The body politic

Pictured at the top of the flyer is a woman with her arm lovingly placed around the shoulders of a man dressed in plaid, both of them walking away from the camera into a dense forest speckled with red and golden leaves. Superimposed over the top of the photograph is a graphic that reads, “Maine has a long tradition of responsibility.”

Somewhere, some marketing professional deserves a raise and a cigar. This is how you hook people: A picturesque tableau and a vague slogan in a serious font, printed on a piece of industrial-strength cardboard that could withstand the shrapnel from an exploding landmine. The whole thing screams quality. Nicely done, team. You’ve got my attention.

The text at the bottom of the flyer began to seduce me, but I quickly put the brakes on. This was a political flyer, and I long ago vowed not to make decisions in the voting booth based on flyers, pamphlets, TV commercials or the advice of anyone named “Skip.” It’s just a bad idea. Allowing a political campaign to influence your vote is like turning to the Riddler for an impartial opinion of Batman.

In this case, the flyer was from the “Yes on 3” campaign. I’m leaning a certain way on this one, but haven’t yet made a final decision; better that I read up on the issue before pulling the metaphorical lever. Such being the case, I wouldn’t deign to tell you how you should cast your vote. I can only say that if you also received this flyer, and are thinking of filling in the oval next to “yes” because of it, it’s worth noting that Mr. and Mrs. Plaid likely got paid a butt-ton of money to appear in the photo. And they’re probably from Idaho.

Manipulation is the name of this game, and it works. It’s predicated on the idea that voters are basically lazy and will accept whatever information is easily available. That’s a pretty cynical worldview, but it’s accurate: The winners of these contests tend to be those who spend the most cash on advertising. If there’s a case to be made that corporate donors and “big money” should be expunged from politics, it’s that elections can be purchased, and they very often are.

Key to manipulation is the art of exaggerating things. Let’s conjure up a hypothetical scenario to see how this works. Assume Candidate A, Belinda Boogerbritches, once changed her religious affiliation to Protestant after moving to a predominantly Protestant community. Shady stuff, right? At around the same time, she gave an interview to a local newspaper in which she divulged that she’s not really a cat person. A fluff detail. Shouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

But Candidate B, Billy Blubberbuddy, smells fodder for an attack ad. One night, Susceptible Voter is at home watching “Celebrity Mustache Groomers” when the screen goes dark. A grainy, black-and-white photo of Belinda slowly fades into view. An ominous voice rumbles, “Belinda Boogerbritches says she’s a woman of faith. But did you know she’s only been a Protestant for three years? What was she before that? SOME say she worshipped … SATAN! And she’s on record as saying she hates animals. Is that who we want in Washington? A Satan-worshipping animal hater? Billy Blubberbuddy has been a Protestant all his life. And he loves animals so much” -- cute footage of Billy petting a puppy -- “that he once adopted 12 mangy golden retrievers FOR NO REASON AT ALL. Billy Blubberbuddy. Good with God, good with dogs, good for America.”

Truth has been stretched; baseless insinuations have been made. In two weeks, Susceptible Voter walks down to his local grange hall and colors in the circle next to Blubberbuddy’s name. Another seamless transaction.

In some ways, these tactics mirror those used by the fringe churches that revel in talk of damnation and hellfire. The sweeping hyperbole is almost identical. A couple of years ago I spotted a pamphlet left by my front door featuring a sketch of a smiling woman on the cover, with a caption reading that while Willomena was basically a happy person, she had decided to renounce God. Open the pamphlet and boom, there’s a drawing of poor Willomena as a skeleton engulfed in flames. The accompanying text warned of eternal suffering if she did not REPENT, and the screams issuing from her mouth looked like the storyboards for a Wes Craven gore-fest -- only Wes Craven movies are easier to watch on a full stomach.

Right or wrong (probably wrong), the church had a point to make, and made it by appealing to the emotions rather than the intellect. It offered more dire warnings than it did information. It’s hard to imagine this tactic working on all but the most desperate of souls, but that’s a problem for the church; political campaigns have the advantage of budgets, infrastructure, and good taste. Mr. and Mrs. Plaid are far more effective ambassadors for their cause than a mountain of charred bodies. Their effects on voters’ minds are more subliminal.

Which means we all need to be on guard. It’s been a wild, wacky campaign season, and it’s easier than ever to get caught up in the scandalous nature of what we watch and read: He’s a grabber! She’s power-hungry! He’s a dolt! She’s a crook! Around and around they go, and after a while it feels more like “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” than an actual election. We forget there are local races, local issues, and we become susceptible to misinformation because it’s oftentimes the only information we have.

So do your homework folks, ’cause this one matters. Oh, and while you’re at it, maybe invest in a plaid shirt. Apparently that’s all you need to star in your very own ad.