Of course, forecasts of profound transformation have been the technique of doom-laden partisans who, until the age of computer caches, could rely on the limited memory of their audience. This is not merely a trope of the right. Partisan rhetoric is often more similar than rivals would care to admit. Paranoia is bipartisan. The end is nearly near! In the weeks prior to Reagan’s election, dear friends promised to invite me to Toronto after they migrated, concluding that America would soon become a fascist regime. I never did receive those invitations. Some of those friends remained to celebrate November 2008 in Grant Park. I have wondered whether America in 2012 conforms to their dark imaginings of what America would look like from the standpoint of Reagan’s ascent.

Despite the science fiction cliché of the man who awakes after decades, the world changes slowly, even in the face of shocks to the system. The fact that gay and lesbian Americans can now marry in many states with the trend continuing is a real change, but it doesn’t create an unrecognizable America. The fact that income inequality has increased or that hunger has decreased over the past fifty years certainly matters, but it doesn’t make America, always a land of rich and poor, unrecognizable, and certainly within four years changes are unlikely to be dramatic. The century-old pictures in Thorstein Veblen’s Theory of the Leisure Class and Jacob Riis’s How the Other Half Lives are no longer precisely true, but they reflect a world that we know.

Conservatives point with horror to the changes that are coming to health care in America, but what is striking is that, despite changes, the structure of providing health care will not be so different. Americans will receive health care through hospitals and insurance companies and someone (corporate advisers or government advisers) will determine what procedures will be paid for and what will not. Even if government-mandated health care is repealed, personal health care options will change in ways that may be similar to ObamaCare if not in all the details. Perhaps the decision to institute a single-payer health care system with different venues in which health care will be provided would dramatically alter the face of medicine. But such a system apparently was not politically possible, and even such a system would not be unrecognizable.

With the partisan divide that is predicted to remain after the election with neither party having the ability to end filibusters or to achieve a veto-proof majority, it is likely that any changes will be incremental. Surely raising the top tax-rate from 35% to 39% will not make America unrecognizable. Neither will any foreseeable changes in energy policy alter transportation choices.

Whether one hopes for massive changes, the forces that change society are gradual. Often they are not political, but are technological, organizational, or social. The world of personal connections has been replaced by computer technology. Social media has shaped dating and social movements. If anything has made America unrecognizable it is this, standing outside of government action.

If Rip van Winkle woke up after 50 years from a Mad Men-inspired sleep, there would be surprises aplenty. Rip would be endlessly startled, and some government policies had much to do with these changes (Medicare, the Civil Rights Act, the 1965 Immigration Act), but many of the changes resulted from forces outside of public policy. Government channels popular desire, but should do so in ways that are modest and restrained. It is this that should make us all conservatives.

Ultimately those who fear that America will become unrecognizable are too enamored with the present and lack the sense that change does not mean a new world. We are able to incorporate change while holding to a fundamental stability. For my part I am comforted that come next July 4th I will hear those fireworks again and I will hear that America is on the precipice of changes that are unimaginable.

The playoffs are almost over, the road to the finals was long, there were upsets and defining moments, but in the end the two favorites came through. They just had the most resources and the best game-plans. The two finalists will now battle it out. Many experts expect a tight series, which will probably go down to the wire. There will be a winner and a loser, there will be euphoria and disappointment. In the end the winner will take home the trophy, the loser will regroup, switch players, adjust tactics and get ready for the next season – there is always another season.

Unfortunately, I am here neither talking about the NBA nor the NFL, neither basketball glory nor football fortunes – I am describing the US-Presidential elections that will be decided in November between President Obama and challenger Mitt Romney, between the Democrats and Republicans, the Red and Blue teams. Whatever form of media we choose today, the inflationary use of sport rhetoric in the coverage of politics has become hard to ignore. It is quite fascinating how similar politics and sports have become in the 24-hour news-cycle: Analysts speak of the “endgame” or “gameplan,” compare debate schedules to seasons or playoff-series, or they announce “win-or-go-home” states in Republican primaries. Exemplifying this overlap: In Martin Bashir’s show on MSNBC, analysts were discussing the ‘bracketology’ of March Madness in the Republican Primary.

One might argue that this stylistic closeness in coverage is only logical, since both, sports and electoral politics, are competitions. So what is the problem in mixing rhetoric? The problem is that we might lose the essential function of politics if we talk about it like sports, because sports are a specific form of competitive activity. In sports the competition is the end in itself, while in politics it should just be the means. The cultural critiques of the early Frankfurt School, especially Theodor Adorno in his analysis of the “Culture Industry,” already singled out sports as stylized forms of competition, without ‘real’ consequences, a passionate pastime, the ultimate perpetuum mobile, leading nowhere in particular, except back to the start.

