The People vs. the Parties

Kevin Phillips; I S S U E 1 9; F a l l 1 9 9 4

Massachusetts pundits and periodicals like to pour great debates

from parochial pitchers. The big question of 1992 was whether

Democratic ex-Senator Paul Tsongas could merchandise his

hairshirt economics west of New England (no, as it turned out).

Looking ahead to 1996, the wonderment is whether a cultural

moderate liberal and fiscal conservative like GOP Governor

William Weld can sell his own Eastern elite ideology to a

nominating convention dominated by Indianapolis and Oklahoma

City. Probably not.

These questions suggest a broader one: Can the current party

system nominate anybody interesting or useful? Can either the

Republicans or Democrats plausibly choose a nominee who will

openly offer the elite viewpoint on a critical public policy

smorgasbord: moderate liberalism on cultural issues, a

budget-cutting approach to middle-class entitlements,

sophisticated internationalism, and distrust of popular or

plebiscitary politics and government? If not, isn't that limitation a

deficiency of the system?

Now consider two other variations. Can a libertarian triumph in

either Democratic or Republican clothing? Could either side

nominate a committed theorist of a lesser role for government?

Then, in another vein, can the case for rule by the people be

offered and heard? Would either party put an

establishment-baiting populist at the top of the ticket? Would the

Republicans or Demo- crats willingly embrace a practitioner of

cultural and institutional outsiderism (Religious Right activism,

anti-Washington sentiment, or both), someone who also endorses

middle-class economic interests or tax revolts, nationalism or

neo-isolationism, and a wide range of populist mechanisms like

term limits, recalls, initiatives and referenda, and ballot

propositions to allow the public to vote on tax increases? I can't

imagine any such candidate, even though national polls show the

electorate tilting in many (even most) of these populist directions

and in some libertarian ones. In fact, politicians who begin to

embrace two or three of these populist views or any comparable

libertarian ideas usually become pariahs in establishment circles.

So it is not surprising that artifice is emerging as the best White

House qualification. The typical Democratic presidential nominee,

based on 1988 and 1992, can be described as a technocrat or

meritocrat with elite tendencies. The caveat is that such a person

can't win in November's general election without muting his

cultural liberalism and internationalism, reaffirming his party's

traditional economic commitment to growth, labor, and

middle-class entitlements, yet simultaneously deploring

bureaucrats and special interests and donning at least a partial

mask of populism and outsiderism. Dukakis couldn't handle the

mix and lost. Clinton, who understood better, shaded in these

various directions and won the White House. The Republican

version of this quadrennial deception is to placate the Religious

Right and their social-issue allies with cultural commitments

unlikely to be fulfilled, while also beating tax-revolt and nationalist

drums and likewise assuming some mask of populism and

outsiderism. Tsongas couldn't perform the right Democratic

dance steps in 1992; the odds are that Weld probably won't be

able to do the GOP waltz in 1996, either.

The bipartisan irony is that once the populist rhetoric and

pretension of the campaign has subsided, most presidents of both

parties govern on the elite model or close to it. Not surprisingly,

they lose credibility with voters for broken promises. Bush did,

and the same thing is now happening to Clinton. Back in the

1960s, George Wallace overstated by contending that there

wasn't a dime's worth of difference between the parties. There

most certainly is. On a penny-to-dollar scale, the "difference" can

be pegged at about 30 to 45 cents. This is hardly a strict

tweedle-dum/tweedle-dee situation; rather, it results from shared

lackluster thinking and intermittent collusion that provides no basis

for serious innovation or for

purge-Washington-every-decade-or-so government. The

unproductive dynamics are all too simple. Popular frustration

blocks elite remedies, and the elites block populist or libertarian

prescriptions.

Party Poopers

Over the last several decades, the entrenchment of Washington's

political classes arguably have made the two-party system part of

America's late 20th century problem and probably not part of any

21st century solution, which is a focus of my new book

(Arrogant Capital, published by Little, Brown, and Company).

My purpose here is to pursue a different point: that the present

U.S. party system cannot serve as a vehicle for the wisdom, such

as it is, of the U.S. political, economic, and cultural elites, or for

the populist anger or reformism of the masses. What the current

system now produces under either party is shifty, back-stage

bipartisanship and failed presidencies. Ronald Reagan was a

partial exception, but both major opportunities of which he took

advantage in the early 1980s -- to proclaim "Morning Again in

America" and to do so on a credit card -- have been used up.

