Oratorical Animal

A Tale of Two Articles: Gay Life in America

As I read the NYT yesterday, I couldn't help but compare and contrast two articles on gay life in this country. They say a lot about where one can find the "real" America, the "heartland" of our nation.

The first and most obvious was a front page story detailing the "relentless antigay bullying" in the Anoka Hennepin school district, north of Minneapolis, MN. It's so horrible that six students have taken the risk of suing the school district; the Department of Justice, happily, is investigating the district for its failure to stop the bullying. The district has also suffered eight suicides over the past two years. School officials deny that the bullying has anything to do with the deaths; friends and family sharply dispute that assertion.

The district's failure to respond to the physical and psychological abuse can be traced directly to the gag order passed in 2009 and supported by "Christian" groups allied with the local Congresswoman, Michele Bachmann (You knew that was coming, didn't you?). It says that “teaching about sexual orientation is not part of the district-adopted curriculum” and that staff “shall remain neutral on matters regarding sexual orientation.” In practice, it appears that, by singling out gay and lesbian students, the policy gives bigots free rein to attack those students, with little fear of school authorities. Any change in the policy is being fiercely opposed by the Minnesota Family Council, among others. They and their allies label loving gay relationships "abnormal and unhealthy." They prefer, the article notes, to blame GLBTQ activists for the suicides and bullying, arguing "that depression among gay teenagers is often the fault of gay rights advocates who create hopelessness: 'When a child has been deliberately misinformed about the causes of homosexuality and told that homosexual acts are normal and natural, all hope for recovery is taken away.'” 

Meanwhile, you could read about one of those abnormal and unhealthy relationships elsewhere in the paper. Harold Leads and Wheaton Galentine met (where else?) at the Rockefeller Center skating rink in 1944. They became a couple nearly immediately and moved in together, first on 48th Street and then in the Village. They owned a lovely home there, rented an apartment to Tim Gunn for 16 years, had first their house and then the one next door turned into "Carrie Bradshaw's home," and stayed together until Harold died in 2002. Wheaton joined him this past June, still speaking and thinking of Harold until the end. They laughed, loved, and lived in spite of the obstacles they faced for much of their lives. They entertained 1000s, supported many charities, and generally had a life I admire more than I can say.

Of course, GLBTQ folks don't have to "earn" their freedoms and rights through monogamous relationships. No matter your love life, you shouldn't have to endure someone who decides to piss on your head, a practice that little concerns the Anoka Hennepin school district or Ms. Bachmann. But the next time you watdch a Republican debate and hear the good Congresswoman go on one of her rants about the "homosexual agenda," spare a thought for Harold and Wheaton. I like to imagine them smiling gently at the foolisness of the mortals, and holding hands as they look across unimaginable vistas.

Interpretation is Argument

I enjoyed this profile of the economist Paul Krugman, but one small part of it illustrated a current pet peeve of mine. Benjamin Wallace-Wells, the author, brings up an argument nicely articulated by Cass Sunstein and beloved in Washington. In the contemporary media landscape, Sunstein notes, it's possible to suffer from ideological isolation. If you limit yourself to news sources, blogs, magazines, and other cultural products that merely reinforce your views, you're likely to go astray. As public sphere theorists might argue, one needs the corrective provided by argument, debate, opposition. Wallace-Wells asks Krugman if he worries about such isolation and the economist replies, "It could happen. But I work a lot from data; that's enough of an anchor. I have a good sense when a claim has gone too far." Wallace-Wells sniffs, "This is the claim of a supreme self-confidence. To say "I am anchored in the data," is really to say "I understand exactly what the data mean." Clearly, Wallace-Wells finds this to be highly unlikely. Everyone has "understandings." Like opinions, interpretations and understandings are all roughly equivalent.

Except that they aren't. This understanding of understanding plagues public life and my classroom. In fact, Krugman has spent a good deal of time crusading against precisely this assumption. To be clear, I am all in favor of debate. But not all interpretations are created equal. Some, as Krugman consistently notes, rely on the data; they provide evidence for their assertions and, perhaps more important, are willing to acknowledge that their models could be wrong and that their theories could be falsified by experience. When Krugman says that the data anchor him, he means his understandings are grounded; they come from a careful assessment of the information.

