The Palin Factor: David Loftus

Well, she’s cute, for one thing. That counts for a lot, especially among politicians, where physical beauty tends to run thin on the ground. She stopped being attractive to me the minute she opened her mouth, though; I regard intelligence, articulateness, and street smarts as very sexy but I understand that’s a matter of taste.

Gender aside, Palin appears to be the latest beneficiary of a peculiarly American version of the cult of personality that began, I believe, with Ronald Reagan. A good chunk of the American electorate seems to have become accustomed to according their precious quadrennial vote for President to a person they “like” -- to the “regular guy (or gal)” you wouldn’t mind meeting over a beer or burger. Perhaps this is part of a subconscious backlash against a dangerous and complex world, where problems often seem insurmountably large or complicated: many citizens are drawn to someone who speaks simply, makes such problems sound like no big deal after all, and, in short, offers comfort in lieu of actual solutions. Too many voters seem taken with a potential leader who can make them feel safe and comfortable, rather than one who sounds prepared to devote the time (and money) required to do the right thing.

The President ought to be smarter, wiser, tougher than the average citizen (or his or her team should collectively be able to make the President so), not someone “just like me” that I can trust to be as gullible as I was when I sent my son off to Iraq, believed the banks and investment companies were taking care of my retirement money, and assumed Honda and Toyota and beef and peanut butter companies were selling me goods that were safe and healthy to use.

It makes no sense to me to elect a likable guy instead of someone you can respect, even be a little intimidated by -- why would you want to give the girl or guy next door power over life, death, and the future of the planet? -- except perhaps as a byproduct of our hyper-consumerist, über-spectator culture. If we have been trained, over and over, year after year, by movies and ads and TV shows to want things that make us look good and feel good, and to desire that which is readily accessible, and to expect all problems to be solved within the space of a half-hour sitcom (or at most, a six-hour miniseries), then of course we’ll be drawn to a presidential candidate who assures us America’s the greatest, we’re just experiencing a minor blip here with this climate change thang, and otherwise everything’s just hunky-dory.