No matter what happens in a State of the Union address, the opposition's official response is going to feel pathetic.
Jesse Walker | January 29, 2010
The State of the Union address is traditionally followed by a response from the opposition. Wednesday night's Republican reply was anything but traditional, though: It was filmed before a live audience, which clapped and laughed at the expected intervals with all the robotic reliability of the crowd at a taping of Two and a Half Men. As Virginia Gov. Bob McDonnell delivered his party's statement, he was flanked by figures representing a calculatedly diverse assortment of races and sexes; they nodded and made thoughtful faces every time McDonnell made a point, even one as banal as "We were encouraged to hear President Obama speak this evening about the need to create jobs." It felt like a weird, ersatz State of the Union, the sort of thing a couple of consultants might throw together with just enough of a budget to hire some extras and buy an applause sign.
Still, you can't blame the GOP for trying something new. If there's one constant in the recent history of the State of the Union address, it's this: No matter how lethargic, long-winded, dishonest, or dimwitted the president's speech may be, the reply will feel like a pathetic rejoinder put together in someone's rec room. A politician—possibly a party leader but often a "rising star," i.e., someone most viewers won't have heard of—stares at a camera in an apparently empty office, reciting a set of talking points. In the State of the Union speech itself, an immensely powerful man sets an agenda. In the response, no matter what the speaker says, the takeaway message for anyone still bothering to watch is that he isn't setting the agenda. In Great Britain, the opposition gets to confront the prime minister on television every week. In the United States, the opposition gets to borrow the camera after the president has left the room.
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