On the surface, using domestic rhetoric to describe a state of national disunion, in particular calling for an entire country to file for “divorce,” has a ring of common sense to it. Indeed, the separatist who can muster the humility to express their ambition to a skeptical majority would be foolish not to use it early and often. Divorce is regrettable, but common. If one person has no experience of it at the normal, familial level they will have at least one person in their social circle who does, perhaps a few experiences and from different perspectives. And unlike unilateral rebellion, divorce is codified, legally binding, and therefore within the bounds of civil procedure. There’s no subversion going on here.
The separatist has precedent on their side on top of that. The divorce analogy was a favorite of René Lévesque, the great separatist premier of Québec. And maybe if he committed more literally to “divorce” over the foggier “sovereignty association,” his referendum would have been successful. And the only repercussion that seemed to arise out of the “Velvet Divorce” between the Czech Republic and Slovakia was that few outside of Slovakia cared very much about Slovakia.
So when congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene went to Twitter proposing exactly that for the United States it seemed, in the rapid-fire atmosphere of that website anyway, to have all the markings of something approaching sensibility.
It’s only when you think about it beyond that that the metaphor becomes more problematic. Who are these people seeking national divorce? Children of divorce? That doesn’t seem likely. For children of divorce with those kinds of political thoughts will have to confront anew the messiness and chaos that comes out of even a minimally acrimonious parental dissolution before they consider anything. The emotional trauma, the social upheaval, the financial restrictions, and the existential drain of living under two separate and conflicting entities rather than a cohesive unit will arise from their dark place and render any talk of repeating that on a national scale absolutely null and void. They will realize that the proposers of divorce are confusing it with separation. Separation is immediate and without pageantry; divorce can go on for years in divvying up property, custody rights, of determining who will pay whom and at what rate. To speak so casually of national divorce suggests either a total ignorance of the real, more intimate thing or, worse still, a cavalier conception of marriage itself, which was certainly true in the case of Lévesque.
From that standpoint, it’s clear enough how unserious Rep. Greene’s proposal actually is. True, it’s serious as a dog whistle; not just for her supporters but for her opposition who are all running out of words in our language to convey their mutual animosity. Its therapeutic value easily sets aside obvious logistical issues, the illogic of drawing the line of separation at red state-blue state ideology rather than region or municipal status, to say nothing of the illegality of secession. You look upon the proposal as a cynical ploy, or just bad thinking, with good reason. Though limited intellectual and political resources beyond Greene’s apparent stupidity are another important factor.
The most glaring flaw of Greene’s divorce analogy is her use of “irreconcilable differences.” This gives the impression that the opposing poles of American life are so at odds that they can only agree on one thing: going their separate ways. Moreover, that they will agree in equal proportions and with no added demands or grievances, instead just walking away in contented resignation. If only that was true in all cases! Again you’ll find that things are much more difficult in reality, where someone is the instigator imposing divorce on the other: serving them the papers and showing them the door. The peaceful parting of two unreconciled halves becomes the expulsion of one half by another, more powerful half.
That this framework was not apparently considered by Greene or any of her allies is on no fault of their own, for the most part anyway. Who among Republicans has the authority to force the exit of the Democratic half of the country, or vice versa? Still, as a theory, forced exit is worth considering, and though it is a more realistic depiction of divorce, it brings the divorce analogy to a close in favor of something more drastic and more honest.
National expulsion is about as diametrically opposed as any concept can be to national divorce. Its prospect does not soothe the public, certainly not a public such as the one you make up that is ill-prepared to act in either course. But as you shall see, it appears more sensible under more appropriate circumstances. What more, it is not without its own historical precedents.
Singapore: the crown-jewel of petty techno-tyrants, pining as they do for its economic prowess, authoritarian impulses, and love of birth rates. Before all that, though, Singapore was part of Malaysia, a post-colonial federation troubled by perpetual political and ethnic conflict, revolving in some way around the city-state. Secret negotiations had been underway to separate Singapore from the larger country, but the public only knew that the Malaysian parliament had voted unanimously to expel Singapore in 1965, making Lee Kuan Yew famously weepy.
