All Members of Congress Are Fascinated by a Book on the Post-Civil War Period
A historian specializing in the post-Civil War era highlights that culture wars significantly influence voter turnout and partisanship. Furthermore, solutions implemented may not always produce the desired outcomes.
TroibNews 
The era of Trump has made it unmistakably clear that the post-World War II political consensus in America has dissolved. With elections increasingly tied to identity rather than preference, the nation finds itself in a political climate reminiscent of the post-Civil War era, where, as the saying goes, people “vote as they shot” in the aftermath of the conflict.
This reflection on the past has consumed my thoughts for the past two years, particularly after reading Jon Grinspan's *The Age of Acrimony: How Americans Fought To Fix Their Democracy, 1865-1915*. Grinspan, a Smithsonian historian, chronicles a period rife with technological disruption, high immigration rates, and intense political contests that led to increased voter turnout and violence. He also explores how this tumultuous time eventually gave way to political reform that shaped modern politics until the early 21st century.
I’m not alone in seeking insights from history to better understand our current political climate. Grinspan's book has garnered a following among lawmakers looking to navigate this new era of political upheaval. Former Senator Roy Blunt gifted copies to his Republican colleagues upon his retirement in 2023, while Senator Mitt Romney invited Grinspan to his office to discuss the work. Notably, Representative Andy Kim, who played a significant role in cleaning up the Capitol after the January 6 riot, also sought out the author.
Recently, I visited Grinspan in his Washington office, where he showcased some fascinating artifacts: Lincoln’s pocket watch, a 19th-century torchlight, and a commemorative bottle of alcohol from the Reagan-Gorbachev Reykjavik Summit. As crowds gathered on the National Mall for a rally with Vice President Kamala Harris, I engaged him in conversation about his book, the parallels between historical and contemporary politics, and the reasons for politicians' interest in historical lessons.
This discussion has been edited for length and clarity.
Why did you write about this historical period?
A couple of reasons. First, it’s relatively obscure. The discourse around American politics often begins with Reagan, so I wanted to dig into the deeper history of our democracy, especially given that we have the oldest functioning Constitution and the longest-running political parties. This era was marked by the highest voter turnout and intense political engagement, along with significant violence and partisanship. It seems very much reflective of what we’re experiencing today.
And politics is identity.
Absolutely. We live in a diverse nation that is currently quite shaken, similar to the 19th century. The stable institutions that characterized the 20th century are lacking now and then as well. People are searching for new identities, often turning to political parties for belonging, whether they’re drinking in a Democratic saloon or a Republican gathering.
A wise politician once told me, “We don’t have elections anymore, we have a census.” The party affiliation overshadows the candidates themselves. This reflects the past too—where simply knowing a state’s ethnic composition could predict election results.
Exactly. It signifies a convergence of politics and culture. Unlike the 20th century, where there was more separation between everyday speech and political discourse, we see politics and culture intertwined today. The societal animosities are mirrored in political interactions.
The crudeness, for instance.
Why limit crass behavior to casual settings and not reflect it in public? Today, the norms of restraint from the 20th century are being challenged, eroding the boundaries that once existed around discussing politics.
Sex, politics, and religion were traditionally off-limits in conversation.
Yes, exactly. I shouldn’t know how you vote or what party you align with.
This leads to the WASP-ization of politics.
Indeed. The late 19th-century WASP elite felt like they were losing their grip on society, facing an influx of working-class voters from diverse backgrounds who had less elite educational backgrounds.
Naturally, there will always be more voters who are not wealthy than those who are.
Correct. Many didn’t even use “summer” as a verb, as Teddy Roosevelt's father pointed out regarding his loss with the elite; he lamented he wouldn’t be able to spend summers in Long Island as a consequence.
Politics was everything—entertainment, vocation, and a means to earn a living.
They built a culture of civility and restraint, which has its merits. However, it’s inherently artificial. In the present, politicians often engage in overly decorous language that seems borrowed from a bygone era of black-and-white films. Trump’s rise marks a shift, as he speaks in a manner that resonates with how people talk in everyday life, dispensing with the old norms.
Many voters appreciate Trump's candidness—“He says what I’m thinking,” is a common sentiment.
Steve Bannon once remarked, “Politics is downstream of culture.” The unacceptable behaviors we see in everyday life are mirrored in Congress.
What’s alarming extends beyond rhetoric; as we mimic cultural shifts, we also replicate violence in how we resolve disputes.
