1999

21.3

Vaughn May
Cultural Politics and Professional Wrestling

As professional wrestling enjoys extraordinary success today with the public, scholars of popular culture are left to explain its appeal. The numbers are unmistakable: millions of Americans tune in on a weekly basis to watch the grapplers wage war in the squared circle. The spectacular television battle that has emerged between the "sport’s" largest two organizations on Monday nights draws more than 8% of U.S. cable households, transforming wrestling events into the highest rated programs on cable TV. After the numbers are added up, Monday night wrestling attracts more viewers than regular-season games in every sport except the NFL (Hiestad 1998; Collins 1998).

Some attribute the success of the entertainment to the inclusion of non-wrestlers— professional athletes like Dennis Rodman, Karl Malone, Kevin Greene—in the significant pay-per-views, as well as highly visible appearances on prime-time television, like Jay Leno’s Tonight Show. Others suggest that the storylines of professional wrestling have undergone a dramatic change, with a new heavy emphasis on dark characters, and a subsequent inability to distinguish between "good guys" and "bad guys" (Collins 1998). In a recent ABC News profile on July 18, a reporter noted that "in the 90’s, there aren’t any good guys. Even Hulk Hogan is a bad buy now. Mainly because bad guys, and real bad guys and downright evil guys, sell. "

Although the new tie-in with respectable athletes, the publicity generated by the mainstream media, and the proliferation of villainous rogues may be factors leading to its recent popularity surge, this article argues that professional wrestling still relies on time-tested political status images in appealing to a politically conservative audience, and that this appeal closely mirrors the cultural politics in the public arena over the last two decades. In this vein, a "status politics" framework is useful in coming to grips with the popularity of the spectacle. Perhaps more than ever before, professional wrestling provides cultural traditionalists an outlet to battle enemies that are perceived to demean and degrade their lifestyle concerns.

The appeal of professional wrestling has been subjected to a number of academic frameworks, including fantasy theme analysis (Mondak 1989), masculine melodrama (Jenkins 1997), the carnival tradition (Fiske 1989), and conventional dramatic terms (Mazer 1990). Despite the utility of this research, the cultural impact of professional wrestling has rarely been explored from a specifically political standpoint. To assert a status politics perspective requires several tasks. After discussing the notion of status politics and outlining the major characteristics that inform that model, I will suggest how professional wrestling utilizes each one of these characteristics in building fan support and allegiance and advance tentative conclusions regarding the cultural dynamics behind the phenomenon. Two qualifiers should be made at the outset. First, the discussion will be confined mostly to professional wrestling developments of 1998, although scattered references will be made to significant characters post-1985, the year of the first Wrestlemania. Secondly, the discussion will be confined to two leagues—Ted Turner’s World Championship Wrestling (WCW) and Vince McMahon’s World Wrestling Federation (WWF)—by far the most visible and successful organizations in the sport.
 
 

Status politics takes place when a cultural group acts "to preserve, defend, or enhance the dominance and prestige of its own style of living within the total society" (Gusfield 1986, 3). Individuals thus engage in status politics when they perceive that their established values are incongruent with rapidly changing social conditions, when respect and honor for their style of life is perceived to be diminishing. As a result, the political sphere becomes an arena in which disaffected groups (sometimes referred to as "status discontents") attempt to preserve cultural dominance by seeking out "public acts." What is at stake in such battles are definitions of whose values should inform American political life.

