Especially given Rick Santorum’s two recent wins, and headlines practically blaring Romney’s concomitant weaknesses, I tend to see the Republican primaries as proof of a problem without a solution: members of a democracy don’t always vote for the superior candidate.
To be perfectly clear, I’m no fan of Mitt Romney. But I think it’s reasonable to conclude that he’s a better experienced and substantially less extreme (fleeting appearances to the contrary) nominee than Rick Santorum, and therefore objectively better equipped to run a twenty-first century democracy, where decisions must be made on the basis of reality rather than wishful ideology. Polls and mounting unfavorables to the contrary, Romney’s also better equipped to beat Obama in the general election, as Santorum’s ability to energize for the base simply cannot make up for the mass exodus of moderates Republicans will witness following a Santorum convention.
This is to say, if Republican primary voters are attempting to rationally select (1) the best President (2) who is also best-equipped to defeat the sitting President, they’re doing a bad job of it, or the democratic process is failing to translate their preferences into useful results. My conclusion holds even if Republicans are trying to select, instead, (1) the most conservative (read: extreme) candidate (2) who is also electable.
Given this bleak outlook, there’s one way to save democracy: if we imagine that, despite the voters’ stated goals, the Republican electorate is actually engaged in a longer game of which they’re not even consciously aware: crafting the party over the long term. Here we see two possible narratives emerge:
First, Republicans are happy to take a dive this term, so long as by nominating a conservative candidate, they build a philosophy that can win given enough time, and set the stage for a better message man to win with it. Call this the Goldwater option (per Toobin’s analysis), under which Republicans nominate an evangelical to signal (and cue up) an evangelical revolution, knowing it’ll take about four years to incubate. Even so, this seems like objectively bad strategy, because the current facts don’t fit the Goldwater pattern. Santorum’s evangelical revolution is not so much a true revolution as a counterrevolution against an infant post-culture wars finance-centered Republican Party, happily smothered in its cradle by the chaotic influence of the Tea Party. And, more importantly, the electorate isn’t just “not ready” for Santorum-style theocracy; they’ve affirmatively rejected it in poll after poll showing support for gay marriage rising by the day, and shock at Santorum’s anachronistic opposition to contraception (I mean, really). Truly, Santorum is one of the finest minds of the 13th century… and (maybe) a good alternative to George W. Bush. In the 2000 primaries.
Second, Republicans are engaged in the eschatalogical reinvention of their party, a process that can only be begun by the ritualistic sacrifice of a fundamentalist scapegoat. In Santorum, they’ve found their man. By this theory, Republicans really believe that they lost in 2008 because they weren’t conservative enough, and aim to test the theory by setting a paleoconservative against a week incumbent. If they win, they’ve proved a theory, and the Party can continue to radicalize apace. But when they lose, Santorum absorbs the blame, as a proxy for the religious right, and moderates may begin the arduous task of extirpating the fundamentalist influence on their party.
I want to believe the second narrative is true, but it’s one that entirely deprives the voters of agency. The justification for why democracy “works” in this case is that the electorate is either smarter than its component parts, like a hyper-efficient market, or force standing “behind the veil, unseen yet present”; or that we expect to spin gold from whatever electoral straw the electorate hands us.
Maybe the answer is that democracy can’t be judged by the short-term, or by individual elections, but only in retrospect. The arc of the Republican primary is long, but it bends towards… something?
Stay Useless, by the Cloud Nothings
Virginia’s proposed law to require an invasive vaginal ultrasound before any abortion conducted in the state blissfully lies in ruins, the product of Governor McDonnell’s attempt to run away from the more extreme wing of his party, and back to comfortable territory from whence he can seek a vice presidential nomination. But leave it to the National Review to explain to America’s women why a mandate that each abortion require, regardless of medical necessity, the act of vaginal penetration at the state’s diktat, is actually not so bad:
Actually, I won’t reproduce it — the language is pure absurdity, which I shall not utter here. Basically, the claim is that a survey of Planned Parenthood clinics recommend vaginal ultrasounds before abortion. So why should women fear a state mandate of something that their physicians would recommend anyways? Well:
On a reading of the commerce clause that allows the government to force you to buy [medical procedures] from a private company, what can’t the government force you to do?
Mildly altered from Megan McArdle, of course. Note, though, that patients pay for every procedure performed on them. There’s literally no difference between a procedure mandate, and Obamacare’s individual mandate, except that the former is more specific (therefore worse) and derives from the state rather than the federal government (therefore… better? Reports differ). Republicans manage to bend themselves into knots over the existential threat to freedom entailed by requiring American citizens to buy health insurance on the expectation that they will, at some point, use it to purchase medical services of their choosing; but can’t concern themselves with a state requiring a woman to buy, pay for, and submit to an incredibly invasive procedure that, even if healthful, she should have the option to discuss with her doctor before being bound to accept.
