Showing posts with label democracy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label democracy. Show all posts

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Camille Paglia's article about Sarah Palin

Fresh blood for the vampire

A beady-eyed McCain gets a boost from the charismatic Sarah Palin, a powerful new feminist -- yes, feminist! -- force. Plus: Obama must embrace his dull side.

By Camille Paglia

Sep. 10, 2008 | Rip tide! Is the Obama campaign shooting out to sea like a paper boat?

It's heavy weather for Obama fans, as momentum has suddenly shifted to John McCain -- that hoary, barnacle-encrusted tub that many Democrats like me had thought was full of holes and swirling to its doom in the inky depths of Republican incoherence and fratricide. Gee whilikers, the McCain vampire just won't die! Hit him with a hammer, and he explodes like a jellyfish into a hundred hungry pieces.

Oh, the sadomasochistic tedium of McCain's imprisonment in Hanoi being told over and over and over again at the Republican convention. Do McCain's credentials for the White House really consist only of that horrific ordeal? Americans owe every heroic, wounded veteran an incalculable debt of gratitude, but how do McCain's sufferings in a tiny, squalid cell 40 years ago logically translate into presidential aptitude in the 21st century? Cast him a statue or slap his name on a ship, and let's turn the damned page.

We need a new generation of leadership with fresh ideas and an expansive, cosmopolitan vision -- which is why I support Barack Obama and have contributed to his campaign. My baby-boom generation -- typified by the narcissistic Clintons -- peaked in the 1960s and is seriously past it. But McCain, born before Pearl Harbor, is even older than we are! Why would anyone believe that he holds the key to the future? And why would anyone swallow that preening passel of high-flown rhetoric about "country above all" coming from a seething, short-fused character whose rampant egotism, zigzagging principles, and currying of the gullible press were the distinguishing marks of his senatorial career?

Having said that, I must admit that McCain is currently eating Obama's lunch. McCain's weirdly disconnected persona (beady glowers flashing to frozen grins and back again) has started to look more testosterone-rich than Obama's easy, lanky, reflective candor. What in the world possessed the Obama campaign to let their guy wander like a dazed lamb into a snake pit of religious inquisition like Rick Warren's public forum last month at his Saddleback Church in California? That shambles of a performance -- where a surprisingly unprepared Obama met the inevitable question about abortion with shockingly curt glibness -- began his alarming slide.

As I said in my last column, I have become increasingly uneasy about Obama's efforts to sound folksy and approachable by reflexively using inner-city African-American tones and locutions, which as a native of Hawaii he acquired relatively late in his development and which are painfully wrong for the target audience of rural working-class whites that he has been trying to reach. Obama on the road and even in major interviews has been droppin' his g's like there's no tomorrow. It's analogous to the way stodgy, portly Al Gore (evidently misadvised by the women in his family and their feminist pals) tried to zap himself up on the campaign trail into the happening buff dude that he was not. Both Gore and Obama would have been better advised to pursue a calm, steady, authoritative persona. Forget the jokes -- be boring! That, alas, is what reads as masculine in the U.S.

The over-the-top publicity stunt of a mega-stadium for Obama's acceptance speech at the Democratic convention two weeks ago was a huge risk that worried me sick -- there were too many things that could go wrong, from bad weather to crowd control to technical glitches on the overblown set. But everything went swimmingly. Obama delivered the speech nearly flawlessly -- though I was shocked and disappointed by how little there was about foreign policy, a major area where wavering voters have grave doubts about him. Nevertheless, it was an extraordinary event with an overlong but strangely contemplative and spiritually uplifting finale. The music, amid the needlessly extravagant fireworks, morphed into "Star Wars" -- a New Age hymn to cosmic reconciliation and peace.

After that extravaganza, marking the 40th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.'s epochal civil rights speech on the Washington Mall, I felt calmly confident that the Obama campaign was going to roll like a gorgeous juggernaut right over the puny, fossilized McCain. The next morning, it was as if the election were already over. No need to fret about American politics anymore this year. I had already turned with relief to other matters.

Pow! Wham! The Republicans unleashed a doozy -- one of the most stunning surprises that I have ever witnessed in my adult life. By lunchtime, Obama's triumph of the night before had been wiped right off the national radar screen. In a bold move I would never have thought him capable of, McCain introduced Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska as his pick for vice president. I had heard vaguely about Palin but had never heard her speak. I nearly fell out of my chair. It was like watching a boxing match or a quarter of hard-hitting football -- or one of the great light-saber duels in "Star Wars." (Here are the two Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn, going at it with Darth Maul in "The Phantom Menace.") This woman turned out to be a tough, scrappy fighter with a mischievous sense of humor.

Conservative though she may be, I felt that Palin represented an explosion of a brand new style of muscular American feminism. At her startling debut on that day, she was combining male and female qualities in ways that I have never seen before. And she was somehow able to seem simultaneously reassuringly traditional and gung-ho futurist. In terms of redefining the persona for female authority and leadership, Palin has made the biggest step forward in feminism since Madonna channeled the dominatrix persona of high-glam Marlene Dietrich and rammed pro-sex, pro-beauty feminism down the throats of the prissy, victim-mongering, philistine feminist establishment.

In the U.S., the ultimate glass ceiling has been fiendishly complicated for women by the unique peculiarity that our president must also serve as commander in chief of the armed forces. Women have risen to the top in other countries by securing the leadership of their parties and then being routinely promoted to prime minister when that party won at the polls. But a woman candidate for president of the U.S. must show a potential capacity for military affairs and decision-making. Our president also symbolically represents the entire history of the nation -- a half-mystical role often filled elsewhere by a revered if politically powerless monarch.

As a dissident feminist, I have been arguing since my arrival on the scene nearly 20 years ago that young American women aspiring to political power should be studying military history rather than taking women's studies courses, with their rote agenda of never-ending grievances. I have repeatedly said that the politician who came closest in my view to the persona of the first woman president was Sen. Dianne Feinstein, whose steady nerves in crisis were demonstrated when she came to national attention after the mayor and a gay supervisor were murdered in their City Hall offices in San Francisco. Hillary Clinton, with her schizophrenic alteration of personae, has never seemed presidential to me -- and certainly not in her bland and overpraised farewell speech at the Democratic convention (which skittered from slow, pompous condescension to trademark stridency to unseemly haste).

Feinstein, with her deep knowledge of military matters, has true gravitas and knows how to shrewdly thrust and parry with pesky TV interviewers. But her style is reserved, discreet, mandarin. The gun-toting Sarah Palin is like Annie Oakley, a brash ambassador from America's pioneer past. She immediately reminded me of the frontier women of the Western states, which first granted women the right to vote after the Civil War -- long before the federal amendment guaranteeing universal woman suffrage was passed in 1919. Frontier women faced the same harsh challenges and had to tackle the same chores as men did -- which is why men could regard them as equals, unlike the genteel, corseted ladies of the Eastern seaboard, which fought granting women the vote right to the bitter end.

Over the Labor Day weekend, with most of the big enchiladas of the major media on vacation, the vacuum was filled with a hallucinatory hurricane in the leftist blogosphere, which unleashed a grotesquely lurid series of allegations, fantasies, half-truths and outright lies about Palin. What a tacky low in American politics -- which has already caused a backlash that could damage Obama's campaign. When liberals come off as childish, raving loonies, the right wing gains. I am still waiting for substantive evidence that Sarah Palin is a dangerous extremist. I am perfectly willing to be convinced, but right now, she seems to be merely an optimistic pragmatist like Ronald Reagan, someone who pays lip service to religious piety without being in the least wedded to it. I don't see her arrival as portending the end of civil liberties or life as we know it.

One reason I live in the leafy suburbs of Philadelphia and have never moved to New York or Washington is that, as a cultural analyst, I want to remain in touch with the mainstream of American life. I frequent fast-food restaurants, shop at the mall, and periodically visit Wal-Mart (its bird-seed section is nonpareil). Like Los Angeles and San Francisco, Manhattan and Washington occupy their own mental zones -- nice to visit but not a place to stay if you value independent thought these days. Ambitious professionals in those cities, if they want to preserve their social networks, are very vulnerable to received opinion. At receptions and parties (which I hate), they're sitting ducks. They have to go along to get along -- poor dears!

It is certainly premature to predict how the Palin saga will go. I may not agree a jot with her about basic principles, but I have immensely enjoyed Palin's boffo performances at her debut and at the Republican convention, where she astonishingly dealt with multiple technical malfunctions without missing a beat. A feminism that cannot admire the bravura under high pressure of the first woman governor of a frontier state isn't worth a warm bucket of spit.

Perhaps Palin seemed perfectly normal to me because she resembles so many women I grew up around in the snow belt of upstate New York. For example, there were the robust and hearty farm women of Oxford, a charming village where my father taught high school when I was a child. We first lived in an apartment on the top floor of a farmhouse on a working dairy farm. Our landlady, who was as physically imposing as her husband, was an all-American version of the Italian immigrant women of my grandmother's generation -- agrarian powerhouses who could do anything and whose trumpetlike voices could pierce stone walls.

Here's one episode. My father and his visiting brother, a dapper barber by trade, were standing outside having a smoke when a great noise came from the nearby barn. A calf had escaped. Our landlady yelled, "Stop her!" as the calf came careening at full speed toward my father and uncle, who both instinctively stepped back as the calf galloped through the mud between them. Irate, our landlady trudged past them to the upper pasture, cornered the calf, and carried that massive animal back to the barn in her arms. As she walked by my father and uncle, she exclaimed in amused disgust, "Men!"

Now that's the Sarah Palin brand of can-do, no-excuses, moose-hunting feminism -- a world away from the whining, sniping, wearily ironic mode of the establishment feminism represented by Gloria Steinem, a Hillary Clinton supporter whose shameless Democratic partisanship over the past four decades has severely limited American feminism and not allowed it to become the big tent it can and should be. Sarah Palin, if her reputation survives the punishing next two months, may be breaking down those barriers. Feminism, which should be about equal rights and equal opportunity, should not be a closed club requiring an ideological litmus test for membership.

