Senator Thom Tillis has written a book, which means he now faces the daunting task of persuading people to buy it. This strikes me as an act of optimism bordering on heroism. In an age when the world seems to pivot every morning, often before breakfast, it is surprising that anyone has time to read a book about current events before the next current event overtakes it.
Tillis has occupied a peculiar place in Republican politics. For a time, he appeared to be auditioning for the role once played by John McCain: the Republican senator willing to cast the occasional inconvenient vote when his party, or Donald Trump, seemed to be venturing too far into the tall grass. McCain’s own record was hardly without contradictions, but he established a reputation for independence that Tillis sometimes seemed eager to emulate.
Yet the anticipated climax rarely arrived. The searching questions in committee hearings, the furrowed brow, the carefully worded expressions of concern often gave way to a vote in favor when it mattered most.
Perhaps he secured commitments behind closed doors. Perhaps he believed he could exert more influence from within than from without. Perhaps. But if so, the evidence has remained largely hidden from public view.
More visible has been his disappointment with figures such as Pete Hegseth, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., and others whose conduct has apparently fallen short of expectations. Yet it is hard to claim that any of these individuals arrived as mysteries. They are, more or less, who they have always been. Expressing surprise at their subsequent behavior seems an especially convenient way of avoiding responsibility for having placed them in positions of power.
Tillis now calls his vote to confirm Hegseth the biggest regret of his career. He also acknowledges that he should have opposed Kennedy’s confirmation. His explanation is revealing. He did not want to be the lone Republican responsible for defeating nominees whom other senators privately opposed. He describes this phenomenon as “courage outsourcing.”
It is an interesting diagnosis of congressional dysfunction, but also a confession of participation in it. If everyone waits for someone else to exercise courage, no one ever has to. And if Tillis understood the problem at the time, his explanation is rather less exculpatory than he may imagine.
Still, a little courage, even if tinged with calculation or theatricality, is arguably preferable to none at all. That is not a stirring standard, but it may be a realistic one. Can Tillis be faulted for falling short when so many others never challenge the administration at all? Is the greater offense speaking up too late, or never speaking up in the first place?
What complicates the matter is that plenty of intelligent and otherwise rational people have chosen accommodation over confrontation. Should we dismiss their judgment outright? Perhaps the pressures they face are greater than those of us watching from the outside appreciate. Party loyalty, political survival, and the desire to retain influence are powerful considerations. But these are explanations, not necessarily defenses. Indeed, one might reasonably ask what good political influence is if its preservation requires repeatedly declining to exercise it.
And what of late conversions? Political commentators are often eager to dismiss them, suspecting self-interest where conscience is claimed. Fair enough. Yet history suggests that people do sometimes learn. It’s possible. But the timing matters. Independence becomes considerably less expensive when a politician no longer faces the same electoral consequences. It is easier to speak one’s mind when there is considerably less to lose by doing so.
So I find myself unable to cast Tillis as a hero. His record will not support it. But neither can I join those who condemn him more harshly than colleagues who have never challenged the administration at all. He spent too many years hinting at independence before finally attempting to exercise it. Whether that represents genuine growth, political calculation, or some combination of the two, I cannot say. What I do know is that regret is not the same as courage, and recognizing a mistake after its consequences become apparent is not quite the same as refusing to make it.
Can we give Tillis some credit for speaking more plainly now? Perhaps his book will reveal a depth of reflection that his public record has not always suggested. But redemption ought to require something more than a retrospective explanation of why one failed to act when action mattered. It is difficult to credit his convictions today without questioning why they so rarely governed his decisions yesterday.
The question is more complicated than either his admirers or his critics would prefer.
But I still cannot buy the book.