I Dream of Obama

I have too much going on to do much blogging, but I needed a nap after the soup kitchen today, and since the debate was on after I got home, I had to wait until after that to go to sleep.

Timing being what it was, I dreamt of Barack Obama again. And, no, not that kind of dream. I dreamed I got him in trouble with his apartment managers while I housesat for him as he went out campaigning for a few days.

It turns out that (in my head) Mr. Obama lives in a large, average, stunningly bland apartment complex. He also has a very messy downstairs bathroom with ugly navy blue embellishments, including a shag rug and a shag-carpeted toilet-cover-thing on the seat cover and back of the toilet. The bathroom wasn't dirty, just crammed with stuff in the manner of a closet, since it was close to the door. The stuff included miles of audio cable of varying gauges, since (in my head) Obama also runs his own audio in debates and while campaigning.

Anyway, while there, I brought a couple dogs to stay with me, dogs I don't actually own in real life. And I and the dogs stayed downstairs on a couch, and in between shifts at work watched a lot of political news on the big TV and drank a lot of Diet Coke. The latter is relevant, as when Mr. Obama returned a few hours earlier than expected, I was still in the midst of recycling the bottles and newspapers in the recycling alcove of his place (known in other contexts as a 'bay window') (which also contained more boxes of audio cable).

He was very calm about it, but his place looked a bit trashed, so he helped me put everything into the right bins so that his wife wouldn't return to a messy house. He went out for a few moments and when he came back, he said in the manner of a disappointed (but eminently calm) father that unfortunately it turns out that something called the 'noise abatement' squad or committee had been turned to when a water-utility worker attempted to get in and do some repairs: the dogs, it seems, had become a bit proprietary about their temporary home and been rather vocal about their displeasure with the intruder. There was an official complaint, he said, and he disheartenedly lifted the official paperwork.

Of course, the problem with my dogs' enthusiastic protection of the Obamas' apartment would be all but irrelevant were he to win the Presidency, and in all likelihood workmen would abide by landlord-tenant law at the White House, but for the moment I figured that consoling him with potentials and possibilities was an imprudent tack, so I just focused on making the newspapers very geometrically arrayed inside the recycling bins. Mrs. Obama came home, in aubergine and a single strand of pearls, while I was compulsively re-arranging the audio equipment next to the bins. As she walked through the door I had the sinking horror of a teenage babysitter who's eaten all the crab and brie and hopes desperately not to get found out until money has changed hands and some days have passed, but after a quick look around, she didn't seem unduly disturbed by the apartment's (now vastly-improved) appearance. At that point the noise from the recycling truck outside my window was too great, and I woke up.

Like Lipstick on Schadenfreude

I don't know how people like Andrew Sullivan or Ariana Huffington do it, how they write opinion about the state of politics day after day after day. I can still get my head around the idea of a print - including electronic print - reporter amassing and distilling facts from wire services and colleagues in the field to come up with 'Polls Show Prohibition Costing Hoover Crucial Votes' or 'Hearst Deal Likely to Solidify Roosevelt's Lead.' But as truly insane and lamentable as things (what things? nearly all of them! pick one, and just see if it's not insane and lamentable!) are now in this country, and this election, I am incredulous that anyone with an analytical, rational, or even humane bent can be calm enough to render opinion on all this obscenity. Admittedly, I don't get paid for it, which might well be a great tonic for wordlessness, but I'm verklempt. Vollständig. I can't begin to think about it properly in its entirety, let alone take an opinion.

That being said, as the Sarah Palin circus grinds on twenty-four hours a day, the one thing I am absolutely certain of is that I feel sick for her, and I also feel sorry (although more mitigatedly so) for McCain. When her nomination was announced, my first reaction was that it was patently a slick and dirty tactical move: the Democratic Convention seemed very successful, galvanizing millions of exhausted and angry voters. So the Republicans timed this bizarre announcement to take a bit of that attention away.

And that succeeded. She was a crazy pick, an unknown who had figured nowhere on McCain's short list. Plus, unlike those (Above-) Average White Guys McCain was considering, she was a woman, a (rather fertile) mother, a hottie, an elsewherian, and politically quite distinct from McCain. Like Reagan or Bush II, and unlike McCain, for Palin there is a set of ideas on which she will not compromise, and which undergird all her opinions, and which must always be beyond discussion or negotiation. We have seen that there are plenty of voters who can relate to that, if, admittedly, sometimes in the 'I don't know nothin bout art, but I know what I like' manner.

