OK, I give up. I absolutely just give up. I despise the culture wars. I hate the idea that every time they have even the slightest opening, culture warriors choose up sides and turn some politically insignificant matter into yet another hackneyed 60's-style battle between left and right.
Take the Duke lacrosse case, for example. This was the very definition of a local concern. A bunch of boorish white athletes went and hired a couple of African American exotic dancers for the evening. Things went bad from there (imagine that!), racial slurs were possibly exchanged, and one of the women ended up charging several players with sexual assault. A few Duke professors scribbled a poorly written and ill-informed screed about the case, perhaps trying to reassure women and students of color, perhaps simply self-righteously flexing their left wing. Maybe both. Their role, however, was trivial next to that of an ambitious D.A. who cut corners, played fast and loose with evidence, and made outrageous statements to the press. The players were ultimately exonerated and the prosecutor disbarred.
The case, obviously, did not stay local. The media, ever preoccupied with race, sexual violence, and facile rich man-poor man stereotypes, could not resist swooping into North Carolina to fill the time slots between episodes of To Catch a Predator. They were quickly followed by an even more obsessed band of right-wing culture warriors, out-of-state bloggers, grandstanding politicians, and wackjob pundits who had never before expressed a single moment of sympathy for the plight of the falsely accused. They attacked the prosecutor, who richly deserved it, but they also gave a ridiculous degree of significance to the college professors who overreacted to the case at its outset and acted—and by "acted" I mean only that they wrote an ad for the school paper—as though the culpability of the lacrosse players was already established (though the ad itself made no accusations of guilt).
To the culture warriors, the accused students were merely pawns in the bigger battle against the cultural left, in this case represented by a diverse group of local professors who had made the mistake of believing the claims of a (then) well-respected prosecutor. If these right-wing carpetbaggers ever cared that their incessant ranting actually made the players' names household words, forever to be associated with this tawdry event, they never said so. Rather, the plight of a few rowdy, obnoxious—but not guilty—sons of privilege simply represented the wedge by which these zealots could once again attack the academy and the bogeymen of tenured radicalism and political correctness.
So why do I bring this up now, with the Duke case mercifully behind us? Because the culture warriors never quit. The other day, I made a couple of flippant comments about Roger Clemens, the baseball pitcher testifying before Congress about his alleged use of banned performance enhancing drugs. Here's what I wrote:
"The biggest name, of course, was Roger Clemens, the premier pitcher of his era, and a man who, like Nolan Ryan before him, has come to embody all the manly Middle American values of hard work and determination that we glorify in our folk songs and beer commercials. No longer were we talking about a couple of surly Californians, i.e., Bonds and McGwire. Now the focus had shifted to an authentic Red State hero, the Dale Earnhardt of the diamond."
Little did I know that my words would prove prophetic. Yesterday, Clemens and his accuser, a sleazy piece of work named Brian McNamee, sat down before a congressional committee to play out their my-word-against-his battle on national television. I expected that each representative would, in turn, make smarmy comments about the horrors of steroids and then ask the witnesses a series of gotcha questions designed to earn the member a sound bite on the evening news. A good afternoon of tut-tutting and headshaking, I figured, would be had by all.
Instead, unbelievably, the affair turned into a partisan political fight. Republican members of the committee—most of them, anyway—seemed intent on taking Clemens' side against his accuser, as though nobody this upright, this macho, this conservative, could possibly have been lured by pride and greed to break the rules of Major League Baseball. The GOP pols hammered away at McNamee, as though the very persistence of manly individualism depended on discrediting this slimy creature of the decadent northeast. It was amazing and more than a little disheartening to watch as, one by one, these stalwarts of law and order behaved like the pitcher's personal cheering section.
As in the Duke lacrosse case, this wild-eyed obsession with ideological symbolism came almost entirely from the right. With Duke, most liberals, despite sympathy for the plight of a young woman who chose to survive by disrobing before horny frat boys, steered clear of the battle, inherently suspicious of overconfident prosecutors. Yesterday, the Democrats on the House committee went after both Clemens and McNamee, generally in measured and respectful tones. The committee's chairman, Democrat Henry Waxman, even took pains to point out that he had been prepared to cancel the hearing altogether until Clemens himself insisted on the opportunity to clear his name on national television.
How did we get to this point? How did the American right become so pavlovian in their responses to symbols (a manly Texan superstar here, some rich white lacrosse players there) that every legal hearing, every judicial proceeding, every congressional investigation becomes wrapped up in their pointless political crusade? I know that there are idiot leftists out there, too; a few on the liberal side certainly acquitted themselves poorly in the Duke case. But when the fanatical need to hold their ground extends even to a seemingly apolitical baseball case, you simply have to wonder if these supercharged reactionaries are even capable anymore of regarding events outside the rubric of their ideological obsessions.
I consider myself pretty cynical, but I never even imagined that a hearing over drugs in the big leagues would break down along partisan lines. Or if it did, I might have guessed that the Democrats would hit hard on due process and the presumption of innocence while the GOP committee members would don their prosecutorial garb and let Clemens (and McNamee) have it. I may have joked about Roger Clemens' Red State appeal, but it never occurred to me that grown up lawmakers would actually decide to make a stand on his behalf.
And these are the people Barack Obama thinks he can bring to the table? Good luck, Senator. You're going to need it.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Hillary's Last Stand
It is no longer possible to overstate the trouble in which Hillary Clinton's campaign finds itself. Her losses yesterday in Maryland, Virginia, and Washington, D.C., surprised nobody, but the one-sidedness of the results seemed to stagger even a generally anti-Hillary press corps. The trio of elections favored Barack Obama, of course, coming as they did in places with both sizable African American populations and large numbers of highly educated, upper-middle-class white voters. But Obama won at least 60% of the vote in all three jurisdictions, a figure he could not have achieved without performing exceptionally well outside of his two base constituencies. It is no longer a matter of hype and momentum: Senator Obama has started to pull ahead in a decisive manner.
Simply put, if Senator Clinton is to remain competitive in the race for the Democratic nomination, something must change between now and March 4 when her firewall states of Texas and Ohio hold their primaries. There are three possible ways this could occur, and two are fairly unlikely. First, she can win one of the states up for grabs next Tuesday. This, however, appears next to impossible. Barack Obama was born and raised in Hawai'i, and should win that state's caucus overwhelmingly. Wisconsin, whose Democratic voters cluster in Milwaukee, a city with a strong African American population, and Madison, a quintessential liberal college town, seems tailor made for Obama as well, and recent polls indicate that he currently enjoys a double digit lead in the battle for the Cheesehead vote.
Assuming that Hawai'i and Wisconsin are out of reach, Clinton's next hope would be to pick up a key endorsement that would blunt Obama's momentum. John Edwards is the obvious choice, followed perhaps by Al Gore. But the two Democratic stars have no incentive to attach their names to a campaign that appears, at least for now, on the verge of implosion. Indeed, Clinton's bigger hope is that these key endorsements don't instead go to Obama sometime within the next two weeks. Regardless, endorsements increasingly appear overrated; if Ted Kennedy's blessing could not deliver Massachusetts to Senator Obama, then what real effect could Edwards or Gore possibly have on voters in Dallas and Cincinnati? Four years ago, Gore threw his weight behind Howard Dean, which did nothing to prevent the Democratic electorate from ultimately siding with John Kerry.
That leaves the upcoming presidential debates as perhaps Hillary Clinton's last, best hope of recovering in time to score the big wins she needs come the first Tuesday in March. She has been a strong debater, generally more secure and effective than Obama, though he has been catching up quickly. She has debated as frontrunner and then as equal. Now Senator Clinton must, for the first time, craft a strategy as the underdog.
As I see it, she will take the stage with three goals. The first will be to persuade voters that the race is not yet over. She must do this both through her demeanor and by what she actually says. There must be no clumsy attacks, no Hail Mary moments that reek of desperation. Clinton should review all of Mitt Romney's moves in his final debates with John McCain and Mike Huckabee and do the opposite in every instance. There is a setting between hopeless petulance and giddy, unbelievable self-assurance; she needs to find that place and remain there for the entire evening.
Clinton must also remind voters of the closeness of the actual delegate count. She obviously cannot do so in a way that sounds too much like a plea to be taken seriously. But she can point out, in the course of her various responses, that she and Senator Obama, regardless of the outcomes since Super Tuesday, remain essentially tied for the nomination. Even if he handily wins Hawai'i and Wisconsin, Obama will still lead Clinton in total delegates by no more that about 200, a number barely exceeding 50%. Further, in terms of raw votes cast, the results similarly approach 50-50. In short, expectations and hype aside, Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama are, for now at least, all but even in the race for the nomination, and she must emphasize that point.
