Hope is the best policy — or at least the best politics

When I was younger, I was sure that those of us whose politics lay to the left of center were the advocates of hope, the purveyors of optimism, the defenders of idealism.

We believed in help for those who needed it, in a more robust and inclusive democracy and in a healthier planet. We opposed senseless wars, favoring dialogue with our adversaries. We didn't cling, as the right seemed to, to bitter prejudices or aggressive policies but championed the upbeat politics of a better and fairer world.

So why do I now wake up feeling I'm preaching the politics of pessimism? How did the Democratic Party and its liberal-to-left followers become the voice of desolation and woe?

The voice of catastrophic climate change.

The voice of masks and mandates and staying home.

The voice of "the American dream is dead" and we're all downwardly mobile.

The voice of "that was an insurrection" and "our democracy is collapsing."

These days, Democrats seem (and scholarly studies back me up on this) less happy than Republicans. And I don't buy the argument that it's just the result of a lack of faith and family and community on the left, as some have suggested. I suspect it's at least partly a conviction — which Republicans apparently don't share — that with climate change, the pandemic and the threats to American democracy, the world is going to hell.

I'm not saying Democrats haven't had dark moments in the past. It has long been liberals and progressives proselytizing against the grave threat of nuclear weapons, which is hardly a cheerful message.

George McGovern's presidential campaign song in 1972 was "Bridge Over Troubled Water." And Jimmy Carter famously alienated voters in 1979 with his warnings of a "crisis of the American spirit."

But those were exceptions to a generally hopeful message.

Once, the Democratic mantra was "Happy Days Are Here Again," which Franklin Roosevelt first used as a campaign theme song at a time — 1932 — when happy days were distinctly not here again. And "High Hopes," which was John F. Kennedy's song even though the Vietnam crisis was deepening and a reckoning on racial injustice was imminent. I doubt anyone focus-grouped those songs — but the candidates understood instinctively that people need hope to hold on to, especially when times are tough.

Now, I'm not advocating that the Democratic politicians should lie to voters or pander or downplay the dismal, dangerous realities by putting on a happy face. Today's problems are too great and serious for that. Only people in self-denial would not feel a measure of anxiety.

But hopelessness and imminent planetary cataclysm are not inspiring messages, nor are they particularly useful, nor even the whole, true story.

Political scientist Ruy Teixeira notes that the left increasingly sees the future of humanity as bleak, and he reasonably asks: "Why on Earth would anyone sign up with a movement that believes the situation is so hopeless?"

We all know instinctively that uplifting messages are more appealing and energizing — such as Ronald Reagan's "It's Morning in America" and Donald Trump's "Make America Great Again." Increasingly, the Democrats feel like the Eeyore party, while the Republicans have become the party of delusional optimism and misplaced, "What, me worry?" self-confidence. (Though, to be fair, conservatives have their own brand of dark pessimism. Remember, for instance, the 2016 Republican convention when Trump played on fears of crime, violence and immigration.)

I'm not calling for head-in-the-sandism on the part of Democratic voters or their elected representatives. I'm suggesting that, rather than becoming the party of "No, We Can't," there are surely ways to be realistic about the enormous problems facing the country without surrendering to them or becoming defeatist.

"If you had to choose a moment in time to be born, any time in human history, and you didn't know ahead of time what nationality you were or what gender or what your economic status might be, you'd choose today," said Barack Obama in a 2016 speech from which I took some inspiration. "The trajectory of our history over the last 50, 100 years has been remarkable."

A bit of optimism gets me out of bed in the morning, even with the omicron variant circulating, even though I know homelessness and poverty are raging outside my door, and even though unseasonable warmth is simply a reminder of the dangers ahead.