Danger to the nation?

Two years ago, the FBI added a religious eccentric to its list of America's top criminals. The hypoc

Back in 1950, J Edgar Hoover began the FBI's legendary practice of issuing a "Ten Most Wanted Fugitives" list. Posters of dangerous criminals such as serial murderers, rapists and drug warlords were distributed to post offices, and television shows such as America's Most Wanted shot to the top of the ratings. Americans loved playing detective, but only 150 of the most wanted have ever been arrested as a result of assistance from the public. By far the biggest name on the current list is Osama Bin Laden, who has a $25m ransom on his head and (the FBI helpfully tells us) "should be considered armed and dangerous".

What, then, was 50-year-old Warren Steed Jeffs doing on the list two years ago? Like Bin Laden, he was also considered "armed and dangerous" and, we were told, "may travel with a number of loyal and armed bodyguards". Such dramatic warnings were worthy of Hoover himself, but in the event, the former private schoolteacher and accountant was led away with the minimum of fuss in 2006 after cops stopped his Cadillac Escalade on Interstate 15, north of Las Vegas, because its number plates were not visible. They found they had landed a supposedly very big fish indeed.

Let us now fast forward two years, however. Last month, Jeffs was flown to hospital by helicopter suffering convulsions because he had repeatedly banged his head against the walls of his prison cell. He had also tried to hang himself, and developed festering sores on his knees after days of praying non-stop in solitary confinement in Utah's Purgatory Correctional Facility.

Yet, almost certainly uniquely in Hoover's 58-year-old Most Wanted programme, Jeffs was never accused of killing or hurting anyone himself, of stealing, drug-running or arms-running, or of personally committing any violent crime. He became one of America's top ten most wanted fugitives for one overriding reason: he sought the freedom to practise his religion the way he wanted, but discovered instead that there was a catastrophic irreconcilability between the traditions of his church and the law.

Before we go any further, I should say that from everything I have learned about Jeffs, he is neither a pleasant man nor a religious martyr. He is an avowed racist, for example. He was leader until last year of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (FLDS), one of the three main sects that broke away from the Mormon church when it publicly disavowed polygamy in 1890. He and the three groups' estimated 37,000 followers believe "plural marriages" are essential prerequisites for entry to the "Celestial Kingdom", heaven's holiest enclave. He succeeded his father, who died in 2002 and had 19 or 20 wives, with whom he sired at least 60 children.

Hypocrisy

Four years ago, the younger Jeffs acquired 1,700 acres of scrubland 170 miles north of San Antonio, Texas, to house 700 of his followers who were fleeing increasing scrutiny from the media, police, and anti-polygamy groups in Utah and Arizona. He named the ranch "Yearning for Zion". As well as a gleaming 80ft white temple, the ranch had log cabins, a medical centre, a cheese factory, a rock quarry and a water-treatment plant. The reference to Zion indicated the sect's profound fundamentalism: they said they were following the Old Testament examples of Abraham and his three wives, Jacob with his four and David with his seven (at least).

Here we come to the rub. Only Jeffs, as "President and Prophet, Seer and Revelator" of the FLDS, could sanction marriage among members. In 2002, he arranged the marriage in Utah of a 14-year-old girl to her 19-year-old cousin - and it was this that landed him on the Most Wanted list. By facilitating a sexual liaison involving an underage girl, he was charged with "accomplice rape" and, for good measure, incest.

Last November he was found guilty on all counts and sentenced to prison for two consecutive terms of five years to life. The state of Arizona then moved in, charging him with eight more sexual offences against minors and incest - again, as "an accomplice". He reportedly had a nervous breakdown in jail before resigning as spiritual leader of the church last November. In decades, when Utah and Arizona have finished with him, Jeffs will face yet more charges in Texas.

The notoriety the FBI had needlessly afforded this rather inconsequential oddball, however, has already had further tragic consequences. Last spring, a disturbed 33-year-old woman, who had no connection with the Mormon church or any of its breakaway branches - and who, like many people who lived in the area, disliked and mistrusted the "weirdos" who lived at the Yearning for Zion ranch - made a series of anonymous phone calls in which she claimed to be a 16-year-old girl inside the ranch who was being physically abused by her 50-year-old husband.

