The vice presidential debate is a rare ad-free television experience. The absence of commercial breaks seems like a signal, or a promise: we can expect a rational, anti-sensational conversation. The debate will unfold at its own pace, without interruption; we will be addressed as citizens, not consumers.
Listen closely to the language used by each candidate. Gestures of simplification (“the bottom line”) discourage critical reflection. Intimate disclosures are staged for cynical ends.
Of course, no one is really fooled. Journalists comb through each statement for factual inaccuracies, often in real time. Demystification is part of the spectacle. Media scrutiny puts politicians on the defensive, so that their speech becomes ever more measured and cautious, devoid of actual content.
Nevertheless, patient attention to rhetoric can expose manipulative tactics which sometimes escape the notice of fact-checkers and satirists. For instance, the inaccuracy of Paul Ryan’s statistics seems beside the point, if we consider their intent:
When Barack Obama was elected, they [Iran] had enough fissile material—nuclear material to make one bomb. Now they have enough for five. They’re racing toward a nuclear weapon. They’re four years closer toward a nuclear weapons capability.
We’re heading in the wrong direction. Twenty-three million Americans are struggling for work today. Fifteen percent of Americans are living in poverty today. This is not what a real recovery looks like.
Ten thousand people are retiring every single day in America today and they will for twenty years. That’s not a political thing, that’s a math thing.
Precision is the bully’s alibi; numbers—the “hardest” of facts—intimidate. In each of these cases, the message was the same: It’s not safe to relax. We were racing in the wrong direction. We had been duped. What looked like progress wasn’t “real.” Ryan wanted us to hear those retiree butts plopping into backyard armchairs, to envision wrinkled, upturned hands begging for free meds. His numbers confronted us with the real economic uncertainty, while consoling us with a false assurance: we could take control, if we faced up to the “math.”
Joe Biden also subjected us to a beating. Again and again, he spoke of “the middle class” (that notoriously inclusive stratum) as the object of economic trauma:
The middle class got knocked on their heels. The Great Recession crushed them.
…restore them [the middle class] to where they were before this great recession hit and they got wiped out.
The two budgets the congressman introduced have eviscerated all the things that the middle class cares about.
This rhetoric of violence (“knocked on their heels,” “crushed,” “wiped out,” “eviscerated”) muddled the distinction between mental and physical torment, while failing to do justice to actual suffering. As the careless hyperbole accumulated, it lost its force: eventually, we came to believe that the pain caused by the “Great Recession” was only metaphorical. At the same time, Biden’s exaggerations contained a tacit threat: whether you knew it or not, you were in “real trouble.” Like Ryan, Biden subtly stirred up panic.
The moderator, Martha Radditz, purported to keep emotions in check. (Before asking about a recent “terrorist attack” in Benghazi, she warned us that she would strike “a rather somber note.”) Her question about abortion came with a disclaimer: “this is such an emotional issue for so many people in this country.” Yet the question itself precluded any pretense to objectivity:
And I would like to ask you both to tell me what role your religion has played in your own personal views on abortion… please talk personally about this, if you could.
It would be difficult for something authentically personal would emerge in this setting. Radditz might have rather asked the candidates to speak from a nonsectarian standpoint.
Ryan resisted the implication that his position on abortion might be less than modern:
You want to ask basically why I’m pro-life? It’s not simply because of my Catholic faith. That’s a factor, of course. But it’s also because of reason and science.
His scientific rationale, however, proved to be a personal anecdote.
You know, I think about ten and a half years ago, my wife Janna and I went to Mercy Hospital in Janesville, where I was born, for our seven-week ultrasound for our firstborn child. And we saw that heartbeat. A little baby was in the shape of a bean. And to this day, we have nicknamed our firstborn child Liza, “Bean.” Now I believe that life begins at conception.
As the fact-checkers were quick to point out, this story was probably borrowed without attribution from Kurt Cobain. More disturbing, however, was the way the ultrasound machine was enough to lend this scene the authority of “science.” The mere presence of technology transformed a personal perception into “reason.” Yet the recurrence of the biblical phrase “firstborn child” showed his hand. Biden, in response to the same question, insisted on his own piety:
My religion defines who I am, and I’ve been a practicing Catholic my whole life… I accept my church’s position on abortion as what we call a de fide doctrine. Life begins at conception in the church’s judgment. I accept it in my personal life.
Uncritical deference to “the church’s judgment” became a political asset. Biden did go on to draw a distinction between personal and political beliefs:
But I refuse to impose it on equally devout Christians and Muslims and Jews, and I just refuse to impose that on others, unlike my friend here, the–the congressman. I—I do not believe that we have a right to tell other people that—women they can’t control their body. It’s decision between them and their doctor.
Even Biden’s stuttered case for pluralism was not properly secular. He would not “impose” his beliefs on “Christians and Muslims and Jews,” because they were “equally devout.” He would not question the integrity of other god-fearing believers (but whether atheists could be moral remained unclear).
Biden also referred to the “Catholic social doctrine” of caring for the weak. This principle reappeared in his closing remarks, in which he championed the “47 percent of the people” whom Romney had dismissed as parasitic.
Martha, all they’re looking for is an even shot. Whenever you give them the shot, they’ve done it… And they want a little bit of peace of mind. The president and I are not going to rest until the playing field is leveled… and they have peace of mind; until they can turn to their kid and say with a degree of confidence, “Honey, it’s going to be OK.”
Active language (“they’ve done it”) gives way to passive desperation. Biden had notified us that we were in danger. Now, he offered comfort. His appeal to parents involved a displacement. In reality, we were in the position of the conjured child; we were the ones being told, “It’s going to be OK.”
While the incumbent ticket promised “peace of mind,” like an extended warranty or a sedative, Ryan, as the insurgent, was peddling different merchandise. He addressed us as decision-makers, who would be sure to hold him accountable:
You deserve better. Mitt Romney and I want to earn your support… Mitt Romney and I will not duck the tough issues… We will take responsibility… The choice is clear, and the choice rests with you.
A vote for Romney was presented as a true intervention, a vote of self-confidence. Ryan affirmed that we could do and change and attack. Both candidates had invested us with fear. But their slogans painted us differently, as victims and as executors. It is difficult to say which half-truth is more pernicious, or more delusive.