Friday 20 January 2012

The perils of projection

Rick Santorum, who once took fire from Rick Perry for seeking earmarked spending while in Congress, lashed back after a town hall meeting in South Carolina.


On Jan. 11, 2012, eight days before the Texas governor suspended his presidential campaign, Santorum said: "Rick Perry requested 1,200 earmarks as governor of Texas," according to a blog posted by MSNBC. "It’s sort of hard for somebody who’s been in public life and elected office for 25 years to be the outsider when he also requested over a thousand earmarks from Washington," he added.


We wondered how Santorum arrived at Perry’s 1,200, a figure the former Pennsylvania senator aired again a few days later, according to a Jan. 16, 2012, post on ABC News’ blog The Note.


A refresher: According to the nonpartisan group Taxpayers for Common Sense, an earmark is a legislative provision that sets "aside funds within an account for a specific program, project, activity, institution or location. These measures normally circumvent merit-based or competitive allocation processes and appear in spending, authorization, tax and tariff bills."


Earmarks, which Congress banned from its budgeting and appropriations process in 2011, draw fire in some quarters because they enabled individual lawmakers to carve out funding for pet projects without public scrutiny. Some advocacy organizations say they’re still finding earmarks--sometimes called pork--in legislation.


Even Bill Clinton, who was less forthcoming and therefore, at least initially, less sympathetic, came to be viewed as a victim following months of investigation and the airing of sordid details only voyeurs could enjoy. Starr, as King, was merely doing his job, yet he became less likable than Clinton among Regular Joes watching television in their kitchens. However nobly Republicans may have considered their mission, everyday Americans -- particularly men -- saw persecution.


A Catholic friend captures the operative sentiment in terms Gingrich surely would appreciate. When she sees someone succumb to temptation or betray some other human frailty, she says: "I have those weeds in my garden."


To err is human; to forgive divine. We like that way of thinking because we all need others' forgiveness. When Gingrich turned to his audience and said we all know pain -- we all know people who have suffered pain -- he instantly morphed from sinner to savior, the redeemer in chief. He correctly counted on the empathy of his fellow man, if not necessarily womankind, and won the moment.


But a moment is just that, and projection of the sort experienced by the Charleston audience can be fraught with peril. Over-identification clouds judgment and, though we are all sinners, we are not all running for president of the United States. Gingrich's sins of the flesh ultimately are of less importance than the narcissism and grandiosity that compel his actions.


Voters would do well to think less of what they would do in his shoes than what  Newt Gingrich  will do should he win the prize. As the reality of his astonishing self-regard sinks in and one imagines where his unflagging certitude might lead, it is less easy to identify with the weeds in his garden. As projection falters, empathy finds no place to land.

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