It’s 2012 and that means it’s an election year. Let the games begin.
On any particular issue I inevitably have an opinion. I consider it a right, a duty, and an obsession to have a point, a nuance, an argument for or against all the major topics of the day – especially those I’ve yet to consider. Then there are the candidates themselves. In their regard I’m a sportsman.
Not an attentive one mind you. I am, of all people, defiantly (and definitely) not a sporting man. Hell, my understanding of sports is entirely based on fantasy games (with petty change on the line) and athletically based video games. I haven’t actually watched a sporting event all the way through in years. That’s what happens we’re you’re a Seahawks fan.
So what of the contenders and their policies? Flipflam! Couldn’t care less. Presidential elections have always been about back-room politicking and front-side charades. There’s never been an honest campaign because the electorate want games, not solutions. We’re looking for a boxing match and instead we’ve got men in suits. We accept that, but only because they weigh in every week and toss around fighting words. Otherwise, we’d have to find something else to watch. Usually we do anyway.
Even so, I love the stratagems, the particular angles of verbiage and placement. I love the tie colors, the handshake anecdotes, and the vigorous marketing that takes place every four years. It’s fascinating. It’s colorful. It’s American pageantry in its finest.
Of course, as someone of the internet age, I am defined by my ability to be introspective, self-aware, meta. I know this isn’t what politics should be. I know its lies, mistakes, and forced half-truths. I know this because it’s obvious and I know everyone else knows it’s because it’s obvious, I know that I’m required to mention it because it’s not supposed to be obvious. Said again, everyone knows it’s a sham, and I have to say it’s a sham, because it’s not supposed to be. That doesn’t change anything. It is a sham, was a sham, and will be a sham. Welcome to the post-modern era.
The reality, which exists somewhere below self-referential perception, is that not all that much has changed. Groups wrangle for control and if it’s now done through oblique campaign donations instead of through midnight knifings that’s quite possibly for the best. Politics has always been dirty. Now at least it’s funny.
Of course, deep down, no one actually wants it to be funny. By and large everyone cares about their country. They are upset by the direction it is taking. Many, perhaps most, realize that the various political decisions that get made in any given year have a minor impact on the greater success and esprit-de corps of the country at large, but, if nothing else, politicians are there to bear our collective shame. Someone has to take the blame. At least they deserve a share of it.
As self-aware, introspective moderns we have to believe that the empire is crumbling and maybe it is. If so, it’s cause exists as much across any decade and any person as with any other. No sympathy for the greatest generation, no absolution for worst. Blame is beyond parties, blame is beyond policies. We’re far too large for that.
Even so, even recognizing politicians for what they are, figureheads of collective disdain, the political season is especially depressing. It’s like watching the playoffs with your team already out. It’s a downer in a pharmaceutical sense and it’s pervasive. It cannot be risen above. It cannot be ignored.
The reason is simple enough: we want our President to be a role model. Nothing more, nothing less. Policies are boring, complex, and often irrelevant. A change of paperwork here, a different fee there. We are a comfortable nation lacking a major subversive movement. The federal government is not that intrusive no matter how paranoid we might become. Hell, even if policy mattered, that’s not the President’s job. He signs thing. He appoints people. He sits at the top. He needs to look good, talk good, and be good. There is no other criteria.
As a society, civilization, culture, we talk an awful lot about role models but not clearly and not deeply. We approach the concept like we might a preference for deodorant or toothpaste. It’s a thing that arises but not a discussion.
Are athletes roles-models? Sometimes but it’s enforced poorly and never defined. Are teacher’s role-models? Sure but they best keep their proselytizing to the script. Are politicians role-models? I’m sure someone would say so, but that’s never been the standard. We never demand that our politicians show excellence in scholarship, in courtesy, in personal choice. Sex scandals arise periodically but half of those end in reelection. The thought that lies, no matter how trivial, defects of character no matter how minutely arranged, that failures of judgment, no matter the degree, should not be considered relevant to our highest office is absurd. We want an enviable paragon more than we need an astute politico. One good man to rule a thousand grumbling functionaries . That would solve more than enough.
So where, I ask, are the ideologues of charity? Where are those running on the ‘I’m a good person’ party? Where is the figurehead to give optimism and clarity to a country run too long on oily pragmatism? Where and when can that person be found?
Sadly, nowhere and not this year. The cast is set and they’re all losers. That leaves nothing to me but a few good jokes and a half-year of gambling. Maybe four years from now I’ll care again. Until then the search is on.
I’m not looking for anyone that accomplished. I have low expectations of academic, financial, or political success. I couldn’t care less what particular brand of marketing they fancy – just so long as they stand triumphant as a person, as a genuine role-model, as a president of people. If I can envy them, be jealous of them, and want, however slightly, to be them, then I’ll have found my candidate. Maybe then, once and for all, we’ll have an election season worth caring about instead of a long game and inevitable loss. That’s all I expect for this year. That’s all I ever expect. Why would next year’s season be any different?