That was enough for Texas's finest, who also resented the polygamists' presence in their midst. In scenes chillingly reminiscent of the fiery massacre exactly 15 years before of the Branch Davidian sect in Waco, Texas - in which 54 adults and 21 children were killed - Texan police duly assembled automatic weapons, Swat teams, snipers, helicopters, and even a tank to launch an assault on the ranch and rescue the non-existent 16-year-old girl. "Law enforcement is preparing for the worst," a spokeswoman grimly told a local newspaper. Last April state troopers finally moved in.

Luckily, FLDS members did not put up a fight in the way the Branch Davidians had done. Police, with the (on this occasion) inaptly named Texas Child Protective Services, were easily able to break into the temple - considered highly sacred to church members, and into which outsiders were not allowed - where the fictitious 16-year-old girl had supposedly sought refuge. Not surprisingly, they did not find her.

Meanwhile, though, hundreds of children on the ranch were being wrenched forcibly from their parents. Busload after busload of mothers and suddenly parentless, crying, traumatised children - 250 girls and 213 boys by the most authoritative count - were driven away under armed escort to Fort Concho, a military facility with inadequate food, lavatories or bathing facilities, and little privacy for people to whom modesty was a basic dignity. Mothers in the group were forbidden even from waving to each other across halls.

Then the entire group of detainees was bussed to a new home, a small sports stadium called the San Angelo Coliseum, where there was an outbreak of chicken pox among the children. Others were subjected to medical tests against their will, including the taking of DNA samples. The authorities announced triumphantly that 31 of 53 girls aged between 14 and 17 were either pregnant or already mothers. In this febrile atmosphere, 400 lawyers descended voluntarily on the court to offer to represent the children. The local newspaper in Eldorado, the tiny town nearest the ranch, put up a sign saying simply, "No interviews. Violators will be shot. Survivors will be prosecuted."

It took six weeks for an appeals court in Texas to halt all this nonsense and bring everybody to their senses. In a blistering rebuke of Judge Barbara Walther, it said that the court which first heard the case "abused its discretion in failing to return the children" because the Texas authorities had failed to produce evidence to justify what they did. They "did not present any evidence of danger to the physical health and safety of any male children or any female children who had not reached puberty". A week later, the Texas Supreme Court ruled that all the children must be returned to the Yearning for Zion ranch.

The tragedy of the whole terrible episode is that the deeply unappealing Jeffs and his philosophies actually mirror the mores of his society far more than all the frothing indignation suggests. In the states of South Carolina, North Carolina and Kansas, for example, it was legal for older males to marry 12-year-old girls as recently as the past decade.

David Henkel, a pro-polygamy campaigner who estimates that there are 100,000 polygamists in the US - Jews, Christians, and many Muslims among them, besides rebel Mor mons - senses profound hypocrisy: "Someone like a Hugh Hefner will have a television show with three live-in girlfriends and that's all OK," he says. "But if that man was to marry them, then suddenly he's a criminal. That's insane."

Part of the indignation has been fostered by politicians such as 68-year-old Senator Harry Reid, current Democratic leader of the senate, and former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney, the 2008 Republican presidential aspirant and still a strong contender to be John McCain's vice-presidential running mate. Reid, backing calls for the creation of a department of justice task force to combat polygamy, told the senate judiciary committee three weeks ago that polygamist sects are "a form of organised crime". What I did not see reported is that Reid himself is one of America's 5.8 million conventional Mormons who are bitterly opposed to the breakaway groups, as is Romney.

The upshot of this whole terrible mess is that the pitiful Jeffs, wanted man number 482 in Hoover's lists, will now rot in jail. Studies have shown that arranged marriages tend to have much the same success rate as conventional ones - although the 14-year-old girl whose marriage Jeffs originally sanctioned is now married to another man.