Second, she must be willing to put Obama on the defensive. Despite the current surge of support he is experiencing, the Illinois senator remains vulnerable to the "Where's the Beef" question. One of the reasons Obama has been so successful thus far has been his ability to emphasize themes over substance. Hillary, on the other hand, is the wonk's wonk, and has failed badly at trying to match her opponent's soaring rhetoric.
At long last, she should accept who she is and try to force Obama to play on her turf for a while. She should lead with substance and detail, and demand that Obama do the same. Call him out when he doesn't. This obviously does not have to be done in an argumentative way, but simply as part of a conversation between political professionals.
Similarly, Clinton should take a page out of Karl Rove's book and go after Obama's greatest strength. So he thinks he's the guy who can join Nancy Pelosi and John Boehner, Harry Reid and Mitch McConnell, in a big group hug? Read some relevant quotes from the Republican leadership and its talk radio attack dogs. Ask Obama to explain very clearly how he plans to get people like that to sing Kumbaya on cue. Barack Obama wants to be a lover; make him explain when and how he would be a fighter. If he takes the bait, he undermines his own message; if he doesn't, he might appear both naïve and easily manipulated.
Finally, Hillary Clinton must reprise the debate over experience, but this time tie it to the battle against John McCain. For her purposes, the Republicans have selected exactly the right presumptive nominee. McCain's strengths, Washington smarts and foreign policy credibility, correspond precisely with Obama's weaknesses. Remind voters that the goal of the campaign is to beat the GOP, and that she can bring all of Obama strengths (symbolic and real change, a reversal of Bushism, etc.) to the table, while still being able to match McCain card for card in each of his strong suits. She does not need to convince Ohioans and Texans that Obama cannot win; she merely has to interpose enough doubt in their minds that they are unwilling to put an end to the vetting process just yet.
Debates, especially during the primary season, consist of two elements. First, there is the debate itself and the immediate reactions of viewers. Second, however, there is also the post-debate news coverage and the battle over spin. When the pundits convene, Clinton needs for them to talk about her confidence and her command of the issues. She must hope not only that Barack Obama is thrown off his game, but that the press corps recognizes and reports this fact.
If she is fortunate, Clinton may be aided by the natural desire of the media to keep the race interesting so that viewers will continue flocking to the Situation Room, as it were. On the other hand, she must overcome the inherent laziness of a profession that tends to develop scripts and stick to them. She must, in short, surprise, if not amaze.
It is a tall order, to be sure. But it is also the only hope she has left. And time is no longer her ally.
Simply put, if Senator Clinton is to remain competitive in the race for the Democratic nomination, something must change between now and March 4 when her firewall states of Texas and Ohio hold their primaries. There are three possible ways this could occur, and two are fairly unlikely. First, she can win one of the states up for grabs next Tuesday. This, however, appears next to impossible. Barack Obama was born and raised in Hawai'i, and should win that state's caucus overwhelmingly. Wisconsin, whose Democratic voters cluster in Milwaukee, a city with a strong African American population, and Madison, a quintessential liberal college town, seems tailor made for Obama as well, and recent polls indicate that he currently enjoys a double digit lead in the battle for the Cheesehead vote.
Assuming that Hawai'i and Wisconsin are out of reach, Clinton's next hope would be to pick up a key endorsement that would blunt Obama's momentum. John Edwards is the obvious choice, followed perhaps by Al Gore. But the two Democratic stars have no incentive to attach their names to a campaign that appears, at least for now, on the verge of implosion. Indeed, Clinton's bigger hope is that these key endorsements don't instead go to Obama sometime within the next two weeks. Regardless, endorsements increasingly appear overrated; if Ted Kennedy's blessing could not deliver Massachusetts to Senator Obama, then what real effect could Edwards or Gore possibly have on voters in Dallas and Cincinnati? Four years ago, Gore threw his weight behind Howard Dean, which did nothing to prevent the Democratic electorate from ultimately siding with John Kerry.
That leaves the upcoming presidential debates as perhaps Hillary Clinton's last, best hope of recovering in time to score the big wins she needs come the first Tuesday in March. She has been a strong debater, generally more secure and effective than Obama, though he has been catching up quickly. She has debated as frontrunner and then as equal. Now Senator Clinton must, for the first time, craft a strategy as the underdog.
As I see it, she will take the stage with three goals. The first will be to persuade voters that the race is not yet over. She must do this both through her demeanor and by what she actually says. There must be no clumsy attacks, no Hail Mary moments that reek of desperation. Clinton should review all of Mitt Romney's moves in his final debates with John McCain and Mike Huckabee and do the opposite in every instance. There is a setting between hopeless petulance and giddy, unbelievable self-assurance; she needs to find that place and remain there for the entire evening.
Clinton must also remind voters of the closeness of the actual delegate count. She obviously cannot do so in a way that sounds too much like a plea to be taken seriously. But she can point out, in the course of her various responses, that she and Senator Obama, regardless of the outcomes since Super Tuesday, remain essentially tied for the nomination. Even if he handily wins Hawai'i and Wisconsin, Obama will still lead Clinton in total delegates by no more that about 200, a number barely exceeding 50%. Further, in terms of raw votes cast, the results similarly approach 50-50. In short, expectations and hype aside, Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama are, for now at least, all but even in the race for the nomination, and she must emphasize that point.
Second, she must be willing to put Obama on the defensive. Despite the current surge of support he is experiencing, the Illinois senator remains vulnerable to the "Where's the Beef" question. One of the reasons Obama has been so successful thus far has been his ability to emphasize themes over substance. Hillary, on the other hand, is the wonk's wonk, and has failed badly at trying to match her opponent's soaring rhetoric.
At long last, she should accept who she is and try to force Obama to play on her turf for a while. She should lead with substance and detail, and demand that Obama do the same. Call him out when he doesn't. This obviously does not have to be done in an argumentative way, but simply as part of a conversation between political professionals.
Similarly, Clinton should take a page out of Karl Rove's book and go after Obama's greatest strength. So he thinks he's the guy who can join Nancy Pelosi and John Boehner, Harry Reid and Mitch McConnell, in a big group hug? Read some relevant quotes from the Republican leadership and its talk radio attack dogs. Ask Obama to explain very clearly how he plans to get people like that to sing Kumbaya on cue. Barack Obama wants to be a lover; make him explain when and how he would be a fighter. If he takes the bait, he undermines his own message; if he doesn't, he might appear both naïve and easily manipulated.
Finally, Hillary Clinton must reprise the debate over experience, but this time tie it to the battle against John McCain. For her purposes, the Republicans have selected exactly the right presumptive nominee. McCain's strengths, Washington smarts and foreign policy credibility, correspond precisely with Obama's weaknesses. Remind voters that the goal of the campaign is to beat the GOP, and that she can bring all of Obama strengths (symbolic and real change, a reversal of Bushism, etc.) to the table, while still being able to match McCain card for card in each of his strong suits. She does not need to convince Ohioans and Texans that Obama cannot win; she merely has to interpose enough doubt in their minds that they are unwilling to put an end to the vetting process just yet.
Debates, especially during the primary season, consist of two elements. First, there is the debate itself and the immediate reactions of viewers. Second, however, there is also the post-debate news coverage and the battle over spin. When the pundits convene, Clinton needs for them to talk about her confidence and her command of the issues. She must hope not only that Barack Obama is thrown off his game, but that the press corps recognizes and reports this fact.
If she is fortunate, Clinton may be aided by the natural desire of the media to keep the race interesting so that viewers will continue flocking to the Situation Room, as it were. On the other hand, she must overcome the inherent laziness of a profession that tends to develop scripts and stick to them. She must, in short, surprise, if not amaze.
It is a tall order, to be sure. But it is also the only hope she has left. And time is no longer her ally.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Why Huckabee Won't Quit
Yesterday's question of the day, at least over at CNN, involved Mike Huckabee's insistence on continuing his campaign for president in the face of overwhelming odds against him. One reporter indicated that Huckabee would need to win 93% of remaining Republican delegates in order to capture the nomination, something that will obviously not occur. The candidate himself did his best Yogi Berra impression, insisting that it's not over 'till it's over, but even he must know by now that the fat lady has sung, the audience has dispersed, the opera house has been shuttered, and the devastating reviews have been published in the morning trades.