I admittedly am not as dismissive of sports as Adorno, neither am I immune to its temptations. But I do see the point: While sports are highly emotionally involving for both, the spectator and participator, the outcome of the game does not matter beyond the moment of success or failure. There is always another chance, a new season. Now, what is the problem with politics becoming sports? The problem is exactly that the winner of a Presidential election does not get a trophy, shower in glory and move on to the next season. A President (or senator, congressman if you want) is elected to do something in the name of the people. They have mandates, they represent. The election is not the end, but the beginning of politics.

It is one problem if the people feel that their representatives only care about the next election, it is another if the media uses language that makes an election an end in itself. If we speak of voting as nothing else than supporting a team to win and take home the trophy, that this is the end of the game, than where do accountability, meaning and representation in the political process remain? The media in this equation should be more than an announcer of spectacle, the voter more than an audience. But unfortunately this is exactly, what the sport rhetoric transforms politics into. Language, images, discourse and rhetoric matter. It is the way we speak about politics that defines our experience of the process and finally also its functions and ends. I feel extremely uncomfortable with the end of politics being just another election-season.

While (not) sleeping with my one month old daughter on the couch in the middle of the night, sharing her experience of the latest set of what we call ‘growing pains’—those discomforts (some much more drastic than others) that inevitably arise simply from being a being that develops through time, and must so develop in order to be at all—I got to thinking about the figurative deployment of this class name in political contexts. The chronically optimistic Einstein, in December 1930, describing Nazi electoral successes as a result of “the chronic ‘childish disease of the [Weimar] Republic’” is a classic example. The sinister Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld’s analysis of the chaos and violence in post-invasion Iraq, in April 2003, as “‘part of the price’ for freedom and democracy” is a more recent one.

I do not mean here to assess the appropriateness of this trope. I hope only to clarify for myself, and perhaps for others, why it is that we might wish for “growing pains” to be an apt representation of such political phenomena.

To begin with the obvious: the phenomena in the face of which we aim to deploy this trope are, if not inherently noxious (as in the case of Einstein’s usage, or Rumsfeld’s), certainly of the sort that no one in their right mind would “choose for its own sake,” as Aristotle puts it so well. We look at events that, in and of themselves, we either wish would never have happened, or at least would not have wished to have happened. And, reaching for the familial and biological phenomenon of ‘growing pains,’ we try to “see the good” in such regrettable developments. Just as, we think, no one would wish for the fevers and diarrhea that accompany an infant’s first teeth, but we welcome those fevers and sleepless nights insofar as we know there is no way that this child will come to be what she was born to be without such fevers.

I would like to stress two characteristics of this metaphorical response to political phenomena: calling them “growing pains” places such events within the realm of the family, and of nature, in order to (re-)figure the event, itself inherently negative, as “a necessary stop on the way to something better,” precisely by taking what is in itself a very public and political development, and (re-)figuring it as something somehow private (familial) and unavoidable (natural). Why do we do this? Why might it work?

It seems to me that the power of the appeal to the familial dimension of “growing pains” rests in two facets of this feature. First, the family is a cyclical phenomenon. To be sure, there is the linear (lineal) dimension to the family, and all the more so in a culture where genealogy (in the sense of Genesis more than Foucault) is prized. All the same, a no less fundamental characteristic of the family is its ceaseless propagation in a circle, and not in a straight line; generation after generation, life is brought in to the world, blooms in youth, brings new life into the world, and then fades back into death, while another generation (the second or third “down the line”) continues the cycle by entering the world. Second, the family connotes safety and security, more than any other “meme,” more even than “cops on the streets,” big aircraft carriers, or ICBMs. In reaching for the image of “growing pains” for these political phenomena, then, we “borrow” the cyclical and the safe from the “terrain” of family life, and re-appropriate them for the sake of feeling a bit more stable and a bit more secure in our very unstable and very insecure political lives.

This also points to the value of the ‘naturalness’ of growing pains. As much as this trope calls to mind the family, it calls to mind also the ineluctable and eternal elements of all natural processes as such. “Growing pains” are what they are, and we remind ourselves of their nature, precisely because they are now what they always were and always will be. It’s just that the “site” has changed. My grandmother had these pains; my father; myself; my daughter: the pains are what they are. There’s nothing to do about them. If this is also true for undesirable events in the public realm, well, that would surely be very convenient, for we who find these events distasteful but don’t know what to do to ameliorate them.