To offer an interpretation or an opinion, I tell my students, is not simply a matter of consulting your glands and reacting accordingly. Interpretations and opinions need to be supported by evidence; there are better or worse interpretations of speeches, economic models, and movies, for that matter. Your opinion can, in fact, be wrong, not least because the facts on which that opinion is based are, well, wrong. When you opine that we should enact big tax cuts because they will increase tax revenue, you are wrong. Experience has repeatedly shown you to be wrong. To opine that scientific studies come to no clear conclusion on the issue of climate change is simply wrong. They are clear; it is happening. This is what Krugman means when he says that he is anchored in the data. He tests his opinions, judgments, and theories against experience and information. 

Now, of course there is always some interpretation involved here. And there are few absolutes in human affairs. But there's a big, lovely space between pure fact and pure opinion. It's called "rhetoric." It asks you to make arguments based on the best information available. That is a good thing.  

The U.S. and Libya

The United States and, to some extent, its European allies, seems to be seriously considering the establishment of a no-fly zone in Libya. Senator John McCain has come out strongly in support of this move and, in a recent Facebook update, I noted this was no surprise, as he always comes out in support of military action. No one disputed that, but I did see that several of my friends supported the creation of a no fly zone.

I'm writing about this because this is a rarity for the Oratorical Animal--I'm genuinely torn. Usually, after some thought and reading, I can come to a decision, but I appear to be more cautious than a good number of my usual compatriots. Their arguments echo those of the humanitarian interventionists of the 1990s. As the world's primary military power, it is up to the US to stop humanitarian catastrophes as they happen. Bosnia and Kosovo are the good side of the ledger; Rwanda is the bad side.

Honestly, I get the arguments in this instance. Ghaddafi (Is there an agreed spelling?) is hammering his own people with airstrikes; a variety of UN conventions and treaties are meant to stop this; a chunk of international law is meant to stop such murders; let's stop them.

But I also see some serious issues here, problems that don't seem to be getting a fair hearing--although Bob Gates is pretty clear on them. My mind's eye sees this process spinning out of control.

A no-fly zone not only means dropping the enemy's planes, but also the destruction of the enemy's air defense system, to insure the safety of our fliers. So, we hit their defenses, but also kill some civilians, because that's likely to happen. Ghaddafi rallies support, pointing to the evil Americans invading yet another Islamic country, murdering their people, and urges his military on to yet greater killings. What has become "our side" needs more help to withstand the onslaught, so we drop in special forces ("only" a few dozen or so) to laser guide the bombs and "enable" the "indigenous" forces (just like Afghanistan in 2001!). Urban fighting in Tripoli exacts heavy costs, and so the couple of hundred Marines now offshore come on shore to provide "security" in a burning capital. Ghaddafi escapes into the desert, vowing vengeance and a return. Every democratic revolution in the region is now tainted as doing the will of the Great US Satan. We end up having to sort out a leaderless mess in Libya. Welcome to more nation-building!

Maybe it won't happen. The Libyan government is awful. But this isn't a case of shooting down some Libyan planes and heading home for the start of baseball season. It's never that easy. I suspect the president wants the authority but won't exercise it unless he absolutely has to for the reasons cited above. His hands-off policy has helped maintain the legitimacy of these movements in the eyes of their people and he wants to keep it that way. I'm not at all sure military force will help to achieve US objectives. Or maybe it will. Glad I'm not president.

The State of the Covenant

In a short time, President Obama will deliver the State of the Union address. In Tucson, he offered a state of the covenant address. In the face of awful violence, he explored the American community's ability to live up to the values we profess to hold dear. I'll take a look at this speech in terms of genre, structure, and theme.

Before the address, most pundits and scholars foresaw its task as that of a national eulogy. In light of murders that threatened our national identity, the president needed to define the meaning of this event in ways that consoled the nation, shaped those who died into symbols of national resilience (they were the best of us), and assured us the community could move forward in the light shone by their examples.

