Luke Ford

My best self would spend zero time listening to pundits (I’ll exempt Steve Sailer, Christopher Caldwell, Peter Brimelow, Heather MacDonald, and occasionally Ann Coulter and Tucker Carlson).

I think I just said that my best self would spend zero time listening to someone like me.

If my commentary has a USP (unique selling proposition), it is my occasionally honest understanding of my own failures and how they help me better understand the world. For example, because I tend to be honest with myself and others (when appropriate and at times when it is inappropriate for me to be so raw), it is easy for me to tell when others are lying to me.

I guess I listen to pundits because it is an easy way for me to figure out what I think by spotting nonsense in others.

I am thrilled with this Trump administration but much of what he says and does makes no sense to me. Bullying Canada and Denmark seems stupid to me. Making Canada our 51st state does not make sense. Trump’s haphazard approach to tariffs does not make sense.

When I look back on my life, I see how often I’ve failed to admit not knowing things. This hasn’t served me. Once my Geometry teacher (on my second attempt through the course in high school, both times I got a C grade) looked at my work and said, “You don’t understand what we’re doing, do you?” It was devastating because it was accurate.

Perhaps the most regular feedback I’ve received over the course of my life has been, “What the f— is wrong with you?”

When I pretend to understand things I don’t understand, I often get humiliated. On the other hand, when I’m in reality, I don’t get humiliated. I’ve learned from my regular helpings of humiliation to publicly admit that I don’t understand.

I’d like to think that I’m doing the right thing by being publicly pro-Trump and publicly admitting that much of what he says and does make no sense and even seems dramatically counter-productive.

I find it useful to look at my life as the product of my choices. I lack success in many things due to my unwillingness to do what it takes to be successful. For example, with my blogging and vlogging, I have nearly zero interest in what my potential audience wants.

The most fateful decision I ever made was staying on the vegetarian diet my parents gave me. From age 14 on, people urged me to try meat. I dismissed them without giving their arguments any consideration. I was wrong. As a result, my life was crippled by fatigue and brain fog.

My life has improved over the past decade by reducing the strength of my idea deflection shield.

Sometimes I blog or vlog to fill a hole in my soul, or to distract from humiliation, or because I want to show off my verbal dexterity or because I want to amuse myself. I might be served by asking — how’s this going to help anyone?

If I can share a rare truth, that’s a service.

I find it tiring to make decisions, so I try to live as much of my life as possible by protocols. A couple of weeks ago, I stopped giving myself a choice about using my CPAP, and instead I automatically leave it on all night. For years I’ve hated my CPAP, recently I’ve come to accept it and then to embrace it. As a result, I’ve had the best sleep in my memory over the past two weeks.

Whenever I hear people talk about needing to use more willpower, I know I’m hearing BS. We all have limited reserves of will power and conscious self-control.

New York Times:

Scott Rudin, Producer Exiled for Bad Behavior, Plans Return to Broadway

Rudin stepped away from show business four years ago amid reports that he had bullied assistants. He says he has “a lot more self-control” now.

…After what he called “a decent amount of therapy,” apologies to many people and a period of reading and reflection holed up on Long Island, Rudin said that he had decided he wanted to make theater again. He is at peace, he said, with the reality that not everyone is likely to welcome him back.

He called his previous behavior, particularly toward subordinates, “bone-headed” and “narcissistic.” He acknowledged that he had long yelled at his assistants (“Yes, of course”) and that he had on occasion thrown things at people (“Very, very rarely”).

“I was just too rough on people,” he said.

But Rudin — who produced films including “No Country for Old Men” and “The Social Network” and Broadway shows including “The Book of Mormon” and “To Kill a Mockingbird” — said he was confident that from now on he would be able to maintain his exacting standards without terrorizing others.

“I have a lot more self-control than I had four years ago,” he said. “I learned I don’t matter that much, and I think that’s very healthy.” Also, he added, “I don’t want to let anybody down. Not just myself. My husband, my family and collaborators.”

Count me skeptical.

I do like the idea of keeping in mind your most important relationships and allowing that consideration to shape your behavior.

