Obama’s Renegades and the Content-Creating Politician

“Renegades: Born in the USA,” despite what its title seems to suggest, is anything but revolutionary. This most recent podcast of Higher Ground Productions is an ongoing conversation between the forty-fourth president of the United States, Barack Obama, and The Boss, Bruce Springsteen. The curious duo exchange didactic stories from their lives, connect their experiences with those of America more broadly, and express a deep-seated faith in the American ideal. 

The premise may be hard to object to, though there are certainly well-founded reasons for skepticism. This pivot into content creation—accompanying Higher Ground’s extensive Netflix deal—signals the further enmeshing of the political within the world of media and celebrity. The advent of the celebrity politician is not particularly new or even temporary. It climaxed most recently with the election of Donald Trump, and a host of influential figures have since expressed considering presidential bids of their own. Yet, American democracy is founded on a humbled, egalitarian image of its leaders—one in which they stand with us, not above us. Political leaders increasingly mingling with celebrity culture, which tends to idolize and deify its subjects, seems to mark a departure from this democratic ideal. The celebritized, content-creating politician may even come to bear increasing likeness to the “influencer,” suggesting a dangerous potential to further fuel polarizing echo-chambers. The question seems to be not whether Higher Grounds feeds these flames—it almost certainly does—but whether it might also do some firefighting of its own.

American democracy has long had a contentious relationship with celebrities. Celebrity culture and the cult of personality seem to have emerged with the communications revolution that redefined American identity in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Mass newspapers extensively covered the lives and gossip of stage actors as early as the 1870s. By the advent of film and television, “personality” had come to supersede “character”— the American hero made way for the American celebrity. Charisma emerged as the resource of the successful, promising to open doors to celebrity, affluence, and quite possibly public office.

The election of John F. Kennedy demonstrated that this culture of personality was not to leave politics untouched. A young Massachusetts senator equipped with surplus charm, a handsome mug, and a well-connected father, Kennedy represented the inexperienced outsider—an archetype extensively capitalized on since. Nonetheless, with the aid of televised debates, displaying well his composure and charisma, Kennedy dispatched Vice President Richard Nixon. Within the decade, actor Ronald Reagan had won governorship of California; a few decades more would place him in the high chair of the White House. 

Similar paths have since been tread by wrestler Jesse Ventura, actor Arnold Schwarzenegger, and the powerful brand of Donald Trump. Even Obama owes much of his exponential ascent in the public eye to a powerfully resonant voice and well-crafted personality. The far-off, idealized world of entertainment had made contact with the serious business of politics; it has yet to let go. 

If this flow from celebrity culture into politics carries a touch of historical inevitability, the fresher trend is the flow in the other direction—the politician becoming celebrity. Fourteenth president of the United States Franklin Pierce famously asked, “After the White House, what is there to do but drink?” Former presidents of more recent mint have led successful careers as touring speakers and memoirists. Yet only in the twenty-first century have they thought to move with full force into creative pursuits. Bill and Hillary Clinton have recently become writers of not just memoirs but thrillers. Most strikingly, in 2019, the Obamas founded their production company, Higher Ground, on the promise to “harness the power of storytelling.” Partnering not only with Spotify—the host of the Obamas’ now-numerous podcasts—but with Netflix, Higher Ground has already demonstrated success with Emmy-nominated documentaries and is currently undertaking projects in film and television. Bearing an enormous influence in politics and culture, the Obamas have made the unprecedented step into content-creation.

Reasons abound for despairing over these trends. The American democratic ideal, flirting as it does with egalitarianism, envisions elected officials as walking the same streets as those they seek to represent. Specialized education and party connections may qualify them above the average citizen, but they remain still a member of their own constituency. Celebrity culture, though a long-time fixation and favorite pastime of Americans, stands largely in opposition to this sentiment. The world of celebrities stands apart, even above, the world of the everyday. Celebrities do not represent what’s average; they are defined by their very distinction from it. The celebrity politician, then, threatens this essential aspect of American democracy, subverting the common-sense egalitarianism that democracy—at its best—promotes. 

