A Butterfly Flaps Its Wings: From the Powell Memo to the Eastman Memo and January 6th

Part 2 of a 10-part Series:

The Origins of Anti-Democratic Sentiment in America

The property which every man has in his own labour, as it is the original foundation of all other property, so it is the most sacred and inviolable.”

                                                                                              Adam Smith, 1776

An event does not occur in a vacuum, and the Powell Memo was preceded by the unique history that shaped the United States. We will first look at some of this history before turning to the subsequent critical junctures that led to January 6th.  We will also delve into an analysis of the dark side of human nature—the one thing that seems to be constant throughout historical idiosyncrasies.

Although we here trace the roots of the January 6th insurrection to the 1971 Powell memo,  tension between anti-democratic and anti-elitist urges has been present since the founding of America. Paradoxically also in 1971, a political scientist by the name of Thomas Dye proposed an alternative political model he called “elite theory.” The elements of elite theory are that (1) society is divided into the few who have power and the many who do not, (2) the few who govern are not typical of the masses who are governed, (3) elites share consensus on the basic values of the social system and the preservation thereof, (4) public policy is set by, and reflects the demands of, prevailing elites and is imposed downward on the masses, and (5) the masses are relatively apathetic and exert little direct influence on elites and their policies.  At the time, elite theory was just another model for political scientists, along with more familiar models like interest group pluralism.

As time went on (and particularly as the Powell Memo became operationalized), Dye realized that his elite theory was probably a more accurate description of American politics than the other models. Dye began publishing a book—which he updated every year or two—called The Irony of Democracy. Here, he exposes the elitism that accompanied America’s founding, and how elites have affected our political system throughout history. However, Dye’s own analysis contains elements of elitism: He suggests that a certain amount of elite control was necessary because if you allowed the uneducated masses to govern themselves, you would no longer have a democracy (what the Federalist writers called “tyranny of the majority”). The “irony of democracy” is that it contains the seeds of its own destruction.

The United States consolidated during a period of colonialism—a system where European nation states were driven by expansionist rivalry.  Territorial expansion translated to an increase in both national wealth and global power, and this expansion was often accompanied by expropriation of the land (e.g., Native Americans) and labor (slave trade) of others. Because colonial expansionism also occurred during the period of the Enlightenment—a philosophy that emphasized scientific inquiry and individual rights—it had to develop a logic and discourse to justify itself. Thus was born a theory of racial superiority, or the justification of subjugation based on superior rights (logical hierarchy) and inferior race. In America, later justifications of slavery were based on arguments of divine ordination.

To their credit, the American founding fathers anticipated the dark side of human nature and attempted to design a governing structure that would thwart it. As with all other human endeavors, it was, of course, imperfect. Like the fish who does not see the water that surrounds it, the original writers of the Constitution were oblivious of the unequal structures of slavery/racism and patriarchy because they were both embedded within these systems and beneficiaries of them. Yet we have to give them credit for introducing the (at that time radical) ideals of equality and individual rights, as well as their awareness of the need to design systems of governance that restricted dominator-type personalities.

The American founders had logical concerns about the concentration of power, along with its corrupting propensity. Hence, the national government was divided into three branches and Congress divided into two houses, each with the ability to “check” or override the actions of another under specified circumstances. There was also concern about the irrational “passion” of the masses overcoming deliberative logic. After January 6th, we can understand concern about an irrational mob being whipped into a violent frenzy and threatening lawful governing processes. This concern for the “passions of the mob” was based on a streak of elitism in America’s founders.

The Constitutional Convention was motivated at least in part by Shays Rebellion—an armed uprising of farmers in western Massachusetts during the period 1786-1787. The farmers, who were facing foreclosure on their farms due to high levels of debt, attacked the courthouses where banks had instituted proceedings to foreclose on their farms.  American founding fathers themselves were holders of vast tracks of land (and in some cases, slaves), and so feared challenges to property “rights” and inherited wealth. The Constitutional Convention itself was fraught with conflict around its fundamental  contradiction: the right of “the people” to rule themselves (democracy) constrained by the obligation of government to protect the sanctity of “property” (i.e., elitism).  

