The generation that started out with so many opportunities and so much promise has failed in almost every respect. The post–World War II baby-boomers—born between 1946 and 1964—vowed to change the world. Instead, we shopped and then Botoxed ourselves crazy. From yippies to yuppies in a single decade.
The generation that a half-century ago embraced saving the environment has left the world in a much sorrier place than it was when we inherited it. Like a billionaire driving an E.V. to his Gulfstream jet, we are more performatively virtuous than actually so.
What Tom Wolfe called the “Me Generation” ramped up self-love and consumerism exponentially. The McMansions all over the country? Largely built by our generation. Chevrolet Suburban S.U.V.’s the size of Soviet T-26 tanks mowing down joggers? Check. Recreational drugs—we own that one, too. Baby-boomers can take partial credit for a national debt now topping $35.85 trillion, PACs, and all the other insidious election-spending ruses that compound the power of the rich, not to mention shopping malls, relaxed-fit pants, and Muzak. For every Bruce “The Boss” Springsteen (’49), there’s a Ted “The Nuge” Nugent (’48).
And, finally, our most lasting, unpleasant legacy: Donald Trump. Born the first year of the baby boom, he is the embodiment of all the worst impulses of his generation, a one-man show of narcissism, heedless greed, and reckless, soul-less destruction.
Trump threatens to take a sledgehammer to everything the baby-boomers are proud of: the NATO alliance, voting rights, foreign aid, abortion rights, equal pay, school integration, environmental protection, free trade, the Peace Corps, Medicaid, and workplace-safety regulations.
Forget NASA’s achievement of putting a man on the moon, begun under the leadership of John F. Kennedy, a moment that left an indelible imprint on the minds of young boomers: Trump will let Elon Musk privatize the space program and sell time shares on Mars.
Usually, there is some good mixed in with the bad, but Trump doesn’t have any of his cohort’s mitigating traits—not even an affinity for blue jeans or rock ’n’ roll. Trump was 18 when the Beatles first toured the United States and 23 at the time of Woodstock, yet at his rallies he sways—and sways some more—to “Y.M.C.A.,” by the Village People, and Pavarotti singing “Ave Maria.” (To be fair, he has a limited playlist: most self-respecting artists, including the Animals, Elton John, and the Beatles, via George Harrison’s estate, have objected to Trump playing their music at his events.)
Born the first year of the baby boom, Trump is the embodiment of all the worst impulses of his generation, a one-man show of narcissism, heedless greed, and reckless, soul-less destruction.
He is running against a Democrat who was born in 1964, the last year of the baby boom; they are bookends of their generation. Kamala Harris is the antithesis of Trump, a mixed-race woman who exemplifies the baby-boomers’ better nature—back when they were idealistic enough to fight for civil rights, women’s liberation, and an end to the Vietnam War. (Trump wasn’t against the war; he just was opposed to serving: the Bone Spur Kid.)
Trump grew up rich and spoiled in Queens, the son of a wealthy real-estate developer and landlord who was sued by the Justice Department in 1973 for rejecting Black applicants.
Harris was born in Oakland, in a family steeped in the civil-rights movement of the early 60s, and did her part, working as San Francisco’s district attorney, prosecuting drug dealers, wife abusers, and pedophiles, and advancing women’s rights. She may not be as optimistic about a Green New Deal as she once appeared, but she certainly isn’t planning to bulldoze Alaska and forest it with oil derricks.
You may feel dubious about some of her plans to cut inflation and boost housing, but at least she won’t give Steve Schwarzman or Timothy Mellon a tax cut, and she may actually try to regulate Musk—though an electronic-shock collar would be a good start.
And Harris is our last best hope for restoring one of the signature accomplishments of our generation—a woman’s right to choose. When Roe v. Wade was decided, in 1973, it seemed unthinkable that the ruling legalizing abortion would ever be overturned. But five decades later, Trump-appointed judges have set the women’s movement back 100 years.
Trump can be despised, but he is not easily dismissed. Despite his ignorance, rudeness, pettiness, vulgarity, selfishness, megalomania, and shamelessness—or perhaps because of it—he somehow went from hosting a tacky NBC reality show about getting ahead in business to tapping deep into the resentments and paranoia of those who felt left behind in the baby-boomer take-all sweepstakes.
Bill Clinton and George W. Bush—like Trump, both born in 1946—disappointed and even enraged many of Trump’s future fans. By the time he came down his gold-colored escalator, few among his followers cared about his character, his résumé, or his shady pursuits. He was their chosen one, the perfect man to pour gasoline on the disenchantment that followed Reaganomics, NAFTA, and the 2008 financial crisis—and to light the match.
And despite a chaotic, weak, and dangerous first term, half the voting population seems willing to rebuild the bonfire.
A lot is at stake in this election, but one risk is the legacy of the once heralded and feared generation that is now reluctantly shuffling off the world stage. Will history define the baby boom by its most destructive avatar, or will Kamala Harris give the baby-boomers a last chance for redemption?
We should know within a few days, or a few weeks, depending on how things go on Tuesday, but thanks to Trump and his army of election denialists, the real outcome could be disputed for generations.
Graydon Carter and Alessandra Stanley are the Co-Editors of Air Mail