I believe the speech can be understood this way, but it also does something more. The deaths arrested the heedless dash of the American community; they offered a breathing space, a moment for, as the president noted, "reflection, of making sure we align our values with our actions--that, I believe, is what a tragedy like this requires." We can pause, grieve, take stock, and ask ourselves did we treat them, do we treat others, as we ourselves would wish to be treated? Do our actions reflect our values?

The president's address, then, draws also on our Puritan heritage, on the covenant renewal speeches delivered in times of anxiety. How might we become the people we wish to be? Where have we fallen short and what need we do? The action implied in the last question, of course, is answered in the lives of the slain; they offer the way to redemption.

The structure of the speech embodies this progression. As one might expect, the president begins with memorialization, turns then to reflection, and finally to application. In the first section, he mourns the dead primarily through a juxtaposition of the personal and public; each possessed marvelous personal qualities, and each chose to meet their congresswoman on a Saturday morning. In that sense, they were "what is best in us, what is best in America"--wonderful people who embodied John Dewey's belief that our public business should be done with each other. That "quintessentially American scene" (one can nearly see a Rockwell painting of it) met with Lincoln's approval--it was "just an updated version of government of and by and for the people."

For them to die in--as a result of--a "quintessentially American scene" poses the exigence for the president's address and explains why these deaths have disturbed us so much--what are we for this thing to have happened? That requires serious reflection and the president offers it, although we should know, as Job has taught us, that there are no sure answers. Job's lament (30:26) "When I looked for light, then came darkness" is an unusually harsh cry for this sort of speech. It appears in a section where Job recounts his trials and the failures of the Lord to come to his aid to 3 friends; this is, I suspect, Obama' s subtle call for us to look to each other for comfort, and not to divine intervention. We can do only what we can do as people and citizens. 

Of course, we can do the natural thing for public officials--we can consider policy. But more important than the issues is the debate. We must talk about policy change "in a way that heals, not in a way that wounds." Or, in another phrase, "How can we honor the fallen? How can we be true to their memory?" Application, as it does in most sermons, concludes the speech. In the life and the way of Christina Green and the others, we can find our way.

I'll finish with that theme. Christina was our child and the president framed our community as a family. We owe one another; we are inextricably tied by the bonds of familial obligation.

On one level, he did so through direct comparison. As he moved from the reflection to the application section of the address, for instance, he urged us to "expand our moral imagination, to listen to each other more carefully" because "that's what most of us do when we lose someone in our family." Obama performs the oft-agonized questions we ask at such moments and, in a lovely line, concludes, "We recognize our own mortality, and we are reminded that in the fleeting time we have on this Earth, what matters is not wealth, or status, or power, or fame--but rather how well we have loved--and what small part we have played in making the lives of other people better."

Those "who were harmed," then and "those who were killed--they are part of our family, an American family 300 million strong." The president moves outward from the personal to the public and back again, now characterizing the slain in familial terms--brother, grandmother--in how we surely "see ourselves in them." So, too, the "heart" metaphor Obama invokes throughout the speech--torn, broken, open, full--is a trope generally used for love and family. 

As he concludes, he foregrounds Christina Taylor Greene. I suspect that every time he looked at her picture, he saw his daughters. And so, with no offense to the others, he highlights the child, for a child shall lead us.

And that is the tricky part of this speech. For the familial metaphor, as many have argued, is often used to enforce patriarchy, to frustrate progress, to enshrine the Great Father. President Obama, however, has an interesting habit--he invokes traditional terms such as the American dream or the family metaphor, but always in ways that redefine them, subvert them, and open them to alternative voices and languages.

In this instance, we "imagine" (recall that he has earlier asked us to expand our moral imaginations) this young girl--by that, he clearly means that we are to see the world as her. He creates a virtual experience and uses emotional appeal (what the Greeks termed "pathos") in a way that suggests the normative power of rhetoric. Thomas Farrell notes that, when used in such a way, pathos "removes us from the immediacy of familiar appearance, thereby allowing us to formulate conditions for appreciating the needs of others." Pathos becomes a social emotion; we see ourselves in Christina and "are taken outside" of our immediate lives. We become something more (70-71).

