Aaron Sorkin’s TV politics have no place in real world
“Let Bartlet Be Bartlet.”
Every Aaron Sorkin fan will recognize the reference. In April 2000, with his back against the wall, imagined U.S. president Jed Bartlet needed a new strategy. He was low in the polls and suffering critics but harboured a piercing ambition to steer his country back toward greatness. But how? How to reach over a broken system, past a jaded media and to connect with that portion of the electorate still hungry for inspiration?
His snapdragon, always erudite team inscribed the answer on a bar napkin — just let the man be himself.
To hell with the high-priced, image-making, risk-mitigating, sausage-grinding machine of professional politics.
Let him tell it like it is, authentic and unbothered by the consequences. Brilliant and blazing, with some renegade adviser muttering defiantly, “By God, this just might be ballsy enough to work.”
It’s a terrific example of chest-thumping, playing-to-thebleachers, rallying-cry political sloganeering. But it’s also makebelieve.
Sorry to say but Leo, CJ, Sam and Toby, along with their supernatural capacity to quote statistics, scripture, Shakespeare and Steely Dan lyrics, don’t actually exist (Josh is the exception — he’s real, I knew that guy). Nevertheless, some people want to believe that ‘Let Bartlet Be Bartlet’ is something that exists beyond a television screen. That it can be a genuine political strategy for honest-to-God real world politicians. Or, at least, that it should be.
It’s an illusion — and a harmful one to boot.
Over the years, ‘Let Bartlet Be Bartlet’ has gained a currency among politicos that normal people would find bewildering. Despite being created in Hollywood, it lives on in the minds of actual campaign operatives who imagine themselves as misunderstood crusaders against injustice and cynicism.
It has become the refuge of the noble loser, the unofficial slogan of campaigns that prefer to drink their own bathwater.
Two recent examples — from opposite ends of the political spectrum — illustrate this phenomenon perfectly.
In Ontario last June, the Tim Hudak campaign worked itself into a lather, believing the only way to win was to tell voters that 100,000 workers had to be sacked for the greater good.
“Others won’t have the courage to tell you this, but deep down you know we’re right,” followed the presumptuous script. Even today his supporters insist that he only lost because he was willing to tell the truth.
Really? Sorry Team Hudak, maybe it’s you who can’t handle the truth.
Just as sad was the spectacle in 2011 of Michael Ignatieff exhorting voters to “Rise Up.”
With a hand-held mic and missionary zeal, he urged Canadians to awaken to the looming threat that Canada was slipping through our fingers — and worse, that he might not become the nation’s next prime minister. Quelle surprise when they seemed less alarmed than he was by this prospect.
It is a peculiarity of politics that losing campaigns can comfort themselves with the idea that their failure is evidence of their integrity. In what other walk of life is an inability to ply one’s craft with rigour seen as a virtue? Of course, we want our political leaders to be genuine and accessible, their motivations to be transparent and honourable. We want them to rise above cynicism and appeal to our better angels.
But none of that means they can ignore the fact that politicking, like anything else, is a skill to be honed. Adopting a professional approach, making disciplined judgments and embracing the occasional painful trade-off is part of what tells us someone is ready for the tricky task of governing.
All of this becomes highly relevant as the election nears and the polls tighten — particularly for the Liberals as they’re guided by a rookie leader whose team knows he must avoid wedge issues and unforced errors. Consequently, Trudeau has been making adjustments. He’s begun to shift his level of exposure to the media. His interventions on hot topics have become less improvised. He’s been picking his spots. It’s helped keep him out of trouble — but it’s also made him a bit less interesting.
Almost immediately a low chorus of “Let Bartlet Be Bartlet” can be heard rising from the chattering classes. They want to see Trudeau get back to letting it all hang out, back to being exciting and unfiltered. To a degree, they have a point. Obviously, he can’t become so self-censored that it blunts the essential appeal that attracts supporters.
But there’s a right way and a wrong way. C-51 is the perfect example. It is horribly flawed legislation — a ludicrous invitation to abuse that’s unaccompanied by any effort to strengthen corresponding oversight. It is also a blatant trap. The Conservatives relish the prospect of Trudeau pulling a Bartlet on the antiterrorism legislation. They want him to oppose it with impassioned might. Then they can portray him as a boyish innocent who fails to appreciate the serious matter of personal and national security.
The decision to hold fire and straddle the middle ground — to reluctantly support the bill while promising fixes if elected — is broadly unsatisfying. It feels calculated and half-pregnant. It’s certainly not what Jed Bartlet would do. But it’s a sign of maturity and a show of discipline. A recognition that winning power won’t just come from pushing on open doors. Tough choices will be required. Ducking the occasional fight is a necessary part of picking the battle you truly want.
Caution won’t win Trudeau the next campaign. Between now and Election Day, he will need to demonstrate some admirable boldness — the kind of daring showed when he dumped his entire Senate caucus without warning.
So go ahead, Let Bartlet Be Bartlet. But let him also show people he has what it takes to win — and to govern.