Demagoguery, Nelson
Algren and other campaign notes
by David Benjamin
“I
don’t want to seem racist or nothing but the black heritage has been
raised in a certain way that there’s no incentive to get out and work
because all of a sudden you have five kids and there are no dads
around.”
— Jack Beck, at a Trump rally, West Bend, Wis., 16 Aug.
MADISON,
Wis. — Hillary Clinton has a $250 billion jobs program in the works.
She has a $375 billion plan for college tuition. Best of all, she has
plans to pay for all this beneficence without burdening middle-class
taxpayers. You could look it up and read every detail. You probably
won’t. I haven’t.
Of course, Donald Trump also favors jobs and
education, Bigly! Who doesn’t? But don’t try to look up his plans.
They’re all in his head or, more accurately, in his mouth.
This is smart politics. The last thing Trump should do is explain himself. I’ve seen him try, and it looks just awful.
Donald
Trump is a demagogue. Demagogues don’t explain. They don’t announce
ten-point plans, issue executive summaries or calculate budgets.
Demagogues don’t use Power Point. The essence, the beauty, the joy and
the appeal of the deep-dyed demagogue is dumbness. Simplicity! The
demagogue boils the universe down to two words, three words, four at the
most.
For William Jennings Bryan, the magic phrase was “cross
of gold.” Lindbergh shouted “America First” and we’re still hearing his
echoes 75 years later. Hitler simply said it’s “the Jews,” and for
millions of bigots the world over, it’s still “the Jews.” Joe McCarthy
fingered “the Commies” so ferociously that half the people over 70 in
America are still peeking beneath the bed for phantom Bolsheviks. George
Wallace kept Jim Crow alive for years beyond its expiration date by
roaring the motto that has inspired white nationalists from George
Lincoln Rockwell to David Duke: “Segregation now, segregation tomorrow,
segregation forever!”
Donald Trump has plagiarized a few of his
forebears, lifting “America First” from Lindbergh, echoing Richard
Nixon’s “law and order” ‘and “silent majority” dog-whistles, and even
cribbing (without irony) from speeches by Abe Lincoln and FDR. But he
also devised his own slogan and trained his congregation to testify at
the top of their lungs whenever he snaps those tiny fingers.
“What’re we gonna build?”
“A wall! A Wall! A WAAAAAAAALL!”
The
consolation in the rise of our latest two-word demagogue is that
gasbags like Trump don’t thrive long in America. They fascinate some of
us forever and captivate a few more for a while. But, eventually, it’s
like having “Wild Thing” stuck in your head, looping over and over
again. All you want to do is hear another song, any song. Even Hillary,
with a ukelele, trying to sing “My Man.”
One of the riffs
that killed Rudy Giuliani’s presidential bid in 2008 was that almost
every sentence he uttered contained “a noun, a verb and 9/11.” Trump’s
variation on this mantra is the way he tends to repeat every punchline
three times followed by “Believe me.”
Which tempts me to amend
Nelson Algren’s rules of life: “Never play cards with a man called Doc.
Never eat at a place called Mom’s. Never sleep with a woman whose
troubles are worse than your own.”
And never trust a guy who keeps saying, “Believe me.”
I
recently posted a Trump-themed screed on Facebook and accompanied it
with a photo of him squinching his kisser, pointing a finger. One loyal
Trumpnik cried foul, because — she said — Trump’s enemies always publish
his worst photos, to make him look bad.
She’s wrong. This was
one of Trump’s best shots. It’s a photographer’s photograph, the sort of
shot that makes you say to yourself, “Got it!” As I scoured the
Web for Trump images, I was questing the grail that keeps every
photographer clicking away maniacally: the shot that’s funny, startling,
embarrassing, even frightening or, best of all, revealing — the gaping
mouth, the bugged-out eyes, the bared fang, the fright-wig hair, the
clenched fist. Photographers wait like birds of prey for these brief,
naked flashes of facial candor. Editors love them. These are the prints
that make page one, above the fold. It’s not about love him or hate him.
It’s about the moment.
I thought it odd that the Republican
campaign logo displays“TRUMP” in letters bigger than the name of
vice-presidential nominee (Mike) “PENCE.” I couldn’t recall a similar
type-size disparity on any previous presidential lapel button. So I
looked it up. In most races, including LINCOLN-JOHNSON, McKINLEY-HOBART,
KENNEDY-JOHNSON, NIXON-AGNEW, MONDALE-FERRARO, DOLE-KEMP, McCAIN-PALIN
and OBAMA-BIDEN, both candidate names on posters and bumper stickers
were equally tall and identically boldfaced.
However, I did
uncover a few precedents for the big-TRUMP/ little-pence variation.
Typographical VP diminution dates back to when big RUTHERFORD B. HAYES
overshadowed little willy wheeler in 1876. Other examples of Prez
belittling Veep were IKE & dick in ’52 and CARTER-mondale in ’76,
followed by BUSH-quayle in ’88 and BUSH-cheney in 2000. Curiously, JON
STEWART was bigger than stephen colbert in 2012.
Of course, it’s
no surprise that Donald wants the biggest name on the billboard, but I
wonder who talked Dick into being lower case than Dubya?
One more
thought. Has anyone else noticed that Trump’s erstwhile campaign honcho
Paul Manafort bears an eerie resemblance to one of those dreamboat
Fifties crooners who did guest spots on Garry Moore and “Your Hit
Parade,” but ended up — as they got older — on Las Vegas casino stages
serenading the AARP crowd? I’m thinking Vic Damone, Jack Jones, Robert
Goulet, Vaughn Monroe.
And I’m thinking that Trump’s
campaign-chief-of-the-month, Stephen Bannon, is suddenly the new
headliner in the posh Painted Desert Room at the Desert Inn.
Replacing
handsome, debonair but faintly wrinkled and slightly over-the-hill Paul
“Velvet Voice” Manafort… who’s now singing “Moon River” to the drunks
and hookers in the Thunderbird lounge.
That’s showbiz.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
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