On Jan. 12, 1971, the first episode of All in the Family aired on televisions across America. It was the first major American series to be videotaped before a live studio audience, and went on to top the Nielsen ratings for an unprecedented five consecutive seasons during its eight-year run. The show has since been ranked the fourth greatest of all time by TV Guide, and in 2013, the Writers Guild of America named it the fourth best-written TV series ever. Its protagonist, a cantankerous curmudgeon by the name of Archie Bunker, is widely and endearingly regarded as a “lovable bigot,” and his impassioned takes on the social issues of the day are widely credited for the show’s immense popularity. From Wiki:
A World War II veteran, “Archie longs for better times when people sharing his viewpoint were in charge, as evidenced by the nostalgic theme song "Those Were the Days" (also the show's original title). Despite his bigotry, he is portrayed as loving and decent, as well as a man who is simply struggling to adapt to the changes in the world, rather than someone motivated by hateful racism or prejudice.”
In this regard, the patriarch of the Bunker family is the prototypical Trump voter. Reading the above description, it’s easy to envision a disheveled Archie in his red, made in China “Make America Great Again” hat, shouting “build that wall” as he watches The O’Reilly Factor on his couch in 2016. It also isn’t a stretch to see how a nation once so enthralled by the musings of a white working-class bigot has now fallen prey to a movement and political season predicated on the fiery yet misplaced anger of the white working class. As we look ahead to the installation of a government by, for, and of the disgruntled, narrow-minded, gray-haired white men of the Republican party, there’s little doubt that Mr. Bunker would enthusiastically agree: the “good ole days” are here again.
“All in the Family revolves around the life of a working-class bigot and his family. The show broke ground in its depiction of issues previously considered unsuitable for U.S. network television comedy, such as racism, homosexuality, women's liberation, rape, religion, miscarriage, abortion, breast cancer, the Vietnam War, menopause, and impotence.”
Set in Queens, New York, in the late 1960s/early 1970s, the series takes place at a time in American history that was rife with social and political change, not much different than the times in which we live today. Admittedly, I wasn’t yet born at the height of its popularity, but in my 35 years I’ve never once been able to stomach a full re-run episode. For me, the show’s greatest lure—Archie—is also its greatest insult and drawback. He gives voice to the very fears and prejudices that have given rise to (and fomented approval of) the racism and misogyny that have oppressed people like myself for centuries. Ultimately, I was raised by and continue to subscribe to a culture that deems everything about Archie’s worldview as abhorrent, and an existential threat.
My sensibilities aside, Archie Bunker captured the hearts and minds of the American public in ways that have left an indelible impact on both our society and our politics. While artistic critiques rarely hesitate to identify the proud bigotry and ignorance of the sitcom’s famed lead, said critiques do very little to explain whether his popularity was rooted in wholehearted agreement, or merely the schadenfreude of satire. In other words, was America laughing with or at Archie Bunker? While it is true that Archie’s ideology wasn’t offered up without constant rebuttals from his decidedly liberal son, clueless but often witty wife, or a host of more culturally sensitive supporting characters, the fact remains that the lifeblood of the show was the prejudiced predilections of its patriarch. As we endure the seemingly unending chorus of media voices attempting to convince us of the righteousness of white working-class anxiety and anger, it feels like I’m not only being forced to watch an episode of All in the Family, but also being admonished for still not liking it.
Perhaps I’m not enjoying this latest episode of American politics because very much like dinner at the Bunkers, I’m not a member of the family and I don’t feel the slightest bit of nostalgia, interest, or obligation to tolerate the bigotry and ignorance espoused by the patriarch at the head of the table. Perhaps Archie Bunker became and remains so popular today because millions of white Americans can identify with living with and finding a way to love a proud bigot, as evidenced by the sad reality that they were the only ethnic demographic to vote in majority for Donald Trump in 2016. Perhaps 62 million Americans of all stripes were able to vote for an avowed racist and misogynist, and a one-way ticket back in time, precisely because American popular culture brought Archie Bunker into their homes so many years ago—and not only normalized but glorified his misplaced anger.
And make no mistake, those days are most assuredly here again. One need look no further for confirmation of this notion than Donald Trump’s Twitter feed. He, like Archie, feels free to espouse his disdain for his detractors and the world around him at all hours of the day and night, no matter the backlash. He, like Archie, abhors the very social and political change that dares to value any voices and perspectives that aren't his own. He, like Archie, enjoys a relatively uninterrupted and wide-reaching platform, despite the nearly unanimous consensus that nothing he says is politically correct.
Ultimately, as he assumes the role of the patriarch heading America’s table, the question with Donald Trump won’t just be: are we laughing with or at him? The question will also be: are we angry with or at him—and for what reasons?
These are those days.