So, Obama says that she "was just becoming aware of our democracy; just beginning to understand the obligations of citizenship." She saw our democracy as we should see it and, now, "I want to live up to her expectations. I want our democracy to be as good as Christina imagined it." The cultural logic is quite familiar; Luke 10:13: "Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it."

Equally important, the President of the United States was bound in obligation to the least of these, to a little child--we must live up to her expectations. Yes, Obama invokes the family, but he does so to bind all of us--and the most powerful among us--to the wishes of a child, to imagine a community that a child would proclaim justified. Only in that way might we make a democracy "through the eyes of a child." That--and only that--would fulfill our covenant.

Quite a speech. One that will grow as we think about it.

The President's Speech

A few thoughts on the morning after:

*We've been watching footage of Ronald Reagan, haven't we? President Obama famously does not like to be bad at anything; according to Jonathan Alter, for instance, he's been practicing his bowling at Richard Nixon's old lanes in the White House. Similarly, the BP address wasn't well-delivered. Last night, ala Reagan, the head and hands were still, the tone was conversational, and the eyes focused on an imaginary viewer in the teleprompter.

*Reagan's ghost inhabited the speech in other ways as well. The ending was vintage Reagan--the troops driving down a dark highway, the ghosts of those who made the ultimate sacrifice, the traditional American heroes. I could almost hear the Gipper. All we needed was a "Well,..."

*The key strategy was structure. Seldom do presidents commit to a completely chronological speech, but Obama did so last night. Past, present, future. If the desired response from the audience was "to turn the page," as the president said, then the chronological structure embodied that purpose. Obama created a virtual experience--we began the war, moved to the present and turned the page to a new future. The speech flowed through past, present, and future as he wished us to do.

*I get nervous each and every time soldiers are lauded as ideal citizens. No. Two different, yet equally important roles. (Bum-BUMP). The first swears to obey orders; the second, in my view, contests, debates, considers, analyzes, examines, accepts, rejects, proposals. Big difference.

*Hello. I wish to register a complaint. I know a dead metaphor when I see one and the ship of state metaphor is dead. It's stone dead. Helloooo ship of state. Hellooooo. Wake up! It's bleedin demised. It's passed on. This metaphor is no more. It's ceased to be. It's expired and gone on to meet its Maker. It's pushin up the daisies. This is an ex-metaphor!

*This speech continues what I believe to be the worst rhetorical mistake (political, too, I think) of this Administration. When FDR came to office, he brutally dismissed the previous administration, blamed all on them, and ran against them in 1936. He broke decisively with the past regime to establish his own. When Ronald Reagan came to office, he brutally dismissed the previous administration, blamed all on them, and ran against them in 1984. He broke decisively with the past regime to establish his own. When Barack Obama came to office, he embraced the previous regime, accepted responsibility for the state of the nation, and has little chance of convincingly running against them in 2012--much less 2010. He created continuity, as he did last night with his praise of President Bush.

Mr. President, I can question the former president's "commitment to our security." As you understood two years ago, he badly damaged it with misjudgment after mistake after error after lie. Your choice to embrace him indicates fine character and bad judgment--bad political judgment in particular. 

Superman Comes to the Rachel Maddow Show

A few readers who are old enough or weird enough may recognize my allusion; I'm referring to this essay, Norman Mailer's first venture into political journalism and a classic discussion of JFK. Kennedy won the presidency fifty years ago and it often seems like another world. In many ways, it is, but, to be cliche and portentious, in many ways, it is not.

I'm going to spend the next several posts discussing three political desires, myths, illusions that plague contemporary politics but arose in the immediate postwar period. To be fair, I'm dividing them up among left, center, and right. I'll begin with the liberals and, if you're talking liberals in the United States, you're talkin' Rachel Maddow.

Shortly after President Obama delivered his speech on the oil spill, Rachel Maddow pretended that she was the president and delivered her own address. It went viral--popped up all over FB, on any number of blogs, and is still easy to google and find. For the most part, it was unremarkable liberal boilerplate, but one comment struck me. She said: "I no longer say that we must get off oil like every president before me has said too. I no longer say that we must get off oil. We will get off oil and here's how: The United States Senate will pass an energy bill. This year."