I said at the outset that I do not wish to editorialize about the political deployment of “growing pains.” While that is true, I do believe it impossible to deny that my analysis here calls for some skepticism. It may very well be the case that undesirable current events in the world of politics and publicity are just blips on the screen, on the way to something better. In appealing to the image of “growing pains” as Einstein did in 1930, or Rumsfeld in 2003, we stride too far. True “growing pains” belong to the sort of phenomenon that is what it ever was: the cyclical and stable self-perpetuation of life in the family, say, or the constant and unchanging self-maintenance of an organic being as a whole. Politics, for better and worse, it seems to me, is much more a phenomenon of flux. In public affairs, one is tempted to say that one never steps in the same river even once. The epistemic certainty required to dismiss something undesirable, like my daughter’s gastric distress at two in the morning, as “growing pains,” and therefore, something that simply must be abided, distracts us from the all-too-pressing reality that we must do something other than simply wait for it to pass.

The streets of Tehran had turned into free public spaces days before the 2009 Presidential Elections. The vibrant scene of groups of people with antagonistic political ideals arguing and debating with one another was truly amazing and unique. After the elections, in a spontaneous concerted act, three million people walked in silence, protesting the results of the election. Those who walked up from Enghelab (Revolution) Square to Azadi Square experienced a sacred time and space. They experienced for a few hours a power that has been engrained forever in their minds. The actors involved created a story and have “started a chain of events,” as Arendt put it in The Human Condition. While they did not walk the path of revolution to freedom, they did experience freedom when they were debating in public corners.

On the days prior to and after the elections, Iranians experienced the extraordinary, because they challenged the “commonly accepted.” They “acted in concert” and owned the streets of Tehran from which they had always felt alienated. The streets of Tehran, ever since, have gained a different meaning. They are a reminder of a moment of “greatness” that will never lose its new acquired significance. It is “greatness” because it breaks through the commonly accepted and reaches into the extraordinary. Whatever is true in common and everyday life no longer applies because everything that exists in the extraordinary is unique. Following Arendt’s political thought and rejecting the tradition of means and ends, Iranians in those days were obsessively involved in the process of the “living deed” and the “spoken word,” the sheer act of performance. They did not knowingly organize and manage the events; rather they were spontaneously involved in actions and words. It is important to acknowledge the meaning of this experience, because it alludes to the “potentiality” of power that can be realized and in fact, was realized, however briefly, in actuality. For Arendt, the end is not the outcome or the result of political action, but the act itself, the coming together of men and women from all walks of life. The act of protests, as means to an end, which could have been protesting until the collapse of the state, would not be political action as Arendt defines it. For her, the men and women walking together is the end of politics and freedom, “because there is nothing higher to attain than this actuality itself.”

The pure moments of freedom and politics, if and should they occur again, are forever to be cherished in memory but cannot be sustained. This temporality could of course be due to the brute force that Iranians face. Perhaps the temporal can be permanent in another context, although I highly doubt it, as every place has its own brute forces and complexities. … In any case, what is at stake here is that the ideal public sphere that many Iranians experienced was only temporary. This temporality does not reduce from the significance of the phenomenon. Yet the bitter reality is that once their sphere of public was crushed they had to look elsewhere, other places where they had always performed politically. Facebook is one of those places. As people resort to this alternative sphere of publics with newly developed political consciousness as a result of their post elections experience, I think, potentially, there may be better days in the future.

Two Examples

Once word spread around Facebook and opposition news websites that Habibollah Latifi, a Kurdish student, allegedly affiliated with separatist and terrorist organizations in Iran’s Kurdistan, was going to be executed in three days, almost everyone in my social circles was sharing the news. Most news feeds on my Facebook page were related to him. Discussions on how to prevent his execution were going on everywhere. A Facebook campaign page called Save Habibollah Latifi- Do Not Execute Habibollah Latif was created; one hundred people became members of this group in an hour. Members shared updated news on his status, relayed his family members’ anecdotes through personal communication with them, and suggested ways to stop the execution. Members suggested calling the Iranian Department of Justice, Kurdish parliamentary representatives, the United Nations, Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch and in general, any organization that could bring this local problem to the international public. It was hoped that international pressure would affect the state’s decision. Dozens of petitions were created and sent to the Supreme Leader (Ayatalloh Khamenei), the Head of the Judiciary (Ayatollah Larijani), the United Nations (Secretary-General Ban Ki Moon), and any so called “important person” that could have influence. The words and actions of the Facebookers spread ever wider. Iranians inside and outside the country were engaged in a single cause: stopping Habilollah Latifi’s execution.

