J.D. Vance is laser-focused on the future, especially his own

When I’ve covered the campaigns of women on presidential tickets, the question invariably arises: “Is she tough enough to be commander in chief?”

With the bubbly Geraldine Ferraro (Walter Mondale’s 1984 running mate), many voters had their doubts. There was less worry with Hillary Clinton. She was a gold-plated hawk who voted to let president George W. Bush invade Iraq and persuaded president Barack Obama to join in bombing Muammar Gaddafi’s Libya.

J.D. Vance was the darling of Hollywood when Hillbilly Elegy was made into a movie, before he ambitiously code-switched into a Trumper.Credit: AP

It is not surprising, with cascading conflicts, that Republicans are levelling the toughness question at Kamala Harris. This past week, the Trump/Vance campaign released an ad called “Weakness”. (Donald Trump also ran an ad called “Weakness” against Nikki Haley, a hawk.) The ad’s subtext is clearly gendered, trying to exploit Harris’ problems winning over black and white working-class men.

In a New York Times/Siena College poll last month, 55 per cent of respondents said Trump was respected by foreign leaders, while 47 per cent said that of Harris. The ad claims Harris is not tough enough to deal with China, Russia, Iran or Hamas. It features actors playing Vladimir Putin, Hamas fighters and a tea-sipping ayatollah watching videos of the candidate who wants to be the first woman president. It ends with four clips of Harris dancing – a lot better than Trump does – and a clip of Trump walking on a tarmac with a military officer and a Secret Service agent. The tagline is: “America doesn’t need another TikTok performer. We need the strength that will protect us.”

Even though Trump lives in a miasma of self-pity and his businesses often ended up in bankruptcy, somehow his fans mistake his swagger and sneers for machismo. What a joke. Trump is the one who caves, a foreign policy weakling and stooge of Putin.

J.D. Vance with his wife, Usha, who helped him craft a debate persona that made him more palatable to women.Credit: AP

At the weekend, he martyr-milked the one moment when he did show courage – the assassination attempt in Butler, Pennsylvania – by returning to the crime scene and treating it as hallowed ground for his quasi-religious lion imagery. After vowing at the convention to never discuss the event again – “It’s actually too painful to tell” – he wants to wallow in accolades from Elon Musk and J.D. Vance, and sell more of his $US299 “FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT” high-tops depicting his bloody face and raised fist.

His new ad slams Harris for “anti-Israel statements” that Hamas will use as a green light “to keep murdering Israelis”. But Harris has said she would always stand up for Israel’s right to defend itself, and she praised Israel’s killing of Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah, saying he was “a terrorist with American blood on his hands”.

She has, however, shown more sympathy for Palestinians than has Joe Biden. In a Trumpworld that thrives on mendacity, demonising and dividing, sympathy is weakness. Unless you need to fake it to improve your favourability numbers – like Vance did in his debate against Tim Walz.

Former Obama strategist David Axelrod had predicted it would be a match between a Labrador retriever and a coyote. But there were two Labs onstage.

Vance’s performance was chilling. Once, I thought Trump would be an aberration for Republicans. But at the debate, I saw the future of the party, and it was lies piled on lies, and darkness swallowing darkness. Vance seemed like a replicant. There was no sign of the smarmy right-wing troll who said Harris “can go to hell” and told CNN’s Dana Bash that he created stories about migrants eating cats and dogs to dramatise a narrative that helps the Republican ticket (a racist narrative).

His views against abortion are adamantine, and until recently, he was an opponent of in vitro fertilisation. He has a bizarre, degrading view of the role of women in American society.

But at the veep debate, he put on a mask of likeability and empathy. “Christ have mercy, it is awful,” Vance said, looking down and shaking his head when Walz told of his teenage son witnessing a shooting.

The chameleon brought back the Vance who was the darling of Hollywood, when Hillbilly Elegy was made into a movie, before he ambitiously code-switched into a Trumper. His wife, Usha Vance, a debate adviser, helped him craft a persona that made him more palatable to women.

He was wily and deceptive in how he talked about abortion, stressing that women needed “options” and sending his love to an old friend who he said had an abortion.

One woman in the CNN focus group was impressed with his empathy and talk of options, saying she was surprised and encouraged that Vance sounded so “progressive”.

But before 40-year-old Vance teamed up with 78-year-old Trump, his abortion position was draconian. For women in the wrong states, the need to get an abortion is a terrifying prospect that could lead to death if you are denied the proper treatment. And treatment is harder to get because doctors fear going to jail.

It’s remarkable, given Vance’s compassionate tone in his book, and his plea that the people of Appalachia be understood rather than ridiculed, how easily he morphed into someone with no compassion, stereotyping migrants and women.

After nearly 90 minutes of being lulled by Vance’s sham persona, Walz finally ripped his opponent’s mask off when Vance refused to say Trump lost the last election.

“Tim,” Vance protested, “I’m focused on the future.”

It was the truest thing Vance said in a night of lying about his own positions and mythical Trump achievements. Vance was focused on the future – his own.

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

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