Here's another example of the physical fortitude and indomitable spirit that Palin as an Alaskan sportswoman seems to represent right now. Last year, Toronto's Globe and Mail reprinted this remarkable obituary from 1905:

Abigail Becker

Farmer and homemaker born in Frontenac County, Upper Canada, on March 14, 1830

A tall, handsome woman "who feared God greatly and the living or dead not at all," she married a widower with six children and settled in a trapper's cabin on Long Point, Lake Erie. On Nov. 23, 1854, with her husband away, she single-handedly rescued the crew of the schooner Conductor of Buffalo, which had run aground in a storm. The crew had clung to the frozen rigging all night, not daring to enter the raging surf. In the early morning, she waded chin-high into the water (she could not swim) and helped seven men reach shore. She was awarded medals for heroism and received $350 collected by the people of Buffalo, plus a handwritten letter from Queen Victoria that was accompanied by £50, all of which went toward buying a farm. She lost her husband to a storm, raised 17 children alone and died at Walsingham Centre, Ont.

Frontier women were far bolder and hardier than today's pampered, petulant bourgeois feminists, always looking to blame their complaints about life on someone else.

But what of Palin's pro-life stand? Creationism taught in schools? Book banning? Gay conversions? The Iraq war as God's plan? Zionism as a prelude to the apocalypse? We'll see how these big issues shake out. Right now, I don't believe much of what I read or hear about Palin in the media. To automatically assume that she is a religious fanatic who has embraced the most extreme ideas of her local church is exactly the kind of careless reasoning that has been unjustly applied to Barack Obama, whom the right wing is still trying to tar with the fulminating anti-American sermons of his longtime preacher, Jeremiah Wright.

The witch-trial hysteria of the past two incendiary weeks unfortunately reveals a disturbing trend in the Democratic Party, which has worsened over the past decade. Democrats are quick to attack the religiosity of Republicans, but Democratic ideology itself seems to have become a secular substitute religion. Since when did Democrats become so judgmental and intolerant? Conservatives are demonized, with the universe polarized into a Manichaean battle of us versus them, good versus evil. Democrats are clinging to pat group opinions as if they were inflexible moral absolutes. The party is in peril if it cannot observe and listen and adapt to changing social circumstances.

Let's take the issue of abortion rights, of which I am a firm supporter. As an atheist and libertarian, I believe that government must stay completely out of the sphere of personal choice. Every individual has an absolute right to control his or her body. (Hence I favor the legalization of drugs, though I do not take them.) Nevertheless, I have criticized the way that abortion became the obsessive idée fixe of the post-1960s women's movement -- leading to feminists' McCarthyite tactics in pitting Anita Hill with her flimsy charges against conservative Clarence Thomas (admittedly not the most qualified candidate possible) during his nomination hearings for the Supreme Court. Similarly, Bill Clinton's support for abortion rights gave him a free pass among leading feminists for his serial exploitation of women -- an abusive pattern that would scream misogyny to any neutral observer.

But the pro-life position, whether or not it is based on religious orthodoxy, is more ethically highly evolved than my own tenet of unconstrained access to abortion on demand. My argument (as in my first book, "Sexual Personae,") has always been that nature has a master plan pushing every species toward procreation and that it is our right and even obligation as rational human beings to defy nature's fascism. Nature herself is a mass murderer, making casual, cruel experiments and condemning 10,000 to die so that one more fit will live and thrive.

Hence I have always frankly admitted that abortion is murder, the extermination of the powerless by the powerful. Liberals for the most part have shrunk from facing the ethical consequences of their embrace of abortion, which results in the annihilation of concrete individuals and not just clumps of insensate tissue. The state in my view has no authority whatever to intervene in the biological processes of any woman's body, which nature has implanted there before birth and hence before that woman's entrance into society and citizenship.

On the other hand, I support the death penalty for atrocious crimes (such as rape-murder or the murder of children). I have never understood the standard Democratic combo of support for abortion and yet opposition to the death penalty. Surely it is the guilty rather than the innocent who deserve execution?

What I am getting at here is that not until the Democratic Party stringently reexamines its own implicit assumptions and rhetorical formulas will it be able to deal effectively with the enduring and now escalating challenge from the pro-life right wing. Because pro-choice Democrats have been arguing from cold expedience, they have thus far been unable to make an effective ethical case for the right to abortion.

The gigantic, instantaneous coast-to-coast rage directed at Sarah Palin when she was identified as pro-life was, I submit, a psychological response by loyal liberals who on some level do not want to open themselves to deep questioning about abortion and its human consequences. I have written about the eerie silence that fell over campus audiences in the early 1990s when I raised this issue on my book tours. At such moments, everyone in the hall seemed to feel the uneasy conscience of feminism. Naomi Wolf later bravely tried to address this same subject but seems to have given up in the face of the resistance she encountered.

If Sarah Palin tries to intrude her conservative Christian values into secular government, then she must be opposed and stopped. But she has every right to express her views and to argue for society's acceptance of the high principle of the sanctity of human life. If McCain wins the White House and then drops dead, a President Palin would have the power to appoint conservative judges to the Supreme Court, but she could not control their rulings.

It is nonsensical and counterproductive for Democrats to imagine that pro-life values can be defeated by maliciously destroying their proponents. And it is equally foolish to expect that feminism must for all time be inextricably wed to the pro-choice agenda. There is plenty of room in modern thought for a pro-life feminism -- one in fact that would have far more appeal to third-world cultures where motherhood is still honored and where the Western model of the hard-driving, self-absorbed career woman is less admired.

But the one fundamental precept that Democrats must stand for is independent thought and speech. When they become baying bloodhounds of rigid dogma, Democrats have committed political suicide.

Camille Paglia's column appears on the second Wednesday of each month. Every third column is devoted to reader letters. Please send questions for her next letters column to this mailbox. Your name and town will be published unless you request anonymity.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

íntegra do discurso de Sarah Palin na Convenção Republicana

04/09/2008 - 11h16

Leia a íntegra do discurso de Sarah Palin na Convenção Republicana

da Folha Online

No discurso mais aguardado da terceira noite da Convenção Republicana, a candidata republicana à Vice-Presidência dos Estados Unidos, Sarah Palin, rebateu as críticas feitas pela imprensa e a divulgação de notícias sobre sua vida pessoal.

"Mas eis uma notícia para todos esses repórteres e comentaristas: não vou a Washington em busca de sua opinião favorável. Vou a Washington servir o povo do meu país", disse, sob aplausos.

Leia abaixo a íntegra do discurso feito por Palin:

"Senhor presidente, delegados e concidadãos: ser considerada para indicação à vice-presidência dos Estados Unidos é uma grande honra para mim. Aceito o convite para ajudar o nosso indicado à presidência a servir e defender a América. Aceito o desafio de uma luta dura nessa eleição... contra oponentes confiantes... em um momento crucial para o nosso país.

E aceito o privilégio de servir com um homem que já realizou missões muito mais difíceis, e enfrentou desafios muito mais árduos, e sabe com que dificuldade surgem as vitórias o próximo presidente dos Estados Unidos, John McCain.

Apenas um ano atrás, os especialistas consideravam que o nosso indicado estava descartado, porque ele se recusou a atenuar seu compromisso para com a segurança do país que ele ama.

Com sua certeza usual, eles nos informaram que tudo estava perdido que não havia esperança para um candidato que declarou que preferiria perder uma eleição a ver seu país perder uma guerra. Mas os especialistas e os sabichões desconsideraram apenas uma coisa ao descartá-lo.

Desconsideraram o calibre do homem que ele é a determinação, a resolução, a coragem indomável do senador John McCain. E os eleitores conheciam tudo isso.

E isso talvez se deva ao fato de que eles reconheçam que existe um momento para política e um momento para liderança... um momento para fazer campanha e um momento para colocar nosso país adiante de tudo. Nosso indicado para a presidência é um verdadeiro exemplo de coragem, e pessoas como ele são difíceis de encontrar.

Ele usou o uniforme de nossas forças armadas por 22 anos, e se recusou a abandonar seu compromisso para com os soldados no Iraque, que nos colocaram à beira da vitória.

E, como mãe de um desses soldados, esse é exatamente o tipo de homem que desejo como comandante-em-chefe. Eu sou apenas uma daquelas mães que dizem uma oração a mais a cada noite por nossos filhos e filhas que estão enfrentando o mal em nosso nome.

Nosso filho Track tem 19 anos. E dentro de uma semana --em 11 de setembro-- ele será transferido ao Iraque para servir o país com a infantaria do exército. Meu sobrinho Kasey também se alistou, e serve em um porta-aviões no Golfo Pérsico. Minha família se orgulha dos dois, e de todos os excelentes homens e mulheres que servem às forças armadas do país. Track é o mais velho de nossos cinco filhos.

Em nossa família, são dois meninos, e três meninas no meio --minhas fortes e generosas filhas Bristol, Willow e Piper. E em abril, meu marido Todd e eu recebemos o nosso mais novo no mundo, um menino perfeitamente lindo chamado Trig. De dentro, nenhuma família parece típica. E é esse o caso para nós.

Nossa família passa pelos mesmos altos e baixos que qualquer outra, pelos mesmos desafios e as mesmas alegrias. Ocasionalmente, até mesmo as maiores alegrias acarretam desafios. E crianças com necessidades especiais inspiram um amor especial.

Às famílias de crianças com necessidades especiais em todo o país, tenho uma mensagem: há anos vocês vêm tentando fazer dos Estados Unidos um país que receba melhor os seus filhos e filhas. Prometo que, caso eu seja eleita, vocês terão uma amiga e uma defensora na Casa Branca. E Todd merece uma história só para ele.

Trabalhou a vida toda como pescador comercial, como operador de produção nos campos de petróleo de North Slope, no Alasca, como orgulhoso membro do sindicato dos siderúrgicos... e como campeão mundial em corridas de snowmobile. Se acrescentarmos suas origens que remontam aos esquimós Yup'ik, é fácil perceber que ele é algo de especial.

Fomos apresentados no segundo grau, e cinco filhos mais tarde ele continua a ser o homem da minha vida. Minha mãe e meu pai trabalhavam ambos na escola primária de nossa cidadezinha. E entre as muitas coisas que lhes devo está uma simples lição: a de que estamos nos Estados Unidos, e toda mulher pode encontrar abertas as portas da oportunidade.

