Part 1: the Image and Obama:Minneapolis, 8:49 pm, -10 below – that sort of mother-less cold that freezes the perspiration in your nose as you inhale and causes your balls to press painfully inward in a fierce search for refuge. I’m standing in front of the corner record store where the Replacements started recording in that glorious age of my birth, the Regan 80’s, and on my way to grab a gyro and fries from my man Assan, and ask his view of Obama’s inauguration. I had grown accustomed to the bombardment of Obama imagery assaulting me from the record store – a wallpapering collage on the windows of Obama portraits of every type, from Shepard Fairy’s iconic Hope poster to Ron English’s, frankly quite creepy, portrait of Obama as Lincoln. Yet long after the lawn signs had been taken down or buried in snow, I found myself contemplative, with a smile on my face, thinking – way to go man, you did it. You’re now the greatest celebrity in the history of mankind. To my neighborhood you meant everything to be young and hip and in our youthful hedonism of music, sex and booze, your name and likeness at least reminded us all that we are on the same team. I had always suspected that Obama the image had meant much more to the world, and at this moment it was affirmed. I have never even seen the man with my own eyes. I shook my head.
Suffering from one of my daily bouts of Obama-image inspired optimism I was disappointed when Assan offered me only a “we’ll see, we’ll see.” Yet I knew that Assan suffered from the same great disease of Hope that I did – and that soon Assan would be out in the sun, smoking a hookah on the dirty table in front of his store and claiming to all his friends that Obama can do anything - from stopping assholes from double parking in front of his store to finally bringing peace to his beloved middle east. I realize that the world is a vast place, much of it
quite different from the world of Record stores who advertise politicians over music and Mediterranean delis where Al-Jazerra plays to a roomful of hookah smokers. Yet the confidence I had in the Obama image was undiminished as I high fived Assan, and thanked him for the gyro.Peace, my brother, I said.
Peace be with us all, said Assan.
At home I brushed off an assortment of magazines, newspapers and mail for some gyro room. The image was inescapable. Obama’s picture was on all five of the magazine covers, and seemed to be the largest photo on the front page of every section of the paper. Counting my kitchen table, playing cards and Obama lawn sign, there was substantially more pictures of Obama in my place than of my entire family combined. I smiled.
Only a short time ago I had been reluctant and uneasy with the idea of Hilliary Clinton as president, my main reason being that her election would be a reaffirmation of the disgustingly and excessively craven obsession our culture has with celebrity. Knowing the old women at my work who spend hours with their noses in gossip rags soaking up all the grotesque decadence of celebrity culture, I would say to friends - Bush, Clinton, Bush, Clinton; that just doesn’t sound right. Men died to free us from a monarchy; we owe it to each other not to create the first biarchy. But standing before the record store, or eating amidst an orgy of Obama imagery, I realized how vastly naive it was to think that an Obama victory would be an admonishment of celebrity culture – rather, it was a massive and forceful reinforcement.
And at first I had been deeply troubled by Obama’s promotion of his image. The Fairy poster was eerily Stalinist… hell, without the Warhol two-tone color it would have been a red rip-off. And although the poster said “Hope,” words like “Obedience” seemed to fit in just a little too comfortably. To create a cult of personality is a powerful and dangerous thing (as evidenced by a recent survey indicating Stalin’s current popularity in Russia to this day).
Yet, wiping the cucumber sauce from my lips, like many instances before, I found myself marveling at Obama’s mastery. To say that Barack Obama is the greatest genius of image management of all-time is an understatement. Bush allowed himself to be turned into a Dumboesque stammering and childish cowboy within months of his presidency. And that is not to say that Bush was any slouch at image management – in fact, it was probably his only political skill. Bush presented the image of a man so obviously incompetent that the whole world knew it, yet so charismatically boyish that to this day I am unable to feel the sort of unbridled hate and contempt I channel to men like Cheney and Rumsfeld –
towards Bush my emotions are still dulled by a strange pity and the cursed, yet undeniable likability of the guy.Obama has done so much more, using the American obsession with celebrity to carve his own cult of personality in the likeness of Hope and of Change – an image so dominant in such an image heavy culture that it could be called both a Jordanesque capitalist image and Stalinesque political image. Yet instead of making money or causing mass repression, Obama’s image serves a mirror for the nation, a reservoir for all our hope and probably naïve optimism. And as I see the word Hope solidify in my mental version of Fairy’s portrait, I shudder at the excitement of thinking about the good that could be done with such an image. Health care, social security reform, fuck - even peace – become hopeful realities in the gaze of such an image.
When I first saw this particular image plastered over the record store windows it gave me a creepy and uneasy chill, yet as the image of Obama started to beautifully crystallize in the dark cavern of our celebrity culture it became enough for me to audible give a, ‘yes w
e can!’ I find it funny that Obama-Lincoln comparisons evoke Kerns-Goodwin’s Team of Rivals and the supposedly conciliatory and pragmatic qualities of both men. I prefer to think of this poster in the reverse light - Lincoln was a man who went to war with half of his own nation because he believed, rightly and justly, that they were wrong. Fuck John Bonner, he doesn’t deserve to be featured as a pimple on the ass any of the images that make up your portrait on this Atlantic cover.So please Obama - it is your image, but it is invested with our power. When they say that Universal Health Care is an impossibility at this time, shove it down their throats and your image will only grow. When you go to congress and pass a smart plan that will rebuild the infrastructure of America know that the grand ambition of the plan must equal the massive substance of your image. Know that every speech you give, like your first inaugural, in favor of practicality over posterity will only enhance your dominance of American history to come. And remember that your image is no longer just an indicator of your genius – it is now the bona fide visual of the hopes and dreams of all Americans.
Feeling the pressure? I would wince to use these words in public, but between two fellow geeks – you’re our hope, man, you’re our only hope. And every time you see your own image, think not of yourself but of us, and our belief in a better world in the Age of Obama.
I hope you do.
