women and trans people and immigrant communities than to Charlie Kirk or a theoretical red state voter— but that in doing so we’re missing the forest for the trees. Your point is that none of that matters if we keep losing. Fascism will come for the most vulnerable amongst us (and then all of us) regardless of how empathetic and reassuring you were in a column or a podcast. In your mind, you are one of the few adults in the room willing to deliver hard truths. You talk about how we need to think strategically and win converts and, as you like to say, practice politics the old fashioned way.¹

I hope you understand why that feels not merely paternalistic but also far too easy for a guy like Ezra Klein to say. You’re not a trans kid whose humanity Charlie Kirk denied. You’re not a family who doesn’t send their kids to school any more because you’re afraid that ICE might be waiting. You’re not a professor on a Turning Point USA watch list. You’re not somebody in “a state like Kansas or Missouri” who needs to access reproductive health care (pretty popular services in those states, by the way, but I trust you’ve heard that counter-point by now).

But again, you’d likely repeat, you do care for all those people, but rhetorical assurances mean nothing when the fascists are in power, and unless we are willing to act differently to transform political calculus, we won’t win. You keep talking, it seems, because you truly believe that the future of our democracy requires you to win this argument against the rest of us.

This is what I mean by self-aggrandizing. God, that must be exhausting. And yes, it’s immensely easy for me to judge you because of the privilege of my comparatively minuscule platform. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have millions of people parsing my words. Man, would that ever go to my head. I could totally see myself believing that if only I was the best talker, then everything would fall into place.

I too used to debate about persuasion vs. lines in the sand. A pretty self-righteous dichotomy, if ever there was one. I’m not surprised that you keep debating other men. You are not the only guy who believes a bit too much in the world-shifting power of their own voice. I’m trying my best to stay out of debates like that, though. Some of that is lessons I’ve learned about my own ego, but a lot of it is what I’ve learned by studying history.

There have, as you know, been specific moments when political movements that share my values (about how the innate value and dignity of every human being matters more than systems of domination and greed) have won great victories for humanity. They came, more often than not, because our forebears both opened the doors beyond the usual suspects but, crucially, didn’t water down their core values or message for the sake of growth.

What they did instead was build. They built caring, humane infrastructure, specifically with an eye towards protecting the most vulnerable. Their movements grew because they were, to paraphrase Toni Cade Bambara, both spiritually and materially irriesistible. Think of the Black Panthers serving free breakfasts, or the Landless Worker’s Movement in Brazil building homes and tending to farms. Both had and have their big personalities and shouters, but that’s not the legacy for which they’re remembered most fondly.

The Underground Railroad brought abolition from the margins to the mainstream, not through yucking it up on the 19th century equivalent of a manosphere podcast, but by doing actual work that made the distinction as concrete as possible— the abolitionists were the people who cared about humanity, the slavers were the people who loathed it. The Scandinavian social democratic parties first built folk schools and unions and social clubs and then used those institutions as their power base. The populist grange movement that we erase when we ask “what’s the matter with Kansas?” literally helped their neighbors raise barns before asking them to march on state capitols.

Ezra, I say this with love and care, because you’ve made your life and career making arguments, but I suspect you already know this: that’s not actually how persuasion works. Nobody actually cares about the brilliance of your rhetoric, they care about what how your political movement makes them feel. You’ve even acknowledged yourself, in some of your clarifications about your Charlie Kirk comments: that man didn’t persuade converts, he fired up his base. His offering: be a part of the winning team. His proof of concept: Youtube videos of him supposedly winning debates. The arguments didn’t matter. It was about wrapping his movement in a simulacra of dominance— masculine confidence, hyperbolic headlines, fast talking.

We shouldn’t play his game. We’ll lose. We’re up against actual fascists. They can always win at brute force and smoke and mirrors. We, I hope, would like to build a base without authoritarian shortcuts. If that’s the case, then, the first question shouldn’t be some abstract thought experiment about how to reach across the aisle. It should be “what kind of spaces are we building, and what do they say about us?”

The answer, by the way, should always be, “we care the most.”

I can tell you want to help, Ezra. I can tell that you want our political coalition² to win again, and desperately. And jeez, look at your platform. Yes, you should guard against self-aggrandizement, but you’re not wrong. You could do a hell of a lot of good. But not by making more arguments, especially ones that, I fear, are less about care than calculation.