That was stupid. No president can ever nor has he ever ordered the United States Senate to act. Ask Woodrow Wilson, who liked the Senate so much he said of it: :"They haven't had a thought down there in fifty years."

I cite Maddow not to pick on her, but because she is representative. Since FDR, liberals have consistently and mistakenly believed that the president could leap tall buildings in a single bound. This conventional wisdom took firm shape in the postwar years for several reasons.

Of course, the first reason was FDR; in popular wisdom, at any rate, he beat the depression and won the war. Little else was needed to demonstrate the utility of presidential leadership.

In addition, the presidency seemed to many liberals to be the last, best hope for social change. The Supreme Court was and is a reactive, not a proactive institution. The Warren Court did much, but the Court did not and does not have the power to craft an agenda or enforce its decrees. The Congress seemed firmly in control of the Democratic Party but, in fact, was run by a conservative coalition of southern Democrats and midwestern Republicans. So, executive action was the primary way, liberals thought, to get things done.

A variety of public intellectuals, including Richard Neustadt, John Kenneth Galbraith, and Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., reinforced this view, as did biographers of FDR. They spoke of the power of the post-New Deal Presidency, the zest and skill with which FDR maneuvered and succeeded, and the need for a president to grasp firmly the reins of the nation.

Equally important, the Cold War seemingly demanded a commander-in-chief, a president able to match the leaders of the Soviet Union and defeat them in a long and difficult contest. A permanent military establishment of the sort never before seen in American history did enhance the president's already strong hand in foreign policy.

Finally, charismatic leaders such as FDR, Truman, Kennedy, and Johnson seemed, until 1967 or so, to enact the theory. Particularly in nostalgic retrospect, FDR's cunning, Truman's honesty, Kennedy's charisma, and the "Johnson treatment" became legend and taught Democrats that the presidency was the center of action. Thus, liberals still seem to believe that a president can tell the Senate to jump and the Senate will say, "How high?"

If this sort of presidential power existed, which I doubt, it was an artifact of the times. Yet Maddow and any number of other liberals/progressives pretend that Superman has come to the White House--that he can leap tall Congresses in a single bound.

In a weird way, it's the same sort of belief that neoconservatives have about the United States in the world. Blogger Matt Yglesias has taken to calling it the Green lantern theory of foreign policy--if the US believes hard enuogh, good things will happen. It worked very well for W.

Liberals believe that if presidents try hard enough, if they want it badly enough, then they can solve all problems, sweep gays and lesbians into the military, stop oil dependence, and save the climate. And, after that, they can get around to the tough jobs. This is the PRESIDENT, after all. Look at what Jed Bartlett did every week!

Nope. It takes people, movements, Congress and more. Presidents can lead. But Maddow would be much more useful if she would persuade key members of Congress rather than telling the president to try harder.

So, myth #1: Liberals believe presidents can do anything if they're just good enough, smart enough, and, gosh darn it, if enough people like them. Get over it. 

What are Republicans Thinking?

I get it. I know there's a midterm election coming up. I know there's an enthusiasm gap of large proportions. I know that's because 1) The president hasn't exactly pleased a lot of liberals and 2) The Republican leadership is firing up its base. So, in the short term, I get it. Republicans will do well in the midterms. Cries of illegal immigrants, gays in the military, gays in marriage, gays here, gays there, gays everywhere except Ground Zero where there are radical Muslims building a community center, only it's not there and they aren't radical but never mind. I get the immediate politics of this.

But where do Republicans go from here?  Beginning in the 1930s and culminating in the 1960s, Republicans alienated their most loyal constituency as African Americans went from 90% Republican to 90% Democrat. Beginning in the 1980s and culminating now, Republicans are alienating the fastest growing demographic in American politics, Latina and Latino voters. Beginning in the 1980s and culminating relatively soon, one suspects, a big gender gap continues as Republicans alienated women, particularly professional and single women. Beginning now and culminating soon, one suspects, the Republicans are alienating all Americans of the Muslim faith, completing a rare doubleheader in that Republicans have also lost the Jewish vote for decades.

