Do Not Await a Messiah : Politics: The East Bloc revolutions were anti-political, the new leaders anti-ideological. For an institutionalized America, there are some lessons.

The world still wonders at the drama and the speed of the collapse of the Communist empire in Eastern and Central Europe. Even after those of us in the West told ourselves for almost half a century that the peoples of the East Bloc prefered freedom and democracy to regimentation and repression, we still seem shocked to find it to be true. But this simple but profound truth must not obscure two other truths that may have much greater importance for today’s America. The revolution in Central Europe was anti-political. It was also anti-ideological.

Let us consider, for example, Vaclav Havel, playwright and president of Czechoslovakia. (Although similar attention could be paid to such writers as Adam Michnik, a Pole, or Gyorgy Konrad, a Hungarian.) In a series of brilliant essays, published under the title, “The Uses of Adversity,” Oxford scholar Timothy Garten Ash says of Havel: “His ‘political’ essays are rich, poetic philosophical meditations, searching for the deeper meaning of experience . . . but rarely deigning to examine the political surface of things.” For himself, Havel said in a famous 1984 lecture: “I favor ‘anti-political politics’.” Later, he rejected what he called “politics as a rational technology of power.”

Lech Walesa’s decision to reject the Polish people’s call for him to assume power was mirrored by Havel’s reluctance to accept what amounted to a universal draft by the Czechoslovakian people. It is as difficult to imagine a playwright rejecting a draft to become President of the United States as it is to imagine a playwright becoming President of the United States.

America’s traditions were profoundly anti-political for a century and a half. Now, in the late 20th Century, politics has become institutionalized. More news analysis is given to the politics of an issue than to the merits of the issue itself. In the media age, politicians become “personalities” and celebrities become, or long to become, politicians. Can anyone imagine a political figure in either party who writes, or indeed could write, political essays--let alone ones that are rich, poetic, philosophical meditations, searching for the deeper meaning of experience. In Europe, Havel’s essays are circulated and celebrated. Here he would be humiliated by the psychobabble of the political “profile” writers.

Is there a lesson here for us? Modern politics is increasingly scorned and disdained, particularly among young people, for its commercialism, superficiality, triviality and irrelevance. But one can imagine the incredible response in America to “anti-political” leaders, to men and women genuinely more concerned with their country’s future and its democratic ideals than with campaign contributions, media spots, reelections and partisanship. Today, our political institutions celebrate “success” and cleverness. Tomorrow, learning from the Havels of Central Europe, we could celebrate true patriotism and the human greatness that comes when the thirst for mere power gives over to sacrifice for and service of the country.

Which leads to the second lesson. Oxford’s Ash observes how the new writer-intellectual-revolutionaries of Central Europe disdain ideology. Several years ago, between prison terms, Havel put aside the Western intellectual debates over the categories of left and right as “supremely irrelevant.” He said: “. . . the question about socialism and capitalism! I admit that it gives me a sense of emerging from the depths of the last century. It seems . . . that these thoroughly ideological and many times mystified categories have long since been beside the point.”

Instead of worn out, irrelevant ideologies, the Havels offer us the timeless debate between right and wrong. In this respect, the West played into a profound Communist trap. By permitting the Cold War to be debated in ideological terms--the merits of capitalism over communism, etc.--the more profound point, the moral one, was obscured.

At home, the genius of the right has been to create this same ideological trap for the left: Engage in a listless and unproductive debate over the inadequacies of an ideology, namely “liberalism,” while avoiding the moral question of what is right and what is wrong. In this way, and only in this way, can an obscure figure like Willie Horton become a foil and scapegoat while the true issues, the moral issues--homelessness, pollution, the nuclear arms race--are conveniently avoided.

What lessons are there for America in Havel’s rejection of “politics” and ideology? Simply this. Reform and renewal come from below, not above. Do not await a reform messiah to emerge from either political party. Enough Americans exist, however small the band, who will dedicate themselves to the pre-political Judaic principle of human rights and the Christian ethic of the value of sacrifice and who, thereby, can transcend the stale politics of the present age to achieve a just society here at home and once again liberate the American spirit.

“It is . . . becoming evident,” Vaclav Havel wrote years ago, “that a single seemingly powerless person who dares to cry out the word of truth and to stand behind it with all his person and all his life, has, surprisingly, greater power, though formally disfranchised, than do thousands of anonymous voters.” This man today is president of a free Czechoslovakia, not because of the skillfulness of his politics or the orthodoxy of his ideology, but simply because during its dark hour, he remained the conscience of his nation.