“I’ma Let You Finish”

Last week at the VMA’s, Kanye West concluded a twelve-minute speech by saying “I have decided, in 2020, to run for President”. He then proceeded to drop the mic (as all great artists do) and walked off stage.

It was a statement precluded by no policy indications, platforms or political context, nor acknowledgement toward either party (third candidate anyone?), and it was perfect: perfectively representative of the empty politics of the present.

The following day The Guardian ran a piece on “Why Kanye West would be the best president in US history (seriously)” that analysed his song lyrics and how they could translate to workable policy positions. Even The New Yorker ran a piece on Kanye; minus the endorsement.

The Kanye presidential announcement highlights how celebrity and political cultures are converging more and more: Donald “all Mexicans are rapists” Trump leads the Republican primaries, Greece’s finance minister Yanis Varoufakis poses for “Paris Match” magazine between Eurozone negotiations, Obama drops Spotify playlists, Abbott eats onions before announcing three word slogans as policies, Bill Shorten loves a zinger so much that KFC will have to use him for an ad soon, and even British Labour Leadership front-runner Jeremy Corbyn, a beige-clad 66 year old, has had his rise to popularity dubbed “Corbynism”.

Okay then.

The New York Times recently wrote an article about political methods which began by comparing contemporary politics to pro-wrestling. In “The Politics of Distraction” contemporary political actors don’t battle with great ideas, rather, they compete with bright, shiny objects (“B.S.O.s”) designed to win the 24 hour news cycle. These objects employ “principles of distraction, outrage and misdirection”. In other words, they are definitely not policy papers. It’s about replacing political differences with theatre.

When was the last time we saw a government address fundamental issues with health, education and housing that go beyond what an election cycle can deliver? All major parties espouse the same neoliberal free-market directives which (for better or worse) bind themselves to the global economy and its multiple possibilities. Without bold ideas, changing the economic course of a country is more limited than ever as real power is displaced to the policy objectives of acronyms such as the IMF, The G8 and the G20, the FTSE and the ASX. The recent Chinese stock market collapse is an example. During the weeks of turmoil that embroiled Greece’s during recent political referendum, China lost more than 10 Greece’s worth of GDP.

What has emerged is a convergence of political ideas between major parties. In short, contemporary Western politics lacks content and has too many authors. This allows a politics of personality to proliferate. But lacking content does not mean lacking attention, to which celebrity tactics work most viciously.

Celebrity endorsements have long been a play of associating values to political candidates. Most famously in Australia, Gough Whitlam’s 1972 “It’s Time” campaign featured a medley of celebrity talents including Jack Thompson, Jackie Weaver, Bert Newton and dozens of others.

And how many times do I have to read an article about Nicki Minaj, Taylor Swift or Miley Cyrus espousing positions on political issues despite lacking an understanding of said issues beyond the average person? I’m sure there are numerous professionals educated in their relevant fields that could communicate certain issues far more decisively, but unfortunately for them they are not famous, they do not get clicks, and they do not go viral. On a structural level, issues shouldn’t be addressed by the competing attention of celebrity. What instead emerges from the practices of espousing celebrity association is that we dangerously continue to make stupid people famous. Before you know it the first lady of the United States will be Kim Kardashian, who last week received a letter from the FDA to remove an Instagram post endorsing a morning-sickness pill without mentioning its side effects.

Post-structuralist philosopher Jean Baudrillard writes that in the viral economy “information and communication are based on the principle of a value which has ceased to be referential and is now based on pure circulation. Pure added-value — added by dint of the message, the meaning passing from image to image and screen to screen.” In this world of the screen “all that remains is to perform an appearing act, without bothering to be, or even to be seen. It is not: ‘I exist, I’m here’, but ‘I’m visible, I’m image — look, look!”

Kanye is on to something: promise people entertainment, avoid detail, make them feel things and make them tweet, then drop the mic and walk off the stage.