Heaven knows what lasting psychological traumas were inflicted on the 463 innocent children who were kidnapped from the ranch, or on their parents. Religious zeal had collided irrevocably with the law; few of us, after all, are anything but vehemently opposed to underage girls being forced into marriage or incest. But was it really necessary to make Warren Steed Jeffs one of America's Ten Most Wanted Fugitives? Or did it just seem like a good attention-seeking gimmick at the time, perhaps? Eerily, somehow, the ghost of J Edgar Hoover and all the harm he inflicted on America lives on in 2008.

Andrew Stephen was appointed US Editor of the New Statesman in 2001, having been its Washington correspondent and weekly columnist since 1998. He is a regular contributor to BBC news programs and to The Sunday Times Magazine. He has also written for a variety of US newspapers including The New York Times Op-Ed pages. He came to the US in 1989 to be Washington Bureau Chief of The Observer and in 1992 was made Foreign Correspondent of the Year by the American Overseas Press Club for his coverage.

This article first appeared in the 11 August 2008 issue of the New Statesman, Spies for hire

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Why the elites always rule

Since an Italian sociologist coined the word “elite” in 1902, it has become a term of abuse. But history is the story of one elite replacing another – as the votes for Trump and Brexit have shown.

Donald Trump’s successful presidential campaign was based on the rejection of the “establishment”. Theresa May condemned the rootless “international elites” in her leader’s speech at last October’s Conservative party conference. On the European continent, increasingly popular right-wing parties such as Marine Le Pen’s Front National and the German Alternative für Deutschland, as well as Poland’s ruling Law and Justice party, delight in denouncing the “Eurocratic” elites. But where does the term “elite” come from, and what does it mean?

It was Vilfredo Pareto who, in 1902, gave the term the meaning that it has today. We mostly think of Pareto as the economist who came up with ideas such as “Pareto efficiency” and the “Pareto principle”. The latter – sometimes known as the “power law”, or the “80/20 rule” – stipulates that 80 per cent of the land always ends up belonging to 20 per cent of the population. Pareto deduced this by studying land distribution in Italy at the turn of the 20th century. He also found that 20 per cent of the pea pods in his garden produced 80 per cent of the peas. Pareto, however, was not only an economist. In later life, he turned his hand to sociology, and it was in this field that he developed his theory of the “circulation of elites”.

The term élite, used in its current socio­logical sense, first appeared in his 1902 book Les systèmes socialistes (“socialist systems”). Its aim was to analyse Marxism as a new form of “secular” religion. And it was the French word élite that he used: naturally, one might say, for a book written in French. Pareto, who was bilingual, wrote in French and Italian. He was born in Paris in 1848 to a French mother and an Italian father; his father was a Genoese marquis who had accompanied the political activist Giuseppe Mazzini into exile. In honour of the revolution that was taking place in Germany at the time, Pareto was at first named Fritz Wilfried. This was latinised into Vilfredo Federico on the family’s return to Italy in 1858.

When Pareto wrote his masterpiece – the 3,000-page Trattato di sociologia ­generale (“treatise on general sociology”) – in 1916, he retained the French word élite even though the work was in Italian. Previously, he had used “aristocracy”, but that didn’t seem to fit the democratic regime that had come into existence after Italian unification. Nor did he want to use his rival Gaetano Mosca’s term “ruling class”; the two had bitter arguments about who first came up with the idea of a ruling minority.

Pareto wanted to capture the idea that a minority will always rule without recourse to outdated notions of heredity or Marxist concepts of class. So he settled on élite, an old French word that has its origins in the Latin eligere, meaning “to select” (the best).

In the Trattato, he offered his definition of an elite. His idea was to rank everyone on a scale of one to ten and that those with the highest marks in their field would be considered the elite. Pareto was willing to judge lawyers, politicians, swindlers, courtesans or chess players. This ranking was to be morally neutral: beyond “good and evil”, to use the language of the time. So one could identify the best thief, whether that was considered a worthy profession or not.

