PAUL LEWIS
The Gollum votersTHE CONVENTIONAL wisdom about the American electorate -- that all but a tiny minority of voters have made up their minds -- misses the deep ambivalence plaguing many Bush and Kerry supporters, an ambivalence that characterizes what we might call their Gollum mindset. The reference is to the villainous character in J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Hobbit" and "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, played by Andy Serkis in the celebrated Peter Jackson films of the past few years.
By the time Gollum appears in "The Hobbit," he has been the possessed possessor of the dark ring for centuries during which he both worshipped it as his "precious" and recoiled in horror from some of its evil promptings. In the trilogy, even as his better side (Smeagol) tries to help his new master Frodo carry the ring to the fires of Mount Doom where it can be destroyed, his dark side (Gollum) urges him to kill Frodo and take back the ring. As Bush and Kerry shift to the bland center of US politics looking for every last vote in the Shire, they count on their bases for support, hoping that the alienation they engender will not push loyalists away. But, haunted by the resisting voices of ideological clarity, these loyalists find themselves wondering more and more whether they will have the strength and willpower to hold onto their preference all the way to November and, against counter promptings of disgust and disappointment, vote for their candidate. The good Democratic Smeagol voice says, "We likes Kerry. Likes his chance of winning, silly. Beating Bush is precious, preciouss, preciousss. Must vote for Master John." The bad Gollum says, "No, master's bad, flipsy-flopsy. Authorized Iraq, Patriot Act. Compromisesss everything. Praps vote for Ralph Na . . . " But then Smeagol interjects, "Ssssh, don't even think that name. Unless you wants another term of Bush and Sauron, the Dark Lordses." Over on the Republican side, the same divided thinking prevails. Just as progressive Democrats were distressed by the gung-ho militarism of their national convention, conservative Christians felt queasy watching the parade of prolife moderates speak at their gathering. From their point of view, which the campaign will increasingly take for granted, Bush will look more secular and less interested in cherished social issues. "Vote for him," the Republican Smeagol will hiss, "he's a man of faith and valueses. Lovesss Jesus and smitesss the infidels." "No," their Gollum whispers, "He's sneaky, tricksy. Does everything for power. Gives tax cuts to orkses.' Meanwhile, traditional Republicans, dismayed by Bush's foreign policy, fiscal irresponsibility, and assault on civil rights, will hear their own Gollums saying, "Four more yearses, ahhh, we'll be bankruptses. Iraq's a messss. And what does Assshcroft have in his pocketses? The Constitution?" But their Smeagols will reply, "Hold your noses, sillies, get to the fire, sssupport the Massster." These Gollum/Smeagol internal quarrels are taking place in what feels like a conflict of worlds. To voters on both sides, the stakes have never seemed higher, the opposing candidate more dangerous. Faced with new threats, possessed of great power, the country stands at an historic pivot point. For partisans on both sides, it's now or never, the apocalypse looms, and only one candidate inspires hope. The problem is that these hopes are soaked in doubt and loathing. Internally divided, voters may slink exhausted into the booth in November with one intention but then shift or jerk another way depending on what their Smeagols and Gollums whisper. These are perilous times and the fate of Middle-earth hangs in the balance.
Paul Lewis teaches English at Boston College. © Copyright 2004 Globe Newspaper Company.
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