It seems clear that the GOP leadership is none too happy with Huckabee's decision to stick around. His presence, in and of itself, does not embarrass the party's presumptive nominee, but every victory the former Arkansas governor racks up represents a further rebuke of John McCain's conservative credentials. This past Saturday was particularly difficult for McCain, as Huckabee beat him in both Louisiana and Kansas, and won a moral victory in Washington when party officials stopped the count after only 87% of the vote had been tallied, giving the frontrunner a tainted victory. The ham-handedness of this stunt further reinforced the sense that McCain remained so weak that only cheating could get him over the finish line.
Senator McCain already faces an uphill struggle in his bid for the White House. Of all the candidates in both parties, including those whose campaigns have since ended, he has the least credibility when painting himself as an agent of change. This would present a difficult situation for any Republican nominee this year, but it may prove fatal to the candidacy of a man who cannot even count on the enthusiastic support of the party's most faithful and energetic wing. Mike Huckabee, then, not only reminds movement conservatives that McCain is an ideological heretic, he also forces the Arizona senator to move farther to the right than is healthy once the general election campaign begins.
So why does Huckabee persist? He says that he believes in miracles, though winning over ninety percent of the remaining Republican delegates would appear to be a much taller order than, say, turning water into wine. This is not a baseball game, where it's always possible to score ten runs in the bottom of the ninth and take home the pennant. It is more like football—the two minute warning has come and gone, the other team has the ball, and the boys trail by three touchdowns. In short, Huckabee's prospects are so bleak that any divine intervention at this point would leave the almighty vulnerable to charges of election fraud.
To listen to the cable talking heads, the answer must involve either ideology or self-interest. Some suggest that Huckabee's devotion to the cause stems from a commitment to American theocracy and represents a long-term struggle unrelated to the outcome of the 2008 election. Others respond that Mike Huckabee really wants the vice presidential nomination, and hopes that continued success in the primaries and caucuses will convince McCain that be belongs on the ticket.
Neither of these explanations is persuasive. Though nobody doubts the depth or fundamentalism of Huckabee's faith, he has been far more dogmatically conservative on the campaign trail than he ever was in a decade as governor. He is no Pat Robertson, or even Sam Brownback. As for the veep nod, Huckabee has to realize, as I have mentioned in a previous post, that McCain could tap any number of conservative governors and former governors who would bring everything to the table that Huck does without the history of controversial statements. A Republican presidential nominee relying on the votes of moderates and independents does not want to spend October explaining away his running mate's suggestion that the Constitution should be amended to look more like the Bible.
I've never met Mike Huckabee; I've only seen him in person once. We have never engaged in a Vulcan mind meld or any other sort of extrasensory communion. Still, I do have a guess or two as to why Huckabee remains in the race.
First, never, ever, ever, underestimate the motivational power of ego. Ten years ago, nobody outside of Arkansas had ever heard of Mike Huckabee. Ten years hence, his name will stand with those of Morris Udall, Pierre du Pont, and Paul Tsongas, men who enjoyed a quarter hour of visibility as interesting, but ultimately unmemorable, presidential candidates. Right now, however, Huckabee is a star, appearing before adoring crowds, mixing it up with Tim Russert by day and Larry King by night, and seen plucking his guitar on television by more people than Jimmy Page and Eddie Van Halen combined. He sure looks like he's having the time of his life. Why would he be in any rush to return to Little Rock and spend his declining years pacing down President Clinton Boulevard, wondering why the higher power decided to shine its light on another, hopelessly flawed, son of Hope, Arkansas?
But it probably goes beyond mere American Idol-like exhibitionism. Leaving aside Ron Paul—as the Republican electorate has already done—Mike Huckabee is the last man standing as John McCain nears the GOP nomination. He will almost certainly never come this close to the White House again. A one-time lieutenant governor who ascended to the top job only because the incumbent was felled by scandal, Huckabee knows better than anyone the benefits of being in the right place at the right time. Because you never know.
Maybe there's a skeleton in the McCain closet jiggling the doorknob as we speak. Perhaps the senator, known for a short fuse, will endure a public meltdown and his very own Macaca moment. And of course, John McCain, as everyone knows, is on target to be the first septuagenarian presidential nominee, having reached an age where the body wears down, and, on occasion, shuts down with little advance warning. There are, to be blunt, occasional benefits to being the understudy.
It is entirely possible that Mike Huckabee will exit the presidential race tonight or tomorrow, especially if he loses badly in both the Virginia and Maryland primaries. But if he does drop out now, as opposed to last week, he will depart as the second place candidate in terms of delegates. In the unlikely event that the Republicans unexpectedly find themselves in the market for a standard bearer, he will have the strongest claim on that position.
Why, then, does Mike Huckabee persist in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds? The answer is very simple. Because he wants to be president.
It seems clear that the GOP leadership is none too happy with Huckabee's decision to stick around. His presence, in and of itself, does not embarrass the party's presumptive nominee, but every victory the former Arkansas governor racks up represents a further rebuke of John McCain's conservative credentials. This past Saturday was particularly difficult for McCain, as Huckabee beat him in both Louisiana and Kansas, and won a moral victory in Washington when party officials stopped the count after only 87% of the vote had been tallied, giving the frontrunner a tainted victory. The ham-handedness of this stunt further reinforced the sense that McCain remained so weak that only cheating could get him over the finish line.
Senator McCain already faces an uphill struggle in his bid for the White House. Of all the candidates in both parties, including those whose campaigns have since ended, he has the least credibility when painting himself as an agent of change. This would present a difficult situation for any Republican nominee this year, but it may prove fatal to the candidacy of a man who cannot even count on the enthusiastic support of the party's most faithful and energetic wing. Mike Huckabee, then, not only reminds movement conservatives that McCain is an ideological heretic, he also forces the Arizona senator to move farther to the right than is healthy once the general election campaign begins.
So why does Huckabee persist? He says that he believes in miracles, though winning over ninety percent of the remaining Republican delegates would appear to be a much taller order than, say, turning water into wine. This is not a baseball game, where it's always possible to score ten runs in the bottom of the ninth and take home the pennant. It is more like football—the two minute warning has come and gone, the other team has the ball, and the boys trail by three touchdowns. In short, Huckabee's prospects are so bleak that any divine intervention at this point would leave the almighty vulnerable to charges of election fraud.
To listen to the cable talking heads, the answer must involve either ideology or self-interest. Some suggest that Huckabee's devotion to the cause stems from a commitment to American theocracy and represents a long-term struggle unrelated to the outcome of the 2008 election. Others respond that Mike Huckabee really wants the vice presidential nomination, and hopes that continued success in the primaries and caucuses will convince McCain that be belongs on the ticket.
Neither of these explanations is persuasive. Though nobody doubts the depth or fundamentalism of Huckabee's faith, he has been far more dogmatically conservative on the campaign trail than he ever was in a decade as governor. He is no Pat Robertson, or even Sam Brownback. As for the veep nod, Huckabee has to realize, as I have mentioned in a previous post, that McCain could tap any number of conservative governors and former governors who would bring everything to the table that Huck does without the history of controversial statements. A Republican presidential nominee relying on the votes of moderates and independents does not want to spend October explaining away his running mate's suggestion that the Constitution should be amended to look more like the Bible.
I've never met Mike Huckabee; I've only seen him in person once. We have never engaged in a Vulcan mind meld or any other sort of extrasensory communion. Still, I do have a guess or two as to why Huckabee remains in the race.
First, never, ever, ever, underestimate the motivational power of ego. Ten years ago, nobody outside of Arkansas had ever heard of Mike Huckabee. Ten years hence, his name will stand with those of Morris Udall, Pierre du Pont, and Paul Tsongas, men who enjoyed a quarter hour of visibility as interesting, but ultimately unmemorable, presidential candidates. Right now, however, Huckabee is a star, appearing before adoring crowds, mixing it up with Tim Russert by day and Larry King by night, and seen plucking his guitar on television by more people than Jimmy Page and Eddie Van Halen combined. He sure looks like he's having the time of his life. Why would he be in any rush to return to Little Rock and spend his declining years pacing down President Clinton Boulevard, wondering why the higher power decided to shine its light on another, hopelessly flawed, son of Hope, Arkansas?
But it probably goes beyond mere American Idol-like exhibitionism. Leaving aside Ron Paul—as the Republican electorate has already done—Mike Huckabee is the last man standing as John McCain nears the GOP nomination. He will almost certainly never come this close to the White House again. A one-time lieutenant governor who ascended to the top job only because the incumbent was felled by scandal, Huckabee knows better than anyone the benefits of being in the right place at the right time. Because you never know.
Maybe there's a skeleton in the McCain closet jiggling the doorknob as we speak. Perhaps the senator, known for a short fuse, will endure a public meltdown and his very own Macaca moment. And of course, John McCain, as everyone knows, is on target to be the first septuagenarian presidential nominee, having reached an age where the body wears down, and, on occasion, shuts down with little advance warning. There are, to be blunt, occasional benefits to being the understudy.