Napoleon was his prime example: whether he was a good or a bad man was irrelevant, as were the policies he might have pursued. Napoleon had undeniable political qualities that, according to Pareto, marked him out as one of the elite. Napoleon is important
because Pareto made a distinction within the elite – everyone with the highest indices within their branch of activity was a member of an elite – separating out the governing from the non-governing elite. The former was what interested him most.

This is not to suggest that the non-governing elite and the non-elite were of no interest to him, but they had a specific and limited role to play, which was the replenishment of the governing elite. For Pareto, this group was the key to understanding society as a whole – for whatever values this elite incarnated would be reflected in society. But he believed that there was an inevitable “physiological” law that stipulated the continuous decline of the elite, thereby making way for a new elite. As he put it in one of his most memorable phrases, “History is the graveyard of elites.”

***

Pareto’s thesis was that elites always rule. There is always the domination of the minority over the majority. And history is just the story of one elite replacing another. This is what he called the “circulation of elites”. When the current elite starts to decline, it is challenged and makes way for another. Pareto thought that this came about in two ways: either through assimilation, the new elite merging with elements of the old, or through revolution, the new elite wiping out the old. He used the metaphor of a river to make his point. Most of the time, the river flows continuously, smoothly incorporating its tributaries, but sometimes, after a storm, it floods and breaks its banks.

Drawing on his Italian predecessor Machiavelli, Pareto identified two types of elite rulers. The first, whom he called the “foxes”, are those who dominate mainly through combinazioni (“combination”): deceit, cunning, manipulation and co-optation. Their rule is characterised by decentralisation, plurality and scepticism, and they are uneasy with the use of force. “Lions”, on the other hand, are more conservative. They emphasise unity, homogeneity, established ways, the established faith, and rule through small, centralised and hierarchical bureaucracies, and they are far more at ease with the use of force than the devious foxes. History is the slow swing of the pendulum from one type of elite to the other, from foxes to lions and back again.

The relevance of Pareto’s theories to the world today is clear. After a period of foxes in power, the lions are back with renewed vigour. Donald Trump, as his behaviour during the US presidential campaign confirmed, is perfectly at ease with the use of intimidation and violence. He claimed that he wants to have a wall built between the United States and Mexico. His mooted economic policies are largely based on protectionism and tariffs. Regardless of his dubious personal ethics – a classic separation between the elite and the people – he stands for the traditional (white) American way of life and religion.

This is in stark contrast to the Obama administration and the Cameron government, both of which, compared to what has come since the votes for Trump and Brexit, were relatively open and liberal. Pareto’s schema goes beyond the left/right divide; the whole point of his Systèmes socialistes was to demonstrate that Marxism, as a secular religion, signalled a return to faith, and thus the return of the lions in politics.

In today’s context, the foxes are the forces of globalisation and liberalism – in the positive sense of developing an open, inter­connected and tolerant world; and in the negative sense of neoliberalism and the dehumanising extension of an economic calculus to all aspects of human life. The lions represent the reaction, centring themselves in the community, to which they may be more attentive, but bringing increased xenophobia, intolerance and conservatism. For Pareto, the lions and foxes are two different types of rule, both with strengths and weaknesses. Yet the elite is always composed of the two elements. The question is: which one dominates at any given time?

What we know of Theresa May’s government suggests that she runs a tight ship. She has a close – and closed – group of confidants, and she keeps a firm grip on the people under her. She is willing to dispense with parliament in her negotiation of Brexit, deeming it within the royal prerogative. Nobody yet knows her plan.

The European Union is a quintessentially foxlike project, based on negotiation, compromise and combination. Its rejection is a victory of the lions over the foxes. The lions are gaining prominence across the Western world, not just in Trumpland and Brexit Britain. Far-right movements have risen by rejecting the EU. It should come as no surprise that many of these movements (including Trump in the US) admire Vladimir Putin, at least for his strongman style.

