Frank Bruni, the New York Times columnist known for his sharp takes on politics and culture, sat down with Bret Stephens, a fellow op-ed writer and former editor at the Wall Street Journal, for what turned out to be a wide-ranging conversation. They kicked things off with a heavy dose of schadenfreude aimed at Britain’s embattled Prime Minister Keir Starmer, whose approval ratings have plummeted faster than a meteor. Bruni quipped that at least President Biden isn’t Starmer— a centrist whose dull demeanor and wavering policies have alienated voters and fueled extremes on both the left and right. Stephens, ever the hopeful centrist, confessed his sadness; he had pinned his dreams on Starmer as a modern Tony Blair, a steady hand to exorcise the ghost of Jeremy Corbyn’s far-left, antisemitic legacy. Instead, Starmer’s kryptonite proved to be a lethal mix of indecision and charisma deficit, pushing Britain toward populist chaos. The duo wondered aloud what this British blunder bodes for American Democrats: does it doom moderates like Starmer, forcing them to embrace firebrand progressivism to counter Trump’s MAGA mania? Bruni argued that while bold ideas aren’t essential, consistency and conviction are—paired with someone who can ignite a crowd, not bore it into submission. He confessed he’d rather follow IKEA assembly instructions than tune into one of Starmer’s speeches. Stephens nodded, highlighting a core tension: competence and sanity nestle in the political center, but charisma thrives at the edges, from left-wing firebrands like Zohran Mamdani to Trump’s bombastic right. Charisma at the center is rare, he mused, before praising Jake Auchincloss, the young, bright Massachusetts congressman, as a potential beacon. Bruni chimed in with a roster of Democrats trying to crack this code—making reasonableness sexy through bluntness (Elissa Slotkin), beards (Pete Buttigieg), or faith-infused practicality (Josh Shapiro, whose Jewish storytelling adds depth, and Raphael Warnock’s reverend-esque passion). But Stephens worried if Shapiro’s pro-Israel stance might alienate the base, given how progressive critiques have morphed from balanced to outright hysterical, equating Israel with Hamas. This Shanghai-over discussion of Israel felt all-too-real, with condemnation coming from every corner of the spectrum, breeding a dangerous schism even in Trump’s MAGA world. Bruni defended nuance, urging space for criticizing Netanyahu’s actions while admiring Israel without blanket villainy. He raged against the operatic, grievance-laden tone of modern politics, where subtlety dies, and failures like Starmer’s highlight the peril—amplified by social media’s echo chambers that punish measured leaders.
The pair pivoted to some lighthearted—but pointed—ribbing of the Trump administration’s oddballs, starting with Kash Patel, the FBI’s new deputy director and a walking caricature. Stephens had watched Patel’s congressional testimony and likened it to a bad impersonation of Pam Bondi, the raconteur ex-prosecutor: Bondi was smooth rye on the rocks, Patel was straight-up bourbon, undiluted and over the top. Bruni, ever the wit, warned of becoming Patel’s next “gin and tort” victim—he’s known as Ka$h the litigious, after all. They chuckled over his custom Woodford Reserve bottles, engraved with him and the FBI, doled out like party favors. Nothing says law enforcement like handing out Manhattans! Stephens reminisced about Bill Barr’s dead-body vow against appointing Patel, calling it evidence of Trump’s “shocking detachment.” Yet here Patel is, guarding the bureau with the loyalty of a bulldog to a bone—perfect for a teetotaller president who despises moral accountability. Bruni dug into Patel’s bizarre backstory: the trilogy of children’s books he wrote, “The Plot Against the King,” painting Donald as the persecuted monarch and himself as Kash the Distinguished Destroyer, battling Hillary Queenton. Needless to say, the Newbery Medal committee yawned. Stephens quoted a professor’s wisdom: A-leaders pick A-advisers; B-leaders pick C’s; Trump, well, grades his crew mostly F for flattery and failure. Bruni quipped that makes the president himself a D at best, basking in the grade inflation of elite universities he’s so eager to dismantle. They invoked Alexander Hamilton’s Federalist 76 warning against picking obsequious sycophants for top jobs, lamenting how Trump’s crew flouts constitutional ideals. Then, onto the FDA commissioner’s forced resignation: Marty Makary.
Makary’s departure sparked debate— a cancer surgeon from Johns Hopkins who’d flipped the food pyramid away from carbs and blocked kid-addictive fruit-flavored e-cigarettes. Bruni called him both a blessing and curse in the “Axis of Quackery,” the band of quacks led by RFK Jr. and Mehmet Oz, poised to handle crises like a cruise ship hantavirus outbreak. Stephens deemed Makary mostly punchline: he supported his nomination for intellectual heft, but Makary obstructed “right to try” access for desperate patients with rare diseases and possibly fibbed to Congress. Under RFK’s watch? Forget miracles. This led to a broader fret about corrupting children: Bruni blasted society’s embrace of vices like online betting, porn, and legalized weed, citing an Axios piece. Bret agreed, blaming a societal swing from priggishness to permissiveness. He riffed on Kissinger’s foreign policy oscillations, applying it to domestic culture: disastrous flips between prohibition and indulgence. Ironically, Democrats now preach morality and guardrails, while Republicans cheer libertarian excesses—Trump’s minions staging a buffoonish opera buffa of the Seven Deadly Sins, with Hegseth auditioning for wrath, lust, pride, and hot air. From Helen Andrews’s tweetstorm to Frederick Douglass’s wisdom on moral identities, the conversation underscored how culture wars bleed into policy. Bruni seized the chance: Trump’s scandal-plagued cabinet (disgraced secretaries, a demented FBI pick, greedy spawn) invites Democrats to highlight moral arcs. But Stephens cautioned against easy finger-pointing; competence matters.
Their chat circled back to human connection, softening the political edges. Bruni shared how his dog, Regan (not the Reagan, he clarified with a laugh), at almost 12 and a half, is slowing down, echoing Joe Posnanski’s tender tribute to his aging poodle Westley, who’s pushing 14. Posnanski described Westley trying to shove furniture blocking stairs, like Hercules battling a cave door, then gazing up with angelic sleep, urging his human to finish writing: “Come on, man, you should have finished that by now.” Bruni recognized that look—Regan’s daily prod—wishing those moments could last forever. It was a poignant pause, humanizing them amid the chaos, reminding us politics’ venom can’t touch a dog’s unconditional love. Stephens concurred, steering from Hegseth’s flatulence to life’s simple joys.
Thus, the duo’s banter wove through failures like Starmer’s, ideological traps, administrative absurdities, and societal shifts, ending on warmth. It captured our fractured discourse: where charisma eclipses character, extremes dominate desirability, and nuance is a relic. Yet, in a dog-eared look or bipartisan agreement, hope glimmers for sanity.
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