Trying harder has not been an effective vehicle for change for me. I don’t think that generally works. What has changed me for the good has been friendships, community, mentorship, getting diagnosed and medicated for ADHD, swallowing six beef organ capsules every morning, wearing a CPAP all night, and working various 12-step programs for an internal rearrangement.

I read a lot (including books and papers), I’ve had some unusual life experiences, and at times I have above-average levels of courage, perspicacity and ability to connect with others (often through trauma bonding ala Neil Strauss and some of the celebrities he’s covered) that allows me to see some things more clearly than most other commentators.

In the age of Trump, VDH is better than your average conservative pundit.

Grok says:

Victor Davis Hanson, a prominent classicist, military historian, and conservative commentator, has a nuanced history regarding his stance on Donald Trump. Based on available information, there is no clear evidence that Hanson was ever firmly in the “Never Trump” camp—defined as those conservatives who actively opposed Trump’s candidacy and presidency from the outset and remained steadfast in their opposition. Instead, Hanson’s trajectory shows an evolution from initial skepticism or ambivalence to becoming one of Trump’s most articulate intellectual defenders.
Early Stance on Trump
Hanson’s background as a registered Democrat in his earlier years (he later became a conservative and voted for George W. Bush in 2000 and 2004) suggests he was not inherently aligned with populist figures like Trump. By 2016, as Trump emerged as a presidential candidate, Hanson was a well-established commentator at outlets like National Review and a senior fellow at the Hoover Institution. During the 2016 primaries, Hanson did not immediately champion Trump. Some of his early writings indicate a broader critique of the Republican Party’s establishment, which had failed to address the concerns of working-class voters—a gap Trump exploited. However, there’s no definitive record of him explicitly joining the “Never Trump” movement, which included figures like Bill Kristol or George Will, who vocally rejected Trump’s candidacy on principle.
Transition to Support
Hanson’s support for Trump crystallized as the 2016 election progressed. In interviews and writings, such as his appearance on Life, Liberty & Levin in November 2018, he explained that he was one of the first intellectuals to back Trump, suggesting he saw potential in Trump’s outsider status early on. His book The Case for Trump, published in March 2019, cemented this position. In it, Hanson argued that Trump’s election was a necessary disruption to a decaying political order, drawing historical parallels to figures like tragic heroes from Greek drama or Western films—flawed yet essential for a specific moment. This indicates that any initial reservations he might have had were outweighed by his view of Trump as a corrective force against progressive elites, globalization, and what he saw as the decline of American sovereignty and culture.
Punditry History with Trump
Hanson’s punditry regarding Trump has been consistently supportive since at least 2016, though it’s not uncritical. His work focuses on explaining Trump’s appeal and defending his policies rather than offering blanket praise. For instance:
Pre-2016 Election: Hanson wrote about the conditions that made Trump’s rise possible—economic stagnation, cultural disconnection, and elite overreach—rather than Trump himself as a singular figure. This suggests a pragmatic rather than ideological initial alignment.

Post-2016: At outlets like National Review, The Washington Times, and Fox News, Hanson became a regular defender of Trump’s agenda, praising his focus on border security, economic nationalism, and foreign policy realism (e.g., a “Jacksonian” approach of deterrence over nation-building). His 2017 Newsweek pieces, like “Trump Puts the U.S. On Top of the World Again,” highlight this shift to overt support.

The Case for Trump (2019): This book is his most comprehensive defense, framing Trump as a counterrevolutionary figure against a corrupt establishment. Hanson acknowledges Trump’s bombast and flaws but argues they’re incidental to his larger purpose.

Post-2020: Hanson continued advocating for Trump’s legacy, as seen in his 2024 discussions on the Victor Davis Hanson Show about Trump’s evolving campaign and legal battles, and in posts on X where he’s cited as calling Trump a potential savior of civilization.

Did any of the people pushing the 2003 invasion of Iraq pay a price? Did any of the opponents get an advantage?

