Death and liberalism

I'd intended to defer my critical assessment of the late Paul Foot's writings till at least his funeral, but may post sooner. I should explain my reasoning on both points.

I maintain it's desirable, after the death of a popular political figure or commentator whom you do not esteem, usually to delay an attack till after the eulogies. In this I disagree with Foot, who wrote in his Guardian column three days after the death of Ronald Reagan:

Almost exactly 10 years ago, I wrote this column in some dismay at the eulogies for the dead former US president (and crook), Richard Nixon. Instead of the day of mourning called for by President Clinton, I suggested a day of rejoicing. I feel very much the same about the oceans of drivel pouring out in honour of the dead former president, Ronald Reagan.

The reason I take this view is not sentimentality or even a concern with people's feelings, but something more pragmatic. Those who adhere to (in the broadest sense) liberal principles acknowledge the limits of politics. We recognise that there is a private sphere into which the public realm may not intrude. Within a very broad range, a person's political opinions or actions are a firmly subordinate part of his personality, even if he happens to be a politician. Those who hold to illiberal views of Left or Right do not recognise that distinction. To them, the public sphere is central. In totalitarian ideologies, such as Leninism or fascism (or the amalgam of the two that I wrote about last week), it is defining: a social unity in which we have our own choices guided by the General Will. It's because the death of Richard Nixon (a man I consider, incidentally, to have been a disastrous President even without taking Watergate into account) or Ronald Reagan involved a private citizen first and a public servant second that I deprecate Foot's comment. What's wrong with it is not that attacking a politician is illegitimate - quite the opposite - but that it refuses to recognise the primacy of private and family relations even among those one passionately disagrees with. In insisting upon the distinction that the ideologues reject, we express our values.

The distinction can't always be upheld, but the exceptions are extreme cases outside democratic politics. I had no hesitation in immediately welcoming and rejoicing in the deaths of Saddam Hussein's sons. But the reason I believe that was the proper response was not merely that they were evil men: it was that their deaths had a huge significance for politics now. They made the cause of our totalitarian enemies in Iraq and elsewhere more difficult. That isn't a case remotely comparable to politicians constrained by the conventions or statutes of constitutional democracies. It isn't even comparable to evil men who are no longer politically dangerous. My response to the death of Idi Amin was indifference. How can it be otherwise when the monumental, pitiless damage has already been done? Can you imagine a day of rejoicing on the death of Stalin?

I hope I've explained that there is serious issue of liberal principle, and no sentimentality, involved in this issue. I should add that one of the reasons it's worth explicitly stating this approach is that on one occasion this blog did not follow my own maxim. Not long after I had launched this site as a vehicle for militant liberalism, and being hopeful of attracting a readership, I posted a hostile assessment of Edward Said on the day of his death. I don't resile in any respect from my judgement of either his cultural criticism or his politics, but I regret having posted it when I did.

In the case of Paul Foot, I've decided to post shortly (it will probably be the post after this one, and within 24 hours) - for two reasons, plus a trivial one. First, a certain time has elapsed in which many eulogies have already been delivered publicly. Secondly, I appear to be the only person in the world, at least among those who write either in the press or in web logs, who is unmoved by them. My own contribution is in these circumstances of a high order of insignificance. Thirdly, one of my more excitable correspondents has been unable to prevent himself from serial ventilation of his conviction, on grounds that remain opaque, that there is something nefarious in disclosing my conclusion in advance of my reasoning. I naturally do not wish to prolong his mental anguish on the matter.

If there is any writer who can convince me that my judgement of Paul Foot is wrong, then it is someone of independent judgement and uncompromisingly democratic politics. It is, in fact, Nick Cohen, who in The Observer argues that Paul Foot was irredeemable:

'Saints should always be judged guilty until they are proved innocent,' said George Orwell. Paul Foot, militant atheist, revolutionary socialist and a man who couldn't listen to a pious sentiment without barking out a guffaw, would have agreed. It is only when the risk of hearing his exasperated laughter passed with his wretchedly early death last week that anyone could dare make the prosecution case that Foot had shown suspicious signs of saintliness for decades.

I am willing to believe this of anyone in private life if those affected tell me so, for the private life of a stranger is none of my business. It is in the public campaigning and writings that the case for the defence rests, and it's probably time it was stated.