Steve Bannon versus Errol Morris

A 2018 documentary perfectly sums up the liberal-populist divide

If you want a perfect summation of the clash of worldviews that is roiling the west right now, look no further than the 2018 Errol Morris documentary, American Dharma, about Steve Bannon.

The dimly lit documentary, which features many shots of Bannon gazing out onto a disused airstrip, and clips of his favourite old Hollywood films about war, goes to great lengths to convince its audience just how apocalyptic and extreme Bannon’s worldview is.

Instead, it sets up a glaring contrast between two defining archetypes of our time: the soft-hearted cosmopolitan liberal, and the hard-headed patriot and defender of the common man. It’s an almost perfect piece of work, but not at all in the way its maker intended.

As I have written about many times, I think Bannon is the most interesting and effective media figure of my lifetime. His massive daily news show, War Room, is a masterclass in communication, a whirlwind of global information, analysis, and most importantly, faith and confidence in its audience. One of my favourite pastimes is to read lengthy corporate media think pieces on him. I’m entertained by their weak attempts to explain the appeal he has to millions of ordinary people — people the corporate media think are stupid and not worth their time.

The documentary revolves around Bannon’s face-to-face, intense, conversations with Morris, who, unlike Bannon, is a darling of the cultural elites. He’s a liberal-leftie Boomer who won an Oscar for his film the Fog of War, about Robert McNamara’s disastrous role in the Vietnam War. Morris also directed a film that attempts to expose Donald Rumsfeld, The Known Unknown.

And like most people in his demographic, Morris is of the unshakeable opinion that Bannon is a far-right menace, even when the two are sitting face to face and Bannon is patiently explaining his stance — which is, basically, justice for the little guy. The term ‘far right’ has a hold as strong as reinforced concrete over the mind of the liberal Boomer — it resists any evidence that contradicts it. But, as I wrote years ago, Bannon is about as far-right as a Bruce Springsteen’s hit album Born in the USA.

But for Morris, Bannon is, quite literally, frightening. He actually comes out and says this, in an almost heart-rending conversation between the two men.

When Morris tells Bannon he voted for Clinton in the 2016 election, Bannon asks with real disappointment:

“How could you possibly make Fog of War and The Known Unknown, and vote for Hilary Clinton?”

And Morris answers, in a high-pitched, NPR voice:

“Because I was afraid of you guys! I still am! I thought that she was the best hope of defeating Trump. And Bannon. I did it out of fear. I don’t know how better to describe it.”

You can see the the respect Bannon once had for Morris as a filmmaker draining out of him. It’s such a striking moment, intimate but awkward — and deeply embarrassing for Morris.

The documentary is full of such moments. Morris says Fog of War was a despairing film, Bannon counters that he found it “hopeful, like “a Greek tragedy.” Morris cries, incredulously, ‘what’s hopeful about a Greek tragedy?” Bannon smiles patiently and answers: “Because you learn the lesson.”

This in a perfect little nutshell, is the liberal versus non-liberal worldview. To the liberal, nothing is worthwhile if it does not result in personal advancement, or personal fulfilment. To Bannon, even suffering, even death are worthwhile— if they clarify a purpose. This is similar to Jordan Peterson’s big message at February’s ARC conference. We must reacquaint ourselves with fusty old concepts like virtue, and sacrificing for the greater good, for our children’s children. Comfort, wellbeing, and personal fulfilment are not the highest goal.

Very few people my age were taught that idea, or ever saw it reflected in wider society — I certainly did not. Which is probably why so many people of my demographic fear, disdain, or simply do not think about hard men doing hard things.

At one point Bannon says: “Here’s the one thing I can tell you. If you gave me the choice between being governed by the first hundred people that show up in red ball caps at a Trump rally vs the first hundred guys that walk into Davos with their tickets, I’ll take the working class. Because they have more humanity, and they understand the world. They have grit, and they’ve had to deal with all the world dumps on them.”

I think people can disagree in good faith with this particular opinion — to the best of my recollection Morris himself does not respond to it. It might sound hyperbolic or defiant. But just think about it for a moment. My entire adult life has been defined by one public policy disaster after another. NAFTA, the destruction of public education, 9/11 and subsequent forever wars, the 2008 financial crisis, Obamacare, Covid, and the absolute dumpster fire that was the Biden presidency. So maybe it’s hard to imagine everything being run by the firemen, electricians, nurses and guys who work construction. But even a moment’s reflection on the decisions made by the credentialed and moneyed classes makes the idea far more palatable.

Bannon grew up in a blue collar, Catholic, Democrat family: the height of Americana — where kids played Little League and high school football and moms stayed home. The son of his high school football coach, Coach Monaghan, was killed in Vietnam and the coach’s family never recovered.

He tells all this to Morris in the documentary, and he also recounts another story. Bannon says he was visiting West Point to see daughter, Maureen when she was a cadet there, and he’s watching her play with the volleyball team. Then he sees boxes recently arrived, containing their new team uniforms — West Point volleyball uniforms — with stamped on the side: Made in Vietnam.

“What was that for? Monaghan’s kid?” He asks, still shocked and incensed at the recalling of it. “Made in Vietnam.”

This, to Bannon, is the tragedy and deep injustice of globalisation, brought right home to his old neighbourhood. “It was a clarifying moment,” he said.

I was somewhat stunned by this particular story. Because in 2002, I had a very similar clarifying moment. I was in Vietnam on a month long backpacking trip with a friend. I was 26 years old and having a blast. On a bus heading into northern Vietnam we passed a huge Ford motor plant. At the front flew three flags: an American flag, a Ford flag and the communist Vietnamese flag. I was flabbergasted by this. The Vietnam war ended a few months before I was born, but it cast a shadow over my childhood, as it shaped the worldview of basically all the adults in my family. I could not believe that American leaders wasted precious blood and treasure in such huge quantities, devastated two generations of Vietnamese and American families alike — only to facilitate the move of a core, iconic, American company, to the same Vietnamese Communist regime so many Americans had died fighting. And we HAD NOT EVEN WON THE DAMN WAR. The American establishment asked the young men of blue collar America to die in the southeast Asian jungle. Then, they took their jobs and gave them to the people who were killing them in said jungle. This struck 26 year old me as shocking insult. Immoral. Like, what the hell was the point of all the destruction? So Ford could save money on making its cars?

Of course I did not realise it in 2002, but that single thought would, two decades later, set me apart from my professional managerial class peers and put me squarely in Bannon’s populist camp.