A few hours before his execution, word spread out on Facebook that crowds of people, including Latifi’s extended family, had gathered in front of the Sanandaj prison calling for the execution to stop. While only a couple of hundred people at most demonstrated, it did have an effect. At five in the morning, the head of the prison came out and urged people to leave the scene, insisting that their presence would have no effect,  promising them that the execution will be carried out as planned. The crowd did not budge. Later, the sentence was postponed and Latifi was transferred to another location.

Facebookers were extremely excited; their intense efforts had worked. They could see themselves as part of a movement. It’s not clear that it were Facebook, news websites, news channels (BBC Farsi, VOA and so on), bloggers and the virtual world that had stayed the execution. It is also not clear that the family’s outspokenness had led to the Internet spiral. Yet a contrasting case is suggestive.

A day after the Habilollah Latifi affair, another Iranian citizen was sentenced to death. Ali Saremi was allegedly a member of Mujahedin, an organization infamous for their terrorist activities right after the 1979 revolution. Mujahedin is officially despised by the Islamic Republic. Although word spread and news was shared on Facebook, not much momentum was created. Perhaps it was too late, or maybe it would have had no effect anyway. In any case, Saremi was executed as planned and not much was done to save him.

Of course there is no way to know what would have happened if more action was taken to stop his execution. However, at the time these two stories were compared and many believed if there had been more action, Saremi could have been saved also.  Such action would have had meaning, as has been indicated by the actions preceding and following the last elections.

Wouldn’t Baudrillard have loved it? For him, it would have indicated the presence of yet more proof that actual people do suffer from hyperrealitis! According to Jean Baudrillard, consumers had long ceased to need originals. Thus, in a world where the simulated version has conquered the real, how many people will have principled issues with the mix up of the person and the parody? Or taking it one step further, how many people have concerns about the authenticity of the real Palin in the first place?

This brings me to the genuineness of political performers. During a recent show, MSNBC’s Rachel Maddow served up 12 male politicians whom she placed on a “post-Clinton modern American political sex scandal consequence-o-meter.” Depending on the creepiness of their behavior and the extent to which they might be prosecuted, Maddow measured the cases of Florida Representative Mark Foley, South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, Nevada Senator John Ensign, VP candidate John Edwards, California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, New York Governor Eliot Spitzer and of course, New York Representative Anthony Weiner, and a couple of others. (For more on Weiner, read Gary Alan Fine’s post.) Did all these gentlemen think they could get away with extramarital affairs, prostitution, lewd conduct, and other such activities? While some of these activities may not be downright illegal, they all reveal little or no moral standards. In many cases, the behavior was not only hypocritical, but also naïve, as the compromising position in which these politicians pushed themselves would one day trip them up. To make matters even more complicated, the hypocrisy is a common element. Among the politicians who are the most vocal about the need for punishment and resignation of the sinners, are those who are guilty of some nasty sins themselves. How many others still think that their secret lives will not become public?

Even though these men have differences, they do share some similarities. Significantly, they all confuse the authentic and the fake. They all jazzed up their real lives with lies and may have found some moments of reality in their lives as cheaters. To find oneself in this muddle of real and unreal must be bewildering to any mere mortal, but unsettling on a whole other level to political representatives. While survival on the political stage demands a high degree of showmanship, a politician’s moral credibility and integrity are his or her lifeblood. Or, at least, it used to be.

Of course, deceit and pretense have long been a part of the political profession. But in a society where there already exists an overwhelming amount of posing and parades, the show element of politics seems to be only increasing. As the lines between reality and imitation have become blurry in society in general, political society has followed suit. Concern about the authentic and the fake has diminished during our travels from real life to reality shows. There is an insufficient concern about the mixing up of the authentic and fake in the movements from real-life politics to pure political spectacle. Amidst all the gaming and faking, it would be good to realize that real decisions have an impact on real people.

Many in the military fear that “putting their skin in the game” will be forgotten, and some have taken steps to keep memories of their fallen comrades alive. These may be found in an old form of art, the tattoo, specifically the memorial tattoo.