Who are Republicans? Old, white guys. Seriously. Since the last election, they've also added senior white women. That's been, in fact, the only major shift in the electorate since Obama came to power, as the link indicates. The Republicans convinced old white people, who vote in midterm elections, that Obama was a threat. The majority of this movement, by the by, has been in the South. Obama has a positive approval rating in every other region, depending on how you divvy up the west.

So, over the next several years, as seniors realize their benefits haven't changed and as demographics take their toll--here's a relatively recent poll with Obama at 66% among young people--and as every minority group, who together are/soon will be a majority in many electorally powerful states, rejects the conservative movement--where will Republicans get their votes?

Of Mosque and Marriage

Earlier this month, a federal judge invalidated Proposition 8, which had outlawed gay marriage in California. At roughly the same time, a zoning controversy erupted in New York City over plans to build a community center/mosque about two blocks from Ground Zero. In each case, a very considerable public debate has erupted; in the latter instance, I've seen the angriest arguments on FB since the health care debate. In fact, people may be even more emotionally invested in the mosque issue.

I think these issues matter so much to people because, to borrow a phrase from my graduate student days, they make for "status politics." Sociologist Joseph Gusfield popularized the phrase in his 1963 study of the Temperance Movement and it has popped up periodically in academic literature since then. Gusfield argued that some political issues matter deeply to people because they become "one way through which a cultural group acts to preserve, defend or enhance the dominance and prestige of its own style of living within the total society." Drinking, he noted, had always been one of those consumption habits that distinguished one subculture from another--the sober and industrious middle class American, the drunken Irish immigrant, etc. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, drinking and abstinence became "symbols of social status," ways of defining oneself and one's community. Debates over prohibition put those issues to the test.

Similarly, I suspect, the ongoing debates over gay marriage and the NYC community center/mosque have assumed a high public profile and aroused emotion because they put status to the test. Note how careful I am with my language--even to use certain words or phrases such as "community center/mosque two blocks away" or "mosque at Ground Zero" identify your stance, community, or group--in short, your public identity.

These issues arouse fury, I think, because it's ultimately not about what "they" want to do; it's about what "we" believe. Let me put it this way: On one level, we all want to be free to pursue our needs and desires, whether those include fine wine, church on Sunday and Wednesday, supporting the Humane Society, eating vegan, hunting moose, or even something truly awful and inexplicable, like being a Cubs fan. We live in a liberal democracy because it will let us pursue happiness, as the Declaration of Independence states, in the way that we want provided that we do not hurt someone else in the process, much as I would like to exile the Kardashian sisters to St. Helena and make them stay there until they no longer wish to live on screen.

That is the classically liberal line of argument and it's often been heard in these two debates; I believe in it. But we liberals must also be honest with ourselves and our community. Status issues--and these two debates are such arguments, I think--involve another level.

It's not just that we want to be free to pursue our interests. We would also like, at any rate, to have those aims recognized and protected by neighbors as well; we want some confirmation that what we believe to be good is also held by others to be good and incorporated into their understanding of a good community life. No, people, gays don't "recruit" and they don't get free toasters. But if the community recognizes same sex marriage as a wonderful expression of love, as a social act friends, neighbors, and even the government should mark with festivities, licenses, public announcements, judicial pronouncements, plaid cake icing with a toy U-Haul truck cake topper, or even just a nice UCC church service, then there is communal status. The celebrants and their acts are officially recognized and held as valuable, just as Islam is implicitly held not to blame for 9/11 each time a mosque goes up in NYC or Washington DC or rural Pennsylvania. 

I happen to think these are communal goods. I don't believe that "Islam" attacked the towers (evil people did) and I do believe that gays and lesbians are my fellow citizens, deserving of all the rights and divorces appertaining thereto. But I'm also pretty sure these debates are not about those issues as such--they are a proxy for our sense of community, of identity. And that's why the debaters are so often so very angry.