Americans like to view their nation’s history as one of progress and the expansion of individual rights: Slavery was abolished in 1865; the 14th Amendment, which gave freed slaves the same rights as all American citizens, was passed in 1868; women were granted the right to vote in 1920 with the passage of the 19th Amendment. None of these events were without conflict; indeed, the country nearly split apart over the issue of slavery. Because some of the former Confederate states found ways to abridge the rights of Black Americans, the Civil Rights Act was passed in 1964. Throughout the 1960s, we see much turmoil and domestic violence, but also a slow expansion of rights and recognition to previously subordinated peoples—Blacks, women, immigrants, LGBTQ, and the disabled.

While we might have heard about various protests and acts of violence during the civil rights era, what history books and classes often leave out is the violence associated with the expansion of workplace rights. In early America, most American citizens (all White men) worked their own family farms or small shops. Working for someone else was usually temporary—to pay off a debt (indenture) or learn a trade (apprenticeship). As industrialization took root, more men were forced to sell their labor to earn a living. So, the next battleground involved rights and voice in the workplace, particularly the right to unionize. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, state national guard and federal troops were frequently called on to break worker strikes. These actions often involved killing workers and citizens as well as generalized terrorization: The Bayview (WI) Massacre, the burning of workers homes in the Ludlow (CO) Massacre, and the Bisbee (AZ) Deportation. Apparently, rights such as free speech—let alone life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness–did not apply to people who had to work for a living.

Although the right to unionize and other workplace rights were codified in the National Labor Relations Act of 1935, these rights have gradually—and relentlessly—been eroded by well-funded PR campaigns and lobbying by business elites and the corporatocracy. At the Poor Peoples Campaign rally in Washington, D.C. this June 18th (2022), someone carried a sign that said, “Slavery didn’t end…it just evolved.” Although no one today is a “slave” in the traditional sense, the system is designed so that a wealthy few can demand that all the rest of us work harder for less. And working harder for less is now more or less an equal opportunity, not necessarily dependent on race or gender.

A Butterfly Flaps Its Wings: From the Powell Memo to the Eastman Memo and January 6th

Part 1 of a 10-part Series:

Introduction to the Powell Memo and Chaos Theory

“The national television networks should be monitored in the same way that textbooks should be kept under constant surveillance. This applies not merely to so-called educational programs (such as “Selling of the Pentagon”), but to the daily “news analysis” which so often includes the most insidious type of criticism of the enterprise system.”

From the 1971 Powell Memo

A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazon rain forest, and three weeks later there is a hurricane on the other side of the world. This is the essence of chaos theory. That is, one small and seemingly insignificant event creates a chain reaction that can produce profound effects in the future. Each event creates a juncture of sometimes only several and sometimes nearly infinite possible pathways forward. This phenomenon provides a plethora of plots for science fiction writers looking for “alternate universe” story ideas. It is also what makes the future nearly impossible to predict.

In 1952, the science fiction author Ray Bradbury wrote a story he called A Sound of Thunder. In the fictional year 2055, time travel is possible. An enterprising company called Time Safari, Inc. takes wealthy hunters back to the past to hunt dinosaurs.  Specific animals are selected who are known by the tour company to have died soon afterward. However, hunters are instructed to never leave a levitating path which has been constructed to literally minimize their footprint, because they could potentially cause a disruption in the timeline and change the future. How this levitating pathway was constructed without doing the same is never explained.

