Friday, January 23, 2009

The Compassionate Heart of Literature

What does the literary background/orientation of a political leader tell us? And why, in times of crisis, do writers emerge to lead troubled nations?

These questions preoccupy me after watching Barack Obama's transformation from first-term senator to president of the world's most powerful nation - an ascension that would have been impossible without his muscular rhetoric.

His lofty speeches repudiate empty corporate-speak and his elegant elocution is a welcome contrast to George W. Bush's habitual mangling of the English language. Obama is a voracious reader, and has devoured the writings of Shakespeare,Ellison, Nietzsche, Abe Lincoln and hundreds more. It’s no wonder he sounds so sophisticated.

Language is power, and Obama's political campaign was successful despite all odds because of he could envision a 'more perfect union' and convince people that that union was not only achievable, but imminent. As a writer and reader, he expressed the outrage of many marginalized Americans but tempered it with a sense of 'hope' that their country could change for the better.

Subsequently, Obama's two books returned to the best-seller lists, and his astonishing fundraising success relied in large part on his silver tongue. He recruited the support of countless Americans - people who work but can't get ahead, people who are sick of corruption and patronage in government, people who can't improve their lives because of financial hardship, people who are angry at predatory corporations.

Similarly, after the Czech people decided to be rid of their Soviet overlords, they elected Vaclav Havel, poet, playwright and essayist. He, too, properly understood the power of words, and his inaugural address paralleled (and pre-dated) Obama's depiction of a troubled nation, largely run by liars. He began:

My dear fellow citizens,

For forty years you heard from my predecessors on this day different variations on the same theme: how our country was flourishing, how many million tons of steel we produced, how happy we all were, how we trusted our government, and what bright perspectives were unfolding in front of us.

I assume you did not propose me for this office so that I, too, would lie to you.

Our country is not flourishing. The enormous creative and spiritual potential of our nations is not being used sensibly. Entire branches of industry are producing goods that are of no interest to anyone, while we are lacking the things we need. A state which calls itself a workers' state humiliates and exploits workers. Our obsolete economy is wasting the little energy we have available. A country that once could be proud of the educational level of its citizens spends so little on education that it ranks today as seventy-second in the world. We have polluted the soil, rivers and forests bequeathed to us by our ancestors, and we have today the most contaminated environment in Europe. Adults in our country die earlier than in most other European countries.

No amount of winking and 'you-betchas' is going to counter the cold reality that people feel when they are being misused.

Although politicians often bully language to meet their ends, rarely does a man or woman with a literary heart seize our attention while maintaining political power. And we might assume that writers are immune from the crassness of politics, but transformative politicians understand that "robust language" is indispensable in rallying people to their side.

So, why do 'literary' leaders appear at the fore during crises? I suspect it's the act of reading, coupled with the critical thinking skills that writing requires.

I'm not normally one of those 'reading, writing and arithmetic' types, but to read fiction is to enter a wrestling match with other people's thoughts, feelings and experiences. Writing calls us to organize our thoughts and justify our opinions. Literature is not merely a pleasant way to idle away an afternoon. It is a method of engendering compassion, which, as Karen Armstrong reminds us, means 'the act of feeling with the other.' Com-passion.

This unity with others is precisely what Obama proposed, and exactly what he needed in order to win in a divided electorate. Contrast his approach with George Bush's divisive and ignorant goverment. Bush lacked compassion, and his non-plussed response to Hurricane Katrina is only the first example that comes to mind. Someone who spends long periods of time training his or her mind to experience the thoughts, feelings, tragedies and celebrations of other people would be more likely to respond quickly to such an immense disaster.

Which brings me to Canada. Stephen Harper is known neither for his love of literature nor for his compassion. His initial reaction to the global economic crisis was not to empathize with people about to lose their homes or retirements or live savings, it was to portray the disaster as a good time to buy stocks. Harper continues to antagonize Canadian artists, and has even provoked the ire of Booker-prize winning author Yann Martel. Martel sends Harper a book every two weeks, and publishes the list on his website.

On the horizon, watching all of this is Michael Ignatieff, author of numerous books and descendent of grandfather and great-grandfather who worked under Russian czars Alexander II and Alexander III. Ignatieff's writings have been called everything from dazzling to arrogant. Whether he is successful in taking a page from Obama's book remains to be seen.

In the meantime, Obama has repudiated the petty cronyism of the Bush years, demonstrating that after eight years of organized cruelty, it is once again cool to be kind. Let's hope he continues to read with ferocity, and to use language to uplift those who need it most.

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