The late departed writer P.J. O’Rourke was one of my two favorite journalists from the Baby Boom generation, the other being Hunter S. Thompson. Despite being from opposite ends of the political spectrum, Thompson and O’Rourke had a few things in common. They both liked a drink, a smoke, and a drug or two, though Thompson took that beyond the extreme. They both punctured the pomposity and arrogance of elites in politics and society, yet mixed with and understood the common man, and they both had original styles that were widely copied but never equaled. One major difference, at least from the obituaries and accounts one reads, is that O’Rourke was a kind, decent man, while Thompson was the epitome of a selfish bastard. O’Rourke was from Ohio, the quintessential mid-western state; the heartland, where even the rich have shallow roots, so clothes, morals, and manners were important. Men wore khakis and shirts with button-down collars. As in England a generation ago, displays of emotion or anger were frowned on.
Writing in the Spectator, Ivo Dawnay described O’Rourke’s philosophy as “small ‘c’ conservative… less ideological, more a very American heartfelt plea to be left alone.” The Reagan era was the apex for conservatives of his generation and temperament. These were not the fanatical, utopian neo-conservative war-hawks who led us into the morass of Iraq, Afghanistan, and two decades of feckless wars fought on our children’s credit. O’Rourke was the kind of conservative who reminds us of a time when the leaders of both parties seemed to be from the same basic mold; patriotic, dignified, and knowing how to disagree about politics yet still treat each other with good manners. Somehow, even when politicians of left and right held far more extreme views (think, for example, of Strom Thurmond vs. Ted Kennedy) their policy disagreements didn’t translate into the same ugly ad hominem mobbings we get today on Twitter. Perhaps that was because the media cycle was slower; it took time for comments and ideas to make it into print or talk shows, as opposed to today, where there are scant seconds between an expressed idea and resulting social media pile-on.
In college, I bought P.J. O’Rourke’s Parliament of Whores, Give War a Chance, and Holidays in Hell back when books were a budget choice that could displace beer. Reading his wry take on politics and how people actually lived despite it somehow planted a thought-seed that, when watered with reality over many years, brought out one’s natural conservatism over time. Conservatives want to preserve what has value, and reject unproven change; it’s that simple. The Q-Anon, Pizza-gate, Big Lie, January 6th crowd are no conservatives, they are radicals. O’Rourke made fun of everything, but he was decent, thoughtful, and tolerant in the tradition of Eisenhower and Reagan, those who once formed the traditional core of the Republican party and may one day rescue it from the current extremism, ignorance, and anger.
In a television interview, O’Rourke called Donald Trump “a strange mixture of cunning, and cleverness, and stupidity…” comparing dealing with him to raising a toddler. Yet, while progressives and leftist Democrats saw a ‘vast, right-wing conspiracy’ in the MAGA phenomenon, O’Rourke correctly saw Trump’s election as a rebellion against elites, the act of a naturally conservative people deprived of old certainties, secure jobs, and their place in the world, “desperate to shake things up.” He correctly identified Trump’s core voters as not being mostly malign, or racist, or necessarily supporting him on every issue, but rather angry, unhappy, befuddled, and seeking improvement in their lives though having no idea how to bring it about. They trusted Trump, but he was too distracted, unfocused, selfish and feckless to get much done for them when in office. O’Rourke reluctantly supported Hillary Clinton in 2016, saying she was “wrong about absolutely everything, but she is wrong within the usual parameters.”
O’Rourke was editor of National Lampoon, which briefly reigned at the top of the comedy pyramid in the early 80s under his pen. Later, he was a foreign correspondent for Rolling Stone, before it went woke and succumbed to scandal and bad journalism. I just re-read his chapter on Lebanon in Holidays in Hell, and I actually laughed out loud, which takes a lot these days. His prose was acerbic and perfectly cut like a diamond. One of my favorite essays of his was Third World Driving Hints and Tips, also from Holidays in Hell. As someone who has driven in maybe 40 countries, his description hasn’t gotten even slightly stale after 30 years. Locals, he says, drive at 2 mph when they cannot be passed, “or else they drive at 100 mph … coming at you when you finally get to pass the guy going 2 mph.” This hilarious observation is remarkably consistent across cultures in Africa, Asia, and Latin America who otherwise have little in common. “What side of the road do they drive on? This is easy. They drive on your side. That is, and you can depend on it, any oncoming traffic will be on your side of the road.”
If you’ve driven on Third World roads, you see general analogies to the country in general. Do the traffic lights work, or are they always burned out? The latter is a sign of crumbling infrastructure, of taxes being siphoned off into corrupt pockets. Do people generally obey traffic rules and signs, or is it survival of the fittest, biggest, and most aggressive? “A down-waving hand out the window can mean, “I’m slowing down,” or it can mean, “You slow down, I’m cutting in front of you.” Are cars in good shape, seemingly inspected, or are they a pile of assembled spare parts on bald tires, pushing the envelope of every constituent piece to the literal breaking point? A bumper sticker I’ve seen on West African mini-buses is “Relax, Jesus is in Charge.” An American might think ‘yes, he’s in charge, but he still wants me to maintain proper tire pressure and have functioning brakes.’ Compare the driving in various countries – take Switzerland and Sierra Leone - and you compare the essence of their governments and civil society. Walking varies little from the richest to the poorest country in my experience, people usually being polite and respectful of each other in person, but driving brings out our real national character.
Growing up, the good comedians always seemed to be coming from the left, while the right was humorless and boring. Nixon was the ultimate symbol of this ‘square’ type of Republican. Then, something odd happened around 2010; slowly the mainstream of comedy, and particularly late-night television, got over-woke and stopped being as funny. When they had Trump to beat up on, things were fine, but the moment he left the stage, they were unable to pivot to mocking the left. It’s easy to make fun of the Man, until you are the Man. Biden, the Squad, Critical Race Theory, gender ideology, all cry out for mockery and taking down a peg or two, but they are somehow sacred cows that cannot be touched. Trevor Noah, once an edgy South African stand-up comic, comes across now like Ibram Kendi with better writers and comic timing. Seth Myers, Steven Colbert, Jimmy Kimmel and the rest are stuck in a Groundhog Day of January 6th and seem to be censored by an invisible (but potent) socialist commissar.
We have no National Lampoon under O’Rourke when we really need it. The satirical Babylon Bee has stepped into the breach somewhat, but such is the current climate of vapid intolerance that Snopes and Facebook have actually fact-checked some of their ridiculous and obviously satirical pieces. There may one day be new George Carlins and Greg Geraldos who will barbeque the sacred cows and laugh in the face of the censorious Twitter mob. For the time being Dave Chappelle, Ryan Long, and others are holding the line. Yet, it is fair to say that the time you could write blazing satire as freely as O’Rourke did, without fearing that anyone was dumb enough to take you at face value, is well and truly dead. Some Millennials and Generation Z really do believe that words are violence, and P.J. wielded very sharp words indeed. He will be desperately missed.
—J. L. Reiter has East Coast origins but has lived and worked abroad for 25 years. He writes a regular column here, ‘The Society,’ on US domestic culture, society, and politics.