Although the status politics model has been criticized on a number of grounds, most still defend its utility as applied to social movements, especially in regard to mobilizing the working class and political conservatives (Wald, Owen, and Hill 1989; Rich 1990). In the same vein, it is clear that status concerns inform the recent "culture war" research (Eck 1995). Predictably, the status politics perspective has been applied to a wide variety of social movements, including the politics of Temperance (Gusfield 1986), anti-pornography crusades (Zurcher and Kirkpatrick 1976), and attempts to reinstate school prayer (Moen 1984). Although the status dynamics for each particular case are different, the majority of studies generally agree that underlying the ostensible political skirmishes is a more serious battle between cultural traditionalists and cultural modernists. Cultural traditionalism is usually characterized by adherence to conventional norms. These include respect for family and religious authority, industriousness, asceticism, control of impulse, and various traits normally identified with political conservatism (Zurcher and Kirkpatrick 1976; Nolan 1995). As society becomes more urban and secular, these traditionalists perceive their lifestyle threatened by modernists, who have adopted alternative value orientations that place less emphasis on traditionalist values. Characteristics sometimes identified with modernity include an orientation towards the present, the immediate gratification of desires, various sensual experiences, the negation of achievement motivation, and a comparative lack of trust in conventional American institutions. Traditionalists thus mobilize for action, engaging in political battles that have moral, symbolic, and defensive implications (Moen 1988).

This article argues that the status politics perspective is useful in shedding light on the popularity of professional wrestling. Professional wrestling preaches a profoundly conservative message that holds much appeal for cultural traditionalists. The overwhelming majority of "good guys," or fan favorites, are committed to a traditionalistic moral universe centered on hard work, achievement motivation, self-control, and in some cases, respect for family and religion. The overwhelming majority of "bad guys" have a much more "modern" value orientation that rejects the emphasis on self control, hard work, and earned reward. Heels may triumph, but it is only through rule-breaking means, and even then, their triumphs are fleeting.

Based on this schema, one can plausibly argue that at least part of wrestling’s appeal rests on status considerations. When a fan favorite wins a match, it is a contest that establishes respect for the norms and values of his fans, while simultaneously showering disrespect not only upon the loser, but on the unconventional lifestyle and norms he represents. Fans cheer so strenuously for their favorites because they realize that victory allows them to define symbolically the terms by which American life—family, work, community—is ordered. Or to use Gusfield’s (1986) terminology, wrestling matches become "public acts" through which individuals have the opportunity to reaffirm the dominance of their lifestyle. Well-liked wrestlers become "symbolic crusaders" who demand public recognition of their particular moral universe against hated enemies who would otherwise degrade or tear that lifestyle down. In this sense, and in line with Jenkins (1997, 76), professional wrestling matches build upon "authentic anger and frustration."

Utilizing Moen’s (1988) characteristics of the status model, a more fully developed argument can be posited: like status politics, professional wrestling has significant moral, symbolic, and defensive implications. As each one of these characteristics is examined, it should become evident that wrestling’s storylines hold tremendous appeal for cultural traditionalists.

The status politics model suggests that instead of engaging in simple policy battles, the traditionalists perceive their efforts as part of a larger moral crusade, a point which has significant implications for political participation and reasoned debate. Perhaps the most important is that the opposing moral visions of the participants are rarely reconcilable. Indeed, the current "culture war" perspective suggests that there is little room for middle ground negotiation between opposing sides (Hunter 1995).

Similar to the traditionalists in the political realm, fan-approved wrestlers define their actions in the ring as part of a moral crusade, a battle against corrupt, even villainous forces. Certainly, the idea of wrestling as a morality play is not a new one. Jenkins (1997, 54) refers to the WWF as operating within a "dualistic universe," a Manichean arena that allows rule-breakers on occasion to triumph unjustly, but that "ultimately belongs to the virtuous." And although both WCW and WWF have taken steps to promote a blurring of the lines between heels and babyfaces , the majority of pay-per-view matches still feature a good-versus-evil angle. Indeed, the most significant cleavage illuminating wrestling’s moral component is the battle between traditionals and modernists. Wrestling promoters assist with this story by unabashedly drawing strong parallels between traditional values and morality.