With reminders like this, it’s hard to view abortion as anything other than a black hole, from which reason and otherwise seemingly well-reasoned philosophies of governance simply cannot escape (at least on the right). Or as the thread that makes the libertarian fabric underlying modern Republicanism unravel, disastrously.
Yesterday’s Times profile on the history of that quintessentially American tradition — the peaceful, loyal succession — ought to raise a question for today’s Democrats. Has the tradition been followed in this administration, in fact as well as in form? And if not, what can we say about it?
Consider Senator McCain’s dignified concession speech that night three years ago, offered in the best tradition of small-r republican magnanimity, in which McCain embraced his opponent and acknowledged the President-Elect’s mandate for change… to a chorus of boos. Since then, it’s fair to say that congressional Republicans, and presidential candidates, have treated Barack Obama’s presence in the White House as an imposition, an aberration to be corrected, rather than anything to which he might be entitled by virtue of 69 million votes (and 9-and-a-half-million-vote margin over his opponent). We’ve been reminded that America is a center-right nation, with the implication that Obama’s win is something to be explained away; heard trumped-up charges of voter fraud aimed at delegitimizing the process that gave him his position; and dealt with a Congress that’s gleefully broken its own rules and ended longtime truces to block the President at every turn.
If President Obama ever had a honeymoon phase to his presidency, we might say — as seems to be the usable thesis of Ron Suskind’s otherwise factually-challenged, narrator-driven tome on Obama’s first few years in office — that he squandered it on an unnecessarily divisive issue, healthcare reform, when he could’ve taken bold, consensus-generating steps to right the economy. But even this evaluation should be tempered by a reminder of how quickly the Republican opposition rushed to Total War on the President.
This is a story we should play up — that for the past three years, America has functionally lacked a loyal opposition, one that works against the President but within expected norms, and votes against his interests, but offers their own affirmative plans for action in response. Rather than accepting the consequences of eight years of mismanagement under Bush, and acceding to the result of a lawful election, the Republican Party offered us that first part of Tennyson’s famous line, glorifying the fight, without the peace that comes thereafter:
Blow trumpet! he will lift us from the dust.
Blow trumpet! live the strength and die the lust!
Clang battleaxe, and clash brand! Let the King reign.
This is a case we can make in 2012, provided it’s mixed in equal parts with a reminder of those positive plans the minority derailed for their own benefit, and at great cost to the country. And we can start with the unemployment extension.
Don’t miss Rolling Stone‘s long-form piece chronicling the sad saga of the Republican Party’s deliberate descent into economic malpractice. We need a reckoning.
Longtime readers will remember how much I enjoy the theater of politics, and its tendency to produce characters whose fortunes rise and fall in an almost Shakespearean fashion: like Macbeth or Othello, these are likable figures who somehow lose themselves, and everything they’ve built, based on one outsized character flaw. In years past, we’ve had Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, who made the mistake of trusting George W. Bush; and John McCain, undone by his own impetuousness, and for failing to realize that the Republican Party was no longer a place for statesmen. To that, let’s add another one — though it doesn’t have to happen, a chain of events could be about to unfold that places the Republican Party, writ large, at the center of its own Shakespearean tragedy, where the party will see itself undone by no less of a classical failure than hubris.
Naturally, for my story to come true, Mitt Romney has to lose the primary, and Newt Gingrich has to win. That’s looking like an increasingly plausible outcome — remember, “inevitable” nominees aren’t always so inevitable — but it’s also one that leads directly to the Republican Party’s loss next fall. While that could prompt the kind of soul-searching Doug Mataconis desperately hopes for, I’m not so optimistic. The time for introspection was 2008: is this Republican Party actually capable of arresting and revising its descent into radicalism? I think no. Which leaves us with this plot structure:
Exeunt, Republican dominance.
While the right will happily delegitimize the 99% movement based on the excesses and failures of these particular messengers, the message, it seems, has landed precisely as it was intended.
For one, this week’s New Yorker highlights a discovery Politico made earlier this month: “the use of the phrase ‘income inequality’ in the media has more than quintupled since the beginning of the occupation.” For another, congressional Democrats are poised to finally push Republicans to choose, conspicuously, between preserving job-stimulating cuts to the payroll tax, and preserving the historically low upper-income tax bracket. Republicans, of course, will elect the latter.
