I keep having a
confusing conversation about Obama. Someone describes a recent action by
Obama, one in which he has conceded far too much to the GOP or popular
opinion and then explains that action as proof that Obama has certain
motives (he’s a coward, he’s really just as conservative). I point out
that he might do exactly the same thing if he had completely different
motives (usually trying to ensure DNC success in 2012). This is taken to
mean that I am arguing he does have those motives. And I’m not. I’m
arguing for agnosticism regarding his motives and, in fact, bracketing
off the issue of his motives entirely.
I think using policies as an indicator of motives is getting the issues precisely reversed. I wish we argued more about policies and less about motives.
People assume that you should only vote for people who have good motives and you should vote against people who have bad motives. The hope is that, if you do that, you’ll end up with good policies. (Because people with good motives will advocate and support good policies.) I think that assumption is pretty clearly contradicted by history—there isn’t really any correlation between politicians with good motives and politicians who get good policies enacted. There isn’t an inverse correlation, just none at all.
Meanwhile, because the discussion heads into someone taking issue with a position I haven’t taken (they think I’m attributing good motives to Obama, and so argue that he doesn’t have good motives), the discussion never gets to the point on which my brain hits a rock.
Here’s what happens. I posit a good person as President, and point out that a really good person might do what Obama did. This is taken as an argument that Obama really is a good person, or that what he did is good. That isn’t my point. I think that what he did was bad, and I don’t know his motives. My “point” is really more a question: what should a good person do?
So, let’s assume that, through a sheer fluke, we elected a genuinely progressive person as Prez, who wants to reduce corporate influence on politics, improve the situation for small businesses and the middle class, wants more money for education, less militarism of our culture, and increase civil liberties. This person, we’ll call her Emma Goldman, after my cat, is facing one of the most obstructionist Congresses in recent memory, elected partially because of the failure of progressives to vote in 2010 (suggesting progressives are a broken reed). The GOP has put together a slate of candidates who range from ignorant to insane, and each of whom would do more to increase corporate power in politics, reduce the power of the middle class, and all but one of whom would push for far more restriction of civil liberties and openly advocate reconstructing the government as a theocracy.
Which would be the right thing to do? You can’t get anything through Congress (even a jobs bill that conservative sources like The Economist praise) because they’re thinking purely in terms of sabotaging the government in order to win 2012; you can’t seem to get the media on your side—if anything, the media is lagging behind the public in terms of seeing the GOP as obstructionist.
One strategy is one done by people like FDR in regard to the anti-lynching legislation. Apparently, he didn’t throw his support behind it because he didn’t want to lose Dixiecrat votes for his social programs (and thought he couldn’t get them anyway—he’d lose the bill and lose the support). That’s one interpretation of what LBJ did in regard to escalating our commitment in Vietnam—he didn’t want to lose the 1964 elections. Lincoln is supposed to have done the same thing in regard to allowing lower pay for black soldiers. And there’s pretty good evidence that FDR allowed Japanese internment because he didn’t want to lose the support of western states.
The argument, of course, is that the social programs did more for African Americans than an unenforceable law, that the bitch on the other side of the world wasn’t as important as the New Society, that allowing black soldiers at all was more important than a pay differential—that the perfect is the enemy of the good, and that, if we set our sights too high, we end up in a worse situation. And that’s possible; it’s possible that, if LBJ had lost the 1964 elections, the GOP would throw us into Vietnam just as much *and* we’d not have Medicare, the Civil Rights Act, and so on.
Or do you go down with the ship? That’s what LBJ ended up doing with the Voting Rights Act and Civil Rights Act, and, even though he under-estimated the amount of damage it would do to the DNC, I’m convinced it was the right choice. (And that makes his choice about escalating Vietnam even more confuzzling.) It’s what Lincoln did with the Emancipation Proclamation, and it turned out well for the war effort. Maybe standing up to the racists who wanted internment wouldn’t have hurt FDR at all, and would have helped the war effort.
And that’s what I can’t figure out—what should Emma Goldman do?
I think using policies as an indicator of motives is getting the issues precisely reversed. I wish we argued more about policies and less about motives.
People assume that you should only vote for people who have good motives and you should vote against people who have bad motives. The hope is that, if you do that, you’ll end up with good policies. (Because people with good motives will advocate and support good policies.) I think that assumption is pretty clearly contradicted by history—there isn’t really any correlation between politicians with good motives and politicians who get good policies enacted. There isn’t an inverse correlation, just none at all.
Meanwhile, because the discussion heads into someone taking issue with a position I haven’t taken (they think I’m attributing good motives to Obama, and so argue that he doesn’t have good motives), the discussion never gets to the point on which my brain hits a rock.
Here’s what happens. I posit a good person as President, and point out that a really good person might do what Obama did. This is taken as an argument that Obama really is a good person, or that what he did is good. That isn’t my point. I think that what he did was bad, and I don’t know his motives. My “point” is really more a question: what should a good person do?
So, let’s assume that, through a sheer fluke, we elected a genuinely progressive person as Prez, who wants to reduce corporate influence on politics, improve the situation for small businesses and the middle class, wants more money for education, less militarism of our culture, and increase civil liberties. This person, we’ll call her Emma Goldman, after my cat, is facing one of the most obstructionist Congresses in recent memory, elected partially because of the failure of progressives to vote in 2010 (suggesting progressives are a broken reed). The GOP has put together a slate of candidates who range from ignorant to insane, and each of whom would do more to increase corporate power in politics, reduce the power of the middle class, and all but one of whom would push for far more restriction of civil liberties and openly advocate reconstructing the government as a theocracy.
Which would be the right thing to do? You can’t get anything through Congress (even a jobs bill that conservative sources like The Economist praise) because they’re thinking purely in terms of sabotaging the government in order to win 2012; you can’t seem to get the media on your side—if anything, the media is lagging behind the public in terms of seeing the GOP as obstructionist.
One strategy is one done by people like FDR in regard to the anti-lynching legislation. Apparently, he didn’t throw his support behind it because he didn’t want to lose Dixiecrat votes for his social programs (and thought he couldn’t get them anyway—he’d lose the bill and lose the support). That’s one interpretation of what LBJ did in regard to escalating our commitment in Vietnam—he didn’t want to lose the 1964 elections. Lincoln is supposed to have done the same thing in regard to allowing lower pay for black soldiers. And there’s pretty good evidence that FDR allowed Japanese internment because he didn’t want to lose the support of western states.
The argument, of course, is that the social programs did more for African Americans than an unenforceable law, that the bitch on the other side of the world wasn’t as important as the New Society, that allowing black soldiers at all was more important than a pay differential—that the perfect is the enemy of the good, and that, if we set our sights too high, we end up in a worse situation. And that’s possible; it’s possible that, if LBJ had lost the 1964 elections, the GOP would throw us into Vietnam just as much *and* we’d not have Medicare, the Civil Rights Act, and so on.
Or do you go down with the ship? That’s what LBJ ended up doing with the Voting Rights Act and Civil Rights Act, and, even though he under-estimated the amount of damage it would do to the DNC, I’m convinced it was the right choice. (And that makes his choice about escalating Vietnam even more confuzzling.) It’s what Lincoln did with the Emancipation Proclamation, and it turned out well for the war effort. Maybe standing up to the racists who wanted internment wouldn’t have hurt FDR at all, and would have helped the war effort.
And that’s what I can’t figure out—what should Emma Goldman do?
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