Grok says:

The 2003 invasion of Iraq had profound consequences for its proponents and opponents, but the “price” paid or “advantage” gained varied widely depending on individual roles, political contexts, and long-term outcomes. Here’s an analysis based on key figures and groups involved:
Proponents of the Invasion
The primary architects and advocates of the Iraq War within the U.S. and its coalition included political leaders, military officials, and pundits. Few faced direct, immediate penalties like legal accountability or career-ending repercussions, but many experienced reputational damage, political setbacks, or indirect consequences over time.
George W. Bush (U.S. President)
Bush spearheaded the invasion, framing it as a critical component of the “War on Terror.” Initially, his approval ratings soared—reaching 71% in April 2003 after Saddam Hussein’s fall. However, as the war dragged on, no weapons of mass destruction (WMDs) were found, and the insurgency intensified, public opinion soured. By 2006, with Iraq descending into chaos, his approval rating plummeted to 37%, and the Republicans lost Congress in the midterms, partly due to Iraq fatigue. Bush left office in 2009 with a tarnished legacy—historians often rank him among the lower-tier presidents, with Iraq as a defining failure. No legal consequences ensued, but his post-presidency has been quieter than most, marked by a retreat from public political life.

Dick Cheney (U.S. Vice President)
Cheney, a hawkish advocate, pushed the WMD narrative and linked Iraq to 9/11 (despite lacking evidence). His influence waned as the war faltered, and his approval ratings dropped alongside Bush’s. Post-tenure, Cheney faced no formal accountability, but his reputation took a hit—critics like Valerie Plame (outed as a CIA operative in a scandal tied to Iraq) and documentaries like Vice (2018) cemented his image as a polarizing figure. His company, Halliburton, profited massively from Iraq contracts, raising ethical questions, though he was no longer CEO by 2003. Cheney remained defiant, defending the invasion until his later years, but his political capital diminished.

Donald Rumsfeld (U.S. Secretary of Defense)
Rumsfeld oversaw the invasion’s planning and execution, famously dismissing post-war chaos with “stuff happens.” As the insurgency grew, he became a lightning rod for criticism over inadequate troop numbers and poor planning. He resigned in November 2006 after the GOP’s midterm losses, a move widely seen as a scapegoating amid Iraq’s unraveling. While he avoided legal repercussions, his legacy was battered—memoirs and interviews reveal a defensive stance, but he’s remembered as a key figure in a strategic debacle.

Tony Blair (U.K. Prime Minister)
Blair, Bush’s staunchest ally, committed British troops and staked his credibility on Iraq’s WMD threat. The 2003 invasion initially bolstered his image as a decisive leader, but the absence of WMDs and the 2004 Hutton Inquiry (into the death of David Kelly, a whistleblower on exaggerated intelligence) eroded trust. The 2016 Chilcot Report further damned his decision-making, citing flawed intelligence and inadequate preparation, though it stopped short of calling him dishonest. Blair’s Labour Party lost ground, and he stepped down in 2007, his reputation scarred. No legal action followed, but he’s often vilified in the U.K. as “Bliar,” a symbol of misplaced trust.

Paul Wolfowitz (Deputy Secretary of Defense)
A neoconservative architect, Wolfowitz championed regime change and democracy promotion. The war’s failures damaged his standing; he left the Pentagon in 2005 for the World Bank, only to resign in 2007 amid a scandal unrelated to Iraq. His career trajectory faltered, and he’s since faded from prominence, though he’s defended the invasion in retrospect, arguing it was justified despite execution flaws.

Pundits and Media Figures
Pro-war commentators like Bill Kristol and Thomas Friedman initially thrived, shaping public support. As the war soured, some, like Friedman, distanced themselves, while Kristol doubled down, later pivoting to other causes. Few faced professional ruin—many retained platforms—but their credibility with anti-war audiences eroded. Outlets like The New York Times later apologized for overly credulous WMD reporting, a tacit admission of complicity.

Price Paid?
Direct accountability was rare—no trials, no jail time. Political and reputational costs emerged over time: Bush’s legacy, Blair’s exit, Rumsfeld’s resignation. Yet many proponents retained wealth, influence, or platforms, suggesting the “price” was more abstract—lost trust, historical judgment—than concrete. The lack of legal reckoning remains a point of contention for critics.
Opponents of the Invasion
Opponents included politicians, activists, and nations who resisted the war, often citing its shaky justification or potential for chaos. Some gained moral credibility or political leverage, though advantages were not always immediate or lasting.
France and Germany (Jacques Chirac and Gerhard Schröder)
France and Germany opposed the invasion at the U.N., with Chirac’s veto threat and Schröder’s public stance against war. This strained U.S. relations—recall “freedom fries”—but bolstered their domestic support. Schröder won re-election in 2002 partly by campaigning against U.S. militarism, though he lost in 2005 amid economic woes. Chirac’s stance enhanced France’s image as a diplomatic counterweight, though he retired in 2007 with mixed reviews. Both nations avoided Iraq’s quagmire, preserving resources and moral high ground as the war’s flaws emerged.

