What Corruption Looks Like
Gilded Age cartoons take on machine politics
I didn’t really have a mental picture of what President James Garfield looked like, but I didn’t expect him to be jacked.
When this cartoon was produced by Currier and Ives in 1880, Garfield was almost 50. In real life, he looked like this; I suppose it’s hard to tell what kind of guns he had hidden under those sleeves.
Garfield wasn’t the only prominent politician of the 1880s to get the muscleman treatment. Here’s New York mayoral candidate Henry George throttling a snake slithering out of City Hall:
For reference, here’s the real Henry George, clad in something other than a classical tunic:
In the 19th century, people didn’t necessarily have the same ideas about muscularity that we do. Especially early in the century, men of substance were expected to be, well, men of substance — a hefty frame was considered impressive. But, later in the century, a type of “muscular Christianity” took hold. A toned physique became a sign of discipline and even morality.
I have no idea if Garfield or George had a fitness regimen or whether their suits concealed impressive biceps, although I doubt it. But the artists who created these posters wanted to make them look like strong defenders of the republic against one of its biggest threats — corruption. Garfield, especially, needed a little help with his anti-corruption bona fides, considering that, as a congressman, he had gotten wrapped up in the Credit Mobilier scandal. Americans were meant to believe that these righteous musclemen would attack the evil snakes that wanted to steal from the American people.
It all reminds me a bit of another politician who goes on and on about snakes and seems to enjoy having his image doctored so that he looks like 1980s-era Arnold Schwarzenegger, who presents himself as a vigorous crusader against political corruption despite being embroiled in numerous conflicts of interest. But I digress.
James Garfield didn’t get much time to demonstrate his anti-corruption principles. Four months into his term, he was murdered by a man who thought he was entitled to a government office under the corrupt spoils system that had defined American politics for decades. Though he didn’t get a chance to scythe down the corrupt snakes that infested American politics, Garfield’s death provided the shock that was necessary to get the nation moving toward civil service reform.
One advantage that corrupt politicians have is that corruption is often complex. The confusing financial deals and shady networks are difficult to follow or explain. The public can often lose track of what’s happened, why it’s illegal, or even why it’s harmful. People need someone to cut through the complexities to the core of the issue, and, during the Gilded Age, the people who were most often able to do that were cartoonists.
Thomas Nast was the great pioneer of 19th-century cartoonists. His drawings in Harper’s had many targets, but went after nobody quite as much as Boss William Tweed of the New York Tammany Hall political machine.
Nast was especially fixated on Tweed during the 1871 election. He invariably portrayed Tweed as gluttonous and rotund (a contrast to the fit, muscular anti-corruption crusaders above). Each cartoon had a simple message: Tweed was a greedy delinquent.
Sometimes Nast played up the hypocrisy of Tweed’s rhetoric. Here, Tweed runs from the scene of the crime yelling “Stop Thief!”
Here, Tweed and his allies perch as vultures over what’s left of New York:
Some cartoons were more somber and less humorous. This one says that the “only thing” that Tweed and his associates “respect or fear” is the hangman’s noose.
And in this cartoon, Tweed is an intimidating proto-mob-boss:
Nast’s cartoons had an effect — Tweed became inseparably connected to corruption and eventually ended up in jail for stealing the equivalent of about $1 billion in today’s money. The cartoonist didn’t let up even after Tweed died, arguing that “the spirit of Tweed is mighty still” and drawing a ghostly political boss:
Not every political cartoonist had Nast’s skill at boiling corruption down into a visual message that average voters could digest. Check out this visual mess, which makes so many points about corruption that it makes none at all:
The other great Gilded Age cartoonists of political corruption were Joseph Keppler, an Austrian immigrant to the United States, and his son Udo, both of whom illustrated for Puck.
They, like Nast, had a knack for simplifying issues. This Udo cartoon from 1908 savages the tariff policy of the GOP, immediately boiling down economic complexities into an image anybody could understand:
Here we see a minuscule judge being pushed around by political bosses and monopolists:
And this one, Joseph’s most famous creation, makes it clear who he thought ran the Senate:
Who could save America from the corrupt influence of monopolists? Joseph Keppler preferred Lady Liberty to a beefy politician:
While large men (and snakes) were often the representatives of corruption, feminine virtue was frequently the antidote to male misconduct:
But it wasn’t all muscular male heroes and good women fighting corruption in the cartoons. Here’s Milwaukee’s socialist mayor Emil Seidel, looking like a very serious janitor:
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The corrupt schemes of Gilded Age monopolists and politicians were complex and clever. Their twists and turns confused the public, making it hard to hold the culprits accountable. It took clear political messaging — using simple images and well-worn tropes — to convey the essential truths about these issues to voters.
Now, as we live through what feels like a second Gilded Age, we should keep in mind what works and what doesn’t. Rather than getting caught up in the details of every little scheme, perhaps those of us who want to fight corruption should keep it clear and simple, in the spirit of Thomas Nast and his imitators.
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