The career of Hulk Hogan, perhaps the best known wrestler in the history of the sport, serves as a useful illustration. In the 1980s the wildly popular Hogan admonished his young fans, referred to as "little Hulksters," to say their prayers and eat their vitamins, a testament to the values of hard work and clean living. Hogan’s "three demandments—training, prayer, and vitamins," were ubiquitous in WWF events, while his references to prayer often indicated a respect for religious authority (Mazer 1990, 114). The Hogan of today, quite possibly the most evil villain on the wrestling scene, is now "Hollywood Hogan," very modern in orientation, a man who constantly brags about his elitist connections and jet-setting lifestyle. He is the founding father of the New World Order (the nWo), a group of wrestling outlaws inside WCW, who threaten each week to dominate and control the WCW. Hollywood sets the tone for the group’s unabashedly anti-establishment doctrine, and he delightedly encourages his wrestlers to attack and injure WCW wrestlers. The religious traditionalism a thing of the past, Hogan now takes grand steps to deify himself. Members of the nWo often indicate that they have "messages from above," meaning that Hogan has issued marching orders. Hogan declared to wrestlers Scott Hall and Kevin Nash when the three formed the nWo that "if I’m going to be part of your movement, there can be only one big kahuna. That means me" (Burkett 1998a). Hogan’s god-like status is further reaffirmed by fellow nWo accomplices, including—for a time—the appropriately nicknamed "Disciple." Eric Bischoff, a mainstay in the organization, comments on Kevin Nash, a wrestler who later challenged Hogan’s leadership: "How could he, by any stretch of the imagination, think Hollywood Hogan was not the leader of the nWo? He earned that position by his mere presence. When I realized that Hogan was nWo for life, I knew that my place was right beside him" (Burkett 1998a, 51). Bischoff’s connection with "Hollywood" borders on religious salvation, an eternal "for life" relationship, with Hogan squarely in command.

The nWo, like its boss, is an organization dedicated to a good-timing, jet-setting lifestyle. Announcers regularly echo the claim that the nWo was founded on disdain for authority (any, that is, except Hogan’s). Its wrestlers extol money, fast times, and they arrive at matches in stretch limousines. To keep the nWo angle fresh, the organization has a high turnover rate: almost every week a wrestler will either join or leave the group. Those who remain in the organization are cast as "sellouts" who value their wallets over their values. Those who leave the organization are redemptive, noble characters who suddenly discover impulse control and the importance of friendship and family over money.

The nWo’s demeanor places the group sharply at odds with more popular athletes in the business. Goldberg, a new heavyweight champion, is praised for his humility, asceticism and discipline, even in the face of stardom. The dominant angle behind Goldberg’s formerly unblemished record plays on the notion of a common man performing uncommonly heroic feats. Wrestling commentator "Stagger" Lee Marshall (1998, 57) recently highlighted Goldberg’s modesty by drawing a comparison between Goldberg and other famous professional athletes, a sure sign of a well-liked wrestler:

The same thing I experienced in the days of Magic Johnson and Fernando Valenzuela is now being experienced by those swept up by the excitement of Goldberg. Like Magic and Fernando, Goldberg is unchanged from the time he broke into WCW. The fame and bank accounts grow by the day, but the ego is very much under control… Goldberg shares another trait with Magic,Fernando, Jackie, Sandy, and Rocky—humility. While broadcasters, writers, and fans made these athletes bigger than life, these superstars always managed to stay removed

from the hype and hoopla.

Indeed, playing on the traditional themes of hard work and earned reward is a common linchpin that allows fan favorites to adopt a wide variety of personalities. WWF champion "Stone Cold" Steve Austin (SCSA), perhaps the most popular wrestler in either league, does not resemble Goldberg or the heroic Hogan that ruled the WWF in the 1980s. Indeed, Austin’s character is a hard-nosed, tobacco-spitting, foul-mouthed brawler with little patience for anyone who gets in his way. Nicknamed the "Rattlesnake" by fans, Austin often comes to ringside with a cooler of beer, and delights in making vulgar hand gestures to his opponents. In the past, Austin would have fit squarely in the hated camp, but WWF storylines again stress traditionalism, this time very cleverly through the choice of his opponent.

