Why do so many CEOs hate President Barack Obama?
It isn’t because they’re being over-taxed and -regulated,d as so many on the Right would have you believe.
According to a January 16, 2013 story published in Bloomberg:
- U.S. corporations’ after-tax profits have grown by 171% under Obama.
- This is more than has existed under any President since World War II.
- Corporate profits are now at their highest level, relative to the economy, since the government began keeping records in 1947.
- Profits are more than twice as high than during Ronald Reagan’s Presidency.
- They are more than 50% greater than during the late-1990s Internet boom.
Click here: Corporate Profits Soar as Executives Attack Obama Policy – Bloomberg
So if money isn’t the issue, what is?
In a word: Ego.
Jonathan Alter, author of The Center Holds: Obama and His Enemies, provides some eye-opening insights into relations between the President and business leaders.
He notes, for example, that even before taking office as President in 2009, Obama pushed through Congress the second $350 billion portion of the $700 billion Troubled Asset Relief Program (TARP)
And he stablilized the almost-wrecked American financial system with stress tests and regulatory reforms.
So Obama believed that business CEOs would be grateful for his efforts on their behalf.
And what did the President get in return?
- The rise of the Tea Party, angered by government bailouts to mega-corporations–and the subsequent loss of a Democratic House of Representatives; and
- Ingratitude and resentment from the very CEOs whose corporations he had saved.
CEOs visiting the White House often believed the President didn’t take them seriously.
For example, many of them wanted a tax amnesty on their overseas earnings. And Obama would ask: How will the government make up for the lost Treasury revenues that would come from such a huge tax break?
Many CEOs thought he was not taking them seriously.
Obama was in fact being serious, and was hoping that his greed-obsessed visitors would help him find an answer that would satisfy both parties.
What the President apparently didn’t understand was this: Most CEOs weren’t used to being dealt with on an equal basis.
They were used to people cowering before them, or instantly agreeing with anything they said.
For Obama, who had taught Constitutional law at the University of Chicago from 1992 to 2004, such intellectual querys were routine. He had enjoyed the cut-and-thrust of such exchanges with his law students.
But his law students had not been billionaires with billionaire-sized egos.
One Wall Street CEO charged that Obama regarded intellectuals as a cut above political operatives–and two cuts above businessmen.
As Alter writes: “Being worth a billion dollars wasn’t going to get the President…to believe that your insights were better than anyone else’s.”
Obama was angered that many CEOs felt that nothing should change–even after the excesses of greed-fueled banks almost destroyed the nation’s economy in 2008.
Thus, bank CEOs had furiously opposed the Dodd-Frank bank re-regulations that had been imposed to prevent a recurrence of such abuses.
Obama felt that bankers were ungrateful for his pushing through the second part of the TARP program that had saved their corporations from the CEOs’ own self-destructive greed.
As Alter sums up: “The complex psychology of business confidence was only partly about their tax rates and the threat of regulation; the real problem was personal.
“They [businessmen] had an intuitive sense that Obama didn’t particularly like them, and they responded in kind.”
These are not the kinds of insights you’ll get by reading the highly sanitized bios of corporate chieftains.
As a result, during the 2012 Presidential race, Mitt Romney received nearly $150 million, or more than 15% of his total money raised, from New York. Which meant mostly from Wall Street.
“We got a lot of Barack Obama’s Wall Street money,” said Spencer Zwick, Romney’s finance director, after the campaign.
A passage from Finley Hooper’s classic Roman Realities puts an ancient-world spin on Obama’s relations with wealthy businessmen.
Assessing the reasons for why so many patricians hated Julius Caesar, Hooper writes:
“Caesar…like a teacher, seemed always to be directing affairs in a world of children–chiding one, patting another–yet too far above them all to care about hurting any.
“To less gifted men, however, his aloofness, even if mixed with kindness, was thought to be patronizing. They could not believe that in his heart he really cared about them.
“Caesar never bothered to ask for another man’s opinion. He lacked the tact by which a talented person might reasure others that they have worth, too.
“Pardons, jobs or favors did not completely satisfy the recipients’ craving for attention….
“Caesar…was a supreme egotist wrapped up in his own sense of well-being and good service to the state.
“…For all his experience and sophistication, he had never learned how ungrateful men can be–especially those who feel ignored.”
It has been President Obama’s bad luck–like that of Julius Caesar– to find himself at odds with powerful men whose profits he has greatly expanded.