Asia hasn’t been spared this movement, either. After years of tentative openness in China, at least with the economy, Xi Jinping has declared himself the “core” leader, in the mould of the previous strongmen Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping. Japan’s prime minister, Shinzo Abe, has also hardened his stance, and he was the first world leader to meet with President-Elect Donald Trump. Narendra Modi in India and Rodrigo Duterte in the Philippines are in the same mould, the latter coming to power on the back of promising to kill criminals and drug dealers. After the failed coup against him in July, Recep Tayyip Erdogan has also been cracking down on Turkey.

***


In Les systèmes socialistes, Pareto elaborated on how a new elite replaces the old. A, the old elite, would be challenged by B, the new, in alliance with C, the people. B would win the support of C by making promises that, once in power, it wouldn’t keep. If that sounds like the behaviour of most politicians, that is because it probably is. But what Pareto was pointing out was how, in its struggle for power, the new elite politicised groups that were not political before.

What we know of Trump supporters and Brexiteers is that many feel disenfranchised: the turnout in the EU referendum could not have been greater than in the 2015 general election otherwise, and significant numbers of those who voted for Trump had never voted before. There is no reason to think that they, too, won’t be betrayed by the new leaders they helped to bring to power.

In the last years of his life, Pareto offered a commentary on Italy in the 1920s. He denounced the state’s inability to enforce its decisions and the way that Italians spent their time flaunting their ability to break the law and get away with it. He coined the phrase “demagogic plutocracy” to characterise the period, in which the rich ruled behind a façade of democratic politics. He thought this particularly insidious for two reasons: those in power were more interested in siphoning off wealth for their personal ends than encouraging the production of new wealth, and consequently undermined national prosperity (remember Pareto’s training as an economist); and, as the demagogic elites govern through deceit and cunning, they are able to mask their rule for longer periods.

Much has been made of Trump’s “populism”, but the term “demagogic plutocrat” seems particularly apt for him, too: he is a wealthy man who will advance the interests of his small clique to the detriment of the well-being of the nation, all behind the smokescreen of democratic politics.

There are other ways in which Pareto can help us understand our predicament. After all, he coined the 80/20 rule, of which we hear an intensified echo in the idea of “the One Per Cent”. Trump is a fully paid-up member of the One Per Cent, a group that he claims to be defending the 99 Per Cent from (or, perhaps, he is an unpaid-up member, given that what unites the One Per Cent is its reluctance to pay taxes). When we perceive the natural inequality of the distribution of resources as expressed through Pareto’s “power law”, we are intellectually empowered to try to do something about it.

Those writings on 1920s Italy landed Pareto in trouble, as his theory of the circulation of elites predicted that a “demagogic plutocracy”, dominated by foxes, would necessarily make way for a “military plutocracy”, this time led by lions willing to restore the power of the state. In this, he was often considered a defender of Mussolini, and Il Duce certainly tried to make the best of that possibility by making Pareto a senator. Yet there is a difference between prediction and endorsement, and Pareto, who died in 1923, had already been living as a recluse in Céligny in Switzerland for some time – earning him the nickname “the hermit of Céligny” – with only his cats for company, far removed from day-to-day Italian politics. He remained a liberal to his death, content to stay above the fray.

Like all good liberals, Pareto admired Britain above all. As an economist, he had vehemently defended its system of free trade in the face of outraged opposition in Italy. He also advocated British pluralism and tolerance. Liberalism is important here: in proposing to set up new trade barriers and restrict freedom of movement, exacerbated by their more or less blatant xenophobia, Trump and Brexit challenge the values at the heart of the liberal world.

***


What was crucial for Pareto was that new elites would rise and challenge the old. It was through the “circulation of elites” that history moved. Yet the fear today is that history has come to a standstill, that elites have ­become fossilised. Electors are fed up with choosing between the same old candidates, who seem to be proposing the same old thing. No wonder people are willing to try something new.

This fear of the immobility of elites has been expressed before. In 1956, the American sociologist C Wright Mills published The Power Elite. The book has not been out of print since. It is thanks to him that the term was anglicised and took on the pejorative sense it has today. For Mills, Cold War America had come to be dominated by a unified political, commercial and military elite. With the 20th century came the growth of nationwide US corporations, replacing the older, more self-sufficient farmers of the 19th century.

