By Charles C. W.
Cooke
Friday, October 25, 2013
Discussing the Obamacare disaster in the Rose Garden on
Monday, President Obama led with a phrase to which we have become accustomed:
“Nobody,” the president emoted, “is madder than me” about this mess.
Along with “let me be clear” and “make no mistake,” this
is a favorite construction. Obama, you see, is more concerned for and correct
about everything than everybody else at all times. “Nobody shares the
frustrations of the American people more than I do,” he told WABC earlier this
month; “nobody is more frustrated” than he about the IRS scandal; “no person,”
the president affirmed during the election, “is more interested” in “seeing
this economy growing strong.”
The line is contagious. In January, while trying
pathetically to sell gun control, “Shotgun” Joe Biden informed the press that
“nobody” was “more committed to acting on this moral obligation we have than
the president of the United States.” “Nobody is more interested,” either, “in
finding out exactly what happened” in Benghazi,” “more upset” about “the oil
spill in the Gulf, or “more offended about the anti-gay and -lesbian
legislation that you’ve been seeing in Russia.”
Even when he’s not interested he’s interested. “The
bottom line,” Obama instructed NASA after cancelling the Constellation program,
“is that nobody is more committed to manned spaceflight, to human exploration
of space, than I am.”
The president is not just more concerned than you, but
he’s smarter than you are as well. “I think I could probably do every job on
the campaign better than the people I’ll hire to do it,” he told his campaign
staff back in 2006. Per Jodi Kantor’s book on the president, he delivered the
same message to Patrick Gaspard during an interview:
“I think I’m a better speechwriter than my speechwriters,” Obama told him. “I know more about policies on any particular issue than my policy directors. And I’ll tell you right now that I’m gonna think I’m a better political director than my political director.”
In 2011, Mrs. Obama told a Democratic fundraiser in California
that her husband “ . . . reads every word, every memo, so he is better prepared
than the people briefing him. This man doesn’t take a day off.”
Ugly as they are to my eyes, such professions of concern,
of omnipotence, and of expertise appear to sell. If you were on the Obama
campaign’s mailing list, you will remember a set of creepy e-mails from the
First Lady — e-mails in which she cast her husband as a veritable superhuman
who, when he wasn’t being more interested in everything than you, was clearing
the snow from the driveway with his bare hands and toiling into the night to
the light of candles and the sound of despair. Mitt Romney’s stonewall refusal
to advertise his many good deeds may have been politically frustrating in
contrast, but it was almost certainly preferable to this crass spousal
rodomontade.
Alas, long gone are the noble days in which politicians
were expected pretend that they had neither interest in ascending to a position
of power nor confidence that they would be up the task if selected. In the age
of “Mission Accomplished,” Greek columns, and “we are the ones we have been
waiting for,” the games that the Founders played — including, it must be said,
ostensibly “reluctant” George Washington — look distant and quaint. That self-promotion
would trump faux-humility was almost certainly inevitable — neither reluctance
nor reticence are likely springboards to political success in our Look At Me
culture — but it would nevertheless be nice if at least some bashfulness
remained.
Instead, we have constructed a cult. Certainly, the
American presidency was trending toward Caesaropapism before Barack Obama was
elected, but the explosion of technology and the president’s inexhaustible
attempt to turn himself into a brand have made things considerably worse. Much
of our electorate now lives part-time in a social-media netherworld that makes
hero worship not just easy but casual, and the temptation towards recruiting
distant figures in locum parentis has proven too much for some. Arguing for more
gun control in the wake of the Newtown massacre, the comedian Chris Rock
horrified those of us who cling bitterly to notions of limited government by
suggesting that Obama was “our boss” and “the dad of the country.” “When your
Dad says something,” Rock added. “You listen.”
As perverse as Rock’s transmutation of public service
into parental guidance is, he’s actually slightly off in his estimation of what
the commander-in-chief has become in 2013. That is to say that Obama is less
Julius Caesar than he is a tribune of the plebs — an Oprahfied avatar that has
been custom-designed both to indulge and guide the public sentiment like so
many Bill Clintons feeling your pain. Politico’s Edward-Isaac Dovere can
credibly complain this week that Obama’s behavior means he “risks looking like
a bystander to his own presidency,” and the lament that both this president and
the wider Left cannot get themselves out of “outsider” mode is without question
a fair one. But Dovere misses the point: Obama doesn’t want to be on the
inside. He is better off swimming down the middle stream of the culture.
The peculiar truth is that there are a host of Barack
Obamas. Once upon a time, an American president was limited by reality. He
could make one speech at a time, lobby Congress one issue at a time, and tour
the country locality by locality. Now, there is Barack Obama the human being;
Barack Obama the Twitter avatar, whose words are written by a team; Barack
Obama the website; Barack Obama the 501(c)3. It’s exhausting. The “Big Brother!”
character in George Orwell’s 1984, remember, was not insidious solely because
the government he represented was all-powerful and all-seeing, but because he
probably didn’t exist. Big Brother was just a construct — a human face and
unitary focal point onto which an entire movement and power structure could
project itself.
On this point, and as regards the wider problem of
executive power, conservatives indulge a certain cognitive dissonance,
preferring to critique the man and not the trend. I have, by way of example,
always failed to understand the obsession that self-described defenders of
liberty have with the president’s playing golf. As far as I am concerned, he
can’t play enough golf. Bluntly, it is inconsistent to covet limited
government, the reduction of state intrusion in private life, and a weaker
executive branch and also to gripe that the executive doesn’t spend enough time
working. The Texas legislature meets only every other year, which is great.
Right? Pick your poison, guys.
William Gibson’s second novel, Idoru, tells the tale of
Rei Toei, a Japanese pop singer who becomes a national idol. Rei Toie is not in
fact a real person, but instead an artificial intelligence that adapts to her
interactions and adjusts herself to become whatever her viewers want her to be.
She is, in other words, all things to all people. This president is too fond of
slamming his opponents to be able to become an effective Rei Toei, but he
nevertheless exhibits some of the traits that one would expect from an adaptive
avatar. Every country, we learned in 2012, is Obama’s closest ally; every issue
provokes his concern; all the talents are belong to him.
This model, one suspects, might be diminished slightly
with a less celebrated president. But technology and the human tendency toward
monarchy are likely to ensure that it will be here in essence for the long
term. That is, unless Americans actively resist it. Looking forward, those who
prefer their presidents quiet and their republics modest might consider
focusing their attentions not on replacing Rei Toei’s software and spinning up
a new personality to replace the old one, but instead upon pulling the plug
completely, and reminding the head of the executive branch that he is not the
roaming repository of the country’s hopes and fears, but instead a servant
there to do a particular job — no more, and no less.
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