A successful politician radiates authenticity while living on cunning. Plain-spoken principle wins elections. Redirection and compromise get things done.
It is in the hope of keeping up the façade that, sooner or later, every holder of high office ventures into the great outdoors, dressed like an ass. The strategy has its logic: when hoping to appear natural, get close to nature. But in most cases, the contrast with a bucolic backdrop only highlights the artificiality of the politician.
The unparalleled example remains former US president Richard Nixon walking down a breezy California beach for the benefit of the press corps. He was attempting to ape his tanned rival John Kennedy. He wore black wingtips.
President Vladimir Putin did a bit better this autumn when he made one of his periodic, heavily photographed visits to the Russian wilderness. He wore a military-looking hat and a puffy vest, supplemented by a strangely long and aggressively symbolic walking stick. That Mr Putin managed to approximate standard outdoor gear — and kept his shirt on, for once — did not prevent the scene from having all the naturalness of Noh theatre.
The only reliably authentic aspect of Mr Putin is his aura of menace. By contrast, it is hard to imagine a less menacing figure than David Cameron bodyboarding in Cornwall. His problem was the opposite of Nixon’s or Mr Putin’s. Shrink-wrapped in neoprene, the former UK prime minister did not look like something he isn’t. He looked like what he is: a lumpy middle-aged professional attempting to approximate outdoor fun. That he seemed absurd doing it is native to his age, gender, and class.
His successor, Theresa May, had a more severe case of the same problem. Her walking kit (rucksack buckled tight in two places, high-waisted pants with lots of zippers) is the kind of practical outfit that could have been designed by a sadistic older parent to cause the children maximum embarrassment. It’s not fake; just mildly tragic.
In the US, the game is harder and the stakes higher, because the outdoor sport that matters in American politics is hunting. Presidential candidate John Kerry, shooting at geese in the swing state of Ohio, was a sheep in wolf’s clothing for all to see. (Then vice-president Dick Cheney took the masculine authenticity thing a bit far, admittedly, by shooting one of his bird-hunting companions in the face.)
Mr Kerry’s rival, George W Bush, liked to put his Andover and Yale education to work by “clearing brush” on his Texas ranch, wearing a cowboy hat and boots. One could only admire the purely performative character of this. There was no particular reason to clear the brush, which sat on a piece of land that Mr Bush bought while running for president and rarely visits in retirement. But Dubya’s knack for coming across as a regular guy — in defiance of all known facts — just about carried him through.
Most politicians don’t have the knack, though. And, eventually, cruel mischance or a misguided campaign aide will drag them out to demonstrate their love for the land. How to avoid disaster?
Narendra Modi took a big risk this summer by appearing on Bear Grylls’ Man vs Wild TV programme for a tramp around India’s back country. The show has been dismissed as a “Putin-style propaganda exercise”. But Mr Modi played the part with infinitely more naturalness than his Russian counterpart — by looking every inch the bookish older man, a little unsteady, out of place, often reaching for a helping hand. All this was accentuated by the scarf (with a tell-tale stripe of saffron orange, his party’s colour) hanging around his neck, the sort of thing a city dweller might wear to the shops.
The lesson is a familiar one, but politicians often forget it. A big part of authenticity — in or out of doors — is not trying too hard.