I’m sure your bosses at the Times would hate this, but I trust your heart here. Maybe, for a change, take a break from primarily interviewing other big name political pugilists. Instead, interview people who are actually building care networks and movement infrastructure. The ICE watches. The emergency abortion funds. The mutual aid groups that also throw the best parties. And yes, if you’re obsessed (as I am) with growing the base, listen to the people doing all that— the care work, the movement work, the humanity-affirming work— in Trumpy territory. Celebrate them, build them up, learn from them. They, more than anybody who would normally appear on your show, are “practicing politics the right way” (both morally and strategically).

And maybe, at some point, take a sabbatical from writing and podcasting. Not because you need to be silenced or de-centered. We’re all just out here trying to make a living online, and there’s a reason why you’ve grown the platform you have. But maybe there’s something you too can learn from building rather than pontificating. How many meal trains have you organized lately? Or period product drives? Or block party fundraisers for trans healthcare? Remember Toni Cade Bambara, who coined that phrase about making the revolution irresistible? She’d no doubt have questions for you. Not about your theory of politics, but whether you know your neighbors’ names. Do you? I hope so.

I know this sounds cute and trite, Ezra, but I too feel the urgency of this moment. I know you think the perfect argument will save us, but I swear to you it won’t. What will, I believe deeply in my soul, are millions of imperfect potlucks. Have you hosted one lately? Would you consider hosting one soon? I bet you’d have a lot to say about it. And I, for one, would love to hear about it.

With love and good wishes, to you and your family,

Garrett

End notes:

1. One more difference between Ezra Klein and I: He has an actual legacy media salary and I can only make a living doing this work if, at the end of these essays, I make what I hope isn’t an annoying little reminder about how I’m an independent writer and how much I depend on your subscriptions to help support my family. I won’t belabor this point, but that’s especially true right now because my other source of income (donations to the Barnraisers Project) just had a bit of a wrench thrown in our gears (our fiscal sponsor is switching payment processors, which means that all our recurring donations are cancelled as of today). That’s to say, subscriptions help! a lot! Thank you! And the perks as very generous and fun.

2. Speaking of perks, you heard that

   Sarah Wheeler
   and I launched a podcast last week? It’s called
   This Week in Breeders
   and yes, our most loyal listener is Sarah’s mom, but I think you’ll like it too. The first episode is free, but on Thursday we’ll offer our inaugural bonus ep (spoiler, Sarah and I trade voice mails where she asks me to explain the appeal of Field of Dreams and Hungry Man dinners, and I ask her to explain trad wife discourse and pastel colored toiletries)- folks who subscribe to The White Pages or Sarah’s newsletter get a discount code! What a deal!

3. Oh, even more perks for paid subscribers: I just sent out the first batch of “POTLUCKS” hats (to go along with the “love more than the fascists can hate” shirts/totes) and oh jeez they look good! Ezra, if you host a potluck I promise to send you one.

   garrettbucks

   

   A post shared by @garrettbucks

4. Were are soooo close to announcing fall Barnraisers training dates. “How to build community.” Two hour classes. Virtual and free. Very fun. Sign up for the interest list here.

5. You all, have any of you watched One Battle After Another? I truly hope this isn’t a spoiler but oh my God you all I didn’t know this was (in its presentation of different varieties of leftist organizing, some of it more effectual than others) SUCH A WHITE PAGES CODED MOVIE.Jeez, I loved it.

   Because I am committed to not spoiling this film, I will not pick either of the two best needle drops for you (as they both work best as surprises),so instead I’ll give you my third favorite track from the soundtrack. Ezra Klein, ready or not, here I come (to the potluck I hope you host).

   [As always, the full song of the week playlist is available on Apple Music and Spotify].

1. Although I’ve listened to multiple hours of you lately, I’m not sure that I’ve heard you articulate quite what “doing politics the old-fashioned way” means. I think perhaps that’s shorthand for understanding political power, and the need to build it and use it? I too have read too much Caro. If that’s your definition, I trust you know that the practitioners of old-fashioned politics have a decidedly mixed legacy. Man, I’d give anything for another Great Society, less so for another Vietnam War.

2. This has been implicit throughout this letter, but it’s worth noting more directly. There may be some meaningful differences between your politics and mine, but maybe not. My suspicion is that my politics are farther to the left than yours, but I do think it’s fair to say that we’re in the same coalition, and that we’d be excited by at least 90% of the same policies, if not more.