If you trace the evolution of American conservatism through the decades, from its intellectual roots to today’s brash populism, you’ll find one name echoing through it all: William F. Buckley Jr.
Buckley wasn’t just another pundit with an opinion. He was the face, voice, and vocabulary of a movement that reshaped American politics from the inside out. With his clipped patrician accent and razor-sharp wit, he didn't just talk about politics—he made politics entertaining. Buckley hosted the long-running TV debate show Firing Line, sparred on late-night talk shows, and launched National Review, a magazine that essentially birthed the modern conservative movement.
But Buckley wasn’t just a media personality with flair. He was a force of nature. “He invented cultural politics,” said Sam Tanenhaus, the former editor of The New York Times Book Review. In fact, Tanenhaus has just released a comprehensive biography titled Buckley: The Life and the Revolution That Changed America—a deep dive into the life of a man who, even in death, casts a long shadow over today’s political landscape.
So what made Buckley such a pivotal figure?
Let’s go back to the beginning. Buckley burst onto the national scene at just 25 years old, fresh out of Yale. His first book, God and Man at Yale, wasn't your average campus memoir—it was a bombshell. Buckley accused his alma mater of turning into a bastion of secularism and leftist elitism. That message caught fire among conservatives, and Buckley quickly became a darling of the Right. As Tanenhaus puts it, “He was the handsome Ivy League outsider revealing the secrets of the ivory tower.”
By 1955, he launched National Review, a publication aimed at organizing and energizing conservative voices at a time when they were often overlooked or dismissed. Buckley had one mission: to make conservatism not just credible, but cool.
Yet despite his cultural clout, Buckley never sought to dominate politics directly. His one major run for office came in 1965 when he launched a quixotic bid for mayor of New York City. Famously, when asked what he’d do if he won, he said, “Demand a recount.” The campaign was more spectacle than strategy—but it shook things up. “He was turning the party inside out,” Tanenhaus said. “He wanted the Republican Party to be the voice of the excluded middle class.”
Still, Buckley’s legacy isn’t spotless. He was a staunch opponent of key civil rights legislation in the '50s and '60s. His early support for segregation and resistance to racial equality remains one of the darker chapters in his career. Though he later moderated some of these positions, the damage had already been done.
His ideas were often challenged in the public square—most notably in debates with cultural heavyweights like James Baldwin and Gore Vidal. These fiery clashes weren't just ideological; they were personal, and they exposed the fault lines in Buckley's vision of America.
And yet, by the late 1960s and into the 1980s, Buckley’s influence only grew. He became a major booster for political figures like Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan. “Nixon needed Buckley,” Tanenhaus explained. “He lent Nixon intellectual credibility.” Reagan, on the other hand, didn’t need Buckley as much. “Reagan was a pragmatist. Buckley was still a movement guy.”
As the '90s rolled in, a new brand of conservatism began to take center stage. It was louder, less intellectual, and far more populist. Enter Rush Limbaugh. Enter Newt Gingrich. And eventually, enter Donald Trump.
So, how does Buckley’s vision connect to Trump’s America?
Here’s where it gets interesting.
When I asked Tanenhaus if there was a clear line from Buckley to McCarthy, to Goldwater, to Nixon, to Reagan, to Gingrich, to Trump, he didn’t hesitate: “You’ve just drawn the fever chart of the modern Republican Party.” That’s how foundational Buckley was. He wasn’t just a participant—he was the architect.
Even Newt Gingrich, now one of Trump’s most loyal defenders, acknowledges the influence. “Buckley was proof that conservatism could be smart, that you could win the argument,” Gingrich said. “I think we amused him. But we respected him. He set the bar.”
What about Trump? What would Buckley think of him?
Gingrich suggests that while their styles are vastly different, Trump is still riding the wave Buckley started. “Much of Buckley’s critique of Yale intellectuals is the fuel behind Trump’s assault on the Ivy League,” Gingrich noted. And while Buckley was all about intellectual firepower, Trump brings brute political force. “Trump focuses on doing and achieving more than on knowing,” Gingrich said. “Buckley was a genuine intellectual. He probably wouldn’t have been a great politician, but he shaped the people who were.”
That contrast is important. Buckley’s conservatism was polished, rhetorical, and steeped in philosophical debate. Trump’s is visceral, combative, and rooted in action. Yet both aimed at shaking up the establishment.
Tanenhaus sums it up this way: “Buckley’s legacy is complicated. He stood for civility, even when he was fiercely opposed to you. He wanted to beat you, but he’d do it with his vocabulary.” That level of respectful sparring feels almost quaint in today’s political climate.
Still, Buckley was the trailblazer. The guy who built the highway others now speed down. Whether you admire him or criticize him, his fingerprints are all over modern conservatism. And Tanenhaus isn’t shy about connecting the dots: “If Trump succeeds in the major things he’s aiming to do, then he may emerge as the most powerful figure to come out of the movement Buckley started all those years ago.”
In a way, Buckley created a conservative sandbox—and everyone from Reagan to Trump has been playing in it ever since. He may have passed in 2008, but the world he built is still very much alive—and evolving.
And that’s the thing about legacy. It doesn't always look the way the originator imagined. Sometimes, it takes on a life of its own. Buckley lit the spark. What followed was a wildfire.
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