This made it increasingly difficult to ­distinguish between the interests of large US companies and those of the nation as a whole. “What’s good for General Motors,” as the phrase went, “is good for America.” As a result, political and commercial interests were becoming ever more intertwined. One had only to add the Cold War to the mix to see how the military would join such a nexus.

Mills theorised what President Dwight D Eisenhower denounced in his January 1961 farewell speech as the “military-industrial complex” (Eisenhower had wanted to add the word “congressional”, but that was thought to be too risky and was struck out of the speech). For Mills, the circulation of elites – a new elite rising to challenge the old – had come to an end. If there was any circulation at all, it was the ease with which this new power elite moved from one part of the elite to the other: the “revolving door”.

The Cold War is over but there is a similar sense of immobility at present concerning the political elite. Must one be the child or wife of a past US president to run for that office? After Hillary Clinton, will Chelsea run, too? Must one have gone to Eton, or at least Oxford or Cambridge, to reach the cabinet? In France is it Sciences Po and Éna?

The vote for Brexit, Trump and the rise of the far right are, beyond doubt, reactions to this sentiment. And they bear out Pareto’s theses: the new elites have aligned themselves with the people to challenge the old elites. The lions are challenging the foxes. Needless to say, the lions, too, are prototypically elites. Trump is a plutocrat. Boris Johnson, the co-leader of the Leave campaign, is as “establishment” as they come (he is an Old Etonian and an Oxford graduate). Nigel Farage is a public-school-educated, multimillionaire ex-stockbroker. Marine Le Pen is the daughter of Jean-Marie Le Pen. Putin is ex-KGB.

Pareto placed his hopes for the continuing circulation of elites in technological, economic and social developments. He believed that these transformations would give rise to new elites that would challenge the old political ruling class.

We are now living through one of the biggest ever technological revolutions, brought about by the internet. Some have argued that social media tipped the vote in favour of Brexit. Arron Banks’s Leave.EU website relentlessly targeted disgruntled blue-collar workers through social media, using simple, sometimes grotesque anti-immigration messages (as a recent profile of Banks in the New Statesman made clear) that mimicked the strategies of the US hard right.

Trump’s most vocal supporters include the conspiracy theorist Alex Jones, who has found the internet a valuable tool for propagating his ideas. In Poland, Jarosław Kaczynski, the leader of the Law and Justice party, claims that the Russian plane crash in 2010 that killed his twin brother (then the country’s president) was a political assassination, and has accused the Polish prime minister of the time, Donald Tusk, now the president of the European Council, of being “at least morally” responsible. (The official explanation is that the poorly trained pilots crashed the plane in heavy fog.)

It need not be like this. Silicon Valley is a world unto itself, but when some of its members – a new technological elite – start to play a more active role in politics, that might become a catalyst for change. In the UK, it has been the legal, financial and technological sectors that so far have led the pushback against a “hard” Brexit. And we should not forget how the social movements that grew out of Occupy have already been changing the nature of politics in many southern European countries.

The pendulum is swinging back to the lions. In some respects, this might be welcome, because globalisation has left too many behind and they need to be helped. However, Pareto’s lesson was one of moderation. Both lions and foxes have their strengths and weaknesses, and political elites are a combination of the two, with one element dominating temporarily. Pareto, as he did in Italy in the 1920s, would have predicted a return of the lions. But as a liberal, he would have cautioned against xenophobia, protectionism and violence.

If the lions can serve as correctives to the excesses of globalisation, their return is salutary. Yet the circulation of elites is a process more often of amalgamation than replacement. The challenge to liberal politics is to articulate a balance between the values of an open, welcoming society and of one that takes care of its most vulnerable members. Now, as ever, the task is to find the balance between the lions and the foxes. l

Hugo Drochon is the author of “Nietzsche’s Great Politics” (Princeton University Press)

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's revenge