Postmodern Conservatism
I think Micheal Steele’s awkward waffling on whether the healthcare bill authorizes “Death Panels” has promise. When fleshed out, his theory that Republicans are simply tapping into existing anxieties becomes rather elegant:
The rhetoric about Nazi Death Panels is not about literal panels or literal Nazis. It is about the uncompromising literallity of Death. The Death Panels stand in for everything terrifying, unknown, and therefore, evil. While the panels may exist only in the dark recesses of a tormented imagination, the fear of death is real, vibrant, and communal. As economic worries compound the anxieties of an already uncertain world, the specter of change—even benevolent change—takes on a sinister hue. By repeating and promoting the Nazi Death Panel theme, the Republicans are tapping into deep and genuine concern. Obama may not look or act like he is Literally Hitler, but painting a face that symbolizes hope for the future with a mustache that symbolizes the terror of the past defies constructed notions such as reason or progress. What can we trust when even our bodies betray us as we age?
The protesters scream primally at their congresspeople. “You lie!” they shout. The lies they speak of are not the lies of literal untruth but the lie that any statement can be certain in the face of all that we do not know. Meaning itself is fluid—and the demand to “read the bill” is an exhortation to remain constantly rooted to a text, lest it change the moment we look away. We define our texts. Our texts define us. Nothing is certain. The protesters affirm life in their passion, even as they defy Congress’s efforts to extend or improve it. Thus, they expose the ultimate lie of both healthcare reform and society. Death is inevitable. All our efforts to stop it are merely wind, screamed into the night. In the end, townhall meetings, like all life, end. We run out of hot air. That ultimate, agonized exhalation will be our last. The night presses in—and we slink into it. Perhaps we can slink off with another tea-partier. “Tea” and “parties” are familiar and comforting while the night is terrible. Perhaps, if we are lucky, we can have a carnal, nocturnal teaparty, and perhaps, nine months later, a child who is at once our flesh and not our flesh will come screaming into the world, prolonging the doomed farce called humanity another generation.
“Just Say No” is the opposite of a policy proposal. It is a mantra about the futility of policy itself. We cannot conquer death—but through radical rejection, we can make its inevitable triumph meaningless. Say no to life-extending care. Say no to progress. Say no to compassion or anything that dares to affirm life’s value. Say no to the future. Say no to life itself. Say no to everything but war, fear, and destruction. If we cannot overcome death, perhaps we can become it.
