Whataboutism

When U.S. Secretary of State Mike Pompeo visited Slovenia less than three weeks ago, a stir erupted in parts of the public over reports that a workers’ paradise themed fresco by painter Slavko Pengov from 1947 had been covered up during the official reception at Vila Bled. To add flavor to the story, it emerged that the fresco’s author was the grandfather of Slovenia’s current foreign minister, Anže Logar. “The host, groveling before Trump’s envoy, denied not only his homeland but even his family,” roared some media outlets and social media users. The outrage was so intense it persisted even after it was clarified that the fresco is often covered anyway, as it tends to offend the refined tastes of those hosting weddings there—and, moreover, the reception was held on the terrace, not in the hall adorned by Anže’s grandfather.

The incident is a perfect illustration of how disregarding facts that don’t align with one’s beliefs is not confined to just one part of an increasingly divided and agitated Slovenian public.

You might say: “Sure, but what about them? They’re far more aggressive, offensive, misleading, and dishonest.” Maybe so—but that doesn’t absolve anyone from responsibility for their own words and actions. You can’t fight misinformation with slightly less misinformation. You can’t combat insults and lies by measuring yourself against the professional ethics of populist “media” or the tweets of basement-dwelling bots.

Whataboutism—the tactic of pointing fingers at the other side—is a well-proven and highly effective weapon of populism. You know the drill:

“They’re harassing a poor woman over a few hundred euros, but what about Ljubljana Mayor Janković and his millions?”

Whataboutism serves populism whether it is wielded by populists or used against them. In the first case, it’s a distraction from wrongdoing; in the second, it legitimizes such behavior. The curtain controversy at Vila Bled is a good example of how zeal and neglecting facts can backfire—shooting oneself in the foot. There were plenty of legitimate concerns that afternoon at Vila Bled that warranted public scrutiny and criticism. Instead, most attention was drawn to a non-existent scandal.

I see defending the dignity of public debate and political culture in much the same way I see patriotism: true patriotism is measured by critical engagement with one’s own country, not by fervent derision of others. This is not to say we shouldn’t respond to wrongdoing, mistakes, insults, authoritarianism, delusions, deception, and lies. But the effectiveness of that response depends on a principled stance that refuses the Machiavellian notion of fighting fire with fire.

That’s the message of Michelle Obama’s famous line:

“When they go low, we go high.”

It’s not about turning the other cheek, or believing that being a moral nation-parent means loving all children equally—including those making neighborhood pets disappear. It’s simply the fact that in standing up to attacks on human dignity, reason, integrity, and tolerance, we must not abandon those same values ourselves.

Whataboutism is seductive because it often builds on genuine, justified outrage—and on a very human tendency to judge others more harshly than ourselves. It easily leads us into situations where we, too, become hypocritical and inconsistent. Pointing out that “they” behave the same way provide a dubious comfort. They, by default, don’t seem to have a problem with that.

In that light, I’ve spent weeks wondering why some critics of the Prime Minister Janša feel the need to so fiercely defend the legitimacy of the slogan “Death to Janšism.” This is not a legal matter—the suggestion that such a phrase deserves criminal prosecution is politically contrived. But when it comes to defending dignity, reason, and political culture, our standards cannot be measured solely by criminal thresholds. Having the right to say something does not mean you are right in saying it. "Death" is a word that causes visceral discomfort. I don’t know what its proponents are trying to express that “Down with Janšism” wouldn’t convey—but it’s very clear who benefits most from the provocation.

I feel a similar unease watching mutual accusations over noncompliance with public health measures and social distancing at mass gatherings. One side blames the cyclists; the cyclists blame the kneeling, maskless pilgrims at the church of St.Mary in Brezje. And round we go. It’s idiotic, unconvincing, and dangerous. In this case, a mask isn’t just a safety imperative—it’s a matter of credibility.

Put it up or shut up, as an American paraphrase might go.

And then there’s the pinnacle of inappropriateness: insults and disqualifications based on personal traits. Again, while such behavior may be more common on one side of Slovenia’s tribal polarization, that doesn’t excuse those who claim to uphold human dignity from being held accountable themselves.

Personal insults are not only ethically wrong; they often deflect attention from the real issues. I, for one, am sick of the snickering over photos of the current State Secretary for National Security. Of all the criticisms that can be made about his work, his appearance is the least relevant. Likewise, I don’t understand why so many people fixate on the body weight of Slovenia’s chief libertarian figure rather than the flaws in his laissez-faire ideology, which demands absolute freedom—but only for himself and like-minded individuals.

And finally: When a young party activist publicly calls for Breivik to come to Slovenia, is the most important thing really how he looks?

Do you need to be manly, attractive, and a “ladies’ man” to be allowed—legitimately, as a youth member of the ruling party—to idolize someone who murdered 77 people in the name of fighting “cultural Marxism”?

Is that a provocative question? No—just a logical consequence of criticizing fascism based on appearances.

While most of these outbursts come from anonymous commentators, public figures aren’t blameless. The remark that the current Minister of Agriculture would “fly out like a whore from a dance” received a muted reaction—even among those usually highly sensitive to misogyny. Perhaps because it came from “one of ours”? Similarly, a former prime minister—who now rightly condemns vile attacks against his party and the opposition—would have been even more convincing had he shown some of that outrage earlier, when his own state secretary was peddling dehumanizing slurs about migrants.

Whataboutism is dangerous for democracy because it turns politics into a race to the bottom.

Inconsistency in upholding one’s own principles leads to polarization that’s not ideological or substantive, but tribal. In this emperor’s-new-clothes version of politics, where values are absent, all that’s left is personal interest.

Tribalism—"us vs. them"—forces people to align blindly and uncritically with one camp or another, or to reject all sides in disillusionment.

"Everyone-is-the-same-ism" is the logical result of whataboutism. And while it may be emotionally understandable, especially amid today’s political farce, it’s ultimately an evasion and a defeat, not a solution.

In a society where all politicians are seen as the same, democracy simply does not work. And that’s the end goal and triumph of those who know how—and are willing—to be the most corrupt, ruthless, and deliberate in their sameness.