My first reaction was that, being ostensibly a tactical move, it would be short lived. It would serve its purpose of notoriety, exultation, hairstyle commentary and scandal, and then when the attention had died down in a couple weeks, the McCain campaign would find a way to release her back into the wilds of Alaska and settle down with a more predictable, truly marriageable partner. Rural grassroots support for Palin would carry over to the new VP candidate easily, provided a convincing exit narrative had been contrived and managed adroitly. The new candidate would continue to mention Mrs. Palin and her values, and she would continue to be a presence in the campaign, heroic, lionized, as though she had actually died for the struggle. He would promise to uphold her - and 'the American Public's - ideals as he took up her mantle. She would live on as a Photoshopped patron saint, her all-too-human imperfections fallen away effortlessly in post-mortem hagiography and cable-news apathy.

But that didn't happen. Or it hasn't happened yet. And while I do not for a second believe McCain should have picked her (nor that it was McCain who did), nor that she should have accepted, her precipitous rise to stardom based, apparently, on looks, maternity, domestic oil production, and an antagonistic relationship to northern fauna, has, in addition to showing how little news is actually possible to unearth on a 24-hour news station, catapulted this very average madonna-executive into the vicious world of international sarcasm. Every aspect of Sarah Palin to which we have access has been vilified ad nauseum. Even her pregnant daughter and her jock boyfriend/sudden fiance are global laughing-stocks. I may find the boyfriend an atrocious little boy personally, but that is of course irrelevant for very many reasons (just to start, neither of them are running for anything except cover, and neither are responsible for the choices of their elders, let alone the Republican Party), and I would have known nothing about him, his (18-year-old's) stance on matrimony, his sporting preferences, his measurements, his academic record, his misogyny, or his apparent willful ignorance had McCain's handlers not proposed this wild scheme to Palin, nor she accepted. We are all idiots, sinners, bad friends, worse enemies, and only cautious good-doers: that two average rural high-school students are now in the position of being lampooned and excoriated globally for being two average rural high school students is disgusting, and something that should trouble us all.

***Break in the middle of this long post: Ta-Nehisi Coates on the Atlantic said something similar and different here, so if you are tired with my position, or my crappy way of expounding it, you can go there, and have a different exposition of a different argument which comes out to a similar injunction: to not be so bloody mean. Or something. Close.

Part of my point is that we're all imperfect, and we all do stupid things, immoral things, and tasteless things. The majority of us are fortunate in that usually only about twenty other people know about them. And while I do not think Mrs. Palin is without culpability in any of this - she is an adult; she could have said no - whatever it is that motivated her assent does not mean that what she is experiencing now, as arguably the most famous person on earth, is to be relished. It is as lamentable as the rest of the heretofore unimaginable crap which daily assaults us.

For me, it was terrible to see her with Katie Couric. She looked at times like she was going to cry, and she was so nervous that even with her notes she frequently couldn't form complete sentences. Instead, she strung together repetitive dependent clauses and catch-phrases that had nothing to do with the question asked. For me it wasn't sport; it was rather like canned hunting. She may be a nice lady, or she may be an execrable human; she may be bright, and she may be utterly incurious; she may be both, always, at the same time. And it may be the case that it was nothing but hubris and a thirst for self-aggrandizement at any cost that drove her to accept the nomination. Manifestly, however, whatever her innate and cultivated aptitudes, and however much one agrees with or loathes her values, she is not ready for Vice- or real Presidency.

McCain is old enough to have said,' What, wait: --who??' and insist that the Party let Palin's family, her political experience, and her global curiosity mature a decade or so before inviting her into national politics. And McCain, as the Presidential candidate for the Party, the person who would have to work with the Vice-President for up to eight years, would, under ideal circumstances, have been able to, expected to, and insistent upon, personally vetting all potential candidates. She, likewise, could have reiterated the famous 'thanks but no thanks' and gracefully suggested that she had a few years more of study, and a few family matters to attend to, before taking the national stage. But, as fame now consistently outscores looks, smarts, and likability in polls of what Americans would prefer to have, her acceptance of the nomination is well within the bounds of normal American behavior. It may be sad, but it is hardly counter-cultural.

