"Sung down, lied down and drunk down"
By
Kevin Horrigan
ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Sunday, Sep. 14 2008
Last week's "lipstick on a pig" controversy sent me to the history books to
research the low state of American political discourse. Imagine my shock to
discover it may have its origins in a newspaper editorial, one printed in the
Dec. 11, 1839, edition of the Baltimore Republican.
The Republican's editorial mocked the Whig Party's choice of retired Gen.
William Henry Harrison as its presidential candidate in these words:
"Give him a barrel of hard cider and settle a pension of two thousand a year on
him, and my word for it, he will sit ... by the side of a sea coal fire, and
study moral philosophy."
The Whigs were no fools. They recognized an opportunity when they spotted one.
Pretty soon they started staging campaign rallies with plenty of hard cider,
portraying Harrison (who was, in fact, descended from the Virginia aristocracy)
as a simple log cabin kind of guy. Capitalizing on Harrison's 1811 military
victory over the Indian confederacy of Chief Tecumseh at the Battle of
Tippecanoe, they concocted a snappy campaign slogan, "Tippecanoe and Tyler,
too" (Tyler being John Tyler, the vice presidential candidate).
This enabled the Whigs to steal support from the "common folk" that made up the
base of Andrew Jackson's Democratic Party. They staged elaborate rallies
featuring outright lies about Martin Van Buren, Jackson's successor and the
Democratic incumbent, plenty of hard cider and nasty campaign songs ("Van, Van,
Van's a Used-Up Man"). Turnout increased 60 percent over 1836, and Harrison won.
Historians now generally regard the 1840 campaign as the moment when politics
stopped being mostly polite discourse among elites, and instead became image
campaigns aimed at the masses that Jackson had enfranchised. The Democrats
moaned that they'd been "sung down, lied down and drunk down." They weren't
mollified at all when the 68-year-old Harrison caught cold giving his inaugural
address and died 40 days later.
One hesitates to draw comparisons to Republican Vice Presidential Candidate
Sarah Palin ("Mayor of Wasilla and a Dead-eye Moose Killa") and her 72-year-old
running mate, except to say that the Republicans have done a dandy job in
creating a distraction from the real issues that affect common folks.
Plus, just as Jackson had enfranchised the common folks, today's common folks
have been enfranchised with the Internets. Thus, when Democratic nominee Sen.
Barack Obama of Illinois trots out a tired old Washington cliche, people
instantaneously can be informed that "lipstick on a pig" is a sexist smear
against Gov. Palin.
George Washington, it is said, may be the only president who was not subjected
to personal attacks, and that's because he was elected by popular acclaim.
Supporters of his immediate successors, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, sniped
at each other's candidates. Jefferson's supporters criticized Adams' "hideous
hermaphroditical character, which has neither the force and firmness of a man,
nor the gentleness and sensibility of a woman."
Oh yeah? Adams men said. Jefferson is "a mean-spirited, low-lived fellow, the
son of a half-breed Indian squaw, sired by a Virginia mulatto father."
Madison and Monroe had their critics, and John Quincy Adams was called a
"pimp." That brought on Andrew Jackson, who would later call Thomas R. King
"Miss Nancy," an allusion to his relationship with James Buchanan, America's
only bachelor president and predecessor to that "ape" and "baboon" Abraham
Lincoln.
But for sheer vituperation, you can't beat the great American poet Walt
Whitman, who called pre-Civil War Democrats "the meanest kind of bawling and
blowing officeholders, office-seekers, pimps, malignants, conspirators,
murderers, fancy-men, custom-house clerks, contracts, kept-editors, spaniels
well train'd to carry and fetch, jobbers, infidels, disunionists, terrorists,
mail riflers, slave-catchers, pushers of slavery, creatures of the President,
creatures of would-be Presidents, spies, bribers, compromisers, lobbyists,
spongers, ruin'd sports, expell'd gamblers, policy-backers, monte-dealers,
duellists, carriers of conceal'd weapons, deaf men, pimpled men, scarred inside
with vile disease, gaudy outside with gold chains made from the people's money
and harlots' money twisted together; crawling, serpentine men, the lousy
combinings and born freedom-sellers of the earth."
He didn't write this until 1876, well after the war ended. Today he would have
a blog, or a radio show or a gig on a cable news network.
If nasty political rhetoric is nothing new, the pervasiveness of it is. I
personally trace this to 1988, when Rush Limbaugh's radio show went national at
the same time the late Lee Atwater was running George H.W. Bush's presidential
campaign. Limbaugh and Atwater, two shrewd and funny men, realized that attack
politics and wedge issues not only could move voters, but they also could move
product.
Pretty soon they had their clones and imitators on radio, television and the
Internets. Politics became personal, a 24-hour-a-day preoccupation, the coarser
and cruder, the better. How else to explain Ann Coulter? As Paul C. Light of
New York University told USA Today, "There's a lot of money to be made in
controversy. Nobody pays you $500,000 to be gentle."
Most of it came from the right at first, because that's where the audience was,
angry people trying to hold on to what they had. The truth was defined as that
which you wanted to hear, and people who reported anything remotely different
were labeled as "biased." Limbaugh made his fortune blasting the "liberal
media" even as he repackaged what those media were reporting about Bill Clinton.
Liberals, being largely humor-impaired and ever-so-earnest were slow to react.
Then Michael Moore got his legs, and Jon Stewart and Arianna Huffington, and
now it's more like a fair fight.
Sadly, trying to dress all this up as good for democracy is like putting
lipstick on a pig.
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