John Robson: Political Resolutions for the New Year

Commentary

Nearly 20 years ago I proposed a handy way to get rid of family and friends you didn’t like. It was a game called Robson’s Kith and Kin Kleanser that involved making New Year’s resolutions for other people, not yourself, in some variants anonymous, in others pointedly personal. And now, to get rid of politicians you don’t like, I propose making some New Year’s resolutions for them.

Yes, yes, we already do it for politicians we dislike, from “I will stop being an evil pawn of the WEF conspiracy” to “I will stop actively plotting to hurt the poor.” And it’s not getting us anywhere constructive. So while in the spirit of Festivus we may not be looking for constructive directions, if you claim to be upset that politics is currently a dismal mess, in spirit as in substance, I think a crucial resolve for your own self is to stop insisting compulsively that all the trouble is coming from across the aisle.

Thus I propose making resolutions for the politicians “on your side,” because if you automatically align with every position a party holds, and excuse or enthusiastically defend every statement it makes, you are not thinking for yourself and are in no position to think for anyone else. And to assist, unless things are so polarized you don’t know anyone with different political opinions, or want to spend the entire holiday season screaming over the turkey instead of commiserating over its dry, flavour-free presence, you could ask them to specify what would reduce their distaste for a politician you favour and offer to do the same for them.

Not something like repudiate all their beliefs, switch parties, and get a personality transplant. Something more modest. And ideally something that, once you lower your guard, you will admit also bugs you. Something you secretly know reduces the intellectual or moral tone of politics generally, and fails to advance your cause while driving your foes to behave worse.

In Kith and Kin Kleanser, I observed ruefully that “A few rounds make starkly clear that our families and supposed friends are painfully aware of the character flaws we thought we’d cleverly concealed by ignoring them.” The same cannot be said of politicians, as far as I can determine. Or even some partisans. But since you’re not in that deplorable category, and would recognize a valid criticism if you heard one, I make the further tactless suggestion that you don’t wait to hear it before resolving to stop winking at such things every day except New Year’s.

For instance, in the ecumenical spirit of hating every party and nearly every politician, I want them to stop talking nonsense. By which I don’t mean stop saying things I disagree with; I’m a big proponent of vigorous party debate to put clear alternatives before the voting public, which absolutely requires people to take strong stands I consider wrong, foolish, and reckless on issues I care about. I mean something much more fundamental and pernicious: politicians saying things I cannot agree or disagree with because they mean nothing.

From “climate competitiveness” to “playing political games,” we are inundated with verbiage that is, deliberately, emotionally gratifying without substantive content. But as sages from Confucius to George Orwell have insisted, improving human affairs necessarily begins by abolishing speech that abolishes thought. And while you may cry that we have worse problems than vexing rhetorical fog, I reply that we cannot possibly avoid lethal shoals, whirlpools, or six-headed man-eaters ahead if we cannot see anything.

As my National Post colleague Tristin Hopper recently complained of two federal floor-crossings, whatever one thinks of such things generally, they traditionally involve explicit comprehensible statements of a grievance or goal, and “a demonstrated pattern of dissent or disillusionment with their former team.” Instead, one of these guys said his constituents “and all Canadians know that the moment we face today needs all of us to lead – not with complaint, but with confidence in a strong future.”

Focus-grouped, technically grammatically sound, and grandiose in presentation, this sludge literally means nothing. All of us cannot lead. We should complain about bad things. And the future cannot be strong.

It’s actually gibberish. Worse even than Peter Sellers’ 1958 satirical classic Party Political Speech. And you know it. Indeed, my Kith and Kin column concluded with “one final wrinkle. In the solitaire Variant 5 you simply imagine the resolutions that your family and friends might make for you. And of course you already know. Horrible, isn’t it?”

In our hearts, likewise, we know politicians we like are making things worse too, and how, including this critical business of empty verbiage. Since we have more influence with them than the villains opposite, my unwelcome resolution for you is never to applaud nonsense from my side of the aisle, either.

Views expressed in this article are the opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.