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When you look into the eyes of a politician, you hope to see the letters T-R-U-S-T-W-O-R-T-H-Y. (Admittedly, these have to be rather big eyes, so more often that not we're all disappointed.) Politicians in debates, for example, must constantly be vigilant between communicating trustworthiness (whether in policy or personality) and merely communicating that they are a big set of empty eyes staring at headlights.
Tonight's vice presidential debate offers a potential sound bite buffet. You can even structure a responsible adult drinking game around the possibilities. Governor Palin can invoke the equation pitbull + lipstick = hockeymom + Russian neighbor, and we can then all solve for x during gaps of silence on questions about the Supreme Court. Senator Biden can remind us that Senator Clinton would have been an equivalent or better #2 pick than he was and then invoke his un-chamber-of-commerce observation that you are required to have an Indian accent to work at a convenience store; he can then ask a man in a wheel chair to stand up. The vice presidential candidates stand in relief to the generally impressive performances of the first presidential debate. Although the ratings were low compared to recent ones, McCain v. Obama I. spared us a primetime gameshow and offered us something of a lesson on how the country deserves more than a few late semester public cram sessions before an election.
We want our politicians to be honest, but politicians know that we're generally impatient consumers and so over time they have become what they are—some of the best parsers of language. When you listen to a politician, it is less about what they say as what they fail to say, or even think they need to say out loud. Political discourse is a ‘marked' language and, thus, is inherently deceptive because it assumes a certain set of background knowledge. Words in language can be marked or unmarked. An unmarked word functions as a generic, or general, term that encompasses a marked term when doing things like asking questions. If I ask you, "How deep is your pool?" the reply could be for an above-ground pool "Four feet" or for a regular pool "Six feet." "If I ask you, "How shallow is your pool?" I would be implying that we all know you don't have a pool that is very deep at all and, in fact, I am really asking you to specify only one end of the entire depth spectrum (the low one). The same would go for things like asking about someone's height (cf. tall/short are you?) or the length of their hair (long/short is it?). By asking about depth, height, or length, it is assumed that there is a spectrum of possibilities for pools, people, and hair such that they need not be deep or tall or long at all. However, by using marked words like "shallow" or "short", we are specifying a more truncated acceptable range of answers. We bias our responses accordingly.
Political discourse is essentially a language that assumes other statements not stated directly. It seeks the most general so as not to be pinned to any specifics. It is a strategy that keeps you out of trouble while you get to move your mouth and ask questions and respond to the American people, all the while not really saying much at all.
If you're a Democrat, you pounce on Governor Palin with the familiar refrain of "heartbeat from the presidency." This is technically true of all Vice Presidents by line of succession. Its effect as a phrase, however, is predicated on what is not said directly. Senator McCain is old and old people die. Moohaha, you'll really voting for Palin!
What interests me about political discourse is that we all seek statements we want to hear—catchphrases, buzzwords, talking points—that confirm what we already believe; we want to be let in on the secret specifics hidden in the generalities of the political discourse we hear. For example, Republicans and Democrats both look for specific language as to someone's interpretation of the Constitution as it pertains to the appointment of Justices. If you don't support abortion, [in a hushed voice] the password is "originalist". We want to be let in on the secret specifics but do not force politicians to work harder at stating x and stating why not-x (the alternative) is unacceptable. At least indirectly, the first presidential debate offered an examination of contrasting worldviews that moves in the direction. Nowhere, however, did either argue (a) why their VP pick is the best and (b) why the people not chosen were not. It is both arguments that need to be made. Otherwise, we fall prey to selective language, which is often so general as to be a waste. (If you follow politics at all, you have heard plenty of speeches which last 30 minutes and say absolutely nothing.)
There is one example I would like to give which has troubled me for some months. Senator Clinton lost an impressively close Democratic primary to Senator Obama and yet the latter chose Senator Biden, a man who did not go over well with Democratic primary voters in his attempts at the nomination. Why not Senator Clinton? It is all well and good to have praised her during the Democratic convention, mentioning cracks and glass ceilings, as well as the accomplishments of the Clinton years in the White House. Those were the words we heard. It is what is left unsaid in politics that ought still to intrigue us. Arguments were put forth as to why Senator Biden would make an excellent VP: speaks his mind to anyone and everyone (to include a President Obama), family man who rides Amtrak and hails from small town America, foreign policy experience, etc. But as students of psychology know, when it comes to making decisions logically and critically thinking, it is not enough to state the affirmative (Why Biden?), one must also claim why the alternative is inappropriate (Why not Clinton?). There has never been a public account as to why Senator Clinton was not chosen. That Senator Biden has credentials is not questioned. The issue is what disqualified the choice of Senator Clinton.
The game of politics is a subtle strategy of saying or affirming one vague thing after another and sweeping all others under a rug. It is because we often fail as political consumers to dig deeper and press our politicians that we settle for what they feed us. What is necessary for a truly participatory government, however, is not only to accept the tablescraps we are given but to pull up our seat to the table itself and ask, "What else do you have?" I suspect we would discover a few more answers and accountability.