Meus pais estão aqui na noite de hoje, e tenho orgulho por ser a filha de Chuck e Sally Heath. Muito tempo atrás, um jovem agricultor e proprietário de uma loja de roupas do Missouri também seguiu um percurso improvável até a vice-presidência.

Um escritor observou que "nós cultivamos boas pessoas em nossas pequenas cidades, pessoas honestas, sinceras e dignas". Eu conheço exatamente a espécie de pessoas que o escritor tinha em mente ao elogiar Harry Truman. Foi com pessoas como essas que cresci.

São elas que executam alguns dos mais difíceis trabalhos do país, que cultivam nossos alimentos, trabalham em nossas fábricas e combatem em nossas guerras. Elas amam seu país, nos bons e nos maus tempos, e sempre têm orgulho da América. Tive o privilégio de viver a maior parte da minha vida em uma cidade pequena.

Fui uma mãe média, daquelas que levam os filhos para jogar hóquei, e me inscrevi na Associação de Pais e Mestres porque queria melhorar a educação pública que meus filhos recebiam. Quando disputei um posto no Legislativo municipal, não precisei de grupos de opinião e perfis de eleitores para me orientar, porque conhecia os eleitores e suas famílias pessoalmente.

Antes de me tornar governadora do grande Estado do Alasca, fui prefeita da minha cidade natal. E porque os nossos oponentes na eleição presidencial parecem desconsiderar essa experiência, permitam-me explicar a eles o que esse trabalho envolve.

Creio que o prefeito de uma cidade pequena seja uma espécie de "organizador comunitário", se excetuarmos o fato de que ele tem responsabilidades reais. Eu poderia acrescentar que, nas pequenas cidades, não sabemos direito o que pensar sobre um candidato que despeja elogios aos trabalhadores quando eles estão ouvindo e depois diz que eles se apegam amargamente à sua religião e às suas armas, quando não estão ouvindo.

Tendemos a preferir candidatos que não falem sobre nós de uma maneira em Scranton e de outra em San Francisco.

Quanto ao meu companheiro de chapa, podem estar certos de que, onde quer que ele vá, e quem quer que o esteja ouvindo, John McCain é sempre o mesmo homem. Eu não sou membro permanente da elite política. E aprendi rapidamente, nos últimos dias, que se você não for um membro bem aceito da elite de Washington, há pessoas na mídia que podem considerá-lo como desqualificado para um cargo apenas por isso.

Mas eis uma notícia para todos esses repórteres e comentaristas: não vou a Washington em busca de sua opinião favorável. Vou a Washington servir o povo do meu país. Os norte-americanos esperam que vamos a Washington pelas razões certas, e não apenas para fazer contato com as pessoas certas.

A política não é apenas um jogo de confronto entre partidos e de interesses conflitantes.

O motivo certo é desafiar o status quo, servir ao bem comum e legar um país melhor do aquele que recebemos. Ninguém espera que todos nós concordemos sobre tudo. Mas a expectativa é de que governemos com integridade, boa vontade, convicções claras e com o coração daqueles que almejam a servir.

Prometo aos norte-americanos que me esse espírito orientará meu comportamento como vice-presidente dos Estados Unidos. Foi essa espécie de espírito que me conduziu ao posto de governadora, quando decidi confrontar a política ao modo antigo que costumava ser feita em Juneau. Eu enfrentei os interesses especiais, os lobbies, as grandes empresas de petróleo e a rede de conexões do clubinho dos velhos políticos.

Reforma súbita e incansável jamais cai bem junto aos interesses instalados e aos intermediários políticos. É por isso que é tão difícil realizar reforma real.

Mas com o apoio dos cidadãos do Alasca, nós mudamos as coisas. E em pouco tempo colocamos o governo do nosso Estado uma vez mais a serviço do povo. Assumi o cargo prometendo uma grande reforma ética, e pôr fim à cultura da busca de vantagens pessoais. E hoje essa reforma ética é lei.

Enquanto cuidava disso, me livrei de algumas coisas no gabinete do governador que me pareciam despesas desnecessárias para o povo. O jatinho de luxo era exagero. Eu o vendi no eBay. Também dirijo meu carro para o trabalho.

E confiei em que seria possível sobreviver sem os serviços de uma cozinheira pessoal para a governadora --ainda que eu admita que meus filhos de vez em quando sintam falta dela. Cheguei ao cargo prometendo controlar os gastos --apelando ao bom senso, se possível, e usando meu poder de veto, se necessário.

O senador McCain também promete usar o poder de veto em defesa do interesse público --e, como chefe de um Executivo, posso lhes garantir que isso funciona. Nosso orçamento estadual está sob controle. Temos um superávit. E protegi os contribuintes vetando despesas perdulárias: quase US$ 500 milhões em vetos.

Suspendi o imposto estadual sobre o combustível e defendi reformas que pusessem fim aos abusos no que tange às propostas de dispêndios aprovadas pelo Congresso. Respondi ao Congresso que "obrigada, mas não", quando me ofereceram aquela Ponte para o Nada.

Se o nosso Estado quiser uma ponte, nós mesmos a construiremos. Quando os preços do petróleo e do gás natural subiram dramaticamente e os cofres do Estado ficaram abarrotados, destinei boa parte dessa receita àqueles que a merecem --o dinheiro foi restituído diretamente ao povo do Alasca.

E a despeito da feroz oposição do lobby petroleiro, que gostava das coisas como eram, nós rompemos seu monopólio sobre a energia e os recursos naturais.

Como governadora, insisto em competição e em equanimidade básicas de forma a pôr fim ao controle deles sobre o nosso Estado, devolvendo-o ao povo. Lutei para realizar o maior projeto de infra-estrutura já realizado nos Estados Unidos pelo setor privado. E quando o acordo para ele foi fechado, demos início à construção de um gasoduto de quase US$ 40 bilhões que pode ajudar a conduzir os Estados Unidos à independência energética.

O gasoduto, quando sua última seção estiver instalada e as válvulas estiverem abertas, deixará os Estados Unidos um passo mais distante da dependência quanto a perigosas potências estrangeiras que não levam nossos interesses em consideração. O que está em jogo para o nosso país não poderia ser mais grave.

Quando um furacão atinge o Golfo do México, este país não deveria depender tanto de petróleo importado que sejamos forçados a utilizar a Reserva Estratégica de Petróleo.

E as famílias não devem desperdiçar porção cada vez maior de sua renda pagando pela gasolina e pelo óleo de aquecimento.

Com a Rússia desejando controlar um oleoduto vital no Cáucaso e dividir e intimidar nossos aliados europeus ao usar a energia como arma, não podemos nos colocar à mercê de fornecedores estrangeiros.

Para confrontar a ameaça de que o Irã possa tentar cortar quase um quinto dos suprimentos mundiais de energia... ou de possíveis ataques terroristas às instalações de Abqaiq, na Arábia Saudita... ou de que a Venezuela suspenda suas vendas de petróleo... nós, nos Estados Unidos, precisamos produzir mais petróleo e gás natural. E escutem o que uma garota que conhece a North Slope do Alasca tem a dizer: há muito de ambos os recursos a explorar.

Nossos oponentes não se cansam de repetir que a prospecção não resolverá todos os problemas de energia da América --como se todos nós já não soubéssemos disso. Mas o fato de que a prospecção não seja capaz de resolver cada problema não é desculpa para a inação.

A partir de janeiro, no governo McCain-Palin, vamos construir mais oleodutos, construir mais usinas de energia limpa, criar empregos com o carvão limpo e avançar com a energia solar, eólica, geotérmica e outras fontes alternativas.

Precisamos de recursos de energia norte-americanos, trazidos a nós pela engenhosidade norte-americana e extraídos por trabalhadores norte-americanos. Eu percebi um padrão naquilo que diz o nosso oponente. Talvez vocês também tenham percebido. Todos nós ouvimos seus dramáticos discursos diante de seguidores dedicados. E há muito a admirar e de que gostar em nosso oponente.

Mas ao ouvi-lo discursar, é fácil esquecer que se trata de um homem que já escreveu dois livros de memórias e no entanto não redigiu nenhum grande projeto de lei ou reforma --nem mesmo no Senado estadual. Trata-se de um homem capaz de dedicar um discurso inteiro às guerras em que os Estados Unidos estão envolvidos e jamais usar a palavra "vitória", exceto em referência à sua própria campanha.

Mas quando a nuvem da retórica se vai, quando o rugido da multidão desaparece, quando os holofotes do estádio se apagam, e quando as colunas gregas de isopor são recolhidas a um depósito --qual é exatamente o plano de nosso oponente? O que exatamente ele deseja realizar depois que tiver dominado ás águas da enchente e salvado o planeta? A resposta é tornar o governo maior. Tirar mais de seu dinheiro. Dar a vocês mais ordens vindas de Washington. E reduzir a força dos Estados Unidos em um mundo perigoso. O país precisa de mais energia, e o nosso oponente se opõe a que ela seja produzida.

A vitória no Iraque está enfim próxima, e ele quer abandonar a luta.

Estados terroristas estão procurando armas nucleares o mais rápido possível, e ele deseja se reunir com eles sem impor precondições. Terroristas da Al Qaeda ainda planejam infligir danos catastróficos aos Estados Unidos, e ele está preocupado por eles não serem informados de seus direitos? O governo já é grande demais, e ele deseja que cresça ainda mais. O Congresso gasta demais, e ele promete mais.

Os impostos são altos demais, e ele quer aumentá-los. Os aumentos de impostos que ele propõe estão nas letrinhas miúdas de seu plano econômico, e permitam-me ser específica.

O indicado democrata à presidência apóia planos que elevarão o imposto de renda, o imposto sobre os salários, o imposto sobre a receita de investimento, o imposto sobre espólios, o imposto sobre as empresas e carga tributária com que o povo norte-americano arca, e em centenas de bilhões de dólares. Minha irmã Heather e seu marido construíram um posto de gasolina que acaba de ser inaugurado --como milhões de outras pessoas que operam pequenas empresas.