It is entirely possible that Mike Huckabee will exit the presidential race tonight or tomorrow, especially if he loses badly in both the Virginia and Maryland primaries. But if he does drop out now, as opposed to last week, he will depart as the second place candidate in terms of delegates. In the unlikely event that the Republicans unexpectedly find themselves in the market for a standard bearer, he will have the strongest claim on that position.
Why, then, does Mike Huckabee persist in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds? The answer is very simple. Because he wants to be president.
Monday, February 11, 2008
More on Caucuses
Markos Moulitsas, founder of the Daily Kos website, has one of the savviest political minds in the liberal blogosphere. He recognized the transformative potential of the internet while most party pros were still learning to master their Hotmail accounts. Moulitsas knows his way around electoral politics and quite obviously recognizes the difference between a primary election and a caucus. Sunday afternoon, however, he made the following statement:
"Obama should win [the Maine caucuses] by double digits which would be a stunning defeat for a Clinton campaign that by all reports should've been able to replicate its New Hampshire success in this state."
New Hampshire, of course, held a primary election—not a caucus—last month in which Hillary Clinton shocked the pollsters by defying their predictions and defeating Barack Obama rather handily. Had Maine, which shares its western border with New Hampshire, decided to inaugurate its own primary, Moulitsas's comparison would have been well taken. But they did not, and if the current electoral season has taught us anything, it is that primaries and caucuses produce very different electorates—and, in most cases, very different results.
Going into Sunday morning, Obama had won nine of the ten caucuses conducted since the New Year, losing the other (in Nevada) just barely. Anyone paying even the slightest attention to the unfolding of the Democratic race would have predicted another strong victory for Obama yesterday in Maine. That Moulitsas did not most likely suggests a desire to spin the results into some kind of major upset, or, to use his own words, "a stunning defeat for the Clinton campaign".
Markos Moulitsas owns his website and has every right to use it as a megaphone for the Obama campaign if he so chooses. My point is not to criticize Moulitsas or anyone else who spins the news in support of a favorite candidate. Rather, I continue to be astounded by the inability or unwillingness of pundits to acknowledge the consequences of employing the caucus, rather than the primary, system for selecting convention delegates.
To begin with yesterday's example Obama beat Clinton in Maine, where approximately 47,000 voters participated. By contrast, the totals in New Hampshire were 112,251 to 104,772 in favor of Senator Clinton. The two states are roughly equal in population, and yet the totals in New Hampshire dwarf those of its eastern neighbor. As I noted in my previous post, caucuses self-select for the most devoted and, often, ideologically driven voters who will do whatever it takes to achieve victory for their champion. Barack Obama's backers are both more fanatical and more liberal than Hillary Clinton's.
The news media have done a terrible job of illuminating the enormous differences in turnout under these two systems. Let me try another example. Minnesota has slightly more people than Alabama, as evidenced by their possession of one additional electoral vote. Moreover, of the two, Minnesota is by far the most Democratic, having supported the party in every presidential election after 1972; Alabama, on the other hand, has an uninterrupted record of backing the GOP since 1976.
Nevertheless, almost 300,000 more Alabamians than Minnesotans participated in the Super Tuesday Democratic contest. The difference, obviously, is that Alabama held a primary election while Minnesota conducted a caucus. Indeed, Clinton's losing share in the Heart of Dixie eclipsed Obama's winning tally in the Gopher State by over 80,000 votes.
Here's another way to look at it: six caucuses were held on Super Tuesday. At the same time, a primary took place in Obama's home state of Illinois. As expected, the favorite son overwhelmed Clinton in the Land of Lincoln by a percentage margin of 65-33. Still, Obama actually did even better in five of the six caucus states, and did almost as well (61-37) in the sixth, North Dakota.
Two things, then, are clear. First, caucuses produce relatively small turnout and, in most cases, an unrepresentative electorate. Second, Barack Obama benefits from this phenomenon far out of proportion to his actual levels of support. Does anyone really believe that Senator Clinton would have received less than one third of the vote in a Minnesota primary, as she did in the state's caucuses?
Again, as I said yesterday, this discussion should not be taken as a brief on behalf of Senator Clinton or against Senator Obama. Obama may indeed be the candidate best situated to defeat John McCain in November. But his current momentum has largely been generated by lopsided results in caucus states with relatively low, and extremely self-selected, participation.
This leads, finally, to the question currently facing the Democrats as to how to handle Michigan and Florida. Both states violated the party's edict prohibiting all but Iowa, New Hampshire, Nevada, and South Carolina from choosing delegates prior to February 5. As a result, both states have been informed that their delegations will not be seated at the Democratic National Convention in August. Complicating matters is the fact that Hillary Clinton won both the Michigan and Florida primaries, though Obama was not on the Michigan ballot.
Suggestions have been raised that the two states might conduct do-overs, completing the process anew in accordance with the party's rules. The expense of holding another primary, however, may lead Michigan and/or Florida to hold last-minute caucuses. Should they do this, and should the party sanction such a move, everyone must be aware that they are effectively handing the presidential nomination to Barack Obama. There is nothing inherently wrong with this—maybe party bosses have concluded that he is their best hope to win in November—but they should at least acknowledge this reality.
Of the two states, Michigan presents less of a problem. Since Obama's name did not appear on the state's ballot, the primary election there lacked any real sense of legitimacy. In Florida, however, both candidates were in contention and, while neither campaigned there, local supporters made a serious effort on behalf of their favorites. Clinton received over 800,000 votes and Obama nearly 600,000. A do-over there, particularly if it takes the form of a caucus, would create a very serious problem of fairness.
I have written before about my dissatisfaction with the American system of choosing presidential nominees. If it were up to me, I would return control of the process to the parties and their notorious smoke-filled rooms. But if we are to continue the present system on the grounds that it gives the people a real voice, then it is long past time to abandon the low-turnout caucus and demand that all states conduct primary elections.
UPDATE: Thanks to Redbarb, in the comments, for correcting me on the tunrout figures for Maine. The numbers have been corrected.
"Obama should win [the Maine caucuses] by double digits which would be a stunning defeat for a Clinton campaign that by all reports should've been able to replicate its New Hampshire success in this state."
New Hampshire, of course, held a primary election—not a caucus—last month in which Hillary Clinton shocked the pollsters by defying their predictions and defeating Barack Obama rather handily. Had Maine, which shares its western border with New Hampshire, decided to inaugurate its own primary, Moulitsas's comparison would have been well taken. But they did not, and if the current electoral season has taught us anything, it is that primaries and caucuses produce very different electorates—and, in most cases, very different results.
Going into Sunday morning, Obama had won nine of the ten caucuses conducted since the New Year, losing the other (in Nevada) just barely. Anyone paying even the slightest attention to the unfolding of the Democratic race would have predicted another strong victory for Obama yesterday in Maine. That Moulitsas did not most likely suggests a desire to spin the results into some kind of major upset, or, to use his own words, "a stunning defeat for the Clinton campaign".
Markos Moulitsas owns his website and has every right to use it as a megaphone for the Obama campaign if he so chooses. My point is not to criticize Moulitsas or anyone else who spins the news in support of a favorite candidate. Rather, I continue to be astounded by the inability or unwillingness of pundits to acknowledge the consequences of employing the caucus, rather than the primary, system for selecting convention delegates.
To begin with yesterday's example Obama beat Clinton in Maine, where approximately 47,000 voters participated. By contrast, the totals in New Hampshire were 112,251 to 104,772 in favor of Senator Clinton. The two states are roughly equal in population, and yet the totals in New Hampshire dwarf those of its eastern neighbor. As I noted in my previous post, caucuses self-select for the most devoted and, often, ideologically driven voters who will do whatever it takes to achieve victory for their champion. Barack Obama's backers are both more fanatical and more liberal than Hillary Clinton's.
The news media have done a terrible job of illuminating the enormous differences in turnout under these two systems. Let me try another example. Minnesota has slightly more people than Alabama, as evidenced by their possession of one additional electoral vote. Moreover, of the two, Minnesota is by far the most Democratic, having supported the party in every presidential election after 1972; Alabama, on the other hand, has an uninterrupted record of backing the GOP since 1976.
Nevertheless, almost 300,000 more Alabamians than Minnesotans participated in the Super Tuesday Democratic contest. The difference, obviously, is that Alabama held a primary election while Minnesota conducted a caucus. Indeed, Clinton's losing share in the Heart of Dixie eclipsed Obama's winning tally in the Gopher State by over 80,000 votes.
