Common Sense and Fat Potatoes

There are people who see opportunity in every crisis. No, I’m not talking about middlemen dealing in protective equipment—I don’t make a habit of commenting on the daily circus of politics, no matter how extravagant. I mean those incurable optimists who see a ray of light in every disaster, every failure, and every unpleasant event. These are the kinds of people who always interpret the headlight of an oncoming locomotive as the light at the end of the tunnel. Most of the time, they mean no harm—they’re just irritating.

When COVID-19 broke out, some of them began predicting that the virus would restore respect for science, rationality, and expertise, and would generally wash away charlatans and peddlers of nonsense and lies in all areas—from anti-vaxxers to climate change deniers and, of course, populists. The light at the end of the tunnel.

Populists are a curious case. Like everyone else, the crisis caught them with their pants down, though unlike most, they will never admit it. But they adapted quickly and saw opportunity in the crisis. I’m not talking about unshakable optimism here, but about the intention to press harder on the accelerator of a locomotive that’s already derailing. The pandemic significantly impacted all four pillars of the populist paradigm: fear, enemies, scapegoats, and anti-reason.

When it comes to fear, the virus plays right into populists’ hands. We are all afraid—regardless of our cultural worldview or political beliefs. It’s no surprise that some people, trembling in fear of this nasty threat, fell for the false choice between health and safety on one side, and freedom and democracy on the other. I’m not referring to temporary emergency measures, which almost every country has introduced to limit or suspend certain rights. Such measures are anticipated in most constitutions and align with international standards, including the European Convention on Human Rights—so long as they’re justified, proportionate, and time-limited.

What’s concerning is the possibility that, under the guise of fighting the virus, there are attempts to permanently dismantle democratic rights and safeguards—from parliamentary oversight to media freedom and civil society. The justified anxiety of citizens has also been exploited by politicians and experts who—perhaps even with good intentions—have called not just for caution and responsibility, but for panic. Yet by definition, panic is a state in which fear overwhelms reason. And rationality subordinate to fear is not only the worst response to a public health crisis—it’s also the best gift to those trying to convince people that they must sacrifice the immune system of democracy for the sake of their health.

Of course, populism cannot exist without enemies. Rage is a powerful tool for deception and manipulation. In order for people to accept things that objectively harm them, they must hate someone more than they love themselves. But here, the pandemic didn’t entirely cooperate with the populist playbook. You can fear a virus, but it’s hard to hate it. That juicy, blind, boiling hatred—the fuel that drives the derailed populist train—needs a more tangible target. Preferably someone with a name and a face you can insult, kick, or bash over the head (if only metaphorically).

Still, populists adapted quickly. If you can’t hate the virus, then you project your aggression onto someone you can hate. The attacks on critical voices and political opponents, and the renewed obsession with migrants, serve to stoke and sustain the prejudices populism needs to function. From the populist point of view, it doesn’t really matter who we hate—what matters is that we hate blindly and thoroughly.

Populism also needs scapegoats in order to survive. This is only logical. The populist political paradigm doesn’t allow for accountability for its own actions, sins, or mistakes. To be fair, dodging responsibility is popular across the political spectrum. Some of our local politicians have a favorite trick—dismissing any criticism as “politically motivated.” Well, of course it is! Have you ever filed a complaint at a mechanic, only to be told your complaint is "automotive motivated"?

Still, while most politicians shy away from accountability, populists have taken the scapegoat method to an art form. It’s not just a way to cover their own tracks—it’s a deliberate, integral part of their political model. Finger-pointing serves two goals: the first is discrediting political opponents and critical voices. In the U.S., as we know, everything is blamed on Barack Obama, the Democrats, and the “lying media.” During the COVID-19 crisis, also on China. And of course, on international organizations and the entire concept of a rule-based global order. In Europe, a favorite target is the European Union.

The second goal is to create an excuse for not solving problems. When it comes to crisis management, populists often lack the ability—and more importantly, the will. Human suffering, injustice, and hardship, if they can be blamed on someone else, are not seen as problems but as political opportunities.

Finally, we come to the last link in the chain by which populists shackle the state and people to their own interests: the decisive popular rejection of rationality, facts, science, and knowledge. The longer populism stays in power, the more it depends on the blind obedience of its supporters. Reason and logic get in the way of such submission.

At the beginning of the COVID-19 outbreak, it seemed survival instincts might rekindle some respect for expertise. But that didn’t last long. Experts themselves partly contributed to the backlash, with their cacophony of graphs, models, and predictions of every possible and impossible outcome. If not for COVID-19, I wouldn’t have known how many “renowned scientists from prestigious universities” there are in the world.

Despite legitimate criticisms, a reasonable person would still rather trust an expert than a quack—especially when it comes to their health. Or… maybe not.

Sometimes it seems that expertise is increasingly seen as an obstacle in managing the health crisis. I’ve noticed subtle shifts in language. It worries me when less is said about responsibility, rationality, and expertise, and more about “common sense” and “farmer’s wisdom.” Let me say immediately: I have great respect for farmers. When it comes to farming, I trust them completely. If I decide to plant corn or raise sheep, I won’t ask my urologist for advice. And vice versa.

What really makes my hair stand on end is the invocation of “common sense.” That phrase implies there’s another kind of sense—a “sick” one, a kind of rationality based on facts, science, and expertise—which in the populist worldview is somehow harmful to the nation. The similarity to the concept of “degenerate art” is, of course, not accidental.

The idea of using “farmer’s wisdom” to solve a health crisis reached absurdity last Tuesday, when none other than Donald Trump suggested during a press conference that injecting bleach into the body might help fight COVID-19. “If it cleans park benches, why not lungs?”

His health advisor barely managed to control her facial expressions and body language. Yet the next day she tried to defend him, saying he was just “thinking out loud,” as he often does. Her attempt was even more pitiful than his dangerous and idiotic comment—which he later claimed was “sarcasm.”

What threatens our health, our freedom, and our democracy is not just those who act out of ignorance or ideology—but also those who, out of opportunism, enable them.

Some stains cannot be washed out—even with bleach.

And no, I don’t mean that as sarcasm.