Mary Beth Heffernan, a photographer and associate professor of sculpture and photography at Occidental College, documented U. S. Marine memorial tattoos on film and incorporated them into a gallery exhibit, “The Soldier’s Skin: An Endless Edition.” The exhibit was shown at the Pasadena City College Art Gallery between October 10 and November 17, 2007, which was organized in conjunction with the citywide Pasadena Festival of Art and Ideas. Marines may be a specialized form of soldier, but most Marines prefer to be thought of as Marines rather than soldiers, as referenced in the exhibit’s title. The endless edition refers to Heffernan displaying her photolithographs arranged in stacks on a floor. To me, it brings tombstones to mind. Heffernan encourages viewers to take home copies from the stack, free of charge and reflect on them.

This image of a tattoo on the back of U. S. Marine, Joshua Hall. was photographed by Heffernan on February 3, 2006. It was reproduced as a 24” x 27” poster in unlimited quantity for the show in 2007. Memorialized on dog tags, along with his grandfather and uncle who died in war, are other fallen Marine brothers in arms.

Other Heffernan images may be found on the following links:  http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/la-et-1027-heffernan-pg,0,5619148.photogallery?coll=la-tot-entertainment; and http://www.artscenecal.com/ArticlesFile/Archive/Articles2007/Articles1007/MBHeffernanA.html.

The cover of Heffernan’s exhibit catalog features a young girl holding a 19” x 27” poster showing the tattoo on the front of Owen McNamara’s body, taken on February 6, 2006. During his second tour in Iraq, McNamara was twenty years old. While attending a promotion ceremony, ten of his fellow Marines were killed at a booby-trapped patrol base. The tattoo which covers most of his upper torso has inscribed, “In Memory of Our Fallen Brothers,” positioned above a helmet carrying his unit’s identification, sitting on top of a rifle with its bayonet stuck into the ground dated, “Dec. 1, 2005,” flanked by two dog tags bearing “Never” “Forget.” Empty boots are arranged at the base with five shell casings on either side with the last names of his fallen brothers floating above each of the casings. McNamara was wounded on his first tour in Iraq, and he has a tattoo on his arm to capture this memory.

Even though Heffernan focused on the particular, the images tell us much more about war and the current need of Marines to honor the fallen and preserve their memories in a society that prefers to ignore their sacrifices. For some Marines, Heffernan notes, tattoos are rites of passage and much more. Marines are aware of their mortality and some design tattoos in advance that their friends will have inscribed if they are killed.

Heffernan offers some other thoughts on the Marine memorial tattoos. She sees them as a type of ritual wounding. Pain, healing, and inscription are seen as part of the memorial. It allows for a type of communion with fallen brothers through their own suffering, during the creation of the tattoo. Sometimes the pain goes on for hours. As the body heals and the expression is made, Heffernan notes, the trauma associated with them hardens and closes. Summing up, Heffernan states,

Most of all, the memorial is an attempt to assign stable meaning to an event that is beyond representation: death that is random, violent, disorienting, unfathomably gruesome. The active duty marine who memorializes his brother’s death shimmers in an uneasy present between the threat of his own death and his buddy’s past life. By scripting his mourning onto the surface of his body, the marine permanently flags his own trauma and loss; the soldier’s skin becomes a site of mourning the past and warning the future.

Heffernan has been interested in skin as the site that separates the self from the other, and nature from culture. She spent three months in 2006 researching the project in tattoo parlors located in Twentynine Palms, a small town in southeastern California, near a Marine base. Some of the Marines she witnessed have served multiple tours in combat.

Why do many Marines feel the need to memorialize their fallen comrades on their skin? The answer to this question may be found in the essence of the phrase, “skin in the game,” and in a desire to not have these “skins” forgotten. In a sense, the skin of these Marines allows for the preservation of personal, interpersonal and collective memories. The skins capture life and death, the memories of them, and they tell a political story for those who are inclined not to forget.

‘Skin in the game’ is a widely used and imperfect aphorism of uncertain origins. The political meanings of the phrase have been used by all sides in political debates, and each side seeks to appropriate its meaning to connect with people on an informal level. The political application is relatively new compared to its application in business, finance, betting and war. ‘Skin in the game’ has become part of the rhetoric in debates on taxes, deficits and entitlements, and its use is likely to increase as the debates heat up.

‘Game’ is a metaphor for actions of all types, and ‘skin’ is a metaphor for being committed to something through emotional, financial, or bodily commitment. Skin is also a synecdoche representing the whole being. Taken together the phrase implies taking risk and being invested in achieving an outcome. The late columnist William Safire sought the origin of the phrase and didn’t resolve the issue, but he did dispel one widely held explanation. It was not the billionaire investor Warren Buffett who coined the phrase. Buffett likes executives in companies in which he invests to also have their funds, or their skin, invested in the firm. Safire learned from a money and investment specialist that the expression is much used to “convey financial risk in any kind of venture, but you could stretch it to mean some kind of emotional investment. Can you have skin in the game of your marriage? Well, you ought to.”