Austin’s dominant enemy is not another wrestler, but the head of the WWF, Vince McMahon, Jr., portrayed week-to-week as a slimy, conniving corporate egotist. As the story goes, MacMahon, much like the nWo rogues in the WCW, is obsessed with money and corporate image. After Austin won the heavyweight championship at Wrestlemania 14, McMahon referred to him as a "corporate nightmare" and attempted to steer the rough-edged champion in a more respectable direction. To the fans’ horror, Austin came to the ring not only with his new belt but dressed in a new expensive suit, prompting McMahon’s comment that the new title-holder would no longer be "a beer swilling, hand gesturing, trash talking, blue collar" champion. The new image was short lived—after posing for a picture, Austin ripped off his shirt, sucker-punched McMahon, and boldly claimed that it "was the absolute last time you will ever see Stone Cold Steve Austin wear a ridiculous suit like the ‘sonafabitch’ I’ve got on." The fans roared with approval, assured that Austin had not given in to the modernizing impulse of the corporate establishment.

Underlying Austin’s rebellious efforts is a dedication to earned reward and fighting the good fight. At the WWF pay-per-view Unforgiven, Austin addresses one of McMahon’s lackeys, drawing a crude but clear distinction between honest athletic competition and sneaky boardroom tactics: "I don’t mind one bit if Dude Love (his opponent that evening) can beat my ass and take that belt, because he was good enough to beat me . . . but if you screw me, if Vince McMahon screws me, you are both gonna get your ass whipped . . . and that’s the bottom line." McMahon, of course, does not cease trying to trick Austin out of his title. Each week, the corporate bigwig devises all sorts of machinations in an attempt to get the championship belt, a title that loyal fans realize was won through hard work and determined effort. From week to week, McMahon’s schemes become increasingly complex and elaborate, including an aborted attempt at forcing a minion timekeeper to ring the bell early and cost Austin the title. Recently, and to the chagrin of outraged fans, McMahon guaranteed that Austin would lose the belt by signing the champion to a "triple threat" match with two of the WWF’s most violent wrestlers.

The imagery of getting cheated out of a well-deserved gain (or "getting screwed," as Stone Cold puts it) resonates strongly with the audience. In any typical Raw is War episode, Austin charges McMahon and his corporate "yes men" with conspiratorial tactics and the crowd heartily agrees. Austin then promises his loyal fans that no "stuffed shirt" will "steal" his belt. During the entire drama, fans recognize that underlying moral universes are in competition: if McMahon wins, the values of achievement orientation and earned reward lose. In this sense, the fan favorite stable has room for both Austin and Goldberg, because both retain their fierce independence, fighting uphill battles against forces of modernity. Goldberg fights the nWo, a greedy bureaucratic organization that depersonalizes wrestlers and robs them of their identity; Austin struggles against a corporate giant that has no room for anyone who lacks the proper cosmopolitan image.

Heels who do not share the traditionalistic respect for "earning one’s rewards" abound in both leagues. In the WCW, "Lion Heart" Chris Jehirco, almost on a weekly basis, finds a previously-hidden technicality in the WCW rulebook to avoid facing his toughest challengers. His conniving ways have earned him several derogatory nicknames, including "Mr. Loophole" and the "lawyer of the locker room." Stevie Ray forges the signature of his brother (and former tag partner), claiming that he will defend the title belt until its legitimate owner, Booker T, recovers from injury. Fans express outrage over Stevie Ray’s hollow compassion for his brother and the horrible transgression of defending a championship he never won in the ring. "Raven," a grunge rocker/poet, slumps down in the corner of the ring before matches and whines about his treatment by WCW officials, instilling images of a lazy and shiftless younger generation. In the WWF, Rocky "The Rock" Maiva retains his title belts largely through the disqualification of opponents and the interference of his lackeys, not from hard-fought painful victories. Indeed, Maiva inherited the Intercontinental title belt only after Steve Austin threw it away, a badge of shame that earns him the chant "Rocky sucks" at most major events. During the Summerslam pay-per-view, McMahon hand-picked Maiva as his heavyweight "corporate champ" further engendering fan disapproval.

