Rhetoric and Politics
When I woke up September 3, 2004, I had a splitting headache. Like many college undergrads having had too much alcohol the night before, I was ready to swear off the poison in hopes that the throbbing of my head would stop. Of course, no amount of sacrifice would make the temporary pain stop.
The morning would get much worse before I would begin to feel better. I had passed out on the couch of my living room as I watched states go red. In the way most politically active young people react, I had felt that the world had gone mad. My vote, already counting for very little, was at least part of a greater resistance. My state went blue, hardly a surprise considering I was living in Rhode Island. My state had said, “not us.” The nation as a whole said otherwise. I was disgusted, and my TV had stayed on, cheerfully (as it was relatively early still) informing me that the votes had been counted in other states.
My sense that a nightmare would end was wrong. My opinion of certain conservative members of my own family was called into question. I made my statement in the way such statements must be made: aloud. “I will never get so wrapped up in an election again.” As little as the statement did to my hangover, it became a litany in my life. 2006 came, and while I voted as I felt for Rhode Island’s open Senate seat, I could comfortably acknowledge the “other guy” as a decent and honorable man. I didn’t feel quite so emotionally attached, and it was good.
Now, in April of 2008, I find my litany challenged, not for the reasons I would have suspected, but out of a frustration with everything related. To be honest, the candidate I currently support was not my first choice, nor my second. I have learned to appreciate him for his depth and his understanding, but it did take some time.
I have read and sadly find myself agreeing with Al Gore when he bemoans the end of the Age of Reason. Part of this bitterness comes from the pains I felt so closely in 2004, as well as the pains I feel every time I hear of a friend going on a tour in Iraq. Some part of me still rages at Pennsylvania, Florida, and Ohio. Another part of me rages at my now Senator, John Kerry, for not being aggressive enough, for not playing Bush’s rhetorical game of chess. I’ve seen him in person twice now, and I can tell how much better he can be in person than he ever was on television. Another part of me suspects it wouldn’t have made a difference.
I will not suggest that the election was “stolen” or people who voted for Bush were somehow “uninformed.” Those I know who voted Republican were generally well informed, and there was certainly enough of them that it is certainly no fluke nor impossibility Bush won. He played fast pitch and Kerry just wasn’t quick enough.
I should also say what rankles most about these last four years is not the blood, the cost of gas, the sadness of the future. These could and probably would have happened no matter the victor. What rankles is the game. For the third time of my observation, George Bush took down an opponent not by actually addressing issues, but by repeating a false rhetoric and using media connections to further repeat these mistruths.
I studied rhetoric in college and the usage of the language to twist the reputations of good men struck me as anti-ethical. Arguments of “reality-based communities” openly admitted the old systems had been co-opted. Regardless of what was “true,” we had the media discussing unsubstantiated allegations fed to them. And when truths were discussed, it was a discussion not on the message, but on the telling. This was a distinction I felt and feel is very telling. Discussing the telling is easier, “Kerry just can’t loosen up. Bush appears more relaxed.” Messages appeared meaningless. The election in 2004 or, for that matter, 2000 had ceased to be about issues at all. It was the straight-laced Ivy League Liberal Elites vs the down-to-earth Texas Rancher. The reality of either side rarely entered the discussion.
2006 was in some ways a break. In Rhode Island, the discussion and decision for the key Senate seat was straight forward, a single variable equation: which party would the winner caucus with. The victor had nothing but good things to say about Lincoln Chafee, the incumbent, aside from that single variable. The challenger, Sheldon Whitehouse won.
In this presidential cycle, we have seen these new old systems come into play once again. It’s beyond personal attacks; it’s only personality. When the field was wide, there was at least some discussion on the Democrat side of issues. Even then, it was beginning. “Barack Obama speaks so eloquently,” as if eloquence was something amazing in a politician. I will be the first to say he is by far the best public speaker either party has seen in about twenty years, but what was more important was where he stood on the issues. It turns out, he was and is strong, stronger than those I supported beforehand. But, almost more importantly, he tends not to sling mud.
We have been presented with a unique and interesting experience as citizens of the United States in this age. Three candidates, differing on many issues, all being constantly torn down by each other and by the media. No one is safe, and the “positive” stories are barely mentioned. The media coverage of all three is antagonistic.
There are good stories for all three, great ones even. McCain’s views of the war should be presented alongside the fact that his own son is presented with the consequences of his decisions. He constantly makes decisions that are almost impossibly hard for any parent. Hillary has seen how to run this country well. She has been directly exposed to the administration that has seen the smoothest economy since the New Deal. She also has one of the best advisors any President could want, regardless of how his personal decisions have polarized the nation. Obama has a consistent message and history that he doesn’t need to explain away.
What of these three do we see: McCain’s gaffes, his “senior moments,” his hundred year comment. Hillary’s attacks, her tears, her flawed memories. Obama’s pastor, his “bitter” comment, the “cult of personality.” All things that must be taken into account, but hardly the measure of a man, or a candidate, or a platform. What should we see? Their stands, maybe.
When McCain said he intended to stay in Iraq indefinitely, it was not a prescription for endless war, but a very nuanced standpoint that, if you follow an interventionist view on foreign policy, makes sense. It would be a mistake to simply walk away and assume everything would go to plan. It is a stance that both Hillary and Obama would do well to honestly address. We don’t have that discussion, one about a defining feature of present and future U.S. foreign policy.
When Hillary talks about her experience, both in Senate and as the First Lady, is does the truth a disservice by not discussing it. Her role in both was not minor, and she has very strong opinions on various topics, such as health care. We talk about her experience, thankfully we even talk a little bit about her proposals. We don’t talk about why her proposals have changed so much in eight years. We don’t talk about where the money of her campaign comes from. Where is the nuanced discussion of health care in America? Do we have to have it from Michael Moore?
Obama’s pastor was angry, maybe even justifiably so, but we never discussed his possible justification, just the way the message was delivered. We held Obama to his pastor’s behavior without a discussion of the message. His bitter comment? Well, have we really looked at if the people living in rural America are bitter? According to my time in rural Pennsylvania, they are and justifiably so. Where is the discussion among the candidates and the media about a growing class distinction? We mention “the two Americas,” but it is a talking point, not a discussion.
Among the candidates, we begin to see hope. At least, in one candidate. The rhetoric of both McCain and Hillary is similar, the other guy is bad. Some assertion is made, veracity and nuance be damned. Obama is not immune to these problems, but he spends far more time discussing problems and solutions to issues. The cult of personality related to him is the hope of a new day, one in which it isn’t about personality, but a change in the discussion. That’s a cult I can support.