  

Timothy Geithner Is a Rhetorical Illiterate

Honestly. If Barack Obama finds the Treasury Secretary's advice useful, then the president should keep Geithner locked in a small office at Treasury, with the spare green eyeshades or something. But he should never be allowed to speak in public, nor should he ever write for the New York Times. "Welcome to the Recovery"?! Seriously?! Wow, exports are booming, huh? Americans are paying down our debt? Businesses are in a strong financial position? Whoop-dee-damn-doo. I feel better already.

I'm enormously privileged. And I haven't received a pay increase in two years, I've suffered de facto pay cuts from furlough days, my university is teetering on the edge, my state is going bankrupt, and my investments bear little resemblance to those I possessed three years ago. And, let me emphasize, I'm doing relatively well--better than well. I know that.

According to The Economist, just about 1/2 of all Americans have suffered unemployment, lost hours, lost benefits, pay reductions, and it's continuing. I'm not alone--far from it. Those numbers don't even touch the large number of our unemployed and increasingly desperate fellow citizens. Please note that the link is to a story in the same section of the same issue of the same newspaper as Geithner's blather.

He has been a public disaster since day one. Whether due to an extraordinary level of natural rhetorical incompetence or to a powerful trained incapacity developed during his years as an "expert," I have no idea. I don't care. But he simply cannot be allowed outside without adult supervision.

In point of fact, the Obama Administration is currently pursuing a problematic argument when it comes to the midterm elections. There are two claims:

1) Republicans are crazy. They want to return to George W. Bush's policies, the same Bushian idiocy that led to disaster in the first place. The president ran this line yesterday and we'll hear it again and again. It makes perfect sense, particularly as prominent Republicans embrace plans to offer large tax cuts for the wealthy while ending Medicare and Social Security as we know them. If the GOP continues to make people like Rand Paul, Sharron Angle, Michelle Bachmann, Tom Tancredo and others the faces of their party, then Democrats will have a real chance to hold down the traditional midterm losses. Elections are held between real alternatives and the Republicans are being nearly as helpful to Obama as they can be in that regard.

2) Things are better than you think!! Put on a HAPPY FACE!! Look on the Bright Side of Life! That was Geithner's op-ed this morning and it's popped up from time to time elsewhere. No one ever got elected to office in the United States by denying the lived experience of most Americans. This argument didn't work for Hoover, Carter, or Bush (either one in either 1992 or 2006). It won't work now.

Instead, as the current winner of most depressing person on the planet title, argues, the Administration needs to proclaim, from now until November, that it has tried and is trying to make things better--that it wants more stimulus, more aid to the states, investments in green business, help for the unemployed, and so forth, but it can't because the "just say no" Republicans just say no. We care. They don't. We're trying. They aren't. We want to help you. They want to help Donald Trump. This argument coheres perfectly well with the first one above and also manages to respect the lived experiences of the American people.

We're adults. Things are not yet good. We don't need Tim Geithner blowing sunshine up our....   

Serious People

For the last week or so, my local news broadcast has been marred by the first television ads of the Illinois Governor's race--or, at least, the first general election advertisements that I've seen. Republican candidate Bill Brady claims that incumbent Governor Pat Quinn is throwing a "Christmas in July" by giving big salary increases to his staff. Brady says Quinn is clueless. Quinn, in turn, points out that Brady hasn't paid a single penny in income taxes for a couple of years now. The ads are typical examples of their "art": ugly pics of the opponent, bright colors, ominous voices. It's an edifying spectacle.

Realize that you could take every penny Quinn has ever paid a staffer and every penny that Brady has ever earned and you still wouldn't dent the debt Illinois faces. The speeches, if you can call them that, the public thought, if you can call it that, characterizing this election year in Illinois has no discernible relationship to the catastrophic fiscal condition of the government. If anything, the atmosphere is worse than usual, particularly when you factor in Blago's trial.

To quote this guy, "We've got serious problems and we need serious people." Any adult in this state knows that we need both to raise taxes and cut spending. We also know that it will hurt. So, step up to the plate, fellas. Put forward serious proposals. Given that one of you is a liberal, the other a conservative, your proposals ought to define the continuum of possible solutions and the campaign itself could identify the key elements of a rescue package--if you start acting like adults instead of kids fighting over the last open swing on the set.

Seriously. Grow up. We've already had enough of this crap.