Como é que eles vão melhorar de vida se os impostos subirem? O mesmo pode ser dito sobre os esforços para manter empregos em uma fábrica em Michigan ou Ohio, ou para criar empregos no setor de carvão limpo na Pensilvânia ou Virgínia Ocidental, ou para manter uma pequena fazenda familiar bem aqui em Minnesota.

Como é que vocês poderão melhorar de vida se o nosso oponente acrescentar uma imensa carga tributária à economia norte-americana? Eis o que penso sobre a escolha que os norte-americanos terão de enfrentar nessa eleição. Na política, existem alguns candidatos que usam a mudança para promover suas carreiras.

E há aqueles que, como John McCain, usam suas carreiras para promover a mudança.

São esses que colocam seus nomes em leis e reformas históricas, e não apenas em faixas e cartazes de campanha ou selos presidenciais que eles mesmos criaram. Entre os políticos, existe o idealismo dos discursos retóricos, nos quais as multidões são convincentemente convidadas a apoiar grandes coisas.

E há o idealismo de líderes como John McCain, que efetivamente realizam grandes coisas. São eles que fazem mais do que falam. É com eles que sempre pudemos contar para servir e defender a América. O histórico de realizações e reformas reais do senador McCain ajuda a explicar porque tantos grupos de interesses especiais, lobistas e presidentes de comitês que se sentem confortáveis em seus postos no Congresso combatem a perspectiva de vê-lo na presidência das primárias de 2000 até hoje.

Nosso indicado não acompanha o rebanho em Washington.

Ele é um homem que está aqui para servir o país, e não apenas ao seu partido. Um líder que não está procurando briga, mas não tem medo de enfrentá-la. Harry Reid, o líder da maioria no Senado inepto que hoje temos, não muito tempo atrás resumiu seus sentimentos sobre o nosso indicado.

Ele disse: "Não suporto John McCain". Senhoras e senhores, talvez nenhum dos elogios que ouvimos esta semana seja melhor prova de que escolhemos o homem certo. É evidente que aquilo que o líder da maioria queria dizer é que ele não consegue suportar a competência de John McCain. E essa é apenas mais uma razão para que tiremos esse líder conhecido pela independência do Senado e o conduzamos à Casa Branca. Meus concidadãos, a presidência dos Estados Unidos não deveria ser "uma jornada de descoberta pessoal". Esse mundo de perigos e ameaças não é apenas uma comunidade, e não precisa apenas de um organizador.

E ainda que os senadores Obama e Biden tenham repetido muitas vezes nas semanas recentes que eles sempre "lutarão por vocês", vamos ser honestos sobre o assunto.

Nesta eleição, existe apenas um homem que realmente lutou por vocês, em lugares onde a vitória significava sobrevivência e a derrota morte, e estou falando de John McCain. Em nossa era, os políticos se dispuseram a revelar histórias de adversidade muito menos severas do que o pesadelo que este homem, e outros homens corajosos como ele, enfrentaram a serviço de nosso país.

A distância entre o medo, a dor e a miséria de uma cela de dois por um metro em Hanói à Casa Branca é muito grande. Mas, caso o senador John McCain seja eleito presidente, é esta a jornada que ele terá percorrido. É a jornada de um homem probo e honrado --a espécie de sujeito cujo nome encontramos nos memoriais de guerra das pequenas cidades deste país. A exceção é que ele conseguiu voltar para casa.

No mais poderoso posto do planeta, ele exerceria a compaixão surgida do fato de que um dia esteve indefeso, a sabedoria que surge até mesmo entre os cativos pela graça de Deus, a confiança especial daqueles que viram o mal e perceberam que é possível derrotá-lo. Um de seus colegas como prisioneiro de guerra, Tom Moe, de Lancaster, Ohio, lembra de observar por uma fresta na porta de sua cela os guardas que conduziam o tenente-comandante John McCain pelo corredor da prisão, dia após dia.

Da maneira como a história é relatada, "quando McCain voltava das sessões de tortura e interrogatório, ele voltava o rosto para a porta da cela de Moe e sorria, erguendo o polegar", como se estivesse dizendo "vamos sobreviver a isso". Meus concidadãos,, é esse o tipo de homem de que o país precisa para nos comandar nos próximos quatro anos.

Um orador inspirado pode inspirar o país por uma temporada com suas palavras.

Mas John McCain nos inspirou a vida toda com seus atos.

Se o caráter é a medida a ser empregada nessa eleição, se a esperança é o tema e a mudança o objetivo que compartilhamos, peço que se unam à nossa causa. Unam-se à nossa causa e ajudem os Estados Unidos a eleger um grande homem como seu próximo presidente.

Obrigado a todos, e que Deus abençoe os Estados Unidos.

Tradução de Paulo Migliacci

Sunday, August 31, 2008

In an Indian Village, Signs of the Loosening Grip of Caste

In an Indian Village, Signs of the Loosening Grip of Caste
Despite Impediments, Life Visibly Improving For Dalit Communities

By Emily Wax
Washington Post Foreign Service
Sunday, August 31, 2008; A14

GADDOPUR, India -- Rubbing his salt-and-pepper stubble, Lasla Ram, 60, stretched out on his wide porch overlooking a fertile knoll in this village of Dalits, the lowest caste in India's social pecking order. His children and grandchildren were gathered at his side as he told his story.

He had been born an indentured serf, he told them. Like his father and grandfather before him, he spent his youth toiling in the fields of upper-caste landlords, cleaning up cow dung and dead animals. He was paid only in millet, the same low-quality grains used to feed pigs and cows.

But 30 years ago, he recalled, he and some friends decided to throw off the shackles of the caste system. They were Dalits, formerly known as untouchables. They didn't stage a revolt. They simply sneaked onto a train headed to New Delhi, 500 miles to the west.

Since then, generations of Dalits have sought to escape the confines of caste by taking trains to India's vast, roiling cities. Today, in this village in eastern Uttar Pradesh state, a survey has found that 68 percent of families, including Ram's, have at least one member who left a landlord's farm for the factories of New Delhi or Mumbai. Although lower castes still suffer discrimination in cities, caste is more easily escaped there. Many Dalits change their last names. They also have greater access to new and better-paying jobs.

"I arrived in New Delhi an illiterate boy, but I was free," Ram said, outside the brick house he built from his earnings. In the capital, he worked as a brick maker. Later, he went to Iraq to manage construction sites. When he came home, he had enough money saved to open a textile business.

India's rapid economic expansion and urbanization since 1991 -- and the new job opportunities generated by those changes -- have loosened the grip of caste, some economists believe. Under the centuries-old system, occupation and social status are inherited at birth. Preliminary research from the first and largest nongovernment study of economic gains made by Dalits in India's strengthening economy, including a survey of 20,000 Dalit households, shows that migration to urban centers is helping one of India's most impoverished and ostracized communities break free from such constraints. The survey is being funded by the University of Pennsylvania.

"The untouchable has been touched by India's growth. Dalits are coming out from hunger and humiliation," said Chandra Bhan Prasad, a popular Dalit newspaper columnist and childhood friend of Ram's.

"Capitalism is beginning to break the caste system," said Prasad, who is conducting the survey.

At the same time, some analysts say, Dalits' economic advancement has been much slower than that of higher castes. For the most part, their rise has been modest -- from landless serfs to low-paid laborers -- with many still living in tin-shack urban slums. They have yet to really share in India's new prosperity, these analysts say, and India's soaring inflation rate, bringing steep rises in the cost of food and fuel, appears to be erasing some of their meager gains.

Dalits still slog away in jobs that no one else wants. An estimated 1.3 million Dalit women, for example, work as manual scavengers, carrying away human waste from dry-pit latrines. In this status-obsessed society, some upper-caste Indians still refuse to eat food prepared by a Dalit.

But to Prasad and Ram, the migration of Dalits to the cities has led to a power shift in the countryside. Upper-caste landlords no longer have anyone to care for their plow-pulling oxen, a burden on the Dalits for centuries. Now they have to hire tractors.

"To me, this is the greatest social change India has ever witnessed in its known history," Prasad said. "The Dalit has been unchained. The answer was found in the machine."

Small Emblems of Progress

The driver of Prasad's rented sport-utility vehicle swerved through rain-filled potholes and maneuvered around goat herders and past computer training centers. Prasad was taking two American journalists on a tour of several of the villages in the study.

Chain-smoking and enthusiastically pointing out the bustling markets, he said he believes that the Dalit's increasing empowerment can be seen in one of capitalism's greatest pastimes: shopping.

Sachets of name-brand shampoos and detergents have started to appear in the markets of Dalit villages. A native son of the region, Prasad measures Dalits' economic progress in terms of their ability to acquire these brightly packaged amenities, however tiny the portions. According to his survey, less than 0.85 percent of Dalit families used shampoo in 1990. In 2007, 81 percent said they use it regularly.

Prasad said he first noticed the increasing prosperity six years ago when he returned home for a family wedding. In the past, he would be asked for cash, saris or radios. He was expected to treat for various feasts, the slaughtering of a piglet and "VIP sweets made from milk," laughed Prasad, patting his expanding waistline to attest to his weakness for desserts.

But this time, he said, the relatives didn't ask him for anything. Many had family members living in cities, and their remittances flowed back into the village. "I was in touch with the countryside, but I was surprised this change was happening so fast," said Prasad, who is considered a maverick for departing from the Dalits' habit of looking to the government to drive change.

India has the world's largest and oldest affirmative action program. Dalit intellectuals have long hoped that quotas for jobs and university places would help lift the community out of poverty. But those programs have been both controversial and corrupt. They are credited with helping create a small Dalit middle class but also criticized for perpetuating the entrenched societal structure.

Prasad's parents were illiterate, land-owning Dalits. His grandfather had worked for the British colonial government and saved enough money to put Prasad and his siblings through school, rare for Dalit families at the time. Later, as a college student, Prasad became angered by the injustices of the caste system and joined the Naxalite movement, a Marxist insurgency against India's government.

