Back in December I wrote a column on symbolism and substance in politics. At the time, I was especially struck by the problem of what it means to take political rhetoric — the constant, often bizarre social media statements flooding from the White House being a great example — “seriously but not literally.”
As we continue, both in Kansas and across the country, to be caught up in a political environment filled with protests and proclamations that may or may not be meant to be taken seriously, a return to the topic is in order.
Here in Wichita, the largest stand-alone city in Kansas, the biggest controversy of the past two months has been a declaration which our city council issued in support of Transgender Day of Visibility, a national occasion promoted by LGBTQ organizations.
Mayor Lily Wu did not endorse that proclamation, though neither did she prevent the majority of council members who did support it from publicly presenting it.
Since the relevant city ordinance seems to stipulate that the mayor must formally read any proclamation issued by the council, her action (or lack thereof) has generated heated debate, including multiple accusations both by and against the mayor.
I brought up this controversy while speaking to a civic group recently, and one participant asked a question that seemed to capture what the majority of that group seemed to be feeling: why are we fighting about entirely symbolic proclamations anyway?
It’s a fair question.
Like I wrote in my previous column, it’s very easy to get frustrated over what might be broadly called “performative politics.”
Often that term is used critically: you, or the church or business or interests you represent, don’t have the votes or resources to affect real change, so instead you just “perform” your demands, grabbing attention, disrupting others with your silly, symbolic claims.
But making statements, carrying signs, or organizing on behalf of recognition isn’t silly at all. Rather, these kinds of performative actions occupy a range of places within our political life.
At one end, there are those who possess actual administrative or executive authority: a CEO, a mayor, a governor, or the President of the United States.
The statements such people make, even if they’re legally groundless or substantively empty, still matter, because the authority they possess will invariably influence others to take action, even if there is no basis for doing so.
On the other end, though, are just ordinary citizens, possessing no more authority than anyone else.
But citizens can nonetheless take up a sign to express frustration (as sizable crowds have done almost every week over the past few months in Wichita, Kansas City, Hays, Topeka, Lawrence, and elsewhere), and by so doing capture the attention of others.
Also, any citizen can petition elected leaders to plead for recognition for the work one does, or the identity one represents. If enough agree, then suddenly a degree of legitimacy — and, crucially, the awareness of others — is granted that didn’t exist before, empowering those who made the request.
Over the past decade, as social media has transformed political life, multiple scholars have begun to rethink democratic politics, and the place of performance and spectatorship within it.
Today we live in an environment where “attention” is often the most valuable commodity anyone can possess. Those who can do the work and organize with others and put themselves forward to make sure their cause is seen (and sometimes their opponents triggered or scandalized), may not be a distraction; instead, maybe they’re doing politics the way it is fated to be played today.