And it is because of that fact, the fact of her more strident, obvious, palpable, and less Photoshoppable humanity (especially as versus 30-year political veterans) - not because I agree with her on international or domestic issues, not because I see myself in her womanhood or motherhood, not because I, too, have a complex family, have made mistakes or misjudgments, have succeeded at some things at the expense of others, or have neglected to cultivate parts of myself - that I deeply empathize with her and her family right now, being the brunt of jokes no normal person (even a gorgeously postmodern, outlandishly cynical, Liberal one) could ever have never imagined, every detail of her life scrutinized in absurd fashion, her sartorial choices alternately mimicked and lampooned, her marginal, symbolic, token, silent role as envisioned, extrapolated to its (not entirely illogical) end as potential Ruler of the Last Great Empire.

I hate the whole thing. She shouldn't be there. She is suffering, her family is suffering, friends of friends of her family are suffering. And the country, all the millions and millions of us who are doing no-so-very-well-thank-you-at-the-moment-already will suffer tremendously should someone of so little curiosity and rationality end up as head cook, let alone Captain, of this blighted Narrenschiffe. -- Look, Margaret Thatcher was unique. Indira Ghandi, Golda Meir, Benazir Bhutto, Tansu Ҫiller, and Megawati Sukarnoputri were unique, and I'm only picking up the notable notables. There doesn't have to be a woman, or a black guy, or a gay guy, or an ex-bishop, or a prole, or relative of a prole, or a person with a disability, or a person with a large family, or no dependents, or a preference to baklava over awamat -- or a Poodle-studding business or a temporary obsession with lapidary. There just has to be a truly exceptional, historically grounded, ethically centred, utterly visionary, multiply capable, unfailingly prudential and unwaveringly calm individual of whatever genetic or gonadic makeup.

Do I think it was a brilliant cynical move? Sure: it got them what they wanted, which was attention. Do I think we all suffer when those in power think tactically rather than strategically, and of Party rather than country or world? You bet. And I'll see you in Paraguay!

...like spires above some group of edifices, firm-footed on the earth, yet scaling space and heaven

'Other states indicate themselves in their deputies, but the genius of the United States is not best or most in its executives or legislatures, nor in its ambassadors or authors or colleges or churches or parlors, nor even in its newspapers or inventors; - but always most in the common people. Their manners, speech, dress, friendships; - the freshness and candor of their physiognomy, the picturesque looseness of their carriage, their deathless attachment to freedom, their aversion to everything indecorous or soft or mean, the practical acknowledgment of the citizens of one State by the citizens of all other States, the fierceness of their roused resentment, their curiosity and welcome of novelty, their self-esteem and wonderful sympathy, their susceptibility to a slight, the air they have of persons who never knew how it felt to stand in the presence of superiors, the fluency of their speech, their delight in music (the sure symptom of manly tenderness and native elegance of soul), their good temper and open-handedness, the terrible significance of their elections, the President's taking off his hat to them, not they to him, - these too are unrhymed poetry. It awaits the gigantic and generous treatment worthy of it.' --Walt Whitman

I am seeing less and less unrhymed poetry in this terribly significant election as it continues. I admit that for a while I was almost excited; it felt not unlike a sporting event, albeit with rather grave stakes: so many strong candidates, shoo-ins Giuliani and Clinton toppled or well-matched by underdogs, a seeming unusually rich diversity of candidates, all in the midst of two wars, a nascent recession, raging global anti-American sentiment, a tormented and much-reviled administration, and the mortgage crisis and falling housing prices simultaneous with soaring fuel and heating costs.

Not to be glum, but the fact is I don't think anyone is up to the task. Not the candidates we have, nor anyone else. However, the enormity and variety of these and other problems at least serve to illustrate the scope and difficulty of the challenges awaiting the next sworn defender of the Constitution, while the risible pettiness of so many campaigns thus far demonstrate how little suited to the task are the candidates, the two viable political parties, and the campaign system.

