Cross-posted at the Great Orange Satan.

In the not-too-distant past, I wrote a somewhat extended piece (that I never got around to publishing on this site) about the limitations of talking about progressive or liberal ideas as a series of policy proposals that would, by the mere dint of their superiority and appeal to voters' issue preferences, somehow be heard over the din of the trivial in the traditional media and over the clutter and detritus strewn about by the Republicans' noise machine.

I suppose that this is territory that others have tread in somewhat different ways before me, and I don't want to rehash all of what I wrote in the past or the theory behind what I argued (it was largely grounded in the writings of early 20th century pragmatist-progressives like James Dewey and William James), but I do want to share what I wrote about Barack Obama and what I saw in May 2006 as the promise of his rhetoric and how that promise has come to fruition during this campaign, especially with the Philadelphia speech on the place of race in American history called "A More Perfect Union." 

Without going into too much detail, my basic argument was that we should think about the fact that the world of American politics is, to a great degree, a linguistic creation that is continuously in flux and that we, as progressives, can't rely on an our claims to a "reality-based" worldview that we can use to somehow describe the world more accurately.  The political universe is always shaped by verbal descriptions communicated through various media outlets, and this is a reality that's continuously being invented, tested, and readjusted to fit changing events by the various politicians, pundits, and ordinary citizens who are all trying to shout the loudest to be heard.  This isn't to say that there isn't an "objective" reality "out there" that is demonstrably true; it's just that our understanding of that reality is always shaped by the ways it gets described.  For this reason, Karl Rove's contention that the "reality-based" community was always going to be at a disadvantage because it was left to react to the right-wing frames that they aggressively and successfully insert into the larger political discourse was not completely delusional.  

Our responsibility as progressives, then, really comes down to, I believe, trying to realize the possibilities of our shared political worldview by putting new linguistic practices into play.  These practices should point to new alternatives and new ways of thinking that build from, incorporate, and retell stories about our shared histories in a way that both explains the conflicts that we must overcome in the present and the paths that we can possibly take in the future.  We should build a political movement that moves beyond a diagnosis of the world's ills based on what we observe at any one point in time, especially since any evidence that we choose to use can and will be called into question over the course of time by other people’s ways of representing the world.  Instead, we should maintain a linguistic and imaginative flexibility that allows us to change and adapt rhetorically to the shifting circumstances in which we find ourselves. This does not mean that we give up our belief in the existence of truth; it just means that we have to believe that we must continuously adjust our linguistic approaches to account for truth’s rather amorphous, variable incarnations in the world.  

Back in 2006, I wrote that the good news was that there seemed to be a progressive politician out there who already seemed to be working in these kinds of terms.  This politician, I thought, was Barack Obama, who at the time was just the junior senator from Illinois who had come to the nation’s attention based on his keynote at the 2004 Democratic National Convention.  After his overwhelming victory in his 2004 Senate race, Obama continued to build on the reputation that he earned from that speech.  In an address that he gave during the commencement ceremony for Knox College (a small liberal arts college in Galesville, Illinois), Obama demonstrated his ability to work within a rhetorical framework that creates a sense of shared identity, while incorporating the historical, material lessons of the past, both its failures and successes, and also emphasizing the human agency and creativity involved with creating that history. America, within that speech, is a place in which "history is not answered for us.  It’s answered by us."  This history is not perfect, he insists; in fact, it is marked by repeated failings.  

But Obama does not stop with a critique of the ways in which we have repeatedly fallen short of the ideals that he explicitly claims as being part of the American past.  By proposing a sense of common destiny, he argues that we’ve been able to "recognize our failings and then rise together to meet the challenges of our time" by acting collectively and making choices that provided shared benefits.  This clears linguistic space to expand upon the accomplishments of the past by working in the present for a more equitably shared future.  He admits that changes have occurred and that there is a growing sense of reluctance to take any sort of aggregated action in the present, but he also argues for the necessity of not ignoring the history whose meaning can be reinterpreted and redeployed for new uses for the new and difficult challenges that are a part of our contemporary experience. 
   
All of these ideas were synthesized in his speech, "A More Perfect Union."  After listening and watching his speech on race, it seems readily apparent that Obama understands the importance of not simply insisting on the idea that his account is somehow more real or truthful than other narratives used in political discourse. He holds out his version of events, his vision, as a kind of consequential option that has a very real impact on what the future will hold:

The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we've never really worked through - a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American. [...]

This is where we are right now. It's a racial stalemate we've been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naive as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy - particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.

But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice if we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union. [...]

In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world's great religions demand - that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother's keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister's keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.

For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle - as we did in the OJ trial - or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright's sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she's playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.

We can do that. [...]

That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, "Not this time." [...]

I would not be running for President if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation - the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election.

People’s willingness or ability to either act on or choose to accept the vision that he is offering has less to do with the fact that it somehow "reveals" a truth about existence and more to do with the way in which he makes the choice between his ideas and those on the right seem like a decision that matters, that is real, visceral, unavoidable, and of great importance. Where the ideas in his speech come from are important and are explicitly the result of choices that have been made by people in the past.  What is crucial about them, however, is not just the principles that lie behind them, but where these ideas will actually lead.  

The strength of the vision that Obama presents lies in the outcome of a future that he tries to help his audience imagine.  By moving away from appeals that would try and make his linguistic claims seem like they more accurately fit with a supposedly set, immutable reality, Obama provides an example of a progressive discourse that we can use to make sure that we are not consigned permanently to reactive postures, language that allows for the possibility that we can create — with our own terms — more hopeful, positive futures.