Here's another way to look at it: six caucuses were held on Super Tuesday. At the same time, a primary took place in Obama's home state of Illinois. As expected, the favorite son overwhelmed Clinton in the Land of Lincoln by a percentage margin of 65-33. Still, Obama actually did even better in five of the six caucus states, and did almost as well (61-37) in the sixth, North Dakota.
Two things, then, are clear. First, caucuses produce relatively small turnout and, in most cases, an unrepresentative electorate. Second, Barack Obama benefits from this phenomenon far out of proportion to his actual levels of support. Does anyone really believe that Senator Clinton would have received less than one third of the vote in a Minnesota primary, as she did in the state's caucuses?
Again, as I said yesterday, this discussion should not be taken as a brief on behalf of Senator Clinton or against Senator Obama. Obama may indeed be the candidate best situated to defeat John McCain in November. But his current momentum has largely been generated by lopsided results in caucus states with relatively low, and extremely self-selected, participation.
This leads, finally, to the question currently facing the Democrats as to how to handle Michigan and Florida. Both states violated the party's edict prohibiting all but Iowa, New Hampshire, Nevada, and South Carolina from choosing delegates prior to February 5. As a result, both states have been informed that their delegations will not be seated at the Democratic National Convention in August. Complicating matters is the fact that Hillary Clinton won both the Michigan and Florida primaries, though Obama was not on the Michigan ballot.
Suggestions have been raised that the two states might conduct do-overs, completing the process anew in accordance with the party's rules. The expense of holding another primary, however, may lead Michigan and/or Florida to hold last-minute caucuses. Should they do this, and should the party sanction such a move, everyone must be aware that they are effectively handing the presidential nomination to Barack Obama. There is nothing inherently wrong with this—maybe party bosses have concluded that he is their best hope to win in November—but they should at least acknowledge this reality.
Of the two states, Michigan presents less of a problem. Since Obama's name did not appear on the state's ballot, the primary election there lacked any real sense of legitimacy. In Florida, however, both candidates were in contention and, while neither campaigned there, local supporters made a serious effort on behalf of their favorites. Clinton received over 800,000 votes and Obama nearly 600,000. A do-over there, particularly if it takes the form of a caucus, would create a very serious problem of fairness.
I have written before about my dissatisfaction with the American system of choosing presidential nominees. If it were up to me, I would return control of the process to the parties and their notorious smoke-filled rooms. But if we are to continue the present system on the grounds that it gives the people a real voice, then it is long past time to abandon the low-turnout caucus and demand that all states conduct primary elections.
UPDATE: Thanks to Redbarb, in the comments, for correcting me on the tunrout figures for Maine. The numbers have been corrected.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Distorting Power of Caucuses
During the coverage of yesterday's presidential voting, one of the cable networks—it may have been CNN—displayed two maps of the United States, each with a number of states shaded. The first represented the primary election and caucus victories achieved by Hillary Clinton; the second did the same for Barack Obama. The visual impression was unmistakable: not only did the Obama map depict many more shaded states, it also indicated a much wider geographical sweep.
If the point of the dueling maps was not immediately apparent, the announcer helped to fill in the gaps. Clearly, she said, Senator Obama enjoyed support in every corner of the nation, even in those states where the African American constituency was relatively small. She did not directly say so, but she clearly implied that the differences between the Clinton and Obama maps spoke to the relative electability of the two candidates.
I have always found this sort of lazy analysis highly irritating. Displaying states without regard for their population nearly always misleads the viewer. In 2000, when the presidential election essentially ended in a tie, the visual impression of 20 blue states and 30 red states suggested to the eye that George W. Bush had won easily over Al Gore. The distortion was increased by the fact that many of Bush's wins came in states that were rich in land mass but lacking in population. I remember, too, a popular poster from the 1980s, back when Democrats enjoyed a healthy majority in the House of Representatives, that featured a map of congressional districts, some colored green and others red depending on which party held the seat in question. Because urban Democratic districts were compact, while many GOP districts were not (think, for example, West Los Angeles vs. Wyoming, each with one representative), a quick glance demanded the conclusion that Republicans overwhelmingly ruled Congress.
The Obama-Clinton maps, of course, suffer from the same distortion. Although Obama has won more states, Clinton has captured the lion's share of those with the highest population. Of states with ten or more electoral votes, Barack Obama has won five; Hillary Clinton, on the other hand, has prevailed in eight, including the three largest that have weighed in as of February 9 (California, New York, and Florida). Aside from his home turf of Illinois, Obama has won only a single state—Georgia—with as many as 15 electoral votes. Clinton has won five.
The distortion, however, does not end there. Senator Obama's geographical sweep is also tainted by the fact that most of his biggest victories—especially outside the South—have taken place in caucus states. A win is a win, of course, and there is nothing shady about Obama's triumphant march through the caucuses (he has won nine of ten). Nevertheless, given their sometimes arcane rules and relatively low turnout, one simply cannot infer broad support from even a string of caucus victories.
Perhaps at one time, presidential caucuses were designed to keep the delegate selection process in the hands of the party pros and faithful, long-time supporters. But in practice, this no longer occurs. Instead, caucuses give the edge to whichever candidate has the most fervent devotees, those motivated not just to drive to a polling place and cast a ballot, but instead to gather at some designated location for a significantly longer period of time.
If we have learned anything over the past month, it has been that Barack Obama's fans, liberal, activist, and wired, will crawl through broken glass to help their man win the Democratic nomination. Obama's caucus victories have not only been common, they have also been, for the most part, lopsided. Consider this: in Louisiana, a state with a large African American population, Obama won yesterday's primary by 21 points, a sizable victory. But in Nebraska and Washington, under far less demographically favorable circumstances, he beat Clinton by 32 and 37 percent, respectively. According to CNN's estimates, Obama leads Clinton by 105 delegates in states that have held caucuses, but trails him by 126 in those that have not. And this does not even count Senator Clinton's victories in the Florida and Michigan primaries, in which no delegates were awarded.
There is, obviously, nothing wrong with a candidate having deeply passionate supporters. Indeed, in one sense, it bodes well for the fall campaign, when thousands of organizers and doorbell ringers and financial contributors will be needed to help defeat the Republicans. But we shouldn't mistake depth for breadth. Mike Huckabee, with an equally committed army of Christian conservative activists, has also done especially well in caucus states. Pat Robertson finished a strong second in the Iowa caucuses in 1988. Impressive caucus performances simply do not mean the same thing as sweeping primary victories.
Barack Obama may, in fact, provide the Democrats their greatest hope of recapturing the White House this year. But he has emerged as his party's frontrunner largely on the basis of his overwhelming success in states holding presidential caucuses. We have no idea how Hillary Clinton would have fared in a Washington or Nebraska primary yesterday, but she almost certainly wouldn't have gone down to 30 point defeats. Consider, too, the fact that several of Obama's primary victories have come in states—Alabama, Georgia, Utah—that Democrats have no realistic chance of winning in November.
Eight years after Al Gore won the popular vote and lost the presidential election, the same thing may occur in the race for the Democratic nomination. Hillary Clinton may win a majority of the votes, primary and caucus, cast during the first six months of 2008 and still see Barack Obama give the acceptance speech at the party's Denver convention in August. If that happens, Democrats can only hope that he has one more speech to give on the steps of the U.S. Capitol in January, 2009.
If the point of the dueling maps was not immediately apparent, the announcer helped to fill in the gaps. Clearly, she said, Senator Obama enjoyed support in every corner of the nation, even in those states where the African American constituency was relatively small. She did not directly say so, but she clearly implied that the differences between the Clinton and Obama maps spoke to the relative electability of the two candidates.
I have always found this sort of lazy analysis highly irritating. Displaying states without regard for their population nearly always misleads the viewer. In 2000, when the presidential election essentially ended in a tie, the visual impression of 20 blue states and 30 red states suggested to the eye that George W. Bush had won easily over Al Gore. The distortion was increased by the fact that many of Bush's wins came in states that were rich in land mass but lacking in population. I remember, too, a popular poster from the 1980s, back when Democrats enjoyed a healthy majority in the House of Representatives, that featured a map of congressional districts, some colored green and others red depending on which party held the seat in question. Because urban Democratic districts were compact, while many GOP districts were not (think, for example, West Los Angeles vs. Wyoming, each with one representative), a quick glance demanded the conclusion that Republicans overwhelmingly ruled Congress.