In the beginning of the story, we meet a hunter who has paid $10,000 for the privilege of shooting a tyrannosaurus rex. The Time Safari guide is explaining the instructions about “not leaving the path” and potential for disruption to the timeline. The conversation turns to a recent election, where a fascist candidate has been narrowly defeated. Everyone expresses thankful relief and then the hunting party departs in the time machine. When they arrive in the late Cretaceous period and spot a T-Rex, the hunter gets scared. The main guide instructs him to return to the time machine. Meanwhile, the two guides shoot the dinosaur shortly before a tree falls on it (the event that would have killed it in the current time).

The hunter hears the shots and returns to the spot where the dinosaur has been killed.  The guides find out he has stumbled off the path in his haste, and threaten to kill him if anything is “changed” upon their return. They travel back to 2055 and at first, everything seems normal. However, some of the words on signs appear to be misspelled. The head guide inspects the hunter’s shoe and discovers a crushed butterfly. Someone asks who won the election, and they learn that the fascist is now in charge. The “sound of thunder” is the sound of the guide’s gun, as he carries out his threat.

January 6th did not happen in a vacuum, but—as chaos theory suggests—was pushed by something that started a chain of causation that led to its inevitability. Here I make the argument that the “butterfly moment” happened on August 23, 1971, with the publication of a memo written by Lewis Powell and published through the Chamber of Commerce. At that time, Powell was a corporate attorney practicing in Richmond Virginia, where he also represented the Tobacco Institute. As most of us know, Powell was appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court by President Nixon less than a year later, where he served until 1987.

The Powell Memo is noted for its brilliant creation of a (mostly) false narrative that is nonetheless extremely compelling. The memo deftly targets the base emotion of fear—more specifically the fear of losing privilege and power—couched in tones of moral righteousness and victimhood. Within this infamous Powell memo is a call to arms that today might seem mild when frothing hate-filled white supremacist groups are roaming public spaces with assault weapons. Yet, the memo contains unambiguous war-themed language: “The American economic system is under broad attack;” The Greening of America, a book by Yale Professor Charles Reich constituted “a frontal assault…on our government.” Powell proclaimed that American business had a duty to “conduct guerilla warfare with those who propagandize against the system.”

Another effective device is the demonization of anyone who opposes you. Powell points a finger at Ralph Nader, labor unions, the ACLU, and anyone else who dared to call out corporate abuse of workers, consumers, or the environment as “shotgun attacks on the system…which undermine confidence and confuse the public.”  The charges incorporated tactics and strategies borrowed from the McCarthy era; e.g., branding one’s enemies as communists, “Leftists,” or Soviet sympathizers.  Indeed, the interests of business elites, Wall Street and the corporatocracy were made synonymous with America and all it stands for.

According to Powell, nothing less than the “survival of the free enterprise system” was at stake. He called for the Chamber of Commerce to make “significantly increased” investments on a broad front of (1) restoring “balance” on university campuses with instructors who would champion the free enterprise system rather than challenge it; (2) train a new generation of intellectuals who would bring the “right” ideology to news media, government, and regulatory agencies; (3) monitor the content of textbooks for “fair” comparisons of socialism, fascism and communism; and (4) maintain a system of “constant surveillance” of textbooks, television, radio and other media.

Notwithstanding the bellicose framing, we can also discern a subtle whine of victimhood in Powell’s memo. The most powerful, wealthy, and privileged members of society are under attack and must defend themselves to survive!!! We see a nascent form of too much and never enough. The rhetoric definitively connects corporate self-interest to national welfare—the “what’s good for GM is good for America” trope. We also see the beginnings of a style of demonization—anyone who is concerned about the environment, working people, consumer safety, voting rights, or anything else that involves the welfare of the “little people” against the corporatocracy is an enemy of America.

In order to accomplish this broad and multi-front war, Powell recommended that “American business” should earmark 10% (an amount that is analogous to religious tithing) of its total annual advertising budget to this purpose. American business also should get over its aversion to “confrontation politics…[and] consider assuming a broader and more vigorous role in the political arena.”  Although nothing changed immediately, we know today that business responded to Powell’s call.

 

Robert Reich explains how the Powell memo launched the “corporate takeover of American politics.”