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June 12, 2006
Faith
and Political Paralysis
by Gordon Francis Corbett
Faith is the conscious or subconscious refusal
to think critically about specific subjects in
anticipation of some kind of benefit. In Hollywood,
a close cousin of faith is known as "suspension of
disbelief."
When watching a movie, suspension of disbelief
is wonderful; but failure to think critically about
a candidate or his platform is folly. When a
candidate seems to model a voter's philosophy, the
voter may cease judging him critically. For
practical purposes, he may forget that the fellow
is a politician.
Put me at the top of the list. As a college
student, I had read a lot about Barry Goldwater,
and what I read thrilled me, but only up to a
point. His early ratings from Americans for
Constitutional Action were around eighty per cent.
They only rose to one hundred as the election
approached. Nevertheless, I still worked and voted
for him.
I learned maybe three years ago that my
misgivings had been sound. I read in "Ayn Rand's
Letters" a letter she had written to Goldwater in
which she referred to his ghostwriters.
How she knew about them, I do not know. She may
not have guessed how much he used them. In his
book, "What Happened to Goldwater," Stephen Shadegg
reported that the man used ghostwriters to write
newspaper columns, speeches, and even books that
bore his name. Few knew that they flowed mostly not
from Goldwater's own mind, but from the pens of
hired strangers.
My youthful inexperience led me to think that
Goldwater was, well, "Goldwater." "Goldwater" was
the fellow I saw on television defending what, at
the time, were my values. Sure, he was no Dan
Smoot. He did not base every political comment on
the Constitution, and his words' compositional
quality was often inferior to Smoot's. Regardless,
his statements echoed most of my Dad's political
opinions; and, as modified by Smoot and Rand, those
were good enough for me.
Shadegg's book revealed that Goldwater was not
"Goldwater" at all. "Goldwater" was an actor who
recited lines from a phalanx of speechwriters and
historians.
The real Barry Morris Goldwater was a
department-store magnate's son who had served
honorably in the United States Army Air Forces
during World War II, and who eventually became an
Air Force general and a United States Senator.
True, he had more than his share of charisma.
Granted, he believed in his conservative nostrums.
But he was not the fellow on my parents' television
screen.
Ronald Reagan was another, and far worse,
example. He was a lifelong democratic socialist who
supported FDR four times and who had served on the
Board of Directors of United World Federalists.
When changes in the public's cinematic tastes
wrecked his acting career, he began giving public
relations speeches for General Electric.
General Electric's bosses were generally
conservative, and Reagan echoed their thinking.
When General Electric's employees asked what he had
known and done about Communism in Hollywood, he
answered more or less honestly. When they began
asking questions he could not answer, he began
doing research. Some of it consisted of cutting
items out of newspapers.
That tedious labor taught him a great deal about
Communism and American conservatism. He used those
facts and ideas in his speeches. Gradually, as his
knowledge, rhetoric, and charisma elicited more and
more cheers, he decided that he would like to run
for political office.
So, from the talking-points he had used in his
public relations speeches, he gave one filmed
speech for Goldwater. After Goldwater's defeat,
democratic socialist Nelson Rockefeller reclaimed
the Republican Party. Guess whose real philosophy
matched Rockefeller's? And, guess who was
California's next prominent Republican
gubernatorial candidate?
We grass-roots Republicans did not know, as was
disclosed later, that Reagan began co-operating
with Nixon and Rockefeller almost immediately. No,
we just listened to all those wonderfully
conservative speeches.
After Reagan moved into Sacramento, "Life" or
"Look" ran an article about him. One page carried
the caption, "Conservative is the Way to Sound."
The piece described what happened when Reagan said
he would execute convicted murderer Aaron Mitchell.
Some liberal clergymen threatened to protest his
death by ringing their churches' bells. Later, when
criminals killed four California Highway Patrolmen
in a gunfight, these same clerics held their
tongues. "I am still waiting," the magazine quoted
Governor Reagan, "for these gentlemen of the cloth
to ask for the church bells of California to be
rung for them." The article's text made Reagan
sound very conservative indeed. Unfortunately, we
conservatives (as I then was) just read the text
and forgot the caption.
Reagan did indeed know that conservative was the
way to sound. Only when he had begun his second
gubernatorial term did I learn that he had
cancelled his 1966 call for a bipartisan and
bicameral investigation of the University of
California to get Assembly Speaker Jesse Unruh to
help pass his proposed big tax increase--as though
"Big Daddy" needed any incentive to do that!
I approached Reagan after he spoke to the 1971
convention of the California State Employees'
Association. As I walked toward him, looking up at
him on the stage, I joined the crowd who were
urging him to run for the presidency.
At that moment, I sincerely wanted him to run
for that office, despite the fact that I had almost
never seen him give a straight answer to any
critical press-conference question. To my critical
question, he gave me the same evasive answer he had
given two years earlier. Only when I stated that
fact did his facade crack.
Flashback: at Auburn, California's, Placer
County Fair in 1969, I had asked him, "When are you
going to do something along the Angela
Davis-[Donald] Kalish line?"
Dr. Donald Kalish was UCLA's Philosophy
Department Chairman. He had proclaimed that he
stood further to the left than did the Communist
Party USA, and he had hired Communist Angela Davis
as a lecturer. Many Californians thought that her
philosophy disqualified her for a tax-paid teaching
position.
"Well," replied Governor Reagan, "they've got a
new president down there, and I'm going to let him
put his own house in order."
I let that answer go. I had not imagined that,
as Governor and as an ex officio University Regent,
Reagan would not press for the firing of a member
of the Communist Party USA. Besides, perhaps
President Charles Hitch would get tough.
Silly me. Hitch did nothing.
Now we fast-forward back to the State Employees'
Convention. When I stood before the stage, looking
up at Reagan, I asked my 1969 question, got
Reagan's 1969 answer, and remonstrated, "Governor,
you gave me that answer two years ago."
Reagan's reply was startling.
"Well," he said, "the Regents are having a
budget meeting next week, and I might have to hold
it [the Davis-Kalish issue] over them."
Wait a minute. Out-and-out Reds are instructing
at a State University; presumably, they are
teaching at least the philosophical basis for
Communist armed struggle; and conservative Governor
Ronald Reagan is thinking of using that issue to
obtain a smaller budget?!
I have no excuse. As I walked away, I thought
only that Reagan's answer was inadequate. I could
not bring myself to realize that the man who had
spoken so eloquently for "Goldwater," and whose
speech, "Encroaching Government Controls," had
eviscerated the Tennessee Valley Authority in two
elegant paragraphs, would not even try to oust
Communists from a publicly funded State
University.
I would have denied the possibility if someone
had suggested it, but I was psychologically
hamstrung. I was a prisoner of a political faith I
did not even know I had.
Alas, I was not alone.
Corbett
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