What’s more, the democratic system itself is often undermined: celebrity politicians quite effectively channel anti-intellectual and anti-establishment sentiments. They garner support on virtue of their lack of knowledge or lack of connection within the political establishment. Often, voters express legitimate dissatisfaction with the over-abundant red tape that dominates politics, preventing their interests from realization. Yet the fantasy of the swamp-draining outsider never yields quite as much fruit as promised. Bureaucracy is sewn deep into the bedrock of American democracy; expert knowledge of its systems and well-connectedness amidst its hierarchy are practically prerequisites for effective governance. Even against public support and an elected president, bureaucracy, once settled, is not so easily dismantled.

Nor is the further politicization of entertainment and media so quickly celebrated. Americans seem to be as polarized as ever, with many fingers pointing adamantly to the role of digital media. Experts warn of echo chambers, of lack of exposure to the regularly-humbling experiences of those holding opposing stances. Similar experts point to the crucial role of influencers in these dangerous echo chambers, who serve as single conduits between wide groups of otherwise-disconnected people. These influencer networks are contrasted with more egalitarian, inter-connected social networks which tend to develop more moderate stances on divisive issues. These egalitarian networks represent the hope for democratic discourse to persist in a digital age; the influencer network—uniting isolated individuals through potency of opinion and compelling content-creation—represents one of its more subversive threats.

Where do the Obamas, Higher Ground, and The Boss fall in this contemporary, incestuous mess of culture, politics, and technology? Certainly they represent further drops in these many buckets—buckets best left unfilled. The critics and skeptics seem well-founded on this; yet I wonder if they take for granted that these trends weigh heavier than the face value of Higher Ground’s mission, which is refreshingly egalitarian and democratic. Higher Ground promises media that touches on “issues of race and class, democracy and civil rights.” The aim, far from radicalizing or even asserting strong partisanship, is to foster conversation over those issues that are often most difficult to discuss openly. The spectre of race looms over the polarized silhouettes of American democracy, representing the most daunting bridge that must still be crossed.

This is the fuller context and premise of “Renegades: Born in the USA.” Listeners of various affiliations will find both the differences and similarities that Obama and Springsteen purport to hold more or less believable in turn. What stands as most important is that the two well-admired figures are unabashed to share their distinct experiences with each other. Their conversations are approachable, unimpeachably moderate—if still markedly liberal—and entertaining. 

With the star-power of Obama and Springsteen, the ubiquity of Netflix, and the talented writers under their employment, Higher Ground seems to be leading a campaign to politicize but de-polarize entertainment. Echo chambers are undone by diversity of experience, by capturing and sharing the humanity of stories otherwise foreign and unheard. I think this is what was meant by Higher Ground’s promise to “harness the power of storytelling.” A glance at the slate of projects in development affirms this. The list features a Fredrick Douglass biopic, a series highlighting the deaths of overlooked, influential individuals, and a documentary about a camp for handicapped teenagers. In demonstrating the variegated nature of human experience in a way that compels and entertains, politicians, content creators, storytellers, or all of the above might just turn the terrifying potential of digital media toward restoring a shattered unity and a buried-over American ideal. 

I do not mean to replace skepticism with idealism, only to put tougher hope in the place of tough hopelessness. It would take some combination of miracles for Higher Ground to deliver on its promise. Bipartisan, moderate appeal and genuine entertainment value seem a bickering pair and a particularly difficult marriage to arrange. The hope, it seems to me, is that Higher Ground is merely a high-profile beacon for a cause that might attract other talented, like-minded storytellers. The enormous influence of digital media has made itself salient; the cultural influence of politicians may be here to stay; the potential consequences of polarizing echo chambers have left marks on the very nation’s capital. The question mark appended to these historical trends has all but disappeared. What remains is how we will respond to these trends, or possibly leverage them, as consumers and even creators of content ourselves.