By David K. Shipler
Every modern
president needs acting skills alongside constructive policies. It’s not enough
to run the government and shape the affairs of state.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt mobilized
and comforted Americans through his wartime fireside chats on the radio. Harry
Truman projected a down-home frankness. Dwight Eisenhower combined a victorious
general’s solidarity with a quiet posture of visionary decency. John F. Kennedy
used inspirational rhetoric, self-deprecating humor, and the demeanor of
royalty. Lyndon Baines Johnson’s flattery and threats worked miracles in
Congress to pass civil rights bills, which his display of passionate conviction
helped sell to the country at large.
Richard Nixon lacked acting ability,
though, and he looked bad on television. Gerald Ford failed to exude strength.
Jimmy Carter had a whiny voice and too much honesty about America’s malaise. Ronald
Reagan’s acting profession gave him perfect timing, witty quips, and a
persuasive illusion of warm sincerity.
George H. W. Bush was a verbal
fumbler and gave an impression of much less gravitas than his solid policy
credentials warranted. Bill Clinton had a silver tongue and an infectious
charm. George W. Bush seemed like a nice guy you could enjoy having a beer with.
Barack Obama’s eloquence first carried him into national politics, and then
into the White House, where his oratory stirred idealism among large numbers of
citizens. Donald Trump’s direct insults, saying aloud the ugly things that many
Americans thought, conveyed an image of brutal candor even as he spewed
incessant lies, a technique that still mesmerizes millions.
And now,
Joe Biden. He personifies the dissonance between the performative and policy
dimensions of the presidency. His approval ratings have plummeted even among
voters who agree with him on major issues. The policies he supports don’t seem
to matter; his manner of presentation is everything.
He is not a forceful orator, there
is no song in his lyrics. He is, perhaps, too calm for the moment, even when he
tries to hammer home a point or use sharp language. He fumbles, he digresses,
he misspeaks—an ailment left over from his youthful stuttering—and does not excite.
At 79, he acts his age and does not project the charismatic strength that many
Americans seem to value, especially in a time of tension and hardship. He is
often described as “weak.”
Yet his supposed “weakness” is a mirage. In practice he has been as tough as nails in foreign policy, extremely ambitious domestically, and an activist user of executive power to further a liberal agenda—to the extent that the courts will allow.
