What if President Obama doesn’t call me? What if it’s John Boehner who calls to ask for help in crafting an argument against Obamacare? What would I say?
I’d start by saying that opponents of the ACA have already done the heavy lifting. They’ve positioned Obamacare as an infringement on personal liberty and an expensive one to boot. It’s a fairly simple argument to make — “How dare the government tell me — a free thinking American individual — what to do? That smacks of collectivism and, given the history of government programs, it’s going to cost a lot of money. Our budget is already completely out of whack; we can’t afford to do more.”
So which argument is more persuasive? Frankly, I think the argument against the ACA is simpler and, therefore, should be more persuasive. Indeed, it seems to be working already. The most recent poll I’ve read suggests that 50% of Americans are against the law and only 45% are for it. Still, the proponents of Obamacare haven’t been very aggressive in positioning the law as an issue of responsibility. As they sharpen their rhetorical tools, the fault line could shift — probably not dramatically but perhaps just enough to claim a majority. The history of Social Security may give some insight. Social Security was not broadly popular when it first passed and was deemed by many — perhaps a majority — to be unconstitutional. Today, Social Security is the “third rail” of American politics — nobody can mess with it.
The Supreme Court ruling made Obamacare constitutional but it didn’t make it popular. What can rhetoric — the classic art of persuasion — tell us about crafting an argument for (or against) the Affordable Care Act (ACA)? In this post, I’ll sketch out a persuasive argument for Obamacare. In my next post, I’ll sketch out an argument against it.
A general rule of persuasion is that the simpler argument usually wins the debate. So, if President Obama called me to ask for help crafting the argument for the ACA, I’d say two things: 1) Simplify through analogy, 2) reframe to responsibility. (I’d also tell him to make me Ambassador to Ecuador — that’s what I really want).
Simplify through analogy — the simplest analogy is car insurance. We used to allow people to drive without insurance. To cover the damage caused by uninsured drivers, we set up large uninsured motorist funds supported by taxpayers. Ultimately, we got tired of paying for the carnage caused by uninsured drivers — also known as “free riders”, “deadbeats” and “jerks” — and passed mandate requiring drivers to have some insurance in order to drive. The result? Total costs to “responsible” drivers went down because we had to pay only for our own insurance and not also for uninsured motorists.
Reframe to responsibility — opponents of the ACA have positioned it as an infringement on liberty. Supporters should reframe this to personal responsibility. Everyone should take responsibility for the cost of their own healthcare. If you don’t, you’re a free rider – you pass your costs on to other, more responsible citizens. Those who pay for health insurance are also paying the cost for caring for deadbeats and free riders. Sounds a lot like socialized medicine.
What about the dreaded word, “tax”? The Supremes have labeled the mandate a tax, which is precisely why they’ve said that it’s legal. If supporters of Obamacare try to argue that it’s not a tax, they’ll simply appear to be dissembling which will reduce their persuasiveness. So they need to embrace the word, more or less like this, “Yes, it’s a tax. It’s a tax on irresponsibility. If you choose not to act responsibly, then we’re going to ask you to pay into a kitty that will help defray the costs of your care. It’s your choice. Act responsibly and pay no tax. Or act irresponsibly and pay a small tax. By the way, you’re already paying a tax — you’re paying for everyone who doesn’t have insurance but needs health care. Hospitals can’t turn them away, so they send the bill to you.”
Will it work? Well, look at the next post in this series to see the opposite argument.
Let’s say that you work in a department of four people. I’m your manager. Our group has done an especially good job on a major project. As a result, my boss has awarded me $10,000 to give bonuses to each of my employees. She says to me, “Distribute it however you think is fair.”
Not wanting to make a real decision, I simply divide the pot into four equal parts and give each of you $2,500. That seems “fair”, doesn’t it? Well, not to you. You think you did much more work and contributed much more value to the project than your three colleagues. You believe you deserve more (perhaps much more) than $2,500.
This can be a real motivational issue and a major team-building problem. But, bottom line, would you turn down the $2,500 because you thought I was being unfair? If you’re like most people, you’d still take the money – it enhances your situation even if you feel badly about it. It’s just practical.
What does this have to do with the euro? The argument – at least from Germany’s perspective – is between practicality and fairness. Many Germans believe that the south European countries have been irresponsible – they’ve avoided taxes, broken promises, and spent without thought for the future. (Whether this view is “fair” or not will be debated for many years). Since the south Europeans have behaved irresponsibly, it’s “unfair” to force Germany to bail them out.
Putting fairness aside for a moment, the practical reality is that it will cost Germany more (perhaps a whole lot more) to not bail out their southern friends. In fact, there’s a good chance that a breakup would turn into a runaway catastrophe.
So, what does Germany do? My guess is that they’ll demand concessions – to avoid the moral hazard of bailing out unreformed economies – but will ultimately steer toward a practical solution. In other words, they’ll pay up because it’s in their best interest to do so — even if they feel badly about it. It’s practical.
Jonah Lehrer, author of the bestselling book, Imagine: How Creativity Works, was recently exposed as a plagiarist — of himself. Some of the material in his blog on The New Yorker had previously appeared in articles he wrote for the Wall Street Journal. Similarly, sections of Imagine had appeared in Lehrer’s articles and columns. The literati and the blogosphere lashed Lehrer harshly. Lehrer even lashed himself, saying, “It was an incredibly stupid thing to do and incredibly lazy and absolutely wrong.” The editor of The New Yorker‘s web site said simply, “This is wrong. … It’s not going to happen again.”
At virtually the same time, however, The New Yorker published Richard Brody’s review of Woody Allen’s new movie, To Rome With Love, with Penelope Cruz. As Brody notes, the movie includes many “allusions” to Allen’s earlier works, including Scoop, Annie Hall, and Stardust Memories. Brody also notes (approvingly) that To Rome with Love even repeats a joke from Midnight in Paris. Brody doesn’t seem to be at all bothered by these allusions and homages. Other news outlets panned To Rome With Love — the L.A. Times called it “meandering” and Policy Mic called it a “thinly spread mess of clunky story telling”. But Brody calls it one of Allen’s “most coherent and deepest” works to come along in recent years.
So, when does self-homage become self-plagiarism? The New Yorker muddles the point.
Full disclosure – I often make essentially the same point in different media, including this blog, my course lectures, speeches, and seminars. Does that make me a plagiarist?
In my last post, I asked about how one would go about teaching wisdom. It seems that we focus our attention on teaching skills and practical arts rather than wisdom or persuasion or (heaven forbid) the liberal arts. After posting my thoughts, I soon stumbled across an article in the New York Times titled “Can Doctors Learn Empathy?”
It turns out that even doctors can learn to be empathetic (OMG!) and can do so with as little as one hour of training. Empathy is certainly a significant component of wisdom, so perhaps we’re already on the road to teaching wisdom and, therefore, effective leadership.