In my rather verbose way, I tried to articulate my own thoughts about the Obama campaign's successful use of those ties that bind people together, giving them a sense of faddish belonging, of being connected; of having badges that signal membership. But I deleted the whole attempt.
However, moments ago, I stumbled on this commentary from the very interesting Roger Kimball. (I do believe you should listen to the first 4 minutes of the audio clip before reading Mr. Kimball, however.) I think Mr. Kimball hits on some of the things Mr. Heller might have said had he not been so apparently guarded.
Here's Roger Kimball:
Candidate behind a curtain
CONNOISSEURS are already inscribing Barack Obama's 2008 presidential campaign into the annals of political theater. From the point of view of spectacle-prescinding, I mean, from any question of content--it is difficult not to admire the disciplined seamlessness Team O has constructed. From the oratory to the haberdashery and beyond, you sense the calculating hand of a seasoned political dramaturge. That dark suit. That white shirt, open at the neck or, when formal occasion demands, pinioned by the signature pale blue tie. What Obama wears are not so much suits as costumes. His message is communicated less by his speeches than by his slogans, or perhaps "mantras" would be more accurate. His overall image is not so much the projection of a personality as the coefficient of his theatrical props: the logos, the posters, and that late if unlamented pseudo presidential seal.
Given the constraints of present-day democratic society, I doubt Leni Riefenstahl could have done much better. What we're dealing with, though, is less The Triumph of the Will than a spoiled yuppie's version of the Children's Crusade. "Vero possumus" reads the legend on the Big O pseudo presidential seal. It doesn't have quite the ring of "E pluribus unum," but it does contain a reassuring echo of Bob the Builder: "Can we build it? Yes we can!"
The indispensable term for understanding the Obama aesthetic is kitsch, by which I do not mean bad, cloying art but the deliberate sentimentalization, i.e., the avoidance, of reality. Take another look at the Big O seal. What's that under the Bob the Builder Latin? A rising sun? A long and winding yellow brick road? Who knows? But I find it hard to look at the device without hearing strains of Judy Garland singing "Somewhere over the Rainobama" and thinking of that scene toward the end of The Wizard of Oz where we're enjoined to "pay no attention to that man behind the curtain."
Actually, the question of identity is as pressing when you think about the fantasy that Team Obama is spinning as it is when you see The Wizard of Oz. What, really, do we know about Obama? Once you go beyond the props and slogans, there is a disturbing and, one assumes, deliberate vacancy about the man. Who is Obama? Where does he come from? Who are his friends? What does he believe in? These are not easy questions to answer, at least not if you want to go beyond the calorie-free rhetorical pabulum of "Change we can believe in."
Several people have noted the large debt that Obama's favored campaign artists owe to socialist realism. When his campaign is not displaying posters of Che Guevera, it is sporting Shepard Fairey's Change, Scott Hansen's Progress (both of which are sold out at Obama's web site), or Antar Dayal's Yes We Can. All would have won a smile from Uncle Joe, who also liked his art graphically primitive, ideologically conformist, and morally and politically uplifting. And the continuity, I believe, is more than graphic. Obama's aesthetic shares the spirit of socialist realism, but adds a non-sugar sweetener to the mix. Stalin's worker-facing-the-future was sweaty, muscular kitsch. Images of the leader-facing-the-future-over-the-imperative-of-change are spiritually kindred productions redone for the delicate sensibilities of Obama's decaffeinated-latte-drinking, metrosexual, New York Times-reading claque.
There is something deeply childish about the Obama aesthetic. But it would be a great mistake to believe that immaturity is a guarantee of innocuousness. There is nothing at all innocent about Obama's all-encompassing aesthetic, any more than there was about the more obviously minatory aesthetic of socialist realism. What Team Obama offers is socialism lite, with fantasy plugged in where the realism used to be. At bottom, the issue that Obama's aesthetic raises belongs not to art criticism but to the question of our political future. The crucial thing to bear in mind is how uncompromising Obama's aesthetic is. Recently, a television interviewer asked Obama if he had any doubts. "Never" was his response. That's the answer he requires you to have as well.