The hard work imagery no doubt extends into the promoters’ choice of athletes outside the business as well. NBA superstars Dennis Rodman and Karl Malone were perfect choices for the WCW’s summer pay-per-view Bash at the Beach. Rodman ("Rodzilla"), who teamed with Hollywood Hogan, is an impressive athlete, but one known primarily for colorful hair, celebrity connections, and missed basketball practices. Rodman’s jet-setting, anything-goes image made him a prototypical villain, a perfect foil to Karl Malone’s bootstrap demeanor. Throughout the match, commentators repeatedly referred to the unmatched work ethic of Malone and his partner, Diamond Dallas Page (DDP).

Repeatedly, then, wrestling fans are treated to a variety of moralistic mini-dramas that pit purveyors of traditional values like discipline and hard work against those who see no value in industriousness and moderation. Akin to the cultural battles in the political arena, wrestling appeals to what Hunter (1995, 245) describes as "our ultimate beliefs and commitments, our most cherished sense of what is right, true, and good." The wrestlers reinforce this point through their rhetoric: as fan favorite Sting posed to fellow wrestler Bret Hart when he first joined the WCW, "Do you still believe in what’s right? Or are you nWo?" (Hart 1998, 61).

Most status politics research indicates that the significance of status movements lies not in the particular public policy issue, but in the underlying battles involving divergent visions of what core values should inform American society. From this perspective, the subject of moral protest (e.g., alcohol, pornography) is of subordinate importance. Indeed, the public policy issue simply provides an arena in which a "real battle" over cultural superiority takes place (Clarke 1988).

Like a political movement organized around status issues, professional wrestling is symbolic in the sense that no match is narrow and self-contained, but has broader, far-reaching implications. Most matches are a part of a long running feud, and the serial nature of the entertainment implies that the pay-per-views will rarely establish permanent closure. Commentators are adept at making manifest the broader implications of a particular match. The ostensible purpose of a match may be a battle over a championship belt, but that specific goal usually takes a back seat to the larger narrative. During the days before the Goldberg/Hogan championship match of July 6, wrestling analysts in the WCW fretted over the future of the organization. Hollywood’s nWo was becoming so dominant inside the WCW that a victory over WCW’s newest superstar—Goldberg—threatened the very livelihood of Turner’s organization. When Goldberg crushed Hogan for the title, it extended beyond a personal victory for the hero, but was a reassuring reminder to the fans that the WCW was still a force to be reckoned with.

In many cases, the means of victory may be more important than the end results—who won or loss is less significant than how the wrestlers conducted themselves in the ring. A recent editorial in The Wrestler (1998, 12) is a case in point:

Thumbs up to Dallas Page. What’s a man to do? Page valiantly fought off members of Raven’s Flock during his US title defense at Spring Stampede, but there was only so much interference he could deal with. Page wrestled one of the best matches of his life, but that’s often not enough in today’s WCW. . . . Page was smashed with a stop sign, making it easy for Raven to score the pin. Well, congratulations, Raven. You won the belt, but its how (emphasis in original) you won that we’ll remember. In our opinion, only Page wrestled like a champion.

Similar to the symbolic imagery employed by participants in status movements, wrestlers likewise employ artifacts to identify themselves in the wrestling drama (Mondak 1989). Hollywood Hogan’s mansions, limousines, and feather boas allude to a lifestyle neither shared nor respected by the fans. Attired in only the finest European suits and showered by rose petals, Tiger Ali Singh verbally berates the crowd, and pays cash for audience members to engage in humiliating acts. By contrast, Steve Austin is a man of simple tastes. Before matches, the cameras catch him guzzling beer and mocking McMahon’s boardroom lifestyle of "private bathrooms" and "Perrier water coolers" (Burkett 1998b, 25).

Sometimes, the wrestlers’ means of transportation illuminates the drama. In the events building up to Bash at the Beach, Karl Malone and Dallas Page were seen driving an 18-wheeler together, a fitting tribute to hard-working men and women. Indeed, throughout the Beach buildup, Page was called the "working man’s champion" by sympathetic announcers. The nWo had a different take on the matter, referring to DDP as "gutter trailer-trash puke." At a recent Raw is War event, Steve Austin drove a concrete truck into a wrestling arena and dumped its contents into McMahon’s Corvette, keenly signifying the working man’s revenge on the privileged elite.