Ever since humans first walked the earth, our skins have been in the game as hunters, gatherers and cultivators. Over time, animal skins were used for trade and as currencies. For instance, buckskins were monetized, giving us our current buck and the use of the word skin as slang for money. The aphorism has been widely used in informal everyday language and increasingly has become popular in political speech. Safire observed in his New York Times column that ‘skin in the game’ has penetrated the U. S. Senate Chamber. He quoted Senator Tom Coburn in his advocacy for healthcare spending accounts as saying, “H.S.A.’s give consumers some ‘skin in the game’ by putting them in charge of health-care dollars.” When interviewed by George Stephanopoulos, President Elect Barack Obama explained that a long-term fix for the economy would demand sacrifices from all Americans, “Everybody’s going to have to give. Everybody’s going to have some skin in the game.” And the Republican Representative David Camp is on the books as saying, “I believe you’ve got to have some responsibility for the government you have. People have co-payments under Medicare, and everyone should have some ‘skin in the game’ under the income tax system.”

Democrats tend to say that the wealthy aren’t paying enough taxes, and Republicans frequently lament that around 45 percent of all households pay no federal income taxes. Similar arguments are applied to Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, and public pension and retirement programs. Democrats seek to preserve these programs without making major changes to them, and Republicans insist that to preserve these programs, substantial changes are needed, and more skin needs to be put into the game. These opposing views will dominate public policy discussions through the 2012 elections and beyond. Ultimately, public policy will resolve whose skin should be in the game, and how much of it should be committed.

Evidence for penetration of ‘skin in the game’ into everyday language is abundant. When googled, the phrase pops up 13,200,000 times on the web; there are 615,000 finds in images; 3,360 in books; 283 in news, etcetera. By focusing on a micro aspect of an issue, it is possible to access issues from another perspective. I would encourage you to explore the Web and The New York Times archives. It is another way to use a micro approach to gain perspective on macro issues. It taught me that Democratic Senator Warner has a skin in the game approach when developing a solution to bring down the US deficit: “there’s no option but to push ahead. A way forward won’t be found unless there’s a grand enough bargain that everybody feels they’ve got some skin (in) the game. And also on the world stage there is skin to be put in the game. When discussing U.S. military action in Libya and the need for United Nations authorization and involvement from neighboring countries, a senior administration official noted that, “It’s not enough for them to just cheer us on. They have to put some skin in the game. The president has made clear it can’t just be us.”

If invoking the phrase wasn’t effective, I don’ think it would have migrated into so many aspects of our lives. I doubt that it would have shifted from personal and interpersonal micro concerns to collective and macro issues. ‘Putting skin in the game’ touches us on an elemental level and reaches beyond reason. It is this characteristic that makes it attractive for political rhetoric for those promoting shared sacrifices, and others seeking personal investment in solutions. The next time you hear the expression, you might want to stop and ask: what is being asked by whom, and for what purposes?

I probably got carried away describing President Obama’s Libya policy as a “self-limiting revolutionary solidarity approach.” I know I should be careful in applying my formative political experience to unrelated circumstances. False analogies are often foolish. They can even be dangerous. But, I drew upon my experience to express my admiration for the precision and cogency of Obama’s approach, concerned that many observers, especially my friends on the left, didn’t understand the significance of what the President is trying to accomplish. Things are very different now, and we should face these differences. But even so, the combination of realism and idealism, balancing insights into capacity and aspiration, reminded me of things past, from Gdansk, not Baghdad.

The President sought to highlight the humanitarian justification of our military involvement in Libya. He also emphasized that the involvement had to be limited. Surely, this had something to do with cold calculation about the overextension of the American military, but principle was also involved. For Libyans, Obama attempted to express support for the principle that it was for them and not for us to determine their future. And for Americans and for the rest of the world, Obama tried to make clear that in order for an international military effort to be truly international, it can’t have an American face. The U.S. not only cannot afford to be the world’s policeman. It should not be. If the world needs policing, then the world should do it, or more precisely a coalition of countries, not led by the United States. Yet what seemed clear to me was not clear to everyone, despite the President’s widely recognized eloquence. And this wasn’t only true on the left, as was demonstrated here by Gary Alan Fine in his post on Friday.

I agree with Felipe Pait’s reply to Fine’s post. I too think that Fine exaggerates. “From observing the fact that the Obama administration has cautiously decided to use limited military force in Libya to worrying about the danger of invading a dozen countries is a long jump,” Pait wrote.