Returning to Québec: it is easy to see a clear path to Pierre Trudeau’s vision of a new, modern Canada by doing the honors of giving his home province presumably what it wanted. In fact, he did something very close to that in the 1981 constitutional conference, out-negotiating René Lévesque, and cutting deals with every other province, and effectively leaving Québec out of the patriated constitution, or at least that is how it was felt in Québec. Their right of veto in constitutional matters was useless and they spent the remaining four years of separatist government nullifying federal legislation.
Historical contexts aside, these examples offer some clarity on what is required for a country to pursue this sort of policy, and why it is unfathomable to Americans at this time. Not, to be sure, because they’ve fallen short of their fill of mutual hostility. This calls for a different analogy, going back, as it happens, to our Civil War.
That the Civil War was unpleasant is easy to say, but difficult to comprehend. (And it is that very incomprehension that enables this type of mordant dreampolitik.) Its destruction and violence was unprecedented in our land. Hundreds of thousands of people died. The North was a militarized dystopia and the South became virtually ungovernable. Citizens on both sides gave up freedoms and were compelled to fight in the first conscriptions. It did not end until one half of the country rained fire on the other. More personally, getting wounded in battle was in some ways worse than dying in battle. Getting shot in the limbs required amputation, an excruciating procedure to prevent infection spreading into the body leading to a slower, more painful death.
If there is a local source of harm that poses a plausible threat to the whole body, it is only sensible that the connectivity between part and whole be ended. If it’s easy to consider, if not experience, individually, it cannot be done nationally without the following conditions.
First, a robust national health. Just as bodies have their ideal state of health, so must the nation. The nation must be clear in its functionality, its identity, and its culture. These must be exercised regularly though an active civic life in which the population broadly desires to participate.
Second, a sensitivity to regional toxicity. Exercising national health also means being able to diagnose problem areas. There are many levels of sickness before a drastic measure must be taken. But if a part of the nation becomes so toxic that it cannot reverse itself and, worse, renders the healthy remainder vulnerable to its disease, the act of amputation must be tabled for deliberation. If the majority of the nation prize their present state of health against the emergent sickness and the toxic region prefers to remain sick, the toxic region is thereby set free by the Bone-saw of State.
This policy may appear to be every bit as fanciful as the policy of national divorce—it’s main difference being one of severity—and you wouldn’t be wrong. A state capable of enforcing it will have had to avoid the many traps into which the United States has been falling since the end of the Cold War. What a pathetic state of events where it can neither file for divorce nor cut off a gangrened appendage. Toxicity is rampant. And worse, it comes from no region whatever. Regional distinction, any local culture whatever, is melted by a technological fixation that mutates society into a kind of video game.
What happens when several limbs, and give or take some organs, become infected from sheer negligence? The cries for and fears of a Second (?) Civil War don’t seem so hysterical. If regions have no effect on it, then administrative jurisdictions might, ready and willing to have some kind of procedural “misunderstanding.” Who could resolve that and with what tools? Someone of greater delicacy than a 19th century field medic, certainly. Someone who can cleave an enflamed United States into more manageable portions. Someone who might have to get a little creative and compromise-friendly, to be sure. Giving Alaska to Canada, giving most of Texas back to Mexico, and letting Puerto Rico or Hawaii or Staten Island float off to whichever alternative sphere of influence will have them. Someone who is, nonetheless, a bold political visionary. A new Lincoln ushering in a new national paradigm—as opposed to a leader with Lincolnesque qualities. A new Lincoln that is closer to Gorbachev, that is.
Great leaders don’t choose the spirit of the times in which they govern. They read the room, and they adjust. One time may call for a national healer; another for a national butcher.