There was a time, years ago, when I looked forward to reading Peggy Noonan. Her weekly Wall Street Journal column seemed to cut through the noise of national politics and the churn of the news cycle to articulate some important nugget of wisdom about the state of our shared civic life. Whether I agreed with her or not, I always wanted to know what she thought, and I always took the time to read her.
Those days are, of course, long gone. Like nearly every elite media pundit, the Trump era utterly confounded Noonan. She simply couldn’t understand Trump’s appeal, and her analysis of him was often reduced to ridiculous anecdotes — a conversation she’d had with her uncle, a chat with the Dominican guy
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