Scoffers will dispute the notion that the U.S. elites lack the

political wherewithal to get their way. To be sure, they have

enormous access to the media. And, yes, in this era of

semi-corrupt politics, the hard and soft dollars of their campaign

contributions buy massive influence in the executive and legislative

branches alike. Their lobbyists throng Washington, winning quiet

favors through obscure regulations or legislative amendments.

However, with so much cynicism and frustration abroad in the

land, both major parties, each standing for so little that excites

public loyalty, are obliged to heed America's swing electorate of

angry and suspicious independents. Furthermore, while both

parties rely on powerful elites, they also rely on powerful

anti-elites. These anti-elites are not comfortable with pin-striped

Gucci centrism, and this is where much of the 30-45 cents worth

of party difference originates.

Take the Democratic Party. Its economic policy is strongly

influenced by anti-elite blue-collar workers, farmers, pensioners,

critics of business and finance, and those ordinary folk who

support rapid economic growth even at some risk of inflation. It's

in cultural policy that the Democratic Party leans towards the

views of what can fairly be called elites: the secular,

nonchurchgoing intelligentsia, the glitterati of Hollywood, fashion

and the arts, gays, journalists and communicators, foundation and

think-tank executives, and so forth. The Republicans more or less

reverse the equation. They represent the elite upper-income and

business viewpoint in economic policy, but to flesh out the party

coalition, on cultural issues the national GOP has to bow to

social-issue conservative and Religious Right constituencies. All

of this is well known. Less attention is paid to another central

truth: both parties are elite-dominated, which is why they find it so

hard to represent ordinary Americans.

This overlapping of elites is where the

not-a-dime's-worth-of-difference thesis deserves serious

attention. Each party has well-known figures who take a

moderate or centrist approach that combines relatively elite (in

this case, somewhat conservative) economics with relatively elite

(here somewhat liberal) cultural positions. These worthies are

usually staunch internationalists, and rarely do they advocate

populism. On the Republican side, the last 30 years have

produced presidential ambitions in this vein from the likes of

Pennsylvania Governor William Scranton (1964), New York

Governor Nelson Rockefeller (1968), Representative John

Anderson (1980), and now the minor wannabe crop of 1996 --

Weld and Senator Arlen Specter, for example. Politicians who

represent a kindred mix have emerged on the Democratic side,

too, and it is no ideological coincidence that some of the most

prominent were once Republicans or came from Republican

families: Massachusetts' Tsongas, Senator Bob Kerrey of

Nebraska, White House chief of staff and former Congressman

Leon Panetta, New Jersey Senator Bill Bradley, and even

ex-Colorado Senator Gary Hart.

We should consider why this brand of Democrat hasn't been any

more successful in reaching the Oval Office than were the old

moderate Republicans of 1960 to 1980. In a nutshell, their media

attention exceeds their intra-party popular support. Their

principal socioeconomic appeal is to upper-bracket suburbanites,

college students, venture capitalists, white-collar professionals,

and the financial community -- instead of core Democratic voters

interested in bread-and-butter economic growth and distribution

issues. Economically, they verge on crypto-Republicanism; this

kind of New Democrat would rather meet with money managers

or central bankers than with labor leaders (which, of course, isn't

as "new" as it seems). At the same time, liberal leanings on culture

and lifestyle issues make these politicos much less interested than

the average Republican officeholder in upholding the fiscal and

cultural interests of run-of-the-mall suburban constituencies.

Indeed, fiscal new Democrats, epitomized by Tsongas and

Kerrey, are particularly likely to deplore federal "pandering" to

the middle class and to blame the middle class and its federal

benefits programs for the nation's problems.

This fiscal revisionism hasn't exactly been a road to the White

House. Hart didn't pan out in 1984; neither did Dukakis four

years later. Dukakis, who didn't want to use the term "country

club" as a pejorative, insisted the election was about competence,

not ideology. (He also came from a Republican family.) Then in

1992, Kerrey and Tsongas both miscarried with their early-stage,

blame-the-middle-class themes. Tsongas did well in New

England, with its tradition of puritanism and guilt, but as the

campaign moved south and west, toward heavy industry,

minorities, farmers, and pensioners, the Tsongas vote shrank with

the ratio of Volvos and home delivery of the New York Times.

By the Maryland, Florida, and Illinois primaries, Tsongas support

shriveled towards a small affluent core. Clinton tapped the

dominant Democratic anti-elite by lauding the middle class,

defending pensioners and entitlements, and reiterating his attacks

on the rich.