Historically, the president was seen as a figure of virtue and restraint—like a national grandfather. Yet now, we face a paradigm where the president is no longer expected to behave with decorum, all while wielding vastly more power.
If our politics reflect our culture, expecting politicians to remedy this situation seems misguided. We often blame them for our problems, whereas these issues are rooted in a larger context.
I think my next book might focus on political bosses. It’s easy to view them as powerful figures, but they ultimately ride atop a wave of public sentiment.
In the pre-television, pre-motion picture era of the 19th century, politics was the primary entertainment—a national event.
Exactly. Political engagement was tied to jobs and financial support.
For many, especially recent immigrants, politics provided a sense of identity, a way to belong in a new environment.
Absolutely, a way to find meaning and a connection to a system where they felt powerless. For instance, factory workers invested in these political avenues.
You mentioned earlier that politics has re-emerged as a means of expressing belonging. Organized religion’s influence has waned, and technology has often isolated us; politics provides an alternative way to feel connected.
Indeed. In the 20th century, clubs like the Boy Scouts or the Lions offered various forms of community.
Today, individuals facing isolation due to job loss or personal upheaval often retreat into political media, amplifying partisanship. It becomes an ever-present distraction, demanding attention.
Your book isn’t nostalgic; it covers both the positives and negatives of the pre-reform and post-reform eras. It’s a nuanced narrative.
There are benefits to a private ballot, and reform can improve systems and engender control. However, it often results in decreased engagement, particularly among marginalized populations.
In 1876, voter turnout exceeded 80%. By 1924, it had dwindled to 49%. This decline disproportionately affected poorer, uneducated, and younger voters, as well as African Americans.
While reform efforts may enhance the electoral process, they also narrow participation.
Correct. High engagement stemmed from voters perceiving significant stakes. Elections no longer seem momentous but rather as merely exercises in futility.
Right. People often proclaim: “This is the last election!” pointing to threats of impending disaster. Yet, despite the stakes portrayed in 2020, 2016—every election feels like a predictable cycle.
Do you find it encouraging that the rowdy and sometimes violent era you wrote about eventually passed? Or do you see it as a red flag?
Some take comfort in that history, thinking it reflects resilience, but that’s not the perspective I aim for. I see it more as an illustration of how culture evolves over time. The earlier tumultuous period is more thrilling to write about, while civil discourse seems less engaging.
You’re not longing for either era, recognizing the drawbacks in both.
Exactly. One era was tumultuous and raw; the other, overly refined and sanitized. Many who decried the state of politics in 2016 and 2020 sought an idealized vision of “normality” in elections.
What has feedback to your book been like, especially from lawmakers who've read it, like Senators Blunt and Romney?
Conversations with legislators such as Jim Cooper and others indicate that they feel as lost as everyone else in this sea change. They’re searching for understanding and answers to improve our current circumstances.
Senator Romney asked, ‘How can we improve?’ and ‘What worked in the 1890s?’
But reforming isn’t always synonymous with improvement. While cleaner, it often stifles wider engagement.
We tend to romanticize notions of a ‘broken’ political system, assuming a nostalgic past of unbroken integrity. In reality, each epoch has faced its unique struggles.
You noted that people's reactions to your narrative range widely.
Indeed, there are polarized views of American history: one where everything is perfect and another that emphasizes inherent evil. My work aims to reveal that the system has never functioned flawlessly, though it isn’t wholly malevolent either. This complexity is often unsatisfying to those who prefer greater simplicity.
What triggered the reforms at the end of the 19th century?
Significant class conflicts emerged, with the upper-middle-class expressing disdain for a burgeoning working-class democracy. New immigrants, perceived as the undesirables, fueled unease among the elite when they sensed they were losing control.
Thus arose a pushback. However, there were also legitimate motivations for reducing violence in elections.
That’s right. Bad intentions often coincide with noble ones, making it difficult to draw distinct moral lines. This tension characterized the progressive era.
Today, we seem to be entering another phase of reform; the post-Watergate regulations are deteriorating, and the FEC appears diminished.
The upcoming elections are unlikely to yield decisive outcomes due to the tight political landscape, reminiscent of the close contests of the Gilded Age.
Indeed, we see a pattern of narrow margins with significant consequences, yet it leads to nothing resolved, continuously cycling without closure. Each side acts as if it’s a battle for absolute victory, but these close elections rarely deliver such outcomes.