The Obama-Clinton maps, of course, suffer from the same distortion. Although Obama has won more states, Clinton has captured the lion's share of those with the highest population. Of states with ten or more electoral votes, Barack Obama has won five; Hillary Clinton, on the other hand, has prevailed in eight, including the three largest that have weighed in as of February 9 (California, New York, and Florida). Aside from his home turf of Illinois, Obama has won only a single state—Georgia—with as many as 15 electoral votes. Clinton has won five.
The distortion, however, does not end there. Senator Obama's geographical sweep is also tainted by the fact that most of his biggest victories—especially outside the South—have taken place in caucus states. A win is a win, of course, and there is nothing shady about Obama's triumphant march through the caucuses (he has won nine of ten). Nevertheless, given their sometimes arcane rules and relatively low turnout, one simply cannot infer broad support from even a string of caucus victories.
Perhaps at one time, presidential caucuses were designed to keep the delegate selection process in the hands of the party pros and faithful, long-time supporters. But in practice, this no longer occurs. Instead, caucuses give the edge to whichever candidate has the most fervent devotees, those motivated not just to drive to a polling place and cast a ballot, but instead to gather at some designated location for a significantly longer period of time.
If we have learned anything over the past month, it has been that Barack Obama's fans, liberal, activist, and wired, will crawl through broken glass to help their man win the Democratic nomination. Obama's caucus victories have not only been common, they have also been, for the most part, lopsided. Consider this: in Louisiana, a state with a large African American population, Obama won yesterday's primary by 21 points, a sizable victory. But in Nebraska and Washington, under far less demographically favorable circumstances, he beat Clinton by 32 and 37 percent, respectively. According to CNN's estimates, Obama leads Clinton by 105 delegates in states that have held caucuses, but trails him by 126 in those that have not. And this does not even count Senator Clinton's victories in the Florida and Michigan primaries, in which no delegates were awarded.
There is, obviously, nothing wrong with a candidate having deeply passionate supporters. Indeed, in one sense, it bodes well for the fall campaign, when thousands of organizers and doorbell ringers and financial contributors will be needed to help defeat the Republicans. But we shouldn't mistake depth for breadth. Mike Huckabee, with an equally committed army of Christian conservative activists, has also done especially well in caucus states. Pat Robertson finished a strong second in the Iowa caucuses in 1988. Impressive caucus performances simply do not mean the same thing as sweeping primary victories.
Barack Obama may, in fact, provide the Democrats their greatest hope of recapturing the White House this year. But he has emerged as his party's frontrunner largely on the basis of his overwhelming success in states holding presidential caucuses. We have no idea how Hillary Clinton would have fared in a Washington or Nebraska primary yesterday, but she almost certainly wouldn't have gone down to 30 point defeats. Consider, too, the fact that several of Obama's primary victories have come in states—Alabama, Georgia, Utah—that Democrats have no realistic chance of winning in November.
Eight years after Al Gore won the popular vote and lost the presidential election, the same thing may occur in the race for the Democratic nomination. Hillary Clinton may win a majority of the votes, primary and caucus, cast during the first six months of 2008 and still see Barack Obama give the acceptance speech at the party's Denver convention in August. If that happens, Democrats can only hope that he has one more speech to give on the steps of the U.S. Capitol in January, 2009.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Major League Demagogues
Sports and politics only occasionally intersect, and when they do, the result is rarely edifying. Every so often, usually after a match that ends tragically, some grandstanding statesman will mount the soapbox to wonder aloud whether boxing is too violent and in need of further government regulation. The discussion, of course, ultimately has nowhere to go; the objective of professional pugilism is to beat another man into unconsciousness, so one struggles to imagine a way of making it less violent without rendering the sport unrecognizable. Still, the objective of these hearings and press conferences is less to rein in the heavyweight division than to burnish some elected official's reputation for caring deeply about others. (Would that a critical mass of these same representatives occasionally take up the question of whether or not war is too violent.)
The endless scandal regarding the use of performance enhancing drugs by big league ballplayers is obviously tailor made for just this sort of political exhibitionism. Public outrage attracts politicians like pigs to slop, and the self-righteous ire of the average baseball fan long ago graduated from sensible to over-the-top to ohmygod-Janet-Jackson's-nipple-is-showing. Egged on by a sports media that abandoned all sense of proportion years ago, a generation of athletic supporters has taken to the talk radio airwaves to demand that players be banned, records be rescinded, and the national clock be reset to 1990. Barry Bonds, the greatest player anyone under forty has ever seen, generates the sort of hatred usually reserved only for Charles Manson and Dick Cheney.
It was only a matter of time before the demagogues would gather on Capitol Hill to demand an investigation of Major League Baseball, and nobody demagogues better than John McCain. In late 2004, just after the election, McCain bounded before the cameras to insist that baseball clean up its act or he would huff and puff and introduce legislation to blow their house down. Indeed, the senator's ostentatious embrace of the steroids issue can be seen, in retrospect, as the opening salvo in his 2008 campaign for president. Unctuous to the core, McCain insisted that "[w]hat I care about are high school athletes who are tempted to use steroids because they think that's the only way they can make it in the major leagues".
But it wasn't just McCain. Soon entire congressional committees convened to fire off subpoenas and insist that both sides, management and labor, attend kangaroo court in Washington. Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig, still in deep and convenient denial, explained that he simply had no idea why all those horsehides kept flying out of ballparks, but he promised from now on to test the players so often that a new warehouse would be needed just to hold all the urine samples. Don Fehr, representing the players' union, mumbled something about renegotiating collective bargaining agreements and talked out of both sides of his mouth so effortlessly that several representatives must have wondered if he really belonged on their other side of the witness table.
But the real stars of the Star Chamber were the players themselves, the heroes of McCain's wide-eyed schoolboys, who came to the District to face their own "say it ain't so" moment. Rafael Palmeiro wagged the Clintonesque finger in making his denial. Sammy Sosa insisted on a Spanish-to-evasiveness translator. Mark McGwire wrapped himself in the Fifth Amendment. As often happens in these situations, reputations were ruined and very little else was accomplished.
Just when we thought we could all get on with our lives, former Senator George Mitchell, late of the Irish peace process, delivers a report on steroids and baseball that names names, though with something less than a legal standard of evidence. The biggest name, of course, was Roger Clemens, the premier pitcher of his era, and a man who, like Nolan Ryan before him, has come to embody all the manly Middle American values of hard work and determination that we glorify in our folk songs and beer commercials. No longer were we talking about a couple of surly Californians, i.e., Bonds and McGwire. Now the focus had shifted to an authentic Red State hero, the Dale Earnhardt of the diamond.
I have no idea whether or not Clemens' ageless excellence derives from injections of human growth hormone or cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon lager. If he swears under oath that he is, and always has been, clean, I will consider that a strong mark in his favor. By now, he has to understand the consequences of lying and must know that even a McGwire-like banishment and shunning beats spending spring training at a minimum security prison. So if he proclaims his innocence under penalty of perjury, I am inclined to believe him. Certainly, his accuser's stories (I saved bloody syringes for seven years; I shot up Clemens' wife so she could look good for a magazine cover) seem increasingly bizarre.
For now, however, my interest is more in the men and women of Congress who are once again revving up the indignation machine for another highly anticipated hearing. Maybe it's just me, but it sure seems like they're treating Clemens more gingerly than they did his predecessors on the hot seat. Yesterday, the seven-time Cy Young winner, with lawyer in tow, paid a visit to a number of congressional offices, a courtesy that was not, to my knowledge, afforded, for example, Mr. Sosa. I know that this is not a legal proceeding, but I remain surprised that at least one elected official didn't refuse Clemens' efforts to lobby on his own behalf.
This seems very simple to me. Either Roger Clemens used illegal substances or he didn't. If you must, put him under oath and ask him that question directly. Then go back to figuring out how to pull the country out of the ditch excavated by George Bush and Dick Cheney. But don't meet Clemens beforehand, ask for his autograph, or let him wow you with stories about the 1986 World Series. If you're going to play the role of people's champion, at least try to take it seriously. Eliot Ness, after all, wouldn't have shared a cup of espresso with Al Capone before bringing him to justice.
Better yet, just drop the whole thing. If it's a baseball matter, let Bud and Don and the feckless goofballs of Major League Baseball sort it out. If it's a legal matter, leave it to the prosecutors and judges. If it's a concern about the habits of high school ballplayers, insist on government-mandated steroid testing for sixteen year old athletes. (This, by the way, is a bad idea and, in my estimation, a likely violation of the Fourth Amendment. But it would address McCain's worries far more effectively than publicly humiliating Mark Gwire.)
Or better yet, introduce another law requiring prizefighters not to die in the ring.
