The Perils of Dignity

They say politics ain’t beanbag, but right now I think it is – a vicious version of beanbag to be sure.

The anger on all sides has been ratcheted up in recent years, the issues are hugely consequential, but the campaign glides along on autopilot with a faux loftiness. Beanbag is easier than politics, so each candidate strives to be the more “dignified” with repeated calls for us to set aside our differences – but without any plans for meaningful compromise. These are code words for capitulation. Each side is inviting the other to be reasonable by agreeing to unconditional surrender. Nuts!

Like most people (other than university professors) I have friends and family who disagree with me about politics. I give them credit for holding their beliefs honestly and fervently. They deserve to know that they may be wrong, and I sometimes have to explain that I did not arrive at a contrary opinion merely through ignorance or ill will.

As a society, we are at once easily offended, offensive, and afraid of offending. But honest disagreement is honest; pretending to find middle ground where it does not exist merely inspires more frustration and anger. Our differences are what this campaign is about, and both sides would rather have a champion than an accommodator.

The campaign rhetoric is not about the real issues: war, abortion, economic survival, jurisprudence, Western Civilization. It is about slips of the tongue, hair, glasses, all-night diners, kitchen tables, and tone. These are merely surrogates for what matters.

Our differences may one day be subsumed by more momentous events, but they will not be washed away in a sea of triviality.

McCain will likely pay the price for pussyfooting. It is not authentic. McCain is a fighter who pussyfoots, whereas Obama is a . . . well, you get the idea. Just words?

The problem extends from the campaigns into actual governance. I predict that George Bush will go down in history as a very consequential president who failed to articulate the consequences. We instinctively understood the necessity for military action after 9/11, but Bush squandered that consensus by ceding the rhetorical field to his opponents (or perhaps being unable to compete with them on those terms). He apparently came to believe that the correctness of his actions would eventually be understood. Eventually isn’t good enough in a society obsessed with the short term. The case needed to be made forcefully and frequently. It’s as though Henry V woke up one fine St. Crispin’s morning and assumed his soldiers remembered why they were at Agincourt.

Dr. Mabuse attributes Bush’s reluctance to engage in the rhetorical battle to his aristocratic roots:

The Bush family has always had this lofty sense that they shouldn’t HAVE to fight, that somehow the world should be allowed to voluntarily arrange itself into a pleasing pattern where the good and the worthy (them) are effortlessly wafted to their appropriate position on top. Fighting is both common and disrespectful of Providence, or Destiny, and though you can TALK about it, actually DOING it (except to put on a little show for the groundlings) is a sort of violation of the natural order of things. I’ve always felt that George Bush sees his progress through the world almost like the launching of an ocean liner – a dignified, slow, smooth glide, almost imperceptible at first, as the ship begins to move, yet unstoppable in its grave dignity.

Bush’s opponents seized the opportunity. They were able to whittle away his support with a daily litany of short-term failures that drowned out any discussion of long term strategy. We were treated to repeated headlines saying “Three Soldiers Killed” with nothing to answer the question “doing what?” It became simply gruesome (and trivial) math when the number of dead soldiers exceeded the number of dead civilians in the World Trade Center. That statistic was held up as proof of failure, time to go home, vengence with a net loss.

We enshrine triviality by according dignity to people who are “undecided” and “independent.” Where does Frank Luntz find these bizarre collections of undecided voters – people who after two years of campaigning still don’t know what it’s all about? They are not undecided; they are indecisive. At the end of each debate, these know-nothings spout drivel while the rest of us try to assign some significance to it. The candidates are courting this indecisive vote with pabulum and offending those of us who care. Elections are decided by the least informed.

The candidates are hurling beanbags because they are afraid to pick up a real stick. The only voters who appreciate it are the ones with no opinions they deem worth defending. Where’s the dignity in that?