Furthermore, we’re misusing our political system to address cultural divisions. The electoral process isn’t equipped to resolve cultural disputes—it can appoint leaders to legislate but cannot effectively resolve societal issues. When we rely on elections for something they’re not designed for, we’ll inevitably feel unfulfilled.
Benjamin Johansen contributed to this report.
Ian Smith contributed to this report for TROIB News
This reflection on the past has consumed my thoughts for the past two years, particularly after reading Jon Grinspan's *The Age of Acrimony: How Americans Fought To Fix Their Democracy, 1865-1915*. Grinspan, a Smithsonian historian, chronicles a period rife with technological disruption, high immigration rates, and intense political contests that led to increased voter turnout and violence. He also explores how this tumultuous time eventually gave way to political reform that shaped modern politics until the early 21st century.
I’m not alone in seeking insights from history to better understand our current political climate. Grinspan's book has garnered a following among lawmakers looking to navigate this new era of political upheaval. Former Senator Roy Blunt gifted copies to his Republican colleagues upon his retirement in 2023, while Senator Mitt Romney invited Grinspan to his office to discuss the work. Notably, Representative Andy Kim, who played a significant role in cleaning up the Capitol after the January 6 riot, also sought out the author.
Recently, I visited Grinspan in his Washington office, where he showcased some fascinating artifacts: Lincoln’s pocket watch, a 19th-century torchlight, and a commemorative bottle of alcohol from the Reagan-Gorbachev Reykjavik Summit. As crowds gathered on the National Mall for a rally with Vice President Kamala Harris, I engaged him in conversation about his book, the parallels between historical and contemporary politics, and the reasons for politicians' interest in historical lessons.
This discussion has been edited for length and clarity.
Why did you write about this historical period?
A couple of reasons. First, it’s relatively obscure. The discourse around American politics often begins with Reagan, so I wanted to dig into the deeper history of our democracy, especially given that we have the oldest functioning Constitution and the longest-running political parties. This era was marked by the highest voter turnout and intense political engagement, along with significant violence and partisanship. It seems very much reflective of what we’re experiencing today.
And politics is identity.
Absolutely. We live in a diverse nation that is currently quite shaken, similar to the 19th century. The stable institutions that characterized the 20th century are lacking now and then as well. People are searching for new identities, often turning to political parties for belonging, whether they’re drinking in a Democratic saloon or a Republican gathering.
A wise politician once told me, “We don’t have elections anymore, we have a census.” The party affiliation overshadows the candidates themselves. This reflects the past too—where simply knowing a state’s ethnic composition could predict election results.
Exactly. It signifies a convergence of politics and culture. Unlike the 20th century, where there was more separation between everyday speech and political discourse, we see politics and culture intertwined today. The societal animosities are mirrored in political interactions.
The crudeness, for instance.
Why limit crass behavior to casual settings and not reflect it in public? Today, the norms of restraint from the 20th century are being challenged, eroding the boundaries that once existed around discussing politics.
Sex, politics, and religion were traditionally off-limits in conversation.
Yes, exactly. I shouldn’t know how you vote or what party you align with.
This leads to the WASP-ization of politics.
Indeed. The late 19th-century WASP elite felt like they were losing their grip on society, facing an influx of working-class voters from diverse backgrounds who had less elite educational backgrounds.
Naturally, there will always be more voters who are not wealthy than those who are.
Correct. Many didn’t even use “summer” as a verb, as Teddy Roosevelt's father pointed out regarding his loss with the elite; he lamented he wouldn’t be able to spend summers in Long Island as a consequence.
Politics was everything—entertainment, vocation, and a means to earn a living.
They built a culture of civility and restraint, which has its merits. However, it’s inherently artificial. In the present, politicians often engage in overly decorous language that seems borrowed from a bygone era of black-and-white films. Trump’s rise marks a shift, as he speaks in a manner that resonates with how people talk in everyday life, dispensing with the old norms.
Many voters appreciate Trump's candidness—“He says what I’m thinking,” is a common sentiment.
Steve Bannon once remarked, “Politics is downstream of culture.” The unacceptable behaviors we see in everyday life are mirrored in Congress.
What’s alarming extends beyond rhetoric; as we mimic cultural shifts, we also replicate violence in how we resolve disputes.
Historically, the president was seen as a figure of virtue and restraint—like a national grandfather. Yet now, we face a paradigm where the president is no longer expected to behave with decorum, all while wielding vastly more power.
If our politics reflect our culture, expecting politicians to remedy this situation seems misguided. We often blame them for our problems, whereas these issues are rooted in a larger context.