Nonetheless, Fine poses interesting questions as he carefully doesn’t present answers. Is there a danger that what Fine takes to be a war on the cheap may make war and international intervention hard to resist? And could that lead to unintended, indeed deadly consequences, as those attacked strike back on the globalized political arena, i.e. through terrorist attacks addressed to our homeland? I am a New Yorker who travels through Grand Central Station and the subways on a daily basis. For me, these are not simply theoretical questions.

Yet, I think that Fine lets his imagination carry him away. As a distanced observer of the human comedy with his commitment to pungent politics, he mistakes his own imagination for a developing reality. It’s amusing to imagine a “teetering superpower” engaging in a war without cost and then thinking about Libya based on that premise, provocatively speculating about ubiquitous worldwide humanitarian wars and dangerous implications at home. But what Fine defines as cost free war is not actually about costs, but about a new kind of limited commitment, including a willful decision by the superpower to act, not as such, but as a nation among others. I even think that it involves a move to de-militarize American foreign policy and to withdraw from the role of global hegemon.  Use military power along with others to stop a massacre. Let politics depose the dictator.

Indeed, on the political front, not on the military front, there is good news. High ranking Libyan officials are distancing themselves from Qadaffi, resigning from their posts, and defecting.

Obama’s speech about American actions in Libya was impressive for its intellectual subtlety, for its sharp reasonableness. He made an argument, fulfilling his obligation, critics note belatedly, to inform the public about the nature of his decisions, and he did so cogently. Congruent with the message, the speech was coolly presented. He wasn’t rallying support of the American citizenry and military to fight the just fight, but explaining a policy decision. This made sense, but the dispassionate nature of the policy formation does have political dangers if the war and political situation in Libya go poorly. The dispassion makes sense this week, but in the long run there are the sorts of dangers that James Jasper explores in his two posts. The hateful response to Obama’s speech from the left and the right are challenging and potentially significant.

Clearly, emotions are an important part of political persuasion and action. Clearly, there are times when mobilizing fear and even hate serve political purpose. But just as clearly, as Jasper emphasizes, a responsible politics requires balance.

The stink of pungent politics may sometimes be quite normal, but at others it indicates that there is something rotting at the core of the political culture, in general, or in a specific segment of the polity. I, with Jasper, worry about the partisan imbalance these days, brought to us by Fox News and company, and many of the leaders of the Republican Party. Perhaps this is a function of the partisan position we share, but I don’t think so as I look at and listen to how Obama explains his policy positions in approaching a major international crisis and our continuing economic crisis, and how many of his critics approach them and him.

As we reflect upon the dramatic political developments in North Africa and the Middle East, and as we anticipate a tough political battle in the United States about the budget and the role of government, James M. Jasper, a sociologist of social movements, emotions, and strategy, reminds us in this post and in another tomorrow that politics and public debate are  not only reasoned. They also have an emotional side that must be critically understood. – Jeff

Emotions matter in politics. This is evident at home and abroad. In the last two years, we have seen American citizens shouting at their own Congressional representatives in town hall meetings, a hateful Jared Loughner attempt to assassinate his own representative, and a million Egyptians assemble in Tahrir Square and topple a repressive regime.This leads to a pressing question: What emotions matter and help mobilize political action?

A sense of threat and urgency, anger and indignation (which is morally tinged anger), sometimes a desire for revenge, and, on the positive side, hope that the dangers can be resisted – one of the most effective ways to pull these together is to find someone to blame. If there is no one to blame, collective mobilization lacks a focus. It is more likely to be the kind of cooperative endeavor we see after natural disasters: shock, but no politics. And the more concrete and vivid the perpetrators, as the case of Hosni Mubarak showed, the more focused and intense the outrage.

In such mobilization we see the “power of the negative”: negative emotions grab our attention more than positive ones. The events in Egypt and Libya suggest that the power of the negative is increased when hatred, rage, anger, and indignation are focused against one person. Most revolutionary coalitions are held together only by this outrage over the old ruler or regime. It is hard to question the mobilizing power of such feelings, whether the mobilization is for voting in elections or efforts at revolution.

But are there other ways to mobilize large numbers of people? In the US, Democrats’ electoral campaigns, and especially Obama’s, are full of reasoned arguments, based on empirical evidence, with a regard for fiscal responsibility and logical coherence. They mostly avoid nasty frontal attacks on opponents, such as the gun lobby, bankers, or other potential targets. As Dr. Phil might ask, “How’s that working for you?”

