When Ex-Presidents Become Historians: A Quiet Rebellion Against the Cult of Personality
There’s something profoundly symbolic about three former U.S. presidents—Bush, Clinton, and Obama—writing essays about their predecessors instead of each other. In an era where political discourse has devolved into a reality-TV spectacle of personal attacks and tribal loyalty, this act of collective historical reflection feels less like an academic exercise and more like a coded protest. These men aren’t just revisiting the past; they’re holding up a mirror to the present, asking us to confront what’s been lost in the scramble for power.
The Unspoken Absence: Trump’s Shadow Over the 250th Anniversary
The decision to exclude Donald Trump and Joe Biden from the In Pursuit project isn’t just about historical distance—it’s a recognition that our current political wounds are still too fresh to analyze without bias. But here’s the irony: Trump’s ghost looms over every page. George W. Bush’s paean to George Washington’s refusal to cling to power reads like a quiet rebuke of a man who couldn’t accept defeat. Bill Clinton’s essay on Theodore Roosevelt’s progressive populism inadvertently highlights the void left by leaders who’d rather weaponize division than bridge it. The project’s contributors are like chefs cooking a meal without naming the spoiled ingredient, yet everyone at the table knows what’s missing.
Why Washington’s Humility Feels Revolutionary Today
Bush’s essay on Washington isn’t just a history lesson—it’s a manifesto. When he writes about Washington’s choice to relinquish power, he’s not just celebrating a dead Founding Father; he’s mourning a norm that feels endangered. Personally, I think Bush’s real message here is to his own party. The GOP’s flirtation with authoritarian rhetoric has made Washington’s precedent seem quaint, almost subversive. What many people don’t realize is that humility in power isn’t a weakness—it’s the bedrock of legitimacy. When Bush calls Washington’s resignation “consequential,” he’s hinting at what happens when leaders forget that power is a trust, not a birthright.
Ulysses S. Grant and the Temptation of Loyalty
Retired General Stanley McChrystal’s analysis of Ulysses S. Grant is particularly striking. By framing Grant’s resistance to political loyalty as a virtue, McChrystal is quietly critiquing modern leaders who demand blind allegiance. This raises a deeper question: Is the military’s apolitical tradition now a relic? From my perspective, the essay isn’t just about Grant—it’s a warning to generals and politicians alike. The phrase “law over loyalty” should be etched into the marble of every federal building, yet here we are, watching officials prioritize fealty to individuals over constitutional duty.
The Archivist Who Paid the Price for Neutrality
Colleen Shogan’s firing by Trump adds a layer of drama to the project that no historian could invent. The fact that the National Archives’ leader was dismissed without explanation—and that Congress remains in the dark—should alarm anyone who cares about transparency. What this really suggests is that Trump’s war on institutions isn’t ideological; it’s personal. If you take a step back and think about it, the Archives’ role in preserving records of Trump’s classified documents dispute makes Shogan’s removal feel less like a bureaucratic reshuffle and more like retaliation. Her insistence that the project avoids partisanship now reads as both a shield and a sword.
The Danger of Skipping Over Failures
One of the project’s strengths is its willingness to confront presidents’ flaws alongside their achievements. Bill Clinton’s essay on Theodore Roosevelt doesn’t shy away from TR’s racism—a necessary antidote to Trump’s calls for “patriotic education.” But here’s the rub: By focusing on historical figures, are we avoiding the harder task of reckoning with living leaders? A detail I find especially interesting is how the essays implicitly critique Trump’s “Make America Great Again” narrative by showing that greatness has always been a work in progress, not a golden age to reclaim.
The Public’s Thirst for Unfiltered History
Shogan’s claim that the public is hungry for nonpartisan history feels both true and naive. Yes, 1 million Substack views suggest people crave substance over spin. But let’s not kid ourselves: The same public often cherry-picks history to fit its biases. What makes this project particularly fascinating is its gamble that storytelling can still unify in an age of algorithms. The inclusion of figures like Millard Fillmore—“a historic punchline”—is a masterstroke, reminding us that obscurity itself is a lesson in impermanence.
Conclusion: The Quiet Rebellion of Remembering
At its core, the In Pursuit project is a rebellion—not with marches or slogans, but with footnotes. By reviving the complexities of the past, these essays challenge the mythmaking of the present. If there’s a takeaway, it’s this: Democracy isn’t sustained by charismatic leaders or viral tweets. It’s sustained by the courage to say, as Washington did, “I’ll step down now.” The question is whether today’s leaders will read these essays and feel inspired—or threatened. Personally, I’m betting on the latter. But then again, I’ve always believed that history doesn’t repeat; it just rhymes.
