The left must not compromise on its ideals, but it needs to get better at witnessing to the unconverted. When I go home to South Dakota to visit my family, I speak two languages. One is the language of my new home in California, of my job in the national media, a freewheeling speech that blends irony and academia and weird jokes. You’re probably familiar with this language if you read a lot of left-leaning internet sites. The other is the language of my youth, and its hallmark is a sincere, aching tone that longs for salvation and worries everything is about to crumble. We talked a lot about the end of things when I was growing up, about the last trumpet and Armageddon. But when I sit and...
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