But after four years, his life took a major turn. He watched a family happily eating ice cream one afternoon, and that changed his life. "It got me thinking, and I made a quantum jump," he said. "I never developed a hatred for those who live well. Everyone wants a good life. I came to believe that it was not going to happen through the gun. If there was going to be serious conflict in this country, it would be Dalits who would suffer."

'From Horrible to Bad'

Dalit empowerment is so incremental as to be almost invisible to outsiders. Dalits still have the country's highest malnutrition rates, which are also among the highest in the world. Violence and discrimination against lower castes are common, although reports usually end up on the inside pages of India's newspapers. In a recent incident, a Dalit working in Mumbai drove a new car back to his village, where some higher-caste people pulled him out and beat him to death, telling police later that they assumed the car had been stolen. They thought a Dalit could not afford a new car.

But Prasad's survey results showed that discrimination is decreasing, at least in this village. In 1990, 88.1 percent of families questioned in Gaddopur were seated separately during public dinners organized by upper castes. Now, only 30 percent said they were asked to sit apart.

Dalit villages are less likely than others to have paved roads, reliable electricity, running water or health clinics. But where some see squalor, others see progress. In many Dalit villages, brick hovels are replacing mud huts.

"It's gone from horrible to bad. But it's like saying that you have to climb a 10,000-foot mountain and you've have climbed 1,000 feet," said Devesh Kapur, director of the University of Pennsylvania's Center for the Advanced Study of India. "Still, the fact that we have seen a change of this magnitude after hundreds and hundreds of years of this community being crushed is really amazing."

Accompanied by Prasad, Kapur recently visited one of the villages in the study and met a Dalit village elder. He asked him if things had changed since he was a boy. "He said, 'It's like the difference between the land and the sky.' "

Unfazed by Setbacks

After working for many years in construction, Ram started his own textile business, which prospered. He was able to afford a grand wedding for his son and build a spacious house.

Like many Dalit households, the family painted a mural at the entrance depicting a studious-looking man in a three-piece suit and glasses: Dalit leader B.R. Ambedkar, author of much of India's constitution. Ambedkar often urged Dalits to leave their villages.

With Ram's earnings, his wife, Sola Hanna, no longer had to labor in the fields for the landlord. She recently ran into her former boss. "I saw her once in the market. We didn't speak. But we shared a quiet moment," Hanna said softly. "I had a memory of her shouting at me, calling down to me in front of other neighbors to fetch things. When I realized she could no longer do that, I felt proud."

Beaming as he listened to the story, Prasad said he wanted to check out Ram's nearby pharmacy.

Chandra Bhan Prasad, a Dalit, said goods sold in a village market reflect the caste's progress.
Chandra Bhan Prasad, a Dalit, said goods sold in a village market reflect the caste's progress. (By Emily Wax -- The Washington Post)

As Prasad perused the shelves, stocked with mouthwash, headache pills and thermometers -- items that he said Dalits could not afford in the past -- the power went out.

Undependable power, like the rutted dirt roads and lack of running water, is one of the remaining impediments to economic growth in Dalit villages. Unfazed, Prasad cheerfully continued examining bags of pricey beans, cellphone chargers and dented boxes of cornflakes. All were proof of Dalit progress, and Prasad smiled in the darkness.



It's unbelievable that this article did not mention the Hindu riots going on these past few days in India in which 13 Catholic workers, nuns and priests were killed by the rioters angry over the murder of one of their own religious leaders reportedly by a Maoist terrorist. Some Hindus resent the Catholics because when an Untouchable converts to Catholicism he is no longer an Untouchable and (apparently) is free to do better-paying work. So the Hindus lose their large supply of cheap labor to do the most menial jobs, and have to pay more for the same services, which impacts their pocket books and their cultural lives. Shame on the WaPo for not mentioning the murders of these 13 Catholics who were nonviolently serving their fellow human beings in India. It's no wonder the main stream media (MSM) is losing readership/viewers -their former market base has discovered the sad truth that the MSM does not now (and probably never did) report all the important news of which it was aware.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

KKK Hoodwinked.

January 8, 2006
Freakonomics
Hoodwinked?
By STEPHEN J. DUBNER and STEVEN D. LEVITT

Information Asymmetries: Our book "Freakonomics" includes a chapter titled "How Is the Ku Klux Klan Like a Group of Real-Estate Agents?" This chapter was our effort to bring to life the economic concept known as information asymmetry, a state wherein one party to a transaction has better information than another party. It is probably obvious that real-estate agents typically have better information than their clients. The Klan story was perhaps less obvious. We argued that the Klan's secrecy - its rituals, made-up language, passwords and so on - formed an information asymmetry that furthered its aim of terrorizing blacks and others.

But the Klan was not the hero of our story. The hero was a man named Stetson Kennedy, a white Floridian from an old-line family who from an early age sought to assail racial and social injustices. Out of all of his crusades - for unionism, voting rights and numberless other causes - Kennedy is best known for taking on the Klan in the 1940's. In his book "The Klan Unmasked" (originally published in 1954 as "I Rode With the Ku Klux Klan"), Kennedy describes how he adopted a false identity to infiltrate the Klan's main chapter in Atlanta, was chosen to serve as a "klavalier" (a Klan strong-arm man) and repeatedly found himself at the center of astonishing events, all the while courting great personal risk.

What did Kennedy do with all the secret Klan information he gathered? He disseminated it like mad: to state prosecutors, to human rights groups and even to broadcasters like Drew Pearson and the producers of the "Superman" radio show, who publicly aired the Klan's heretofore hidden workings. Kennedy took an information asymmetry and dumped it on its head. And in doing so, we wrote, he played a significant role in quashing the renaissance of the Klan in postwar America.

Kennedy has been duly celebrated for his activism: his friend Woody Guthrie once wrote a song about him, and a Stetson Kennedy Day was recently declared in St. John's County, Fla., where Kennedy, 89, still lives. That is where we interviewed him nearly two years ago; our account of his amazing true story was based on those interviews, "The Klan Unmasked" and a small mountain of history books and newspaper articles.

But is Kennedy's story as true as it is amazing?

That was the disturbing question that began to haunt another Florida author, Ben Green, who in 1992 began writing a book about Harry T. Moore, a black civil rights advocate who was murdered in 1951. For a time, Stetson Kennedy was a collaborator on the book. Although Green was only tangentially interested in Kennedy's Klan infiltration - it wasn't central to the Moore story - he eventually checked out Kennedy's voluminous archives, held in libraries in New York and Atlanta.

These papers charted the extraordinarily colorful life of a man who had been, among other things, a poet, a folklorist, a muckraking journalist and a union activist. But Green was dismayed to find that the story told in Kennedy's own papers seemed to be quite different from what Kennedy wrote in "The Klan Unmasked."

In "The Klan Unmasked," Kennedy posed as an encyclopedia salesman named John S. Perkins who, in one of his first undercover maneuvers, visits the former governor of Georgia - a reputed Klan sympathizer - and ingratiates himself by offering to distribute some hate literature. A document in Kennedy's archives, however, suggests that Kennedy had indeed met the ex-governor, but not in any undercover capacity. Rather, he had interviewed him for a book he was writing - nor did this document mention any hate literature.

A close examination of Kennedy's archives seems to reveal a recurrent theme: legitimate interviews that he conducted with Klan leaders and sympathizers would reappear in "The Klan Unmasked" in different contexts and with different facts. In a similar vein, the archives offer evidence that Kennedy covered public Klan events as a reporter but then recast them in his book as undercover exploits. Kennedy had also amassed a great deal of literature about the Klan and other hate groups that he joined, but his own archives suggest that he joined most of these groups by mail.

So did Kennedy personally infiltrate the Klan in Atlanta, as portrayed in "The Klan Unmasked"?

In his archives are a series of memos that were submitted to the Anti-Defamation League, one of several civil rights groups to which Kennedy reported. Some of the memos were written by him; others were written by a man identified as John Brown, a union worker and former Klan official who had changed his ways and offered to infiltrate the Klan. "This worker is joining the Klan for me," Kennedy wrote in one memo in early 1946. "I am certain that he can be relied on."

In Kennedy's subsequent memos - indeed, in hundreds of pages of Kennedy's various correspondence from the era - he matter-of-factly attributed some of his most powerful Klan information to John Brown: one of the memos he declared "a report from my informant inside the Klan on the meeting of Atlanta Klan No. 1 on August 12 and Atlanta Klan No. 297 on August 15." As John Brown fed inside information to Kennedy, Kennedy would then relay it to groups like the A.D.L., as well as to prosecutors and journalists. It wasn't until he wrote "The Klan Unmasked," several years later, that Kennedy placed himself, Zelig-like, at the center of all the action.

Ben Green, despite months spent immersed in Kennedy's archives, could not identify the man once known as John Brown. Green did manage to interview Dan Duke, a former state prosecutor who, as rendered in "The Klan Unmasked," worked closely with Kennedy. Duke agreed that Kennedy "got inside of some [Klan] meetings" but openly disputed Kennedy's dramatized account of their relationship. "None of that happened," he told Green. In 1999, when Green finally published his Harry T. Moore book, "Before His Time," it contained a footnote labeling "The Klan Unmasked" "a novelization."

Green is not the only person to have concluded that Kennedy has bent the truth. Jim Clark, who teaches history at the University of Central Florida, says that Kennedy "built a national reputation on many things that didn't happen." Meredith Babb, director of the University Press of Florida, which has published four of Kennedy's books, now calls Kennedy "an entrepreneurial folklorist." But except for Green's footnote, they all kept quiet until the retelling of Kennedy's exploits in "Freakonomics" produced a new round of attention. Why? "It would be like killing Santa Claus," Green says. "To me, the saddest part of this story is that what he actually did wasn't enough for him, and he has felt compelled to make up, embellish or take credit for things he didn't do."

When presented with documents from his own archives and asked outright, several weeks ago over lunch near his Florida home, if "The Klan Unmasked" was "somewhat conflated or fictionalized," Kennedy said no. "There may have been a bit of dialogue that was not as I remembered it," he answered. "But beyond that, no." When pressed, Kennedy did concede that "in some cases I took the reports and actions of this other guy and incorporated them into one narrative." As it turns out, Kennedy has made such an admission at least once before. Peggy Bulger, director of the American Folklife Center in the Library of Congress, wrote a 1992 dissertation called "Stetson Kennedy: Applied Folklore and Cultural Advocacy," based in part on extensive interviews with her subject. In an endnote, Bulger writes that "Kennedy combined his personal experiences undercover with the narratives provided by John Brown in writing 'I Rode With the Ku Klux Klan' in 1954."

