For nearly the whole of my lifetime, the basic contours of political discourse in this country have been clear: For better or worse, Democrats have argued that doing more for America's working class meant getting big business to pay well and play fair—or, put another way, by the rules. Republicans countered (despite most evidence) that those rules were oppressive—that the working class would succeed only if the businesses were left unencumbered. Democrats focused on fairness, Republicans on freedom. There were some disagreements on the margins and also places where Democrats and Republicans could agree, but those were the terms.
J.D. Vance's nomination for the vice presidency does more to upend that basic tenet of contemporary American politics than any other single reality in recent history.
Some will argue that Donald Trump's nomination eight years ago was the pivot—and I'm not discounting that his ascendance marked an important change. But even then, Trump's message was, in a perverse way, still about freedom. Make America Great Again was a call to free ordinary people from the tentacles of the "deep state" that was making "bad deals" for the working stiff. For all that Trump marked a break from old-style conservativism, the underlying message was to pull back something that was purportedly holding people down.
Vance, who was my opponent in the 2022 race for the Senate in Ohio, simply isn't cut from that cloth. He doesn't see America's challenge through that frame. Some will claim that he doesn't really believe in anything, having traveling the intellectual journey from worrying that Trump was "America's Hitler" to eagerly becoming the same man's running mate. But that's not exactly true. The evidence proves that he believes that the Republican Party's historic tie to freedom is misguided.
Some will scoff at that notion; Vance's image, like Trump's, is of a beacon of some mass revolt against the elite. Well, that's what both men want us to believe. But if you peel past that rhetoric, you quickly see that Vance isn't bent on stripping those purported monsters of power that belongs in the hands of ordinary people; he simple wants to put that power in the hands of a different and more repressive elite. That's why so many traditionally conservative figures pushed so hard against Vance's selection. Agree with them or not—and I rarely do—they really do prize freedom. J.D. simply takes a different view.
Consider Vance's position on reproductive freedom, or what it was before he had to walk it back to join the Trump ticket. Vance has supported a federal abortion ban without exceptions for rape and incest, describing himself as "100 percent pro-life." J.D. believes that if a young girl becomes pregnant by rape, the government should force her to carry that pregnancy to term. That's not pro-baby; it's anti-freedom.
Or look at his position on labor. The GOP may have stripped all reference to "right-to-work" legislation, which stunts union organizing, from their party platform this year and inexplicably convinced the Teamsters president to speak at their convention, despite the last four years being the best for organized labor in recent memory. But Vance doesn't support the PRO Act, which would make it easier for workers to band together when negotiating contracts. This effectively means bosses get to impose their will with fewer limits. That's not pro-labor; it's anti-freedom.
Or take Ukraine. I don't happen to agree with critics of our support for Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky—to my mind, we do little but undermine our own economic and security interests by giving dictators like Putin license to colonize their neighbors. But I can nevertheless appreciate a rationale that steers others to believe the risks are simply too great for Washington to send more aid. But that's not J.D.'s objection. As he put it, "I don't really care what happens to Ukraine one way or another." He's not saying the risks of nuclear war are too high—he's explicitly green-lighting a dictator's rampage through an American ally's border. He similarly admires autocratic Hungarian President Viktor Orban. That's not America First; it's anti-freedom.
Say what you will about the previous version of conservatism, the one defined by Ronald Reagan, George W. Bush, John McCain, and Paul Ryan. Bristle as you might at how things began to move in a different direction with Donald Trump. The element that tied them all together, however much you disagree, was that they were interested in promoting freedom—even if that meant that things weren't fair.
J.D. Vance's vice-presidential nomination makes clear that freedom is no longer the GOP's calling card.
It's not just that Vance and his allies are against the so-called administrative state that Ronald Reagan rebelled against, or even the "elite" that have long been the object of Donald Trump's condemnation. Vance fundamentally isn't interested in the project. Beyond having different priorities, he doesn't care about the rape victim who may require an abortion, or the Ukrainian family hovering in fear of a Russian advance.
It's not that this isn't your father's GOP—it's that the GOP is fundamentally repudiating the value it once cared most to champion.
Tim Ryan is a 20-year former congressman from Ohio and president of We The People Action Fund.
The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