It’s a sign of the times that this potential “victory” for us takes the form of, functionally, requiring Republicans to choose the less offensive platform of their hand-crafted arguments. The argument that tax cuts stimulate job growth, after all, derives more than a little from Republican theory, even if the connection between tax relief and hiring is a little less attenuated than Reagan’s discredited “trickle-down” model. Here’s hoping Democrats manage to stick to their guns and, somehow, overcome their basic inability to message to make Republicans pay for the choice. We need to not be afraid of taking a tough rhetorical stand against bad policies. It’s probably time, for one, to embrace some elements of the right’s rhetorical toolbox. The featured picture, for one, demonstrates a damn-fine catchphrase, keyed to make our point while delegitimizing theirs. Let’s see it on some buttons.
This could be the final value of Occupy Wall Street: that they’ve given Democrats some cover to be less extreme than them, and take a stand on issues that should properly be understood to belong to the middle of the political spectrum. At the end of the day, at least we’re talking about it.
Certainly without knowing it, President Obama, in this pre-inaugural picture plucked from the New York Times, manages to pull off a fair impression of the famous classical statue, the Augustus of the Primaporta, matching almost perfectly the second Caesar’s raised arm, held either to indicate a more prosperous future and recovery from Rome’s century of civil wars, or to address his gathered legions moments before a great victory. It depends on who you ask. But in either case, it’s a promise the administration has, by and large, failed to live up to. We can play the blame game another time — I for one continue to blame a Republican party more interested in killing the Democratic resurgence, embodied in Obama, than in running the country — but we’ve had a hand in it too. We haven’t fought when we should have, we’ve fought when we should’ve kept quiet, and overall blanched from the Total War the administration so obviously faced as early as January 21, 2009. Where did we go wrong? To start, let’s rewind to 2008. Maybe it should’ve been Hillary.
Let’s assume — correctly, I think — that there was little policy difference between Hillary and Obama, except possibly as to Iraq. Instead, the choice between Hillary and Obama reduced to a choice of visions for the country. With Hillary, we had a proven fighter, someone who could stand toe-to-toe with the ideological violence of the Bush-era Republican Party. Choosing her would commit us to another eight years of fighting the culture wars, but probably a victory. With Obama, instead, we had the promise of the beginning of a national healing period. Time after time, Obama shrugged off the divisive rhetoric his opponents hurled at him, and always seemed capable to draw us back to our common denominators. Choosing him, it seemed, gave us a fair shot at national unity, consensus politics, and an end to the hyperpartisanship, brinksmanship, and overall reduction of American values that characterized the Bush years.
Like so many, I opted for the latter vision. This was a mistake, but a well-intentioned one. I never expected, nor thought the post-Bush Republican Party capable of, an actual net increase in partisanship. It’s the rare faction that gets handed a crippling loss, and decides the solution is to radicalize. But that’s the opposition we received — as was evident pretty early on — and Obama was not the right President to fight that war. Nor has he truly endeavored to become that type of President. He’s stuck by Bush’s quickly-abandoned goal of being a “uniter, not a divider,” with some exceptions, and if that’s what we need eventually, it’s not what we need now. Though we may never know, a President Hillary Clinton might have understood that.
Like relationships, presidencies are part chemistry, and part timing. Chemistry — here used in the individual sense — our current President has no shortage of. He’s an important, even singular individual, a presidential character if there ever was one. But the Republicans’ dangerous game has functioned to strand him an era not of his own making, nor suited to his strengths, and Obama and the Democrats alike have consistently failed to adapt. America desperately needs a transformative President; but more urgently, we need a soldier to fight the war to get us to a place where we’re ready for a transformation. I suspect the great majority of Americans are already there, but their leaders, at least on one side of the aisle, are not. And until those leaders are absolutely and completely crushed, we’ll never have peace. Octavian had to kill Antony before he could become Augustus.
It’s not hard to see why Republicans do so well on Twitter: in a forum that limits debate to 140 characters, there’s no room for principled disagreement, shades of grey, or arguments backed up by facts. It’s the perfect environment for unsubstantiated talking points like, “drill baby drill!”, “Where’s the birth certificate?”, and the Republican House majority’s job creation “strategy,” which apparently fits in a hash tag: #forgotten15, a reference to 15 “job creating” bills passed by the Republican House, but stalled out by the Democratic Senate.
