Well, the tricksters and robo-callers are out in force in this final push to pump out as much bunkum as possible before it's all over but the votin'. I don't think it's going to work this time because the country's mood seems strongly against the continuation of Republican governance. Still, this kind of distortion is disturbing, and those who employ it don't do so only at desperate moments. It's as if there are simply NO accepted standards about what can and should be taken seriously in public discourse. (A few things the Demos have done, by the way, have probably been on the same level—the whole business about McCain's allegedly shaking the bring-it-on stick at "100 Years of War" being a prime instance. His meaning was clearly subjected to distortion and then repeated until it stuck. That shady maneuver deserves the official Babu Bhatt from
Seinfeld finger wag of disapproval. Very, very bad.) Anything to hijack the next news cycle set the talking heads a-spinning.
I remember a passage in one of Montaigne's essays in which he ladles out an unbelievably stupid syllogism (I think it goes, "drinking quenches thirst; ham causes us to desire to drink; therefore, ham quenches thirst") and then provides the proper response: not speech, but
a contemptuous smile. But completely illogical, nonsensical, and even crazy claims today don't generate that response—they lead instead to long, tortured discussions in the news outlets and on blogs, to fake campaign-outrage followed by probably genuine outrage on the part of some ordinary citizens.
This weekend's prizewinning ridiculous claim (as documented
here on Bob Cesca's site) has to do with the McCain campaign saying that Obama's statement, apparently at an Iowa rally ("My faith in the American people was vindicated and what you started here in Iowa swept the nation") means he used to be dubious about the country but now he thinks it's not so bad after all. This claim is approximately as stupid as Montaigne's joke syllogism, but here we have supposedly rational adults—mature politicians and, after the fact, journalists making millions of dollars to sound smart—taking it seriously.
The righties pulled the same thing on Michelle Obama for that remark she made about being proud of her country "for the first time in my adult life" (I'm paraphrasing) -- that remark
was clumsy, but it was cruel to hyperinflate it to the level of Symbionese Liberation Army radicalism. Part of the trouble in that instance, I suspect, had to do with some white folk not understanding the way many black folk relate to "patriotism." I find in many African American commentators a sober estimation of how things stand and how they could be improved, along with a steadfast refusal to be snowed by skillful propagators of bunkum. The great original for such clarity might be Frederick Douglass: witness his sometimes caustic but always altogether necessary criticism. We won't find Douglass engaging in jingoism or echo-chamber heroics; his "Oration in Memory of Abraham Lincoln" is remarkable for its simultaneous appreciation of the man's accomplishments and assessment of his shortcomings: "Viewed from the genuine abolition ground, Mr. Lincoln seemed tardy, cold, dull, and indifferent; but measuring him by the sentiment of his country, a sentiment he was bound as a statesman to consult, he was swift, zealous, radical, and determined...." MLK JR would be the modern version, with his statement about the Founders' "blank check" that the current generation needed to make good and his firm denunciation of the Vietnam War. His were hardly the views of a mild-mannered promoter of orthodoxy. So I took Michelle's statement in this broader context, though it was evident that some people apparently about as well grounded in American history as the nearest squirrel didn't see things that way at all.
On a related issue of misconstruction and generally whacked-out priorities, Glenn Greenwald has a good short essay today in Salon titled
"The Single Worst Expression in American Politics" on the creeping and insidious practice of referring to the president as "commander in chief," as if that tribal-sounding, militaristic phrase actually sums up what the presidency means. It's something I have been privately noticing for a long time, so I'm glad to see Greenwald so roundly condemning it. No doubt the growth of U.S. economic and military power in the previous century is largely responsible for this dangerous transformation of our understanding of the president's role (Nixon's so-called "imperial presidency" being one symptom of it), but George W. Bush's reckless, high-handed tenure has furthered this tendency.
A moment that crystallized my dislike for this "c-in-c" business was the Republican primary debates. In one of them, one of the candidates suggested that people's first right was the right to be kept alive. (I'm paraphrasing, but I believe that's pretty close.) Scarcely any statement could be less true to the spirit of the Republic, and it's a horrible distortion of the D of I's phrase about the unalienable right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." The president's primary job is to protect the Constitution -- not our foolish hides, snouts, tentacles, talons, or tails. Maybe someone's said that on this blog already, but I hereby repeat it with an Allosaurus snort and a mildly disquieting low rumble. Talons down also to "warfighter," "war president," and all such primitivistic coinages. We are not a Germanic tribe in the Teutoberg Forest around the time of Christ; we are a modern, cosmopolitan country. "Quintilius Varus, where are my eagles?!"