The endless scandal regarding the use of performance enhancing drugs by big league ballplayers is obviously tailor made for just this sort of political exhibitionism. Public outrage attracts politicians like pigs to slop, and the self-righteous ire of the average baseball fan long ago graduated from sensible to over-the-top to ohmygod-Janet-Jackson's-nipple-is-showing. Egged on by a sports media that abandoned all sense of proportion years ago, a generation of athletic supporters has taken to the talk radio airwaves to demand that players be banned, records be rescinded, and the national clock be reset to 1990. Barry Bonds, the greatest player anyone under forty has ever seen, generates the sort of hatred usually reserved only for Charles Manson and Dick Cheney.
It was only a matter of time before the demagogues would gather on Capitol Hill to demand an investigation of Major League Baseball, and nobody demagogues better than John McCain. In late 2004, just after the election, McCain bounded before the cameras to insist that baseball clean up its act or he would huff and puff and introduce legislation to blow their house down. Indeed, the senator's ostentatious embrace of the steroids issue can be seen, in retrospect, as the opening salvo in his 2008 campaign for president. Unctuous to the core, McCain insisted that "[w]hat I care about are high school athletes who are tempted to use steroids because they think that's the only way they can make it in the major leagues".
But it wasn't just McCain. Soon entire congressional committees convened to fire off subpoenas and insist that both sides, management and labor, attend kangaroo court in Washington. Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig, still in deep and convenient denial, explained that he simply had no idea why all those horsehides kept flying out of ballparks, but he promised from now on to test the players so often that a new warehouse would be needed just to hold all the urine samples. Don Fehr, representing the players' union, mumbled something about renegotiating collective bargaining agreements and talked out of both sides of his mouth so effortlessly that several representatives must have wondered if he really belonged on their other side of the witness table.
But the real stars of the Star Chamber were the players themselves, the heroes of McCain's wide-eyed schoolboys, who came to the District to face their own "say it ain't so" moment. Rafael Palmeiro wagged the Clintonesque finger in making his denial. Sammy Sosa insisted on a Spanish-to-evasiveness translator. Mark McGwire wrapped himself in the Fifth Amendment. As often happens in these situations, reputations were ruined and very little else was accomplished.
Just when we thought we could all get on with our lives, former Senator George Mitchell, late of the Irish peace process, delivers a report on steroids and baseball that names names, though with something less than a legal standard of evidence. The biggest name, of course, was Roger Clemens, the premier pitcher of his era, and a man who, like Nolan Ryan before him, has come to embody all the manly Middle American values of hard work and determination that we glorify in our folk songs and beer commercials. No longer were we talking about a couple of surly Californians, i.e., Bonds and McGwire. Now the focus had shifted to an authentic Red State hero, the Dale Earnhardt of the diamond.
I have no idea whether or not Clemens' ageless excellence derives from injections of human growth hormone or cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon lager. If he swears under oath that he is, and always has been, clean, I will consider that a strong mark in his favor. By now, he has to understand the consequences of lying and must know that even a McGwire-like banishment and shunning beats spending spring training at a minimum security prison. So if he proclaims his innocence under penalty of perjury, I am inclined to believe him. Certainly, his accuser's stories (I saved bloody syringes for seven years; I shot up Clemens' wife so she could look good for a magazine cover) seem increasingly bizarre.
For now, however, my interest is more in the men and women of Congress who are once again revving up the indignation machine for another highly anticipated hearing. Maybe it's just me, but it sure seems like they're treating Clemens more gingerly than they did his predecessors on the hot seat. Yesterday, the seven-time Cy Young winner, with lawyer in tow, paid a visit to a number of congressional offices, a courtesy that was not, to my knowledge, afforded, for example, Mr. Sosa. I know that this is not a legal proceeding, but I remain surprised that at least one elected official didn't refuse Clemens' efforts to lobby on his own behalf.
This seems very simple to me. Either Roger Clemens used illegal substances or he didn't. If you must, put him under oath and ask him that question directly. Then go back to figuring out how to pull the country out of the ditch excavated by George Bush and Dick Cheney. But don't meet Clemens beforehand, ask for his autograph, or let him wow you with stories about the 1986 World Series. If you're going to play the role of people's champion, at least try to take it seriously. Eliot Ness, after all, wouldn't have shared a cup of espresso with Al Capone before bringing him to justice.
Better yet, just drop the whole thing. If it's a baseball matter, let Bud and Don and the feckless goofballs of Major League Baseball sort it out. If it's a legal matter, leave it to the prosecutors and judges. If it's a concern about the habits of high school ballplayers, insist on government-mandated steroid testing for sixteen year old athletes. (This, by the way, is a bad idea and, in my estimation, a likely violation of the Fourth Amendment. But it would address McCain's worries far more effectively than publicly humiliating Mark Gwire.)
Or better yet, introduce another law requiring prizefighters not to die in the ring.
Friday, February 8, 2008
The Stepford Candidate Drops Out
You can learn a lot about a man by the way he faces defeat. As the list of 2008 presidential candidates dwindles, we have witnessed the difficult and very public death of a number of White House dreams. John Edwards returned to New Orleans to bow out of the Democratic race, taking advantage of his last opportunity to implore the remaining contenders not to forget the suffering of America's most vulnerable citizens. Rudy Giuliani calmly lectured Republicans on the importance of allowing diverse voices, both ideological and demographic, to participate in shaping the party's future. Lesser figures thanked their supporters, pledged their loyalty to the cause, and then quickly moved to the wings.
And then there was Mitt Romney. Having engineered the greatest waste of tens of millions of dollars since Donald Sterling bought the San Diego Clippers and moved them to Los Angeles, Romney finally decided to end his quest for the presidency while he still qualified for President Bush's tax cuts. He announced his decision at the annual rage-fest known as the Conservative Political Action Conference, thus, intentionally or not, upstaging presumptive GOP nominee John McCain's highly anticipated response to his right-wing critics.
But the timing of his speech was far less offensive than its content. Romney, to hear him tell it, has chosen to fall on his sword as a soldier in the war on terrorism. He could not, he said, allow his personal ambitions to "be a part of aiding the surrender to terror". In case anyone missed his point, he specifically called out Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama as two candidates who "would retreat, declare defeat, and the consequences of that would be devastating". It was a startlingly graceless conclusion to a stupefyingly inept campaign.
Anyone wishing to understand Mitt Romney's fall from frontrunner to footnote could profitably begin with yesterday's withdrawal statement. Like his debate performances, his television advertisements, and many of his other speeches, Romney exuded passionless mean-spiritedness. As obnoxious as his words may have been, they did not ring true. Nobody really believes that the former governor abandoned his quest for the presidency that the rest of us might avoid the dire consequences of Clinton's or Obama's appeasement. Most candidates readily acknowledge in conceding that the voters have spoken, the opposition has been worthy, and thanks are in order for everyone's hard work. Few have the gall to frame their embrace of the obvious as a selfless and heroic sacrifice worthy of admiration.
Inauthenticity has, of course, been the one constant thread that has tied together Romney's campaign for the better part of a year. From the outset, his biggest challenge was to explain to a skeptical electorate how, in less time than it takes some people to pay off a car loan, he managed to reverse his positions completely on such hot button issues as abortion and gay rights. This answer may have been obvious—he no longer needed to appeal to a liberal Massachusetts constituency—but everyone understood that he could not tell the truth. Still, most Americans are cynical enough that they are willing to accept even an egregious flip-flopper so long as he or she provides an adequately appealing cover story. The masters, Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton, reversed course with dizzying regularity, but they never caused their supporters to feel cheap in the process. John Kerry, on the other hand, was undone by relatively minor inconsistencies because of his inability to address them with the glib confidence that voters demand.
Mitt Romney, aspiring to the necessary levels of glibness and confidence, failed miserably. The explanation for his convenient conversion from solidly pro-choice to fervently anti-abortion involved some sort of soul searching that followed the revelation that technology now allows for the cloning of human beings. The connection between the two issues was never made entirely clear, and Romney delivered his self-defense in such a bloodless manner that even potential pro-life supporters had a difficult time reconciling themselves to his candidacy.
The casual nastiness of yesterday's address in Washington characterized Romney's entire campaign for president. The hardest core American conservatism loves this sort of thing; their blogs and talk shows teem with angry accusations and clumsy character assassination. Mitt Romney was their man. But during an election in which even Republican candidates like John McCain and Mike Huckabee emphasized their ability to reach across the divides of U.S. politics, Romney simply did not appeal to the independents and moderates who make up a large share of the GOP primary electorate. With Huckabee effectively challenging Romney's hold on his right-wing base, John McCain was able to slip past both of them despite the bitter objections of three-fifths of the party's constituency.