Barack Obama (U.S. Senator, later President)
Obama, then an Illinois state senator, opposed the war in a 2002 speech, calling it “dumb” and predicting chaos. This stance burnished his anti-establishment credentials, aiding his 2008 presidential run against Hillary Clinton, who’d voted for the war. His advantage was clear: Iraq’s unpopularity fueled his campaign, and he won partly by promising withdrawal (completed in 2011). Opposition catapulted him to power, though he later faced his own foreign policy critiques.

Anti-War Activists (e.g., Code Pink, Michael Moore)
Grassroots opponents organized massive protests—36 million globally in early 2003, per historian Dominique Reynié. Figures like Moore, with Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004), gained cultural clout, amplifying dissent. They won no immediate policy victories, but their prescience on Iraq’s fallout earned retrospective vindication, though tangible political power remained elusive.

Hans Blix (U.N. Weapons Inspector)
Blix led inspections and found no WMD evidence, urging caution. Ignored by the U.S., he later criticized the invasion’s rush. His reputation as a sober voice grew, but he wielded no direct influence post-2003, retiring with quiet validation.

Congressional Dissenters (e.g., Dennis Kucinich, Robert Byrd)
U.S. lawmakers who opposed the October 2002 Iraq Resolution (133 House members, 23 senators) faced initial marginalization. Over time, figures like Kucinich gained moral stature among progressives, though no significant career boosts followed—most remained backbenchers.

Advantage Gained?
Opponents often emerged with enhanced credibility or political leverage, especially as Iraq unraveled. Obama’s rise stands out as a concrete gain, while France and Germany solidified their diplomatic stances. Activists and skeptics earned historical validation, but their influence on policy was limited until public opinion shifted. The advantage was often symbolic—being “right” in hindsight—rather than immediate or transformative.
Broader Context
The invasion’s aftermath reshaped careers and geopolitics unevenly. Proponents bore heavier public scrutiny, yet institutional protections (e.g., no war crimes probes) shielded them from severe consequences. Opponents, while vindicated, rarely translated foresight into lasting power, except in cases like Obama. The war’s toll—over 4,400 U.S. troops, 100,000+ Iraqi deaths—dwarfs these personal outcomes, highlighting a disconnect between individual fates and collective cost. By March 30, 2025, the debate persists: accountability remains elusive, and history’s judgment is still settling.

I agree with Neil Strauss here:

If you believe that you’re unlovable, and fear ending up alone, you may feel the need to put on a polished false persona…

Because, to you, that strategy seems more likely to get love and approval from others, which helps avoid the outcome of being alone, and proving your core wound (which we can also call a core lie)…

But in the end, even if that works, you still end up feeling lonely and unloved, because people are only approving of your mask, not what’s behind it.

Even more tragic, the mask creates shallow, superficial relationships.

People sense an inauthenticity, and so your mask actually pushes away the potential for deeper love relationships rather than inviting them in.

That’s how someone can be an international rock star, with millions of fans, surrounded by people each day, and still feel desperately alone. Over decades of being a journalist I’ve met plenty of them…

Here’s a more common example of this pattern: In a relationship, someone who’s afraid of abandonment may be constantly needy for reassurance.

They may obsessively try to control or limit their partner’s social life. And, in other moments, they may accuse their partner of lying or cheating.

The net effect of this behavior is that they drive their partner away, whether that means a break up or emotional distancing or the very lying they’re worried about.

When this person fears abandonment utilizes a faulty strategy to prevent abandonment, ends up creating it.

One last example: the person who’s afraid of failing in an artistic or entrepreneurial endeavor might never get their project off the ground because they don’t want to face the chance of failure.

The result of never completing the work: Guaranteed failure

At some point in our lives, the majority of us engage in such counterproductive strategies, as a result of a core wound.