It has always struck me as interesting that the governor’s most ardent admirers list his “outspokenness” as his most endearing character trait, worthy of their full-throated support. But this feature is a dry well: No matter how much I crank the handle, I can’t get the man’s adherents to explain exactly what it is in the fog of Paul LePage’s bluster that they agree with. It is as if brashness is a virtue in itself and needs to be applauded at every turn.
But I don’t think it is brashness, or crudeness, or profanity, or rancor per se that endears LePage to those his policies hurt most. Rather, it is his feelings. Stripped of anything resembling respect for science, or rationalism, or logic, and certainly not diplomacy and tact, what one is left with is a purely visceral interpretation of events, and a purely visceral style of coping with them. This appeals to those who prefer to address complex issues in the simplest terms.
A walk down memory lane brings us to the first oddment of the governor’s tenure: the labor mural. LePage had this series of panels, depicting the history of the Maine labor movement, removed from the Department of Labor at the behest of one — count ’em, one — constituent who remarked that it reminded him of something one might see in North Korea. That was good enough for the governor — and out it went. And not only did he eject it, but he hid it away, in the manner of a child concealing a game piece so the play could proceed in his favor. This expression of juvenile pique was not driven by any deep understanding of the labor movement and why the mural was commissioned in the first place, but rather the governor’s feelings about the thing.
Now that he had gotten off to a promising start, his next act of office was to tell the NAACP to “kiss my butt” if the organization had a problem with his declining to attend an event honoring Martin Luther King. A more politic response might have included some respectful words about a previous commitment, or a family responsibility. Instead, LePage deftly once again chose to let his gut do the talking. Why? It was the way he felt.
I’m not sure that there is a class of people in Maine that has managed to escape the governor’s verbal buckshot. You’re a journalist? Then you’re a liar. A Maine student? You’re “looked down upon” when you apply to out-of-state schools. A state worker? Well, you’re corrupt. Jobless? You’re lazy ( “Get off the couch!”). Work for the IRS? You’re part of the Gestapo. And if you are a political cartoonist who pens unflattering caricatures of the governor — you should be shot.
I note that none of these pronouncements reflects anything resembling considered thought, but rather, again, they are unbridled revelations of LePage’s feelings. As with belching, the governor’s comments seem to erupt as if beyond his control, and at the most inopportune moments, as if he were unaware that people are watching and listening.
The governor’s apologists (pity his spokespeople!) attempt to stir the waters of compassion when they say that LePage had a rough upbringing and therefore, by implication, needs to be excused for his coarse and insulting comments. Impoverished, abused and homeless at the age of 11, his is a heart-rending story. But many in Maine have lived, and survived, similarly cruel circumstances, and worse, without exploiting their experiences as a license to fire at will, without consideration of who might be hurt in the process; especially in public office, where one’s every utterance is magnified by both commercial and social media. The head of an adult, especially one in a leadership position, must, to a great extent, trump the heart. The governor’s hangers-on praise him as “brutally honest,” direct and blunt. But I’ve never heard one of them describe him as thoughtful or considerate — virtues, I think, that most of us strive to cultivate in our children.
I sense that, as far as Maine politics are concerned, provided LePage is not impeached and removed from office in the interim for his ethical indiscretions, he will have given us eight years of dystopia — a state ravaged and embarrassed by the lesser angels of his nature.
But then again, that’s just my feeling in the matter.
Robert Klose is a four-time winner of the Maine Press Association’s award for opinion writing. His novel, “Long Live Grover Cleveland,” has just been published by Medallion Press.