About forty minutes into Sicko, Michael Moore’s excellent, frustrating new documentary about the American healthcare industry, Ronald Reagan makes his first and only appearance. It’s surprising, if only because, unlike in his previous film Fahrenheit 9/11, Moore focuses relatively little attention on the villains in his story, choosing instead simply to allow their victims to tell their tales. It’s a montage of hard luck and innocence. But after introducing us to the horror stories all too typical among even the 250 million Americans fortunate enough to have health insurance, Moore takes a few moments for a brief history lesson. How, he asks, did we get here? And it’s in this time warp that we encounter the Gipper. This is not Gipper the Governor or Gipper the President or even Gipper the B-list actor. This is Gipper, silver-tongued shill for the interests of capital.
It’s a little-studied chapter of Reagan’s career, but perhaps the most formative. As chronicled in Thomas Evans’s The Education of Ronald Reagan: The General Electric Years and the Untold Story of His Conversion to Conservatism, Reagan was employed by GE first as a spokesman and later as a kind of employer-to-employee ambassador. With management facing a restive labor force, an obscure PR guru named Lemuel Boulware hatched the idea of using the emerging techniques of public relations to turn factory-line workers against their own unions. Reagan would be the vessel for this message, and it was in the hours he spent propagandizing the working class about the benefits of free markets that he forged the distinctive Reagan appeal: hard-right economics delivered in the sunny cadence of an amiable uncle.
So as momentum for national, universal healthcare built during the Truman Administration, foes such as the American Medical Association sought to build grassroots opposition. In an ingenious stroke, as Moore reports in Sicko, it organized thousands of coffee klatches across the country where suburban housewives could sip coffee, gossip and listen to a special recorded message about the evils of socialized medicine, a message delivered by the one and only Ronald Reagan.
The presence of Reagan in the film, making an argument that is the inverse of Sicko‘s, is fitting. Moore’s entire post-Roger & Me career can be understood as a multimedia attempt to undo Reagan’s great achievement: persuading blue-collar factory workers and other members of the working class to embrace his heady brew of jingoism, anticommunism, contempt for government and admiration for the virtues of unfettered capitalism.
For years Moore has, like Ahab pursuing the whale, been hunting the elusive Reagan Democrat–the heartland-dwelling, beer-drinking, blue-collar guy (or gal) who bowls on the weekend, loves his country and is fighting to stay afloat in winner-take-all America. He may look on the left with contempt, but it’s not because he doesn’t intuitively share its views: He is a visceral collectivist and unionist and an enemy of corporations. He is ready, Moore believes, to come over to our side, if only we would talk to him.
That’s why Moore spends the final chapter of his first book, Downsize This!, talking to Norman Olson, a co-founder of the Michigan Militia: “You know, you guys were right in the sixties,” Olson tells him. “The government lied to us…. So when we finally wised up in the nineties after all these jobs were lost, where were you liberals when we needed your help?” Writing in this magazine in November 1997, in an article titled “Is the Left Nuts? (Or Is It Me?),” Moore asked a variation of the same question, “just who the hell is reading this? Who is the Nation readership? Is it my brother-in-law, Tony, back in Flint, who last night was installing furnace ducts until 9 o’clock?”