Of course, the symbolic element of wrestling extends beyond cars and costumes: the storylines of each match are also symbolic, and again we see the distinction between traditionalism and modernism bubble to the surface. Particularly interesting are the symbolic images of the 1960s. The decade of the 1960s has been treated by scholars as a struggle between traditional and modern forces for cultural dominance. Indeed, the political arena is still filled with traditionalist claims that the social norms of that decade caused irreparable harm to conventional American institutions (Nolan 1995). The WWF has done much to capitalize on the conservative perception of the 1960s as one of chaos and destruction. The two most dominant factions in the WWF in 1998 were the Nation of Domination (NOD) and Dengeration X (DX). The NOD is a predominantly black separatist group within the WWF that proudly claims to win matches "by any means necessary," calling to life the imagery of the "Black Power" movement of the late 1960s. Although the message of Black Power may have been concerned with personal identity and cultural heritage, traditionalists argued that its advocates posed a dangerous threat to American pluralism and civilized democratic society. As utilized by the WWF, the NOD reinforces the traditionalist view of black power: NOD members engage in thuggish actions, abusing their opponents in and outside the ring.

Degeneration X, on the other hand, speaks to the audience’s fear of "youth gone wild," a symbolic counterculture in the WWF. Their one-time leader Shawn Michael refers to himself as the "official outlaw" in the WWF, while the group’s processional music screams "we just got tired of doing what you told us to do." The members of the group include Hunter Hearst Helmsley and the "New Age" Outlaws (Bad-ass Billy Gunn and the Road Dog Jesse James), who are described as "innovators of chaos and extreme violence" (Mankiewicz 1998, 14). All DX members exult in their lewdness and sexually provocative behavior, grabbing their crotches, dropping their wrestling trunks, and yelling their catch phrase "suck it" before and during matches. Indeed, the group’s "crotch-chop" is fast becoming the most recognized symbol of any faction in the WWF.

No icons are safe from DX’s verbal skewering. At the pay-per-view Unforgiven in Greensboro, North Carolina, the New Age Outlaws solicit jeers from the crowd by dragging out a blow-up doll of former basketball coach Dean Smith, possibly the most popular personality in the state. Their sarcasm is likewise directed against veteran wrestlers. In their matches with the legendary Road Warriors late last year, the Outlaws refer to their opponents as "dinosaurs" and "old fossils," and more horrifyingly, shaved the mohawk of Road Warrior Hawk. Although DX’s recent transformation into "good guys" has not slowed down their pre-match antics, it has ensured that they do not rhetorically attack the audience or its favorite symbols.

Although no single perspective can capture the complexity of the entertainment spectacle known as professional wrestling, the notion of status politics provides some insight into its popularity. Certainly wrestling has changed over the last decade. Wrestling promoters generally, and Vince McMahon specifically, have gone to great lengths to promote a new rebellious image and to break down the old standard of a pure, undefiled good, versus a malicious, unrepentant evil. Despite the changes, however, many of the central themes in professional wrestling are not brand new at all, but they draw from the rhetoric and symbolism of the political arena over the last two decades. Indeed, this paper argues that a well-used social science perspective—status politics—can be utilized in explaining wrestling’s appeal. Akin to the political movements organized around status concerns, wrestling matches have significant moralistic, symbolic, and defensive overtones. Fan favorites emerge as symbolic crusaders: when Steve Austin or Goldberg are victorious, they reaffirm the lifestyle choices of their fans while simultaneously denigrating the lifestyle choices of their hated enemies. Paradoxically, underlying wrestling’s modern, rebellious image is a strong strain of traditionalism. The fans still cheer the loudest for those who work hard, have simple tastes, fight their enemies head on, and who do not give into the temptation of celebrity and self-indulgence. In the real world, of course, the implications and outcome of the culture war between traditionalists and moderns are uncertain. In the world of professional wrestling by contrast, cultural traditionalism reigns supreme.

Vaughn May
Department of History and Political Science
The University of Tennessee at Martin
Martin, TN 38238

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