To begin with, apart from Ron Paul and John Edwards (and may God bless both of them and grant us a future in which we will have more Candidates with Individual Platforms), and bracketing John McCain for the moment, the nature of the system, or process, has ensured that our selection at this stage of the campaign consists of candidates trying to prove that they are the most Republican of the Republicans, or the most Democrat of the Democrats, as those terms have come to be understood in recent years. Not only does this result in exhausting recitations of party platitudes, but we are also subjected to brain-numbing internecine schoolyard taunts as candidates for this insanely demanding position attempt to persuade us not that they are agile of mind and able to rise to new challenges with brave, fresh ideas or established, proven strategies (knowledge of which gleaned from long immersion in world and American history and political science) -- but that whatever fresh hell emerges during their tenure they will not be blinded by global or domestic realities and instead reliably make decisions based on what most conforms to current Party ideology, and damn the torpedoes.

Kim Jong-Il would be proud.

This does not solely result in a lack of choice (who are these candidates? what do they really stand for? what would they say were they allowed to be candidates, rather than merely apparatchiks? alright, fine, I guess I'll vote for the one with better hair), but as well an acculturation to it, a (tragic, really) resigned sense of This is how it is, then, I suppose...

And therefore we just live with it, and sooner or later we won't know any better. We listen to the Democrats one by one say universal health care is nice, and we let each Republican in turn assert that his respect for life is greater than that of all his fellows. And neither getting inner-city children liver transplants nor preventing suburban pregnancies from terminating has anything to do with the other 9,000 components of the job.

And this is a job, after all (megalomania and messiah complexes notwithstanding), and one that, moreover, involves a great deal more than thumping a pulpit. One that, indeed, will necessarily involve a great deal of ratiocination, negotiation, argumentation, and diplomacy. That we have a Constitution as well as separation of powers and a great big elected legislative branch means that this country cannot be run by the Old Testament, or Sharia, or the Klingon code. Some acknowledgment of this fact, a nod here and there to the (political?) realities of politics and governance, not to mention the nature of a republican state, would go a long way toward lessening the resemblance of most candidates to lip-synching monkeys.


But this stultifying sameness, this need for all serious contenders to prove themselves the most rigid Party Man, stifles true debate. The sole perceptible difference between Clinton and Obama at this point appears to be that Clinton is a white woman and Obama is a black man. Under ideal circumstances, that would be a less than convincing pitch in either case. Sadly, however, because it is all that we have, that means we get to base our Democratic-candidate analysis and decision upon which hairstyle we would prefer to look at for four to eight years. Clinton's has more room for variety, and not merely in terms of cut but potentially color, as well, so that is well to bear in mind. As for the Republicans struggling to convince us that the one time they casually dropped the the word 'choice' in 1972 they were really referring to the embarras de richesse at Baskin-Robbins, the one-upsmanship is equally otiose.

Two results come to mind: one is that due to all the ludicrous ideological sniping and personal insults we are confronted with a constructed antagonism between all same-party candidates until the end of the Primaries, at which point two of these hitherto (radically, as we were told incessantly) incompatible individuals will alter their rhetoric entirely and embrace each other as long-lost clan brothers, devoted adherents to the same glorious cause momentarily blinded by other concerns now forgotten.

The second nausea-inducing consequence of this doctrinaire, blindly party-centric approach to promulgating and maintaining a 'platform' is the apotheosis of rigidity. Any candidate who has reconsidered, moderated, or changed a position is lambasted - regardless of issue or consequence - as alternately traitorous (to the Party) or (the lesser charge) weak-willed, a 'flip-flopper,' insufficiently prophetic or, more accurately, too willing to take changing circumstances into account. In other words, circumstance, fact, geopolitical knowledge, the Constitution, wisdom, and the long- and short-term good of the country should not determine policy: Party doctrine must.

To my mind, however, the ability to consider new facts and developments is an asset; what comes of utilizing this skill can be good or bad, but of itself and independent of consequence it is a virtue and a blessing. Certainly changing course radically is not always the best option, but neither is sticking to a course of action or a mode of thought when it is patently not working. What does work is being able to choose among various options, and that possibility is predicated on being able to think, consider, analyze -- something apparatchiks are not paid to do. I used to believe in Santa Claus, and I used to wear footed pyjamas. I long ago changed my position on both, and I have never since awakened of a morning filled with regret or self-loathing over being weak willed, reckless, or capricious from having altered my stance. In the best of all possible worlds, political candidates and elected officials would be granted similar permission to evaluate, assimilate, contemplate, and apply new information as they see fit --and be adjudged on the consequences of their decisions rather than being pilloried for the audacity of daring to think.