Romney's farewell to the conservatives also smelled of whiny self-indulgence, a trait rarely rewarded by the American electorate. After spending upwards of $50 million to achieve only one victory east of the Mississippi, the former governor felt the need to impress all of us with enormity of the sacrifice he was making by no longer favoring us with his presence. This mirrored perfectly the tone Romney set in any number of debates, indignantly complaining about the way his opponents supposedly mischaracterized his record at the same time he was filling the airwaves with misleading attack ads. Rather than sounding presidential, Romney reminded viewers of the mean little kid who runs tattling to the teacher the first time someone hits back on the playground.
History will, no doubt, record that Mitt Romney's Mormonism contributed to his undoing. That sort of thing is obviously difficult to prove, but there does seem to be some validity to the charge. Christian conservatives, in particular, never warmed to Romney despite a platform that dovetailed almost exactly with theirs. Even when it seemed clear that only Romney could hold off the charge of Senator McCain, a man loathed by many on the religious right, most southern conservatives still cast their lot with the hopeless candidacy of Mike Huckabee. It is difficult to understand this without some consideration of the role of faith: Huckabee is a Baptist preacher, Romney a Latter Day Saint.
Still, even here, part of the fault rests with Romney himself. After spending months resisting calls to address his beliefs publicly, the former Massachusetts governor finally did so this past November at the Bush Library in College Station, Texas. Even at this critical moment, however, Romney would not allow himself to open up with any sincerity. Instead, he talked only briefly about his faith, using the word Mormon just once, devoting the rest of his speech to a surprisingly (even by his standards) nasty confession of his own intolerance on matters of religion, politics, and sexuality. Christian conservatives may have appreciated Romney's obsequiousness, but they never received the necessary understanding of the candidate's spiritual life and inner feelings that they sought. Romney never recovered from this lost opportunity.
The lure of power has long turned politicians into worse people than they actually are. It happened to George H.W. Bush and to Bob Dole. And now it has happened to Mitt Romney. A man who is, by all accounts, both pleasant and competent has left voters with the conviction that he is neither. He is far more accomplished than John McCain and far more sensible and moderate than Mike Huckabee. Despite that premise for a successful campaign, Romney somehow chose to minimize his solid gubernatorial record and instead try to leapfrog the authentically extremist Huckabee to become the most radical right-winger in the race. The clothes did not fit and he never appeared comfortable wearing them.
In the end, Mitt Romney ran a textbook campaign, one that will be cited by pundits and professionals for years to come. Unfortunately, for him, he will be featured in the section of the book entitled, "How to Outspend Your Opponents and Still Fail Utterly and Completely". Goodbye, Mitt. Too bad you'll never have another chance to get it right.
And then there was Mitt Romney. Having engineered the greatest waste of tens of millions of dollars since Donald Sterling bought the San Diego Clippers and moved them to Los Angeles, Romney finally decided to end his quest for the presidency while he still qualified for President Bush's tax cuts. He announced his decision at the annual rage-fest known as the Conservative Political Action Conference, thus, intentionally or not, upstaging presumptive GOP nominee John McCain's highly anticipated response to his right-wing critics.
But the timing of his speech was far less offensive than its content. Romney, to hear him tell it, has chosen to fall on his sword as a soldier in the war on terrorism. He could not, he said, allow his personal ambitions to "be a part of aiding the surrender to terror". In case anyone missed his point, he specifically called out Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama as two candidates who "would retreat, declare defeat, and the consequences of that would be devastating". It was a startlingly graceless conclusion to a stupefyingly inept campaign.
Anyone wishing to understand Mitt Romney's fall from frontrunner to footnote could profitably begin with yesterday's withdrawal statement. Like his debate performances, his television advertisements, and many of his other speeches, Romney exuded passionless mean-spiritedness. As obnoxious as his words may have been, they did not ring true. Nobody really believes that the former governor abandoned his quest for the presidency that the rest of us might avoid the dire consequences of Clinton's or Obama's appeasement. Most candidates readily acknowledge in conceding that the voters have spoken, the opposition has been worthy, and thanks are in order for everyone's hard work. Few have the gall to frame their embrace of the obvious as a selfless and heroic sacrifice worthy of admiration.
Inauthenticity has, of course, been the one constant thread that has tied together Romney's campaign for the better part of a year. From the outset, his biggest challenge was to explain to a skeptical electorate how, in less time than it takes some people to pay off a car loan, he managed to reverse his positions completely on such hot button issues as abortion and gay rights. This answer may have been obvious—he no longer needed to appeal to a liberal Massachusetts constituency—but everyone understood that he could not tell the truth. Still, most Americans are cynical enough that they are willing to accept even an egregious flip-flopper so long as he or she provides an adequately appealing cover story. The masters, Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton, reversed course with dizzying regularity, but they never caused their supporters to feel cheap in the process. John Kerry, on the other hand, was undone by relatively minor inconsistencies because of his inability to address them with the glib confidence that voters demand.
Mitt Romney, aspiring to the necessary levels of glibness and confidence, failed miserably. The explanation for his convenient conversion from solidly pro-choice to fervently anti-abortion involved some sort of soul searching that followed the revelation that technology now allows for the cloning of human beings. The connection between the two issues was never made entirely clear, and Romney delivered his self-defense in such a bloodless manner that even potential pro-life supporters had a difficult time reconciling themselves to his candidacy.
The casual nastiness of yesterday's address in Washington characterized Romney's entire campaign for president. The hardest core American conservatism loves this sort of thing; their blogs and talk shows teem with angry accusations and clumsy character assassination. Mitt Romney was their man. But during an election in which even Republican candidates like John McCain and Mike Huckabee emphasized their ability to reach across the divides of U.S. politics, Romney simply did not appeal to the independents and moderates who make up a large share of the GOP primary electorate. With Huckabee effectively challenging Romney's hold on his right-wing base, John McCain was able to slip past both of them despite the bitter objections of three-fifths of the party's constituency.
Romney's farewell to the conservatives also smelled of whiny self-indulgence, a trait rarely rewarded by the American electorate. After spending upwards of $50 million to achieve only one victory east of the Mississippi, the former governor felt the need to impress all of us with enormity of the sacrifice he was making by no longer favoring us with his presence. This mirrored perfectly the tone Romney set in any number of debates, indignantly complaining about the way his opponents supposedly mischaracterized his record at the same time he was filling the airwaves with misleading attack ads. Rather than sounding presidential, Romney reminded viewers of the mean little kid who runs tattling to the teacher the first time someone hits back on the playground.
History will, no doubt, record that Mitt Romney's Mormonism contributed to his undoing. That sort of thing is obviously difficult to prove, but there does seem to be some validity to the charge. Christian conservatives, in particular, never warmed to Romney despite a platform that dovetailed almost exactly with theirs. Even when it seemed clear that only Romney could hold off the charge of Senator McCain, a man loathed by many on the religious right, most southern conservatives still cast their lot with the hopeless candidacy of Mike Huckabee. It is difficult to understand this without some consideration of the role of faith: Huckabee is a Baptist preacher, Romney a Latter Day Saint.
Still, even here, part of the fault rests with Romney himself. After spending months resisting calls to address his beliefs publicly, the former Massachusetts governor finally did so this past November at the Bush Library in College Station, Texas. Even at this critical moment, however, Romney would not allow himself to open up with any sincerity. Instead, he talked only briefly about his faith, using the word Mormon just once, devoting the rest of his speech to a surprisingly (even by his standards) nasty confession of his own intolerance on matters of religion, politics, and sexuality. Christian conservatives may have appreciated Romney's obsequiousness, but they never received the necessary understanding of the candidate's spiritual life and inner feelings that they sought. Romney never recovered from this lost opportunity.
The lure of power has long turned politicians into worse people than they actually are. It happened to George H.W. Bush and to Bob Dole. And now it has happened to Mitt Romney. A man who is, by all accounts, both pleasant and competent has left voters with the conviction that he is neither. He is far more accomplished than John McCain and far more sensible and moderate than Mike Huckabee. Despite that premise for a successful campaign, Romney somehow chose to minimize his solid gubernatorial record and instead try to leapfrog the authentically extremist Huckabee to become the most radical right-winger in the race. The clothes did not fit and he never appeared comfortable wearing them.
In the end, Mitt Romney ran a textbook campaign, one that will be cited by pundits and professionals for years to come. Unfortunately, for him, he will be featured in the section of the book entitled, "How to Outspend Your Opponents and Still Fail Utterly and Completely". Goodbye, Mitt. Too bad you'll never have another chance to get it right.
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