I am not saying I told you so. I did say McCain should nominate Mitt Romney for VP, and he chose Sarah Palin instead. I said he should choose Romney, in part, because there was quite likely to be more economic turmoil in the runup to Election Day, and, given the other side's lack of economic expertise, the inclusion of someone with Romney's financial background could be a game winner.
Would McCain be further ahead today with Romney instead of Palin on the ticket? Perhaps.
But I also think he may have been wise for chosing Palin.
Even without Romney, McCain should have the best of this economic issue. He does not yet; but that may change as things sink in. It takes, in my experience, about two weeks for public reactions to events to fully form. Since neither Obama nor Biden have any particular economic expertise, McCain should still be the winner on this issue, on the plain value, at a time of turmoil, of an experienced hand at the tiller.
Meanwhile, there is another reason why Palin still looks very good. She is getting hammered right now in the press, but there may be a snap-back effect; what counts is how she connects with the average voter.
On this, I present an insight from Canadian literary criticism.
I hate Margaret Atwood's politics, and I think she has gotten further than she deserved to solely on the grounds of being a woman. But she once wrote an excellent book of literary criticism in which she argued that all Canadian literature reflects a single informing motif: that of survival.
At the same time, she pointed out different motifs distinguishing British and American literature. British literature is all about “the island”; American literature always returns to “the frontier.”
It works—it is true. And here is an interesting way in which it works. At least since the 1940s, whichever presidential candidate can most clearly identify himself with “the frontier” has a big advantage in the election. It makes sense; a president is a symbol of the nation. It matters if his own life story intersects with the nation's central narrative.
Let's parse past races on this basis:
George W. Bush—with his cowboy manner, his cowboy walk, his cowboy talk, and his Texas roots, he has an unusually strong connection with the frontier. This enabled him to beat Kerry, who had none; and Al Gore, who had little. Tennessee was frontier enough for Andrew Jackson; but some years have passed.
Bill Clinton—Arkansas is not particularly frontiersy, but it is as good as Kansas (Bob Dole) or George H.W. Bush's essentially Northeastern roots, even with a bit of Texas added. Clinton managed a draw on frontiersmanship with his main opponents, and won on other factors (specifically, thanks to Ross Perot).
George H.W. Bush--was able to out-frontier Michael Dukakis, a fellow Northeasterner, but one who looked awkward in a tank. The point of that, in the end, was how un-frontiersy Dukakis seemed. Entirely a man of salons, offices, and elevators. Bush had at least some claim to Texas connections, and his war record, and he had his link with the Reagan legacy.
Ronald Reagan—may not have been a real cowboy, but he played one in the movies and on TV. His frontier associations easily trumped Mondale's or Carter's.
Jimmy Carter—probably a wash against Gerald Ford, Michigan versus Georgia. The VPs were also a wash—Kansas versus Minnesota. Other factors prevailed. But Carter's backstory of being a “plain peanut farmer” from a small town surely helped. That's more frontiersy than a professional life spent in Washington.
Richard Nixon—Orange County, California, is not that frontiersy, and South Dakota, home of George McGovern, is, but here, Vietnam was more important. Marshall McLuhan saw the Vietnam War at the time as an extention of the old frontier across the Pacific. Nixon represented persisting in that drive—and his opening to China was the opening of another sort of frontier. George McGovern and, to a lesser extent, Hubert Humphrey, represented pulling back from that distant Asian frontier.
Lyndon Johnson—against Goldwater, the frontier issue was a wash. Both had strong frontier associations. Other factors prevailed.
John Kennedy—in his race with Nixon, he deliberately evoked the frontier image: he called his vision the “New Frontier.” Neither Kennedy nor Nixon had personal frontier connections. Given that, it was enough.
Dwight Eisenhower—against Adlai Stevenson the intellectual, Ike from Kansas was plainly the frontiersman. All else being equal, being a professional cavalryman is a suitably frontiersy occupation.
Harry Truman—Mark Twain's Missouri trumps New York (Dewey). Truman's plain-spoken, common-man image was pretty frontiersy quite apart from where he came from.
In theory, FDR should have been vulnerable, being from New York. He was aided by overwhelming historical events—the Great Depression, WWII—which took precedence. Even so, some of his opponents were no more frontiersy than he: Wendell Willkie was a Wall Street lawyer, and Tom Dewey was also from New York. In normal times, perhaps Landon should have beaten him, and Hoover, on sheer frontier.
Enough; but to note that a connection to the frontier was important for Lincoln, too—famously born in a log cabin; for Teddy Roosevelt; for Andrew Jackson; and many other presidents, especially those best remembered.
This is what Palin brings to the ticket: the frontier. Even without Palin, McCain has much of the frontier about him: the maverick, the Arizonan, the military man, the lone pilot.
If urban, urbane Obama beats him, it will be a historical surprise, regardless of what the polls show.
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