The strong Democratic showing in 2008 might reinforce our civilized sense that rational discourse, buttressed by the opinions of experts and especially economists, can prevail even in a nation where a solid third of the electorate believes in the literal truth of the Christian Bible. But did the Democrats win because of their reasoned arguments? Or because the elections occurred during one of the nation’s worst financial collapses ever? (Even eight years of the worst president in US history might not have been enough without the economic crisis.) Let’s not fool ourselves. In normal times an articulate “egghead” like Obama could not win.

2010 was a more typical election in the United States.

Since Plato and Aristotle, commentators have feared strong emotions in public debate. They have twisted their logic to defend rhetoric and democracy even while recognizing the power of emotions. They distinguish between good and bad rhetoric, thinking and feeling, or real and sham democracy. There is no way around it: democratic procedures can lead to results that no one likes – and certainly not the intellectuals who write about such things.

In the United States, Democratic politicians are rarely as cutthroat as their Republican opponents, who simply do not believe in democratic procedures as much as they believe in the substance of outcomes. For instance, Republicans continually attack the legitimacy of the judicial branch – until they need it to steal elections as in 2000. But one result of the Democrats’ decency is that they lose elections even when the majority agrees with their positions. Another downside of decency is that the Democrats lost an opportunity to use the financial meltdown of 2007-2009 to make the kind of structural reforms we desperately need. And the reason is their unwillingness to pin the blame on anyone too directly. If the Democrats could not make financiers and hedge fund managers into robust villains after the meltdown, they are simply not political beasts. They will never have a better chance to fix our financial system.

The emotional dynamics differ somewhat for voting and for protest movements. The organizational structure for the former is already there, so that a small emotional push can move people to vote: it is easy to do. Participating in a longer-term movement requires the creation of networks and organizations and communications and other infrastructure in addition to the arousal of emotions. In voting, the power of the negative helps explain the “pendulum of threat” that moves back and forth: one side wins, the other side feels threatened and mobilizes more energetically in the next election, and so on.

When we substitute a philosophic truth for politics, as I observed in yesterday’s post on the new political correctness, both truth and politics are compromised, and in extreme form, totalitarian culture prevails.  On the other hand, factual truth is the ground upon which a sound politics is based.  As Hannah Arendt underscores, “the politically most relevant truths are factual.”  That Trotsky could be air brushed out of the history of the Bolshevik revolution, contrary to the factual truth that he was a key figure, commander of the Red Army, second only to Lenin, is definitive of the totalitarian condition.  I know we haven’t gotten to this point, but there are worrying tendencies.

Fact denial seems to be the order of the day, from fictoids of varying degrees of absurdity (Obama the Kenyan post-colonial philosopher and the like), to denial of scientific findings: including evolution, climate change and basic economics.  (I can’t get over the fact that it seems to be official Republican Party policy that cutting taxes doesn’t increase deficits.)

The political consequences of denying the truth of facts are linked with the substitution of truth for politics.   In order to make the contrast between the two different types of truth and their relationship with politics clear, Arendt reflects upon the beginning of WWI.   The causes of the war are open to interpretation.  The aggressive intentions of Axis or the Allies can be emphasized, as can the intentional or the unanticipated consequences of political alliances.  The state of capitalism and imperialism in crisis may be understood as being central.  Yet, when it comes to the border of Belgium, it is factually the case that Germany invaded Belgium and not the other way around.  A free politics cannot be based on an imposed interpretation.  There must be an openness to opposing views.  But a free politics also cannot be based on a factual lie, such as the proposition that Belgium’s invasion of Germany opened WWI.

Arendt observes how Trotsky expressed his fealty to the truth of the Communist Party, in The Origins of Totalitarianism.   And, in her classic essay, “Truth and Politics,” she notes his tragic fate:  eliminated from Soviet history books and then assassinated.  The assassination followed the lie.

I am concerned that our politics are more and more becoming involved in this sort of vicious circle.  Fictoids are the least of our problems.  If we politically debate energy and transportation policy with one side denying the facts of climate change, to take the prime example, the debate will not yield consequential compromise and consensus, we will not be able to act effectively. We will be ill prepared to politically respond to the very real economic challenges of the future, and our capacities to address a central global problem will all but disappear.

Other nations free of know nothing politics will be working to adapt to the changes that are forthcoming.  They will have new energy industries and high speed rail systems, while the United States will decay.  But since the United States has the largest economy, by far, our gas guzzling pollution machine could bring the whole world down with us.  It’s time to face facts.