We weren't very happy, of course, to learn that a story we included in "Freakonomics" was built on such shaky foundations - especially since the book is devoted to upending conventional wisdoms rather than reinforcing them, and concerning Stetson Kennedy, the most conventional wisdom of all is his reputation as a Klan infiltrator.

There is also the fact that in our work we make a point of depending less on anecdote in favor of data, the idea being that numbers tend to lie less baldly than people do. But the story of Stetson Kennedy was one long series of anecdotes - which, no matter how many times they were cited over the decades, were nearly all generated by the same self-interested source.

Perhaps Kennedy's long life of fighting the good fight are all that matter. Perhaps, to borrow Peggy Bulger's phraseology, a goal of "cultural advocacy" calls for the use of "applied folklore" rather than the sort of forthrightness that should be more typical of history or journalism. One thing that does remain true is that Kennedy was certainly a master of information asymmetry. Until, that is, the data caught up with him.

Stephen J. Dubner and Steven D. Levitt are the authors of "Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything." Some of the documentary evidence discussed in this column is at www.freakonomics.com

Thursday, February 7, 2008

Bertrand de Jouvenel's melancholy liberalism

Bertrand de Jouvenel's melancholy liberalism

OF the major political thinkers of his generation--including Raymond Aron, Isaiah Berlin, Michael Oakeshott, and Leo Strauss--Bertrand de Jouvenel suffers from relative neglect. During the 1950s and 1960s, the French philosopher and political economist enjoyed a considerable reputation in the English-speaking world. He lectured as a visiting professor at Yale and the University of California-Berkeley, and his books garnered serious reviews in prestigious journals. But by the time of his death in 1987, his star had dimmed. Read through a span of recent political-theory journals and you will rarely encounter his name.

The neglect is not surprising. Jouvenel's thought does not fit into the two categories that unfortunately came to dominate academic thinking on politics during the 1970s and continue to rule it today: the arid left-liberalism of analytic philosophers like Ronald Dworkin, which reduces political thought to abstract reflection on moral and legal principles, and the nihilist radicalism of post-structuralist thinkers like Michel Foucault, which irresponsibly seeks to blow up the bourgeois world to clear the way for who knows what.

Jouvenel's work, published over five decades in a series of learned, beautifully written books and essays, is anything but abstract. It harkens back to an older style of political thought (as old as Aristotle, really, but arching over the centuries to include Montesquieu and Alexis de Tocqueville) that brings together moral and political philosophy and painstaking historical and institutional analysis.

His work is also a model of political responsibility. The philosopher Pierre Manent places Jouvenel in the sober tradition of liberalisme triste--melancholy liberalism--whose great representative is Tocqueville and among whose recent exemplars I would include Irving Kristol and Manent himself. These anti-utopians fully acknowledge the basic decency and justness of liberal democratic civilization. But they are also aware of its profound weaknesses--the erosion of moral and spiritual life, the hollowing out of civil society, the growth of an overbearing state, and the "joyless quest for joy," as Leo Strauss once put it, of a society dedicated chiefly to commercial pursuits. The task of liberalisme triste is to illumine the tensions and possibilities of this liberal civilization, in the hope of advising citizens and statesmen how best to cultivate the goods and avoid or at least moderate the evils that attend it.

Thankfully, there are signs that Jouvenel is sparking renewed interest. Over the last half-decade, two publishers--Liberty Fund Press and Transaction Publishers--have made available again to English readers some of his most important work. It seems an ideal occasion, then, to reconsider Jouvenel's contribution to political thought.

A life in the age of extremes

Bertrand de Jouvenel was born in 1903 into an aristocratic French household swept up in the political and intellectual currents of the early twentieth century. His father, Baron Henri de Jouvenel, was a well-known Dreyfusard politician and newspaper editor, and his mother, Sarah Claire Boas, the daughter of a wealthy Jewish industrialist, ran a trendy Parisian salon, so young Bertrand met many of the leading artists, writers, and politicians of the day. Through his mother, a passionate supporter of Czechoslovak independence, he gained his earliest political experience, working as private secretary to Eduard Benes, Czechoslovakia's first prime minister, when barely out of his teens.

Jouvenel was close to both of his parents, who divorced in 1912, but his relationship to his father was sorely tested during the early twenties. After divorcing Bertrand's mother, Henri had remarried the novelist and sexual provocateur Colette. In 1919, the 16-year-old Bertrand, strikingly handsome-"all sinews and lank," observes Colette biographer Judith Thurman- entered a scandalous affair with his stepmother, then in her late forties, who had seduced the bookish teenager. In October 1923, according to one version of events, Henri surprised Bertrand and Colette in bed, definitively ending a marriage that had already soured. A remorseful Bertrand "was horrified to see myself, or to believe myself, the cause of this drama," hut continued the affair for two more years. He later patched things up with his father, but Colette always haunted him. Even as an old man, happily married to his second wife Helene (he briefly married war correspondent Martha Gellhorn during the early 1930s), Jouvenel had difficulty spe aking of his forbidden romance without emotion.

Jouvenel's formal education was more conventional than his love life. Subsequent to studying at the Lycee Hoche in Versailles, he graduated from the Sorbonne, where he read in law and mathematics. He later took up a succession of short-term academic posts that culminated in an appointment to the prestigious Ecole Science Politique in 1975. He always regretted not having a steadier academic career, which would have given him the opportunity to mold a generation of students as Aron and Strauss did. As founder and director of the think tank SEDEIS (Societe d'Etudes et de Documentation Economiques Industrielles et Sociales), an institution with many connections both inside and outside the academy, he did have a huge impact on the education of French elites by familiarizing them, through regular seminars and publications, with Anglo-American economic ideas.

Jouvenel's political education owed less to the academy than to his extensive work as a journalist, specializing in international relations, from the late 1920s until the Second World War. As political scientists Marc Landy and Dennis Hale observe, "To a degree unparalleled by any other chronicler of the rise of totalitarianism in the 1930s, even Orwell, de Jouvenel witnessed the key events and came to know the key individuals firsthand." Jouvenel interviewed at length Mussolini, Churchill, and, in a world-wide exclusive in 1935, Hitler. His journalistic activities brought him to various European hotspots, including Austria during the Anschluss and Czechoslovakia during the Nazi invasion. This hands-on experience, note Landy and Hale, gave Jouvenel a feel for the stuff of politics, its tragic contingencies and mundane complexities, its resistance to abstract categories and utopian schemes, its dangers and decencies.

Like many of his generation, Jouvenel found his way to support for liberal democracy only gradually. At the age of 23, he stood unsuccessfully for Parliament as a Radical-Socialist candidate. For a while, disgusted by the decadence of the French Third Republic, he sought solace on the other political extreme, and in 1936 joined Francois Doriot's Parti Popular Francais, a right-wing populist--some would say quasifascist--party. He would leave the party two years later, however, because of Doriot's shameful support for the Munich Pact. His eyes now opened, Jouvenel signed up with the French Army intelligence to struggle against the rising Nazi menace. In 1942, following France's armistice with Germany, he worked for the French resistance, eventually fleeing to Switzerland with the Gestapo in pursuit. By now, he had become the full-fledged antitotalitarian liberal that he remained the rest of his life.


Jouvenel's flirtation with the radical right during the thirties came back to trouble him in the early 1980s, when the Israeli scholar Zeev Sternhell falsely accused him of collaborating with the Nazis. Jouvenel sued for libel in 1983 and won. Raymond Aron, who had left his hospital bed against his doctor's wishes to testify on Jouvenel's behalf, dropped dead of a stroke immediately after telling the court that his longtime friend was "one of the two or three leading political thinkers of his generation"--and no collaborator.

In addition to his journalistic activities, Jouvenel published several books prior to the war, including, in 1928, L'economie dirigee (coining the term the French still use for economic planning), a 1933 study of the Great Depression in the United States, and three novels. After the war, he mostly abandoned journalism to concentrate on writing the treatises in political philosophy that won him widespread acclaim. Jouvenel's postwar works contain the three main themes of his mature thought: an effort to understand the hypertrophy of the modern state; a meditation on the common good in pluralistic modern societies; and an attempt to describe the dynamics of political life. Let us look at each in turn.


Beware the Minotaur

Jouvenel wrote his first major work of political philosophy, On Power: The Natural History of Its Growth, from Swiss exile as World War II raged and Europe lay in ruins. Its basic aim, one which runs through all of Jouvenel's postwar writings, is to examine how the modern state became so dangerous to human liberty.

The long shadow of the totalitarian state darkens every page of On Power. National Socialism and communism, in their quest to revolutionize the bourgeois economic and political condition, had desolated entire nations. Never before had such state power been unleashed. But even in contemporary liberal democratic societies, the centralized state had grown to a disturbing size. Jouvenel's libertarian ideal--"the recognition, or the assumption, that there is in every man the same pride and dignity as had hitherto been assured and protected, but for the aristocracy only, by privileges"--found less and less breathing room in the collectivist modern world.

Jouvenel's labyrinthine book is a kind of pathology of modern politics. Jouvenel reviews Western history to determine exactly when centralized authority--Power, or the Minotaur, as he alternatively calls it--first extended its reach and what allowed it to do so. The Minotaur started to stir, he discovers, in the twelfth century; it grew "continuously" until the eighteenth and has exponentially increased in size since then.

Jouvenel blames Power's growth on several permanent features of centralized government (following Jouvenel, I will capitalize the "p" in power whenever referring to the state apparatus). First, the central governing authority naturally seeks dominance. After all, flawed human beings occupy the offices of Power, and they often want to lord over everybody else. "Is not the will to Power rooted deep in human nature?" Jouvenel asks. The desire for dominion is not the whole story of human nature, as Jouvenel would readily agree, but every truthful account of political life--from the Biblical narrative of David to George Orwell's Homage to Catalonia--recognizes its eternal existence.