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THE TRUTH ABOUT COPS–AND A GREAT MOVIE
In Bureaucracy, History, Law, Law Enforcement, Social commentary on October 30, 2013 at 1:36 amIt’s a movie that appeared in 1981–making it, for those born in 2000, an oldie. And it wasn’t a blockbuster, being yanked out of theaters almost as soon as it arrived.
Yet “Prince of the City” remains that rarity–a movie about big-city police that
It’s based on the real-life case of NYPD Detective Robert Leuci (“Danny Ciello” in the film).
A member of the elite Special Investigating Unit (SIU) Ciello (played by Treat Williams) volunteers to work undercover against rampant corruption among narcotics agents, attorneys and bail bondsmen.
His motive appears simple: To redeem himself and the NYPD from the corruption he sees everywhere: “These people we take from own us.”
His only condition: “I will never betray cops who’ve been my partners.”
Assistant US Attorney Rick Cappalino assures Ciello: “We’ll never make you do something you can’t live with.”
As the almost three-hour movie unfolds, Ciello finds–to his growing dismay–that there are a great many things he will have to learn to live with.
Although he doesn’t have a hand in it, he’s appalled to learn that Gino Moscone, a former buddy, is going to be arrested for taking bribes from drug dealers.
Confronted by a high-ranking agent for the Drug Enforcement Agency, Moscone refuses to “rat out” his buddies.
Instead, he puts his service revolver to his head and blows out his brains.
Ciello is devastated, but the investigation–and film–must go on.
Along the way, he’s suspected by a corrupt cop and bail bondsman of being a “rat” and threatened with death. He’s about to be wasted in a back alley when his cousin–a Mafia member–suddenly intervenes.
The Mafioso tells Ciello’s would-be killers: “You’d better be sure he’s a rat, because people like him.”
At which point, the grotesquely fat bail bondsman–who has been demanding Ciello’s execution–pats Danny on the arm and says, “No hard feelings.”
It is director Sidney Lumet’s way of graphically saying: “Sometimes the bad guys can be good guys–and the good guys can be bad guys.”
Lumet makes it clear that police don’t always operate with the Godlike perfection of cops in TV and films. It’s precisely because his Federal backup agents lost him that Ciello almost became a casualty.
In the end, Ciello becomes a victim of the prosecutorial forces he has unleashed. Although he’s vowed to never testify against his former partners, Ciello finds this a promise he can’t keep.
Too many of the cops he’s responsible for indicting have implicated him of similar–if not worse–behavior.
He’s even suspected of being involved in the theft of 450 pounds of heroin (“the French Connection”) from the police property room.
A sympathetic prosecutor–Mario Vincente in the movie, Rudolph Giuliani in real-life–convinces Ciello that he must finally reveal everything he knows.
Ciello’s had originally claimed to have done “three things” as a corrupt narcotics agent. By the time his true confessions are over, he’s admitted to scores of felonies.
Ciello then tries to convince his longtime SIU partners to do the same.
One of them commits suicide. Another tells Ciello to screw himself: “I’m not going to shoot myself and I’m not going to rat out my friends.”
To his surprise, Ciello finds himself admiring his corrupt former partner for being willing to stand up to the Federal case-agents and prosecutors demanding his head.
The movie ends with a double dose of irony.
First: Armed with Ciello’s confessions, an attorney whom Ciello had successfully testified against appeals his conviction. But the judge rules these to be “collateral,” apart from the main evidence in the case, and affirms the conviction.
Second: Ciello is himself placed on trial–of a sort. A large group of assistant U.S. attorneys gathers to debate whether their prize “canary” should be indicted.
If he is, his confessions will ensure his conviction.
Some prosecutors argue forcefully that Ciello is a corrupt law enforcement officer who has admitted to more than 40 cases of perjury–among other crimes. How can the government use him to convict others and not address the criminality in his own past?
Other prosecutors argue that Ciello voluntarily risked his life–physically and professionally–to expose rampant police corruption. He deserves a better deal than to be cast aside by those who have made so many cases through his testimony.
Eventually, the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York makes his decision: “The government declines to prosecute Detective Daniel Ciello.”
It is Lumet’s way of showing that the decision to prosecute is not always an easy or objective one.
The movie ends with Ciello now teaching surveillance classes at the NYPD Academy. A student asks: “Are you the Detective Ciello?”
“I’m Detective Ciello.”
“I don’t think I have anything to learn from you.”
Is Danny Ciello–again, Robert Leuci in real-life–a hero, a villain, or some combination of the two? It is with this ambiguity that the film ends–an ambiguity that each viewer must resolve for himself.
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