Terrifying, isn’t it?! Why wouldn’t the Democrats pass job-creating legislation!? Well, let’s find out. Here, a review of the bills Eric Cantor gladly tags as job-creators, through an increasingly creative bill-naming process:
This isn’t a job-creation strategy; it’s a love letter to hazardous industry, and the same radical deregulation strategy, calling for a return to the turn-of-the-century working conditions, that’s been rejected by the voters time and time again. Only now, the House majority’s repackaged each individual sell-out as “job creating,” relying on the shaky major premise that deregulation of finance and heavy industry goes hand-in-hand with job creation. Perhaps that idea holds together for bills #11-14 — in some cases, we will have to decide between long-term environmental health and short-term job creation — but it’s tough to see how letting corporations charge differential, higher rates for internet access (#3), or move jobs away from union states and into non-union states (#6), results in any net addition to the workforce.
I understand we may not believe in Keynes anymore — even though we hardly gave him a chance this time around. But it’s telling, isn’t it, that Republicans offer nothing in the way of an alternative model. Instead, we’re expected to fall for the stimulus bill’s evil twin: rather than invest in our future with aggressive, government-funded public works, we’ll sell our health and our heritage to private corporations, trusting that they’ll deal with us fairly, and that an increase in their bottom line will translate to more than a handful of transient, unskilled, low-paying, dangerous jobs in heavy industry. Has this ever worked before?
Sarah Palin’s decision not to run could push her to the top of the vice presidential slate, where (with the right nominee) she could reprise her role as the extremist spoiler that tanked a mainstream candidate. Here’s hoping.

But in the interim, all that’s certain is that she’s managed to successfully cash in on the uncertainty surrounding her potential presidential bid without going through the hard work of actually running for something, holding public office, or making a difference. Jon Stewart details the absurdity of it all — especially in light of misleading fundraising letters her personal PAC has put out over the past few months. From one:
Someone has to save our nation from this road to European Socialism. Do you think it should be [ex-]Governor Palin?
If so, can you send your best, one-time gift to SarahPAC today to help her elect more common-sense conservatives — and show her that we support her if she decides to run?
Now there’s certainly nothing illegal in any of this fundraising — when I use the word “Ponzi Scheme,” I use it as loosely as Governor Perry — but this sort of inducement to give someone money, to perform a discretionary act that they have no intention of ever performing, feels a lot like the kind of securities fraud that gets companies investigated, and directors thrown in jail. At the very least, it’s slimy. Voters spend money to “convince” Sarah to run, and in exchange, get nothing more than another visit from the Grifter Express, and the peace of knowing that someone cares enough about their loose cultural beliefs to take their money and use it to write Facebook posts. I suppose that’s something, but it’s not much.
What Sarah Palin has become, and what we’ve allowed her to become through this “will she or won’t she” dance, is a political version of Kim Kardashian or Paris Hilton, “famous because she’s famous,” consuming public money and attention in exchange for the sheer joy of knowing she exists, and witnessing her wacky hijinks. She’s an entertainer, taking in the political energy of her supporters and converting it into spectacle. We should ignore her, until she decides to do something useful.
That we don’t, though, says something. It speaks to a vacuum on both sides of the aisle — of ideas on the Republican side, and of leadership on the Democratic side. There’s no space for such demagogues in a healthy democracy.
Early in The West Wing, a newly invigorated President Bartlett abandons the key phrase in his planned State of the Union address — “the era of big government is over,” previously intoned by President Clinton — for a more complicated sell. “Government can be a place where people come together and where no one gets left behind.”
Mark it as the precise moment where today’s timid liberalism diverged from the benevolent, triumphant liberalism of Sorkin’s fictional world. Toby’s sentiment is jarring even today — we just don’t talk about government as a force for good. Not anymore. Take last night’s Republican debate:
For the second time in two consecutive showings, the Republican audience actually cheered death – here, the death of a hypothetical uninsured man in dire need of health care, whose loss is apparently preferable to government intervention — while Ron Paul backtracked, explaining that society can care for the deathly ill, rather than government. Our patient needn’t die, so long as the community chips in.
Except, it won’t — not in every case. Not everyone is so privileged as to be able depend “on the kindness of strangers.” For those without family, friends, or community support, Paul’s answer is no answer at all. And even where it might offer a solution — for a middle-class man, say, with little personal wealth but well-connected friends able to rally the community around them — what Paul’s answer saves the public fisc, it passes on to the community in the form of transaction costs. The sick individual must hope and trust that he can pay his bills, and his community must dedicate its time to solving that problem.
Government removes that burden from society — the uncertainty and cost inherent in collective action — and places it in the hands of experts. All we have to do, in return for the knowledge that our fellow citizens are cared for, and not a one is left behind, is suffer the trivial psychic indignity of having to pay taxes. “Big government” pledges us to each other, to unite us in defense of the common welfare, and there’s pride in a society that takes care of its own. I wish to God we’d discover it.