The second explanation for the concentration of Power is political rivalry. For political communities to survive military challenge, their leaders must be able to act decisively and forcefully. Fail to match your rival's punch-his capacity swiftly to mobilize his citizenry and levy their wealth or develop deadly new technologies--and you could quickly find yourself out for the count. To keep pace with powerful Spain in the sixteenth and seventeenth century, for example, the respective dynasties of England and France had to take more authority into their hands, increasing the number of men under arms and hiking taxes. More recently, during World War II, the allied democracies used propaganda and state direction of the economy--Power-boosting tools generally shunned by free societies--to resist the Nazi war machine. The competition for military supremacy feeds the Minotaur.

The medieval moment


These two explanations, true as far as they go, still do not explain why Power started to expand when it did nor why that expansion intensified dramatically after the seventeenth century. For that, Jouvenel shows, greater attention to the logic of Western history is necessary. On Power exemplifies what I think is one of the great virtues of Jouvenel's political thought: In order to expand our perspective on the events affecting us, it shifts our attention from the immediacy of the present, which can be blind, to the past and, as we will see, to the future. In this book, Jouvenel breaks with the popular Enlightenment story--"pure fantasy," he deems it--of monarchs "to whose exactions there are no bounds" and modern democratic governments "whose resources are proportionate to their authority." The true picture, we learn from history, is much more ambiguous.

Consider the Middle Ages. Far from crushing men with arbitrary force, the medieval king inhabited a spiritual, moral, and institutional world that kept him tightly bound. The divine law, as the Catholic Church taught it, limited the king's authority, indeed all human authority, from above. The king was God's servant, with a sacred duty to preserve God's created order. That hierarchical order, among other things, made the king not master of, but simply first among, nobles--each a rival authority with land and forces of his own. To get anything done the king had to go, hat in hand, to his fellow nobles to beg for men and funds, all the while making sure the Church did not disapprove too strongly. In turn, the common law, a human artifact written within the framework of the divine law and borrowing some of its luster, limited Power from below with innumerable precedents and customs. Jouvenel remarks, "The consecrated king of the Middle Ages was a Power as tied down and as little arbitrary as we can conceive." G od was sovereign, not men; there was no absolute or uncontrolled human authority.

Some might accuse the Catholic Jouvenel of romanticizing medieval life. I think this is to mistake his point. Of course, kings often rudely violated the law, as Jouvenel admits, and the medieval mindset failed to extend to every man and woman full recognition of the dignity that is their due. But the law wove a religious and customary web around Power that prevented it from completely breaking loose and becoming absolute. Recall, Jouvenel says, that the Catholic Church's sanctions "brought the Emperor Henry IV to fall on his knees before Gregory VII in the snow of Canossa." In such a universe, Power could expand only slowly.

This complex web began to unravel when European kings, keen to boost their authority, threw their lot in with the people to heat down the nobles who kept Power in check. The people looked to the kings to free them from the petty and sometimes not-so-petty oppressions of the aristocrats, whom the kings, in top Machiavellian form, had successfully encouraged to ditch their age-old responsibilities to the plebs. From this alliance between kings and the masses arose, beginning in the fifteenth century and lasting until the eighteenth, Europe's absolute monarchies. The absolute monarchs, driving the aristocracy into the ground, centralized and modernized Power and wielded resources far greater than medieval kings. The Protestant Reformation also helped tear apart the medieval web and amplify monarchical Power by giving reformed princes leeway to redefine the meaning of divine laws and to disregard custom; Catholic princes, to keep up, began to skirt the Church's rules themselves. The Minotaur grew.

Democracy on trial

But what really triggers Power's dramatic expansion, Jouvenel suggests, is the birth of the democratic age, which finishes off the dying medieval order. The political scientist Pierre Hassner, a keen reader of Jouvenel, has it exactly right: On Power "is a generalization of Alexis de Tocqueville's idea that the French Revolution, rather than breaking the absolutism of the state, further concentrated power in the hands of the state." Jouvenel sees democratic times extending Power's reach in at least three different, but related, ways.

First and most fundamental is the triumph in the eighteenth century of the doctrine of popular sovereignty, the idea that "the people," not some divine source or ancient custom, make the final call on all matters of law and social organization. "The denial of a divine lawgiving and the establishment of a human lawgiving," warns Jouvenel, "are the most prodigious strides which a society can take towards a truly absolute Power." Outside of small communities, popular sovereignty, taken literally, is absurd. The people themselves cannot actually govern and pretty soon others--often a single other--rule in their name. And these new rulers find it easier than ever before to direct and mobilize society.

Popular sovereignty erodes the restraints on what political communities can imagine doing. If the law is solely an expression of the people's will, where would the limits on it come from? Anything becomes possible: the rounding up of political opponents, the bombing of civilians, laws condemning minorities or the unfit to extinction, the creation of genetic monstrosities or genetic supermen.

In addition, popular sovereignty encourages the notion that the state is a tool directly to secure the people's well-being. Power is accordingly burdened with a surfeit of new responsibilities, from running jobs programs and providing welfare, to redistributing wealth and regulating businesses, to funding scientific research and guaranteeing education to all citizens. Some of this is reasonable and salutary, no doubt, but taken together it increases the state's sway.

Popular sovereignty also brings mass conscription: Since everyone ostensibly has an equal stake in Power, everyone must defend it. Historian Hippolyte Tame put it well: Universal suffrage and mass conscription are like "twin brothers ... the one placing in the hands of every adult person a voting paper, the other putting on his back a soldier's knapsack." The Sun King Louis XIV, the most absolute of absolute monarchs, would have loved to institute conscription for his endless wars across seventeenth-century Europe, but he felt himself powerless to do it. It was the French Revolution that first militarized the masses and sent them forth across Europe's battlefields.

The second way in which the democratic age extended Power was through the unleashing of relativism. Popular sovereignty meant self-sovereignty, the right of each individual to decide his own right and wrong. This Protagorism, as Jouvenel terms it, in which man becomes the measure of all things, summons the Minotaur to quell the social disorder it inevitably unleashes. In a later work, he gravely writes, "To the entire extent to which progress develops hedonism and moral relativism, to which individual liberty is conceived as the right of man to obey his appetites, nothing but the strongest of powers can maintain society in being." The social theorist Michael Novak would later make the same point: "For a society without inner policemen ... there aren't enough policemen in the world to make men civil."


Jouvenel pointed out that relativism calls forth Power a second way. The loss of objective standards is existentially unbearable, opening "an aching void in the room of beliefs and principles." The secular religions of communism and National Socialism would draw nourishment from this crisis of meaning, building up Power to truly monstrous proportions. In Jouvenel's stark account, totalitarianism is born of the modern world's moral confusion.

Finally, Power grows in the democratic age because of the erosion of civil society. Democratic regimes base themselves on the individual, and individualism tends to hollow out or utterly destroy civil society. The modern state wages a relentless attack on the "social authorities"--in today's policy jargon, the mediating structures of families, churches, businesses, and other associations that stand between the state and the individual and that constitute extra-individual sources of authority and meaning. The attack can he blunt and brutal, as in the totalitarian regimes' total repression of civil society. Or it can take a softer form, as when the bureaucratic and inefficient welfare state takes over from families the responsibility for rearing children. In either case, though on very different scales, one finds state Power vastly increased and individual liberties menaced or obliterated. In a social field in which there are but two actors--Power and the individual--humans cannot flourish.

Jouvenel does not have much good to say about the liberal democratic West in On Power. He does suggest the possibility of sustaining the flickering light of political and human liberty by supporting moral and religious belief in a "higher code" that would restrain human willfulness, and by educating leaders and citizens to be vigilant of Power, like their medieval predecessors. But he views the separation-of-powers doctrine advocated by eighteenth- and nineteenth-century liberal constitutionalists as a weak reed against Power's tank-like advance. Since all modern constitutions base themselves on the people's will, they will not long deter Power's advance.

In fact, Jouvenel's argument in On Power risks becoming a kind of reverse Marxism, in which history ends not in bliss but in the concentration camp. The gigantic state is "the culmination of the history of the West," he observes in the book's grim closing paragraphs, implying that there is not a lot we can do about it. Thankfully, the evolution of the democracies in the years since Jouvenel wrote the book does not bear out its gloomiest warnings.

Despite its excessive pessimism, On Power stands as a permanent warning to the citizens and statesmen of liberal democratic regimes that their freedom is difficult to sustain, for reasons inseparable from the logic of their own principles. And in Jouvenel's ensuing work, most evocatively in Sovereignty: An Inquiry into the Political Good, he develops a more constructive political science, one which looks more positively upon liberal constitutionalism.

The upshot: The classical goods of complete harmony and thick community that the modern world has undermined--and there is no doubt that they are goods--are incompatible with other goods that we cannot imagine living without. Too many armchair communitarians, on the left and the right, simply fail to see this.

If Jouvenel rejects any return to Greece as destructive of our modern freedoms, however, he does not turn around and embrace the libertarianism that, say, Charles Murray serves up in What It Means to Be a Libertarian. In Murray's view, government should do next to nothing, refusing to make judgments about citizens' moral choices and giving the market and the institutions of civil society free reign, except when monopolists or thieves or murderers mess things up.

This thin understanding of the political, Jouvenel contends, is not an adequate governing philosophy for a modern liberal democracy. Indeed, to the extent that government, basing itself on the self-sovereignty of man, refuses to discriminate between moral and immoral choices, it surrenders to the relativism that already disturbs liberal societies. As On Power showed, such relativism beckons the state to restore the order it destroys and to fill the emptiness it creates in the soul.

For Jouvenel, the modern democratic state has a much richer moral task. It is to create the conditions that let "social friendship"--a common good compatible with the goods and freedoms of modernity--blossom. Jouvenel describes this modern common good as resting "in the strength of the social tie, the warmth of the friendship felt by one citizen for another and the assurance each has of predictability in another's conduct." To nurture this mutual trust is the essence of the art of politics.

