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Robert Klose lives and writes in Orono. His latest book is “Trigger Warning.”
When now-Vice President JD Vance published his memoir, “Hillbilly Elegy,” back in 2016, it became a New York Times bestseller. In rather matter-of-fact, if heartfelt, prose, Vance gave us the arc of his personal development, which can be summarized as: I grew up dirt poor in a dysfunctional family, but thanks to my loving if vulgar grandmother I was able to go from a chicken scratch existence to Yale Law School.
I’m happy for anyone who has prevailed against the odds and come out reasonably intact. What nags at me, though, is the man’s present trajectory, which is, to say the least, disappointing when compared with the lessons he wished to impart in his memoir.
Exhibit A: Vance wrote: “More than anyone else in my family, Mom wanted us to be exposed to people from all walks of life.” At last we have the reason for his hobnobbing with neo-Nazis during a recent visit to Germany. We have been led to believe that Vance’s visit with the Alternative for Germany party was entirely altruistic, an attempt to “be exposed to people from all walks of life.” I too have always enjoyed meeting all sorts of people, but the guest list has never included those whose values were abhorrent to me.
Exhibit B: “Mom believed deeply in the promise of education.” It’s unfortunate that Mom’s deeply held belief apparently didn’t rub off on her son, who has aligned himself with a president who celebrates ignorance as a virtue and who has prioritized the dissolution of the Department of Education, to the detriment of the neediest students. Perhaps education, then, should be a privilege for those who can afford it, or who are lucky enough to have been awarded it largely through scholarship money, as befell Vance at Yale.
Exhibit C: “Unless you’re a particularly capable sociopath, dishonesty can only take you so far.” This is, clearly, the big tamale. The Washington Post tallied more than 30,000 lies and misleading statements by Donald Trump during his first term of office. His current tenure sees him continuing this behavior, with the lies spilling forth as if under their own power. Vance has worked assiduously to echo and defend many of the president’s falsehoods.
Apparently, mendacity can take one farther than Vance thought when he wrote his memoir. It’s taken him to the second highest office in the land. Perhaps his passage from “Hillbilly Elegy” should have read, “For a sociopath, the sky is the limit.” At least it would not reek of hypocrisy.
Exhibit D: “As scarcity has given way to plenty in my own life, these moments of retail reflection force me to consider just how lucky I am.” This fragment of piety comes near the end of Vance’s memoir. My immediate response: It isn’t luck that got you where you are, Mr. vice president. It’s amnesia. All the moral, civic, legal, altruistic lessons you laid claim to in your book have been forgotten in the seedy struggle of self-promotion and grasping for power in the shadow of a man who, day by day, seems to be working to turn the United States from a land of hope and promise to a personal arena of grievance, gain and retribution.
The platitudes continue, with talk of honor, disdain for elitism, regard for the disadvantaged. All admirable positions, to be sure. Which raises the question: Why did Vance abandon them? Or did he ever truly believe them to be true? In his self-congratulating memoir, he paints himself as thoughtful, compassionate and grateful. Behold what he has become: a remora — that species of fish that attaches itself to the belly of a shark, eating scraps of leftovers from the predator’s meals and picking parasites from its skin. An essential function for the fish, but a sad state of affairs for a man.
