Shame, more than any other attribute, is vital to the proper functioning of the democratic process. Shame, to paraphrase Gordon Gekko, is right. It works. Shame is disciplining and correcting. It charts the boundaries of permissible discourse. It defines the limits of fit public conduct. Shame is the guarantor of honest, if not always polite, debate. And while to some shame may seem a quaint, even anachronistic notion, it remains of critical practical importance to contemporary politics. Because the absence of shame steadily corrodes confidence in our democratic leaders and institutions. In extreme circumstances it even leads to outright paralysis.
There is, of course, no more spectacular illustration of this than the circus that surrounds Toronto Mayor Rob Ford. What distinguishes his example is not merely the tabloid nature of his transgressions — smoking crack, driving drunk and cavorting with criminals. It is the abject unwillingness to accept even a measure of responsibility for his actions.
In an analogue to our times, he believes there should be no detour whatsoever between apology and absolution. Even when regrets are issued under duress he demands instant forgiveness. Those who resist are subjected to vicious ad hominem attacks. He might even insinuates you’re a pedophile. Rob Ford lacks shame of any detectable sort. And he stands as a preening advertisement for the dismal nature of leadership when our politics are unaccompanied by any sense of dignity.
In a less overt manner, the same failings can be seen in our federal Parliament. Mike Duffy swaggers on the floor of the Senate even as he stands accused of outrageous financial abuses. His housing and expense claims, revealed to have been a sham, provoke not the least bit of contrition. He portrays himself the victim, levels unproven allegations beneath the blanket of Parliamentary immunity and explains that his false representations to the Canadian people were forced upon him by cutthroat political operatives. All the while, he grins like a child at the cinema, obviously delighted by the spotlight his abundant lack of shame attracts.
For his part, Stephen Harper shows barely a sliver more respect as he insists that Nigel Wright should bear all responsibility for this festering mess. He ignores the involvement of countless officials under his direct guidance including three Conservative senators, numerous PMO staff, the office’s former legal counsel, his party’s chief bagman and Lord only knows who else. That he should accept responsibility for the co-ordinated actions of a group who each owe their position to him and him alone seems ludicrous to Harper. He simply bulldozes ahead, dismissing legitimate questions as witchhuntery and unleashing the impossible Paul Calandra to asphyxiate intelligent debate with odious non sequiturs.
Some may question whether all this amounts to mere moralizing or the unjust glorification of the past. Fair point. It’s not as though we’ve never encountered the like of this before. In the 1930s, Ontario premier Mitch Hepburn used the Queen’s Park secretarial pool as something close to a personal harem. While his deputy Harry Nixon saw to it that Ontario was governed responsibly, the premier was often at the Royal York hotel for days at a time with women and a surplus of whisky. He never apologized or appeared to feel the least bit of embarrassment. And on the campaign trail, Hepburn was a populist of the unkindest type, unafraid to demagogue his opponents and manufacture outright mistruths.
So the absence of shame is hardly unfamiliar to our political tradition. But there is a different quality to things now. Would Mulroney’s fisheries minister John Fraser resign today as a matter of honour due to tainted tuna? Would the hardly decorous Sheila Copps step down because of a broken campaign promise? It’s hard to imagine either happening.
What’s truly new, therefore, is the systematic and deliberate repudiation of shame in our politics. It arises not by accident. It’s the direct result of the most celebrated campaign philosophies of our time. The Rove-ian school of narrowcast politics dictates that cultivation of core vote is the highest possible priority. As long as the core is happy, disaffection and even offence given to other voters is largely immaterial. A closely related rule-of-thumb is to always define opponents as weak. By implication this means that confessing fault, admitting failure or demonstrating any shame whatsoever is off-strategy. Consequently, truisms have replaced truth — giving rise to assertions like ‘Nigel Wright acted alone’ or ‘I have saved this city one billion dollars’. There is no shame in saying something that can’t be believed as long as it meets of the test of being believed by those whose votes you covet.
The most alarming aspect of this approach is that it seems to work. As a lack of shame is rewarded with electoral victory, its contagious spread becomes assured. In order to win, other parties will slowly but inevitably adopt the same tools, techniques and tone. The idea of dignity in public life will come to be seen as the luxury of losers.
This is the true crisis in our political system and this is where change is most urgently required. We need to restore shame to its central and valued place in our politics. Because shame works. And without it, not much else can.
Original Article
Source: canada.com/
Author: Scott Reid
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