Daniel J. Mahoney and David DesRosiers, in their illuminating introduction to the Liberty Fund edition of Sovereignty, correctly observe that the book "contains one of the richest accounts of the permanent requirements of statesmanship written in this century." Among the tasks of the liberal statesman are the following (this is by no means an exhaustive list): First, the statesman must prudentially balance innovation and conservation. Modern societies, severed from the past, are open, mobile, and constantly transforming. Government needs to respond to the constant flux with policies that attenuate some of its worst effects. For contrary to what "dynamists" like Reason magazine's Virginia Postrel think, human beings cannot live in a world that is always changing: Such a condition is profoundly alienating. Thus Jouvenel would be willing to use government funds to retrain workers displaced by a new technology.

One way of pursuing this balance is to anticipate future trends as much as possible in order to cushion their impact. Hence Jouvenel's extensive research in "future studies," given its fullest theoretical treatment in a fascinating but sadly out-of-print 1968 book, The Art of Conjecture (here again he shakes us from what I would call, if you can forgive the somewhat barbarous neologism, our presentism). The "art" in the title is a tip-off. In Jouvenel's view, there is no science of the future, only reasoned inferences from existing trends.

Next, the statesman must do nothing to harm and everything possible to help a culture of ordered liberty prosper short of imposing a state truth. As we have seen, the free society cannot survive if license prevails. At a minimum this means a statesman should be a model of self-restraint in his own life. (No Esquire crotch-shots or trysts with interns, in other words.) But one can imagine an array of policies-President George W. Bush is pursuing some of them right now--that would shore up, rather than weaken, ordered liberty without resorting to massive state coercion. Of course, the political leader cannot do this alone--not hardly. This is a task for all citizens of a free society, particularly those who participate in culture-forming institutions.

The statesman must also regulate "noxious activities" that threaten social friendship. Racists would get no license to march in a Jouvenelian liberal democracy. Parties that advocated revolution or violence would find no home there, either. Jouvenel believes civility is crucial to a free society.

And finally, the statesman must deflate hopes for a permanent solution to the political problem. There is no ultimate solution in politics, only temporary "settlements," as Jouvenel put it in a later book. To try to conjure up ancient Greece again or to dispense with politics almost all together (the communitarian and libertarian dreams, respectively) are both solutions, not settlements. Politics is our permanent this-worldly condition; to deny that fact is to create, or at least tempt, tyranny.

The good and bad of capitalism

Nowhere is there greater need for vigilance in cultivating the common good in modern democracies than with regard to the free market. To be sure, Jouvenel is a strong defender of the efficiency and productivity of a free economy. The capitalist dynamo has eased life for millions, giving them choices and opportunities and time unavailable to all but the few in premodern societies. Jouvenel knows that economic growth and consumer satisfaction are the imperatives that drive our societies.

But having more goodies does not constitute the good life. Quality of life is key to assessing a decent society. Like Pope John Paul II, Jouvenel argues that a strong moral culture and vigorous political institutions must serve as makeweights against the market. Thus Jouvenel would probably have had few qualms about cracking down on Hollywood violence and Calvin Klein kiddie-porn ads. For just as government has a responsibility to educate citizens politically, so too it is important to lift the preferences of consumers to higher ends. "We live in majority societies where beautiful things will be wiped out unless the majority appreciates them," Jouvenel pointedly observed during the sixties. A market society is praiseworthy only if the choices people make within it are praiseworthy.

Another area in which the market needs public oversight is the environment. In a highly organized modern society, Jouvenel wrote in the 1957 essay "From Political Economy to Political Ecology," "Nature disappears behind the mass of our fellow creatures." We forget what we owe it. I can imagine some conservative readers rushing to put Jouvenel back on the shelf at this point. But Jouvenel's green thumb is much closer to legal theorist Peter Huber's (or Theodore Roosevelt's) market-friendly conservationism than it is to Norwegian Arne Naess's antihumanist deep ecology.

The environment is for man, not man for the environment--that Biblical insight is one Jouvenel embraces. Promethean modern economies have made man master of the Earth, and that is potentially to the good, he says. But with mastery comes responsibility. In a 1968 essay entitled "The Stewardship of the Earth," Jouvenel sums up his environmental vision: "The Earth has been given to us for our utility and enjoyment, but also entrusted to our care, that we should be its caretakers and gardeners." This is sensible stuff. It means smart environmental regulations establishing wildlife reserves, cleaning up rivers, protecting endangered species, and punishing toxic dumpers, not trying to restore some pre-industrial arcadia (there is that anti-utopianism again).

If Jouvenel's support for the free market stops short of an idolatry of choice and the right to pollute, it enthusiastically resists government interventions aimed at redistributing wealth. "Only Hayek has rivaled Bertrand de Jouvenel in demonstrating why redistributionism in the democracies results in the atrophy of personal responsibility and the hypertrophy of the bureaucracy and the centralized state instead of in relief to the hapless minorities it is pledged to serve," enthuses the sociologist Robert Nisbet about a book Jouvenel first published in 1952, called The Ethics of Redistribution. In this short, profound study, Jouvenel ignores (though he agrees with it) the economic argument against the redistribution of wealth: that it eats away at incentives and so impoverishes everybody. Instead, he concentrates on the moral arguments against redistribution in an indictment of contemporary left-liberalism as damning as we have.

Jouvenel's three arguments remain unanswered. One is that redistribution quickly becomes regressive. Jouvenel shows that levying the wealth of the rich does not provide nearly enough economic resources to offer a subsistence minimum to the down and out. Instead, government must dip into the pockets of the middle class and even the lower middle class, who themselves receive income transfers. This insight, Jouvenel avers, upsets a widely held belief: "that our societies are extremely rich and that their wealth is merely maldistributed." Pursuing redistribution in the face of this truth, he adds, "involves the debasement of even the lower middle-class standard of life." Society becomes proletarianized.

The second argument against redistribution is that it corrodes personal responsibility. By providing for basic needs, the redistributionist state weakens the individual's independence and civil society's authority, threatening to make people into dependent drudges. This also reinforces the modern impulsion to centralization described in On Power.

Finally, redistribution, by confiscating higher incomes, means that the wealthy stop supporting life's amenities: no more grants to symphonies, museums, university endowments, parks, and so on. If these amenities are to continue to exist, the state must fund them directly. The state invariably will use a utilitarian calculus in deciding what to fund. One gray vision starts to prevail, not a thousand or hundreds of thousands of varied visions. Jouvenel implies that a bourgeois society is much more likely to support high culture than is a redistributionist state.

Jouvenel knew that the impulse to shake down the rich and give to the poor is a permanent temptation in democratic capitalist regimes. There will always be calls from those whom the market had not benefited to redress their plight through politics; and there will always be politicians ready to hear them out. Redistributionism is unlikely ever to disappear in modern societies, but we can try to limit its reach.

A real science of politics

Jouvenel's final contribution to the study of politics is a detailed analysis of its workings, not as a replacement for reflection on the good (as undertaken in Sovereignty) but as a supplement to it. The hope is to make political science useful to the statesman, who, as we have seen, has a responsibility of cultivating the social friendship and civility that vivifies the free society and slows the Minotaur's advance. Jouvenel's most ambitious effort in this vein is a difficult, chiseled book first published in 1963 and recently reissued by Liberty Fund Press: The Pure Theory of Politics.

This book focuses not on political statics (the juridical forms of constitutions and institutions) but on political dynamics: the phenomenon of "man moving man." One source of this influence is what Cicero called potestas: the authority that inheres in someone because of his institutional position. The U.S. military brass may not have liked the idea of draft-dodging ex-hippie Bill Clinton being their commander-in-chief, but their respect for the potestas of the presidency meant they jumped when he said jump. The other source is potentia: authority based on the raw ability to get men to do your bidding and follow your lead. It is the influence of an effective basketball coach or teacher, or, most importantly for Jouvenel's purpose, of the charismatic politician. It is as natural as rain.

Potentia can be a good thing in politics. Churchill's heroic rallying of the English people during World War II would have been unthinkable if he did not possess it. It can also be dangerously irrational, tapping into the volcanic forces that can sweep entire populations away in grand passions. How else to describe Hitler's Mephistophelean influence over the Germans? "It is profoundly unsafe to assume that people act rationally in Politics," Jouvenel somberly notes.

The ostensible aim of The Pure Theory of Politics is description. Jouvenel targeted the book to an audience of American social scientists who thought that the study of political life should be as free of values as the study of physics. Yet the book is a subtle critique of their abstract social science. Dry academicians said they looked at behavior, but what they meant were things like voting patterns, not strong behavior, behavior of the kind that Machiavelli chronicles with such cold lucidity.

Thus the real purpose of The Pure Theory of Politics is to remind liberal democrats, who often place unwarranted hopes in human reasonableness, that politics is not always, not often, guided by the light of reason; it is often messy, sinister, mad, and tragic, as Thucydides and Shakespeare--Jouvenel's chosen guides in this odd but beautiful book--teach us. Chastened by this lesson, perhaps today's leaders will see the fragility of liberal communities and strive to create the conditions for the growth of social friendship.

Bertrand de Jouvenel's melancholy liberalism has a lot to teach us, though for those who like their politics sunny-side up, it does not come as good news. Liberal democracies can attain true human goods, including meaningful freedom, social friendship, and widespread prosperity, Jouvenel reassures us. But these fragile societies must remain on guard, lest their many weaknesses--from the erosion of personal responsibility, to their tendency toward collectivism, to the abiding hope for final solutions--make dust of these goods.

BRIAN C. ANDERSON is senior editor of City Journal and author of Raymond Aron: The Recovery of the Political (Rowman & Littlefield, 1998).

This is the sixth in our occasional series of "Reconsiderations." Previous essays have examined the works of Louis Hartz, Richard M. Titmuss, Herbert Croly, Marshall MeLuhan, and Frederick Douglass.

COPYRIGHT 2001 The National Affairs, Inc.
COPYRIGHT 2002 Gale Group

Bibliography for "Bertrand de Jouvenel's melancholy liberalism"

Brian C. Anderson "Bertrand de Jouvenel's melancholy liberalism". Public Interest. Spring 2001. FindArticles.com. 07 Feb. 2008. http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m0377/is_2001_Spring/ai_73368521