The left’s answer to everything seems to be better messaging:
“Democrats spending millions to learn how to speak to ‘American Men’ and win back the working class,” the Independent reported today, with party leaders holed up “in luxury hotel rooms on a strategy codenamed SAM, or ‘Speaking with American Men: A Strategic Plan.'”
Yeah, that’ll work.
It’s all about style and nothing about substance. See this:
This is all about perception, not reality … Study the “syntax” of the opposition so you can try to sound like them. Watch the “tone” you use to speak. Always be aware of your “messaging.” These people have learned precisely nothing from the rise of Donald Trump. The lesson in Trump’s rise, distilled to its essence, is “be authentic.” No “messaging” massaging can be remotely helpful if you’re obviously an inauthentic liar.
Although “be authentic” is indeed part of the lesson that should have been learned, the substance of the message is very important as well. If the left was authentic it would turn even more people off.
You may not recall the meaning of the “imagology” reference in the title of this post. It refers to an idea of Milan Kundera’s that I first wrote about twenty years ago in this post. The following passage is from Kundera’s 1990 work Immortality:
For example, communists used to believe that in the course of capitalist development the proletariat would gradually grow poorer and poorer, but when it finally became clear that all over Europe workers were driving to work in their own cars, [the communists] felt like shouting that reality was deceiving them. Reality was stronger than ideology. And it is in this sense that imagology surpassed it: imagology is stronger than reality, which has anyway long ceased to be what it was for my grandmother, who lived in a Moravian village and still knew everything through her own experience: how bread is baked, how a house is built, how a pig is slaughtered and the meat smoked, what quilts are made of, what the priest and the schoolteacher think about the world; she met the whole village every day and knew how many murders were committed in the country over the last ten years; she had, so to speak, personal control over reality, and nobody could fool her by maintaining that Moravian agriculture was thriving when people at home had nothing to eat. My Paris neighbor spends his time an an office, where he sits for eight hours facing an office colleague, then he sits in his car and drives home, turns on the TV, and when the announcer informs him that in the latest public opinion poll the majority of Frenchmen voted their country the safest in Europe (I recently read such a report), he is overjoyed and opens a bottle of champagne without ever learning that three thefts and two murders were committed on his street that very day.
Public opinion polls are the critical instrument of imagology’s power, because they enable imagology to live in absolute harmony with the people. The imagologue bombards people with questions: how is the French economy prospering? is there racism in France? is racism good or bad? who is the greatest writer of all time? is Hungary in Europe or in Polynesia? which world politician is the sexiest? And since for contemporary man reality is a continent visited less and less often and, besides, justifiably disliked, the findings of polls have become a kind of higher reality, or to put it differently: they have become the truth. Public opinion polls are a parliament in permanent session, whose function it is to create truth, the most democratic truth that has ever existed. Because it will never be at variance with the parliament of truth, the power of imagologues will always live in truth, and although I know that everything human is mortal, I cannot imagine anything that would break its power.
But reality sometimes asserts itself and becomes stronger than imagology. It’s a constant war between the two these days.

