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AMERICA’S FIRST HYPERREAL PRESIDENT
I try not to listen to the President because it's disturbing on so
many levels. I used to mute the TV, but then I could see his facial
expressions (condescension, impatience, the facade of self-posses
sion) and the props his staff placed around him to bolster his im
age: the last several times, he's been backed by rows of books. But
having listened as much as necessary, I've noticed an odd tenden
cy in his phrasings. He puts a buffer between himself and an issue,
a suggestion that he's aware and working on it. For instance, he'll
commonly say "I look forward to," which is quite different from
saying "I will," or outlining a plan of action.
The image that emerges is of a president whose handlers
are almost desperate to have him look presidential and with
very little idea of what being presidential is like. This is the
"bubble" in which the President lives. I've often wondered
how much volition is involved, to what extent the
President willingly insulates himself from the respon
sibilities of his job: looking forward to working with
Congress, rather than actually doing it; looking for
ward to considering the recommendations of the Traq
Study Group, ratner than actually considering
them. He wants to seem involved, and this
seeming lends itself to a level of fakery
and veneer that has made his presidency
hyperreal, rather than, say, human. This
idea came to me slowly and involved,
weirdly enough, Captain America and the
death of a French theorist. .
Jean Baudrillard died in early March. I've
no real reason to mourn his passing, though I'm
sure that someone probably does. I note his passing
because reading his obituary in the New York Times
became terribly funny—not advertently, but terribly
funny nonetheless—because of an editorial juxtaposi
tion that the deceased would have hugely appreciated.
In summing Baudrillard's contribution to contem
porary thought, Patricia Cohen wrote, “One of his better
known theories postulates that we live in a world where simulated
feelings and experiences have replaced the real thing. This seduc
tive 'hyperreality,' where shopping malls, amusement parks and
mass-produced images from the news, television shows and films
dominate, is drained of authenticity and meaning. Since illusion
reigns, he counseled people to give up the search for reality."
I thought about the implications, as I understood them, and
returned to the previous web page. Once there, I saw that the
same screen that announced Baudrillard's death also offered an ar
ticle on the death of Captain America. I'll freely admit that Captain
America's death affected me much more than Baudrillard's, and
that the fact rather seriously underscores how absolutely right the
deceased (Baudrillard, not Cap) was about our discernment as far
as "reality" itself goes.
Shortly after reading these two obits, I began reading a very,
very cool biography of Woody Guthrie by Joe Klein. As I read, the
idea of the hyperreal kept interposing itself, especially as Klein
maintained that the image of Guthrie as a hard-scrabble. Dust
Bowl refugee was in part, at least, a result of the success of the
movie version of John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath. Following
the film's success, a concert, billed as "The Grapes of Wrath
Evening," was held to benefit the John Steinbeck Committee for
Agricultural Workers. Guthrie was invited to play, and his perfor
mance was promoted by The Daily Worker, a New York newspaper
published by the American Communist Party. A picture of Guthrie,
playing the guitar, was captioned ‘"Woody'—that's the name,
straight out of Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath "
By the time he performed at the Grapes of Wrath benefit con
cert, it seemed that he had sprung full-blown from an Oklahoma
dust storm. But he was simply giving the people what they
expected, and their expectations, in turn, had been shaped by
Hollywood's interpretation of Steinbeck's novel.
Guthrie's image verged on the hyperreal, a fabricated blend of
biography and audience expectation. He was a singer who wanted
to be heard and be paid for being heard. However, his overall im
age was a crafted selection.
In his book Simulacra and Simulation, Baudrillard defines the
key term "simulacra" as a copy of a copy that has been so widely
circulated, so vastly accepted as a stead for the original that it is
no longer considered a copy. It's an entity in its own right though
it echoes the valuations attached to the original. According to
another theorist of the hyperreal, Umberto Eco, the condition for
"the amalgamation of fake and authentic" is catastrophe, an event
so culturally ground-shaking that it suspends disbelief. Which
brings me to 9/11 and back to the presidency of George W. Bush.
Shortly before 9/11, Bush had pretty much done that which
he'd campaigned to do. His pledge to restore civility in govern
ment was a good talking point, but the honeymoon was apparently
over. In August, 2001, according to the Pew Research Center for
the People and the Press, Bush had a 50 percent approval rating.
By mid-September, 2001, Bush's approval rating had shot up to
86 percent. The difference in the ratings, for those who spent the
time in a coma, is the President's flurried activities as a national
cheerleader. His appearance at Ground Zero (bullhorn in hand,
arm around a firefighter) was a comfort. And we bought it. We el
evated this shambles of a man, this copy-of-a-copy to the rank of
Bulletproof Hero who Doesn't Back Down, Doesn't Negotiate With
Terrorists (including his political opponents), and values loyalty
above all else.
As to the last: recall that just before he accepted
Rumsfeld's resignation (i.e., before the election in
which the Republicans lost both houses of Congress),
he expressed unwavering support for
his defense secretary's strategies and
prosecution of the war. Recall Bush's
support for Harriet Miers, nominating
a thoroughly unqualified woman for the
Supreme Court, asserting her qualifica
tions, withdrawing her nomination rather
than face the humiliation of seeing her
nomination defeated, and eventually replac
ing her, again, after the Democrats took over
Congress. Recall, also. Scooter Libby's defense
attorney's argument that Libby was being made
a scapegoat for "someone else" in the administra
tion. It becomes pretty clear that this my-way-or-
the-highway president is willing to heave overboard all
that baggage that might forestall the sinking of the
ship... even. I'll bet, Karl Rove if the stakes are right.
If we consider the window dressings of Bush's public
appearance, the notion of hyperreality gets even more
bothersome. Remember the "Mission Accomplished" banner on the
aircraft carrier, the presidential strutting swagger across the flight
deck, helmet in hand? The hyperbolic mixed-metaphoric selling of
the war itself? Remember the 16 words in the State of the Union
Speech: "The British government has learned that Saddam Hussein
recently sought significant quantities of uranium from Africa"
that Bush knew, even at the time, were not true? Remember the
Jackson Square appearance after Hurricane Katrina in which the
President promised, "whatever it takes," to rebuild New Orleans?
In light of all that, it's not surprising to hear responsible com
mentators assert that no one really listens to what Bush says any
more. Our only real response is that of another hyperiealistic icon,
Johnny Rotten. His last public statement as frontman for the Sex
Pistols was a sneering summation of the group's career and the au
dience's expectations: "Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?"
Sam Prestridge
Ft Wood $iudlo
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