The Man or the Moment By Frank Bruni

January 7, 2015
The New York Times
We measure our presidents against not only our hopes for the present, which are sometimes unreasonable, but also our understanding of the past, which can be just as flawed.
Has a misreading of history informed a misappraisal of Barack Obama?
That's a question raised, not explicitly but implicitly, by a new book by the Princeton historian Julian Zelizer, ''The Fierce Urgency of Now,'' to be published on Thursday.
Its setting is the 1960s, as the title, a phrase uttered by Martin Luther King Jr., suggests. Its focus is Lyndon Johnson. And one of its conclusions is that despite Johnson's legend as a peerless legislative tactician, he was largely a hostage of Congress and of forces beyond the presidency.
Zelizer reminds us that many of Johnson's signature victories came during a two-year period when Democrats had two-thirds majorities in both the Senate, where they held 68 seats, and the House, where they held 295.
Zelizer also reminds us that Johnson's trouncing of Barry Goldwater in the 1964 election spooked Republicans to a point where many fought progressive legislation less stridently than before, lest they be portrayed as Goldwater-style extremists.
Those dynamics and others worked powerfully to Johnson's advantage, and when the climate and the Congress changed, so did his fortunes. On the domestic front (as well as on the foreign one), the final two years of his presidency were a bust, at least in comparison with what preceded them.
Obama's name appears just twice in Zelizer's book. But it's impossible not to think of him more often, given how frequently the yardstick of Johnson's presidency has been applied to his.
If only Obama were a schmoozer like Johnson. If only he had Johnson's taste for the muck of lawmaking. If only he had Johnson's patience for minutiae.
Zelizer told me that when he began work on the book more than five years ago, ''I still had a kind of view of Johnson, as many do, as someone who really knew how to work the system. What's surprising to me is that as conditions in Congress change, he is really shut down. I didn't expect the last part of the book: a president who's really emasculated and can't get anything done even though he's trying the same old tricks. It really became crystal clear to me how Congress determines the fate of the presidency.''
Republicans currently control both chambers, and have a House majority bigger than before. That bodes disastrously for Obama's legislative dreams, and it's the point of reference for his impulse to wield executive authority.
Zelizer said that instances over the last 50 years of a president truly imposing his will on a Congress fully or partly controlled by the opposing party are rare. Ronald Reagan got tax cuts in 1981 despite a Democratic majority in the House, but he'd just shellacked Jimmy Carter in the 1980 elections and Democrats were running scared.


Johnson's name is popping up a lot now. This year is the 50th anniversary of many of the laws grouped under the Great Society, and the movie ''Selma'' is drawing complaints for its portrayal of Johnson as resistant to voting rights for blacks and sharply antagonistic to King.
''It's not fair to Johnson,'' Zelizer told me.
But in his view, Johnson has been considered too kindly by writers who attribute the Great Society to his wizardry.
''He was cagey, he was smart, he was politically savvy,'' Zelizer said. ''But that doesn't explain why the bills passed.''
And Obama can indeed be cold and disengaged. But, Zelizer said, that's not why he hasn't scaled the legislative heights that Johnson did.
Johnson benefited from ''a vibrant period for grass-roots mobilization as a result of the civil rights movement,'' he said, adding that there was pressure for legislation from the bottom up, which is most effective.
There hasn't been any commensurate mobilization during Obama's presidency. Zelizer said that voters frustrated with congressional inertia should examine their own exertions -- and the ways in which campaign financing, lobbying and gerrymandering have created a dysfunctional legislative branch -- as much as any president's character.
Zelizer's read on things leaves ample room for Obama to be questioned on foreign policy and for not making more of his first two years, when Democrats controlled Congress. It's also possible that he should have made less of them, that delaying health care would have spared Democrats their 2010 drubbing and given him additional time with a friendly(-ish) Congress.

But it's undeniable that we treat our presidents as larger than life, simplifying the stories we tell. They're not always mighty frigates parting the waters. They're just as much buoys on the tides of history, rising and falling with the swells.

The Child in the Basement By David Brooks

The New York Times
January 13, 2015
Maybe you're familiar with Ursula Le Guin's short story, ''The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.'' It's about a sweet and peaceful city with lovely parks and delightful music.
The people in the city are genuinely happy. They enjoy their handsome buildings and a ''magnificent'' farmers' market.
Le Guin describes a festival day with delicious beer and horse races: ''An old woman, small, fat, and laughing, is passing out flowers from a basket, and tall young men wear her flowers in their shining hair. A child of nine or ten sits at the edge of the crowd, alone, playing on a wooden flute.''
It is an idyllic, magical place.
But then Le Guin describes one more feature of Omelas. In the basement of one of the buildings, there is a small broom-closet-sized room with a locked door and no windows. A small child is locked inside the room. It looks about 6, but, actually, the child is nearly 10. ''It is feeble minded. Perhaps it was born defective, or perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition and neglect.''
Occasionally, the door opens and people look in. The child used to cry out, ''Please let me out. I will be good!'' But the people never answered and now the child just whimpers. It is terribly thin, lives on a half-bowl of cornmeal a day and must sit in its own excrement.
''They all know it is there, all the people of Omelas,'' Le Guin writes. ''Some of them have come to see it; others are content merely to know it is there. They all know it has to be there. Some of them understand why, and some do not, but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children ... depend wholly on this child's abominable misery.''
That is the social contract in Omelas. One child suffers horribly so that the rest can be happy. If the child were let free or comforted, Omelas would be destroyed. Most people feel horrible for the child, and some parents hold their kids tighter, and then they return to their happiness.
But some go to see the child in the room and then keep walking. They don't want to be part of that social contract. ''They leave Omelas; they walk ahead into the darkness and they do not come back.''
In one reading this is a parable about exploitation. According to this reading, many of us live in societies whose prosperity depends on some faraway child in the basement. When we buy a cellphone or a piece of cheap clothing, there is some exploited worker -- a child in the basement. We tolerate exploitation, telling each other that their misery is necessary for overall affluence, though maybe it's not.
In another reading, the story is a challenge to the utilitarian mind-set so prevalent today.
In theory, most of us subscribe to a set of values based on the idea that a human being is an end not a means. You can't justifiably use a human being as an object. It is wrong to enslave a person, even if that slavery might produce a large good. It is wrong to kill a person for his organs, even if many lives might be saved.


And yet we don't actually live according to that moral imperative. Life is filled with tragic trade-offs. In many different venues, the suffering of the few is justified by those trying to deliver the greatest good for the greatest number.
Companies succeed because they fire people, even if a whole family depends on them. Schools become prestigious because they reject people -- even if they put a lifetime of work into their application. Leaders fighting a war on terror accidentally kill innocents. These are children in the basement of our survival and happiness.
The story compels readers to ask if they are willing to live according to those contracts. Some are not. They walk away from prosperity, and they make some radical commitment. They would rather work toward some inner purity.
The rest of us live with the trade-offs. The story reminds us of the inner numbing this creates. The people who stay in Omelas aren't bad; they just find it easier and easier to live with the misery they depend upon. I've found that this story rivets people because it confronts them with all the tragic compromises built into modern life -- all the children in the basements -- and, at the same time, it elicits some desire to struggle against bland acceptance of it all.

In another reading, the whole city of Omelas is just different pieces of one person's psychology, a person living in the busy modern world, and that person's idealism and moral sensitivity is the shriveling child locked in the basement.