Money Matters

When the Supreme Court decided Buckley v. Valeo and declared, in essence, that money equaled speech, I agreed. I have always been a free-speech purist, and it seemed reasonable to me that the freedom to express my opinion should include my freedom to spend my money supporting issues and candidates with whom I agreed.

I was wrong. The Court was wrong. Money is not speech, and corporations are not “people.”

Citizens United should have been a predictable consequence of Buckley. Recent experience teaches us that reasonable restrictions on political spending and insistence on full disclosure are absolutely essential to the democratic process.

I do not make the argument that the candidate with the most money will always win an election. There are plenty of examples to the contrary, and lots of reasons besides financial ones why elections are won or lost. That said, in order to be viable, candidates need enough money to compete, to get their message out. Money more often than not makes the crucial difference.

Here in central Indiana, the airwaves are already full of gauzy, saccharine 30-second spots introducing us to a new and improved version of Mike Pence. The real Pence polls high negatives. He has a legislative record that is–to  be kind about it–undistinguished, and a hard-right self-righteousness that is off-putting. He is also clearly favored to win the gubernatorial race, for two reasons: he will have lots and lots of money, courtesy of many of the same plutocrats who supported Scott Walker; and his opponent, who has shown an unfortunate propensity for unforced political errors, has thus far not raised nearly enough.

If Gregg continues his lackluster fundraising, Pence will continue to dominate the airwaves, airbrushing his own persona and redefining Gregg’s. By the time November rolls around, voters will choose between two caricatures bearing very little resemblance to the flesh-and-blood individuals upon whom they are based.

This situation is not unique to Indiana. Thanks to our conflation of a right to spend unlimited sums of money with a right to freedom of expression, we have turned campaigns into arms races, where a candidate’s ability to ingratiate himself with big-money donors outweighs any other strengths he may bring to the table. Even good candidates find themselves compelled to spend untold hours fundraising, at the expense of the sorts of “retail” politics in which voters have unmediated contact with candidates for office.

Given enough money and a really good media operation, Lady Gaga could run for office as a clone of Mother Teresa. It wouldn’t be any more of a stretch than Mike Pence pretending to be someone who cares more about jobs and the economy than about demonizing gays and de-funding Planned Parenthood.

Houston, we have a problem.

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Telos

Remember the old song, “What’s it all about, Alfie?”

The past few weeks have brought more than a few reminders that aging is inexorable and death inevitable. There have been two family funerals, and–on the brighter side–last night there was a surprise party for an old friend who was turning 70 (a milestone I passed several months ago).  These reminders of mortality have reminded me of life’s essential questions, which–when you think about it–boil down to “what do I want to have accomplished during my life?” “What do I want people to remember about me?” and “What’s it all about?”

I’m not sure I can answer those questions affirmatively, but I can list the things that won’t matter when I’m dead: how much money I made, whether I was briefly famous (and all fame is brief!), whether I held a position others thought made me important, whether I triumphed over people I disliked.  At the end of the day–at the end of all our days–I think most of us want to leave a world that is at least marginally better because we lived in it. We want to leave people who will miss us because our existence added something positive to their lives.

I’ve long since accepted the fact that my life goals are not necessarily shared by others, but I still wonder what sorts of legacies some of our captains of industry and political figures think they will leave. Do the bankers whose recklessness cost so many people their homes and jobs, the political operatives who approach campaigns like games to be won by propaganda and spin, the public officials who are more concerned with the next election than the with the common good, the ruthless corporate titans lobbying for special treatment…do they ever consider whether that is how they want to be remembered when the inevitable end comes?

The word telos–if I remember correctly–is from the Greek. It translates, roughly, to “end” “purpose” or “life goal.” It’s hard not to wonder what telos motivates some of today’s more disreputable “movers and shakers”–and whether any of them ever wonder “what it’s all about.”

Institutionalizing the ‘Macaca moment’

You’d have to be hiding under a rock not to notice the multiple ways in which the Internet has changed politics. Back when I first became politically active, I used to write direct mail pieces for candidates; that was a time when you could tailor one message for moms, one for firefighters, etc. Candidates who weren’t too scrupulous could and did use direct mail to take positions that were–shall we say– inconsistent with each other. Candidates could also make speeches to certain audiences that they wouldn’t necessarily want broadcast more widely.

The Internet has made that sort of micro-targeting virtually impossible.

The most-cited example: When George Allen was running for Senate from Virginia (yes, he’s doing that again), he stopped mid-speech to point out a young man filming the talk for his opponent. The volunteer was an American of Indian ancestry, and Allen referred to him as ‘macaca’–a term later determined to be a racist epithet in the country Allen’s mother had come from. The young volunteer uploaded the film to You Tube, and the rest, as they say, is history: the clip went viral, prompting reporters to take a closer look at Allen’s other racially-charged behaviors, Allen lost an election in which he had been heavily favored, and “macaca moment” became part of our political vocabulary.

Just as television brought the Viet Nam war into American living rooms, and arguably sparked the anti-war movement, You Tube and similar technologies give an immediacy and impact to events we might otherwise shrug off or ignore.

Now, You Tube has decided to play a more intentional role in world affairs. It has just announced a Human Rights channel. As the announcement put it:

In the case of human rights, video plays a particularly important role in illuminating what occurs when governments and individuals in power abuse their positions. We’ve seen this play out on a global stage during the Arab Spring, for example: during the height of the activity, 100,000 videos were uploaded from Egypt, a 70% increase on the preceding three months. And we’ve seen it play out in specific, local cases with issues like police brutality, discrimination, elder abuse, gender-based violence, socio-economic justice, access to basic resources, and bullying.

This is going to get interesting.

Deconstructing The Bully Pulpit

In the aftermath of President Obama’s affirmation of same-sex marriage,  a fascinating poll by PPP showed a truly dramatic shift of opinion in the African-American community in favor of such unions.

Now, polling is hardly an exact science (as a colleague of mine who teaches survey research is fond of saying, really sound polling costs a lot more money that political partisans are willing to spend), and this poll may prove to be an anomaly. While I have no evidence to back this up, however, my hunch is that the President’s use of the “bully pulpit” did make a difference. Indeed, control of that pulpit has long been thought to be one of the levers of power available to the nation’s leaders.

The interesting question is: why? Why should the opinion of even a powerful politician operate to change citizens’ positions on highly-charged issues?

I can think of two possible theories, although I’m sure there are more. The first is that–despite the heated rhetoric that seems to envelop those of us who follow public opinion–a significant number of Americans “tune out” such conversations. They live their lives without paying very much attention to governmental or political affairs, and (unbelievable as it may seem to us political junkies) hold superficial positions in which they really aren’t particularly invested. When a public figure or celebrity they admire takes a position contrary to one they’ve lightly held, such people are willing to reconsider.

The other theory is that a Presidential use of the bully pulpit operates as permission to accept cultural change. The stereotype has been that homophobia is more deeply rooted in the African-American community, where it has been reinforced by much of the black church. Whatever the validity of that stereotype, the black community has not been insulated from the significant changes in public opinion about homosexuality. Over the past decade at least, Civil Rights organizations and African-American political leaders have made common cause with the GLBT community, chipping away at what consensus may have existed. When the (black) President announced his support for same-sex marriage, it was experienced as permission to affirm a cultural shift that was already well underway.

As I say, these are theories; I have no data to confirm or reject them. But the consequences of President Obama’s statement should remind all of us that the bully pulpit is not simply a fiction of the political imagination. Used judiciously, that pulpit can educate, admonish and move the country forward.

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