Lord, what fools these candidates be

When even the Naked Cowboy has thrown his 10-gallon hat in the ring, the time has come to question the legitimacy of the New York City mayoral elections. The race to the top of the city’s executive branch has become so populated with colorful characters that it seems more an exercise in outrageousness than a political process. The absurdity in the campaigns and the public personas of many of the candidates addresses a main issue of regional politics: What is the role of public involvement? Obviously the mayoral office holds power, but generally speaking, regional government has such an undefined and intangible impact on the general population that this power is founded more in name-recognition than in action. To be sure, the mayor and other public officials hold important responsibilities. Just what those responsibilities are to most people, however, may be ambiguous.

Perhaps it makes sense, then, that the campaign is sprinkled with candidates like the aforementioned Naked Cowboy, formally known as Robert Burck. He announced his candidacy in July—running on a platform one could only hope was more substantial than his attire—and withdrew just shy of two months later, because, as he put it in the Village Voice, “Politics is not fun and games. It’s serious stuff, and my mind was a little more dreamy.” One can only imagine what dreams were hiding under his trademark topper. Or else, there is Jimmy McMillan, whose aptly titled Rent Is Too Damn High Party is campaigning for, well, cheaper rent. McMillan has the enthusiasm of a motivational speaker and the cadenced rhymes of a hip hop artist, but his true aims are lost in the outrageous presentation. Similarly, Reverend Billy Talen, the Green Party candidate whose electric blue suit is immediately recognizable and evokes an evangelical preacher, undermines serious platforms such as defense against gentrification and community-destroying urban development with what appears to be silly and sardonic commentary on capitalist American society’s indulgent tendencies. For these three men, who are examples of the more than 15 contenders for office, the campaign trail is the end, rather than the means to the end.

For this reason, the brief period before the election is used as a soapbox from which unusual ideas and impractical proposals are broadcast to the general public through nontraditional and attention-grabbing campaigns. In a sense, it is a self-defeating tactic in that it injures the candidate’s legitimacy. On the other hand, the public pays attention. That attention is valuable in an age where the sources of distraction are vast, varied, and sometimes vacuous. Thirty seconds spent chuckling at the McMillan campaign Web site’s “Rent Is Too Damn High” rap is still 30 seconds of attention. These candidates appeal to two conflicting aspects of the New Yorker—an inbred cynical jadedness laughs with and at their mockery of the ludicrousness of the political system, while a sense of support for the underdog responds to the seed of curious hope to see just how successful the nobody is against powerful somebodies.

The dangerous development is when even the political somebodies begin to seem to need such shenanigans to garner attention from a disinterested or uninformed New York population. For example, when Mayor Michael Bloomberg, who undoubtedly faces a legacy of mixed reviews, grades his performance with “an A++,” the suggestion is that any criticism levied against him is ridiculous. When politicians and news media don’t focus on current issues directly related to the contended-for office and campaign platforms, the public is presented with ambiguity. An important position is being sought, we understand, but what that role is, and on what grounds it should be achieved—the most relevant part of the picture—is exactly what seems to be left out. We should not vote for characters—we should vote for policy.

The author is a Columbia College sophomore.