It was recently revealed that Donald Trump’s family, immigrants from Germany, chose early on to live a lie: They called themselves Swedes. There is more pathos than blame in this deceit. After all, they were by then established Americans residing in Queens, N.Y., far from the venomous swastikas of Munich. Understandably, they were in fear of stigma, much as today a Muslim immigrant from, say, Sri Lanka might dread being associated with the Islamists of Hamas.
Yet Mr. Trump’s heritage of self-conscious deception discloses something else. His choice of “America First” as a slogan to inspire is unlikely to have been made out of innocence, and still less out of ignorance. Historical amnesia—a later generation having forgotten the Lindbergh era and its prevailing nativism, including anti-Semitism—in this instance cannot apply. He knew the phrase well. Responsibility for the baleful implications of Charles Lindbergh’s cry of “America First” was exactly what those fake Swedes were hoping to evade.
Names, like families, have histories. Academics, particularly the historians among them, and writers (not omitting the journalists) who term themselves “progressives” are hardly invoking the admirable but nearly eclipsed Robert La Follette, the Wisconsin reformer of the early 20th century who founded an ephemeral American party of that name. Not unlike Mr. Trump when he pretends that “America First” is an expression new-born and pure, they mean to offer the label they flaunt as altogether free of the impress of the past.
It cannot be done, at least not naively. No name is a vacant well. For thinking citizens who are reluctant to toss history into Orwell’s memory hole, these self-defined progressives carry, willy-nilly, the tainted name of those earlier progressives, Stalin’s fellow travelers, who were willfully blind to the reality of the Great Promise and its gulags and show trials. What’s in a name? The date and place and meaning of its birth. And as a German is not a Swede, so is a progressive not a La Follette.