stumblin’ in from Liberal Street Fighter
In the great debate about how Democrats can stage a comeback (beyond simply waiting for the coming Republican implosion that never seems to arrive), American Environics rejected some of the more popular recommendations out there. Rather than focusing on reframing the Democratic message, as Berkeley linguistics and cognitive science professor George Lakoff has recommended, or on redoubling Democratic efforts to persuade Americans to become economic populists, as another school of thought suggests, the American Environics team argued that the way to move voters on progressive issues is to sometimes set aside policies in favor of values. By focusing on “bridge values,” they say, progressives can reach out to constituents of opportunity who share certain fundamental beliefs, even if the targeted parties don’t necessarily share progressives’ every last goal. In that assessment, Shellenberger and Nordhaus are representative of an increasingly influential school of thought within the Democratic Party.
Warmed over “values” advice, only from a marketing point of view, targeted demographics using the most updated post-modern tools of the advertising trade, slicing and dicing Americans not into groups of citizens to be polled, but as consumers to be sold, and the product is … the “world’s oldest political party”. Same old shit in bright shiny new boxes. Bring back the Dixiecrats to woo voters:
Today’s average American “worker” is, in short, very much on his or her own — too prosperous to be eligible for most government assistance programs and, because of job laws that date back three quarters of a century, unable to unionize. Such isolation and atomization have not led to a new wave of social solidarity and economic populism, however. Instead, these changes have bred resentment toward those who do have outside aid, whether from government or from unions, and an escalating ethos of every man for himself. Against that ethos, voters have increasingly flocked to politicians who recognize that the combination of relative affluence and relative isolation has created an opening for cultural appeals.
I could rant, but why bother? It’s like talking to an old friend or family member at the end of a long struggle with alcoholism. Like that movie, Leaving Las Vegas, we lefties are expected to be the hookers with a hearts of gold. Out of love, or loyalty or who-knows-what, we’re supposed to stand by and help as the drunk destroys himself as he tries old wines in fancy new bottles.
It’s just pointless, self-destructive. It might make for a gripping modern love story, but it’s just stupid and self-destructive in real life. In real life, as this drinker knows, drunks rescue themselves when they decide to actually engage with the hard choices of living, of reaching out and making real connections. Or they don’t. Judging by the pathetic performance by the Judiciary Committee, and the warmed over lobbying reform package, the party has decided that it’s time to crack open another bottle of more-of-the-same.
Slack-jawed, sallow, the Dems just blunder along, one pie-in-the-sky scheme after another put forth as the “fix’, the winning lottery ticket. This Republican scandal is a tip on the right horse, that Republican misdeed is a crumpled Benjamin found in the gutter. If they prop themselves up in the chapel on Sundays and sing along with a hymn or two everything will be alright. Magical thinking. A loser’s thinking, and thus they continue to lose, continue to shuffle from pathetic statement to feckless hearing.
So it’s pointless to waste too much time on this latest gem. It’s just another excuse to avoid actually practicing politics, building real coalitions with all of the people left bereft and unrepresented in this country. Nope, better to hang out with those elusive angry white Christians in the suburbs and exurbs: they’ve got shiny credit cards with huge limits and can afford another round for everybody. It’s just about keeping the seat at the Corporate Bar, belly up to the shiny brass with a handfull of peanuts and a fresh coaster under the glass. “Buy us another round,” they say. “After all, is there somewhere else for you to be?”
Shake your head and walk away. Dead party walking, no matter how nice a suit it puts on. It’s still a mean and clueless drunk set on self-destruction. There’s nothing romantic about hanging in, convinced they’ll change if you’re loving enough, or if you buy enough pancake breakfasts or rub their feet. Walk away and find someone new to support, or the drunk will drag you under too. It’s no wonder that the leader of this bunch is an old fraud from a city that trades in fake hopes, fake marriages, fake skylines, fake jackpots, fake Elvises and fake new beginnings. Reid is a fake leader for a fake political party. He’s just paying enough attention to get you to hang around and buy him another drink.
It’s time to leave Las Vegas and the Democratic Party behind.