I think my next book might focus on political bosses. It’s easy to view them as powerful figures, but they ultimately ride atop a wave of public sentiment.
In the pre-television, pre-motion picture era of the 19th century, politics was the primary entertainment—a national event.
Exactly. Political engagement was tied to jobs and financial support.
For many, especially recent immigrants, politics provided a sense of identity, a way to belong in a new environment.
Absolutely, a way to find meaning and a connection to a system where they felt powerless. For instance, factory workers invested in these political avenues.
You mentioned earlier that politics has re-emerged as a means of expressing belonging. Organized religion’s influence has waned, and technology has often isolated us; politics provides an alternative way to feel connected.
Indeed. In the 20th century, clubs like the Boy Scouts or the Lions offered various forms of community.
Today, individuals facing isolation due to job loss or personal upheaval often retreat into political media, amplifying partisanship. It becomes an ever-present distraction, demanding attention.
Your book isn’t nostalgic; it covers both the positives and negatives of the pre-reform and post-reform eras. It’s a nuanced narrative.
There are benefits to a private ballot, and reform can improve systems and engender control. However, it often results in decreased engagement, particularly among marginalized populations.
In 1876, voter turnout exceeded 80%. By 1924, it had dwindled to 49%. This decline disproportionately affected poorer, uneducated, and younger voters, as well as African Americans.
While reform efforts may enhance the electoral process, they also narrow participation.
Correct. High engagement stemmed from voters perceiving significant stakes. Elections no longer seem momentous but rather as merely exercises in futility.
Right. People often proclaim: “This is the last election!” pointing to threats of impending disaster. Yet, despite the stakes portrayed in 2020, 2016—every election feels like a predictable cycle.
Do you find it encouraging that the rowdy and sometimes violent era you wrote about eventually passed? Or do you see it as a red flag?
Some take comfort in that history, thinking it reflects resilience, but that’s not the perspective I aim for. I see it more as an illustration of how culture evolves over time. The earlier tumultuous period is more thrilling to write about, while civil discourse seems less engaging.
You’re not longing for either era, recognizing the drawbacks in both.
Exactly. One era was tumultuous and raw; the other, overly refined and sanitized. Many who decried the state of politics in 2016 and 2020 sought an idealized vision of “normality” in elections.
What has feedback to your book been like, especially from lawmakers who've read it, like Senators Blunt and Romney?
Conversations with legislators such as Jim Cooper and others indicate that they feel as lost as everyone else in this sea change. They’re searching for understanding and answers to improve our current circumstances.
Senator Romney asked, ‘How can we improve?’ and ‘What worked in the 1890s?’
But reforming isn’t always synonymous with improvement. While cleaner, it often stifles wider engagement.
We tend to romanticize notions of a ‘broken’ political system, assuming a nostalgic past of unbroken integrity. In reality, each epoch has faced its unique struggles.
You noted that people's reactions to your narrative range widely.
Indeed, there are polarized views of American history: one where everything is perfect and another that emphasizes inherent evil. My work aims to reveal that the system has never functioned flawlessly, though it isn’t wholly malevolent either. This complexity is often unsatisfying to those who prefer greater simplicity.
What triggered the reforms at the end of the 19th century?
Significant class conflicts emerged, with the upper-middle-class expressing disdain for a burgeoning working-class democracy. New immigrants, perceived as the undesirables, fueled unease among the elite when they sensed they were losing control.
Thus arose a pushback. However, there were also legitimate motivations for reducing violence in elections.
That’s right. Bad intentions often coincide with noble ones, making it difficult to draw distinct moral lines. This tension characterized the progressive era.
Today, we seem to be entering another phase of reform; the post-Watergate regulations are deteriorating, and the FEC appears diminished.
The upcoming elections are unlikely to yield decisive outcomes due to the tight political landscape, reminiscent of the close contests of the Gilded Age.
Indeed, we see a pattern of narrow margins with significant consequences, yet it leads to nothing resolved, continuously cycling without closure. Each side acts as if it’s a battle for absolute victory, but these close elections rarely deliver such outcomes.
Furthermore, we’re misusing our political system to address cultural divisions. The electoral process isn’t equipped to resolve cultural disputes—it can appoint leaders to legislate but cannot effectively resolve societal issues. When we rely on elections for something they’re not designed for, we’ll inevitably feel unfulfilled.
Benjamin Johansen contributed to this report.
Ian Smith contributed to this report for TROIB News