In 1996, Tsongas will not run against Clinton, but Kerrey might; if

he does, it will be an interesting campaign. As a Medal of Honor

winner in Vietnam, Kerrey could spotlight Clinton's foreign policy

weakness. He might also run to Clinton's right on other issues,

such as health care, on which he's already done an about-face.

The centerpiece of Kerrey's 1992 presidential bid was a national

health insurance plan that was to the left of Clinton's. Though his

plan included a 5 percent payroll tax with no phase-in or

exclusions, he now opposes Senator George Mitchell's delayed,

contingent, 50 percent employer mandate, which excludes small

firms.

Kerrey's weakness is his mix of neo-Republican economics and

scapegoating of middle-class benefits. Recent reports also have

had him getting his tax policy advice from billionaire investor

Warren Buffett. Unless Clinton is a political basket case by 1996,

the outline of a primary counterattack against a Kerrey candidacy

is obvious. Although the president no longer has the credibility

with the middle class that he enjoyed in 1992, he should be able

to rally the majority of the Democratic electorate that responds to

anti-elite economics.

If the prospect of an openly elite-oriented Democrat winning the

White House in 1996 on a platform of ending Social Security as

we know it is slim, the prospect of one of their GOP cousins

gaining the Republican nomination is even thinner. Here the elite

that rank-and-file voters reject is cultural. Weld is already

changing some of his colors and re-attuning his 1994

Massachusetts reelection campaign to Catholic big-city swing

Democrats, but it's hard to see his nomination playing west of

Williamstown and Great Barrington. Weld's place on the national

ticket probably depends on an acceptable GOP presidential

nominee following in the footsteps of William McKinley and

Richard Nixon by choosing a Cabot Lodge or Teddy

Roosevelt-like running mate.

Weld's maneuvers also speak volumes about the unacceptability

of politicos with libertarian leanings as nominees in either of the

major parties. True, both sides have an overlap with part of the

libertarian viewpoint. Reagan-type Republicans have broad

streaks of what could be called Marlboro Man libertarianism: cap

taxes and roll back government so that its regulations and taxes

don't get in the way of ranchers, loggers, miners, and other

entrepreneurs. But such Republicans, unlike full-menu libertarians,

often favor government involvement in promoting defense

industries, conservative morality, and religion in the schools.

Liberal Democrats, in turn, have elements of what could be called

Marijuana Man libertarianism: free up morality, grow what you

want, and keep government out of the bedroom. But such liberals

generally favor an activist government in other areas from

affirmative action to stronger enforcement of environmental laws

and regulations and higher taxes. The result is that each party can

take a flavoring of libertarian thinking in a nominee, but no more.

Across-the-board libertarianism is anathema to central

constituencies.

Harvard man Weld, for example, captured favor in elite circles

with a libertarian mix that blended tolerance on social issues with

an Old Money investment banker's enthusiasm for reductions in

estate and capital gains taxes. The power of the Religious Right in

the GOP all but rules out any such 1996 candidate profile.

Moderate Variations

Former New Hampshire Senator Warren Rudman, who also

blends social liberalism and fiscal conservatism, has tried to

organize moderate Republicans to stymie the Religious Right. In

1992 he suggested that if the deficit were not brought under

control there would soon be a new party. Probably not, because

the issue is losing oomph.

But a broader new movement to limit government could come in

three flavors. The first would repackage Perot centrism: tough on

fiscal policy, fairly liberal on social issues, nationalist rather than

internationalist, and populist on questions like town meetings and

national referendums. The second would be the bipartisan elite

version: liberal on social issues, budget-minded with a preference

for sandblasting middle-class entitlements, internationalist and

skeptical of populist mechanisms. If Tsongas and Rudman, who

do bipartisan speeches together, formed a new party together,

they would take this second option, although their mixture would

probably not do as well as Perot's. Indeed, a Tsongas-Rudman

ticket might well draw no more than the 7 percent that rallied

around John Anderson's 1980 campaign, likewise maximizing in

the Volvo and high-tech suburbs from Portland, Oregon to

Portland, Maine, with detours to include university towns and

upper-bracket playgrounds from Aspen to Nantucket. A third

possibility for defunding big government would have a Pat

Buchanan-type coloration and display the trappings of cultural

war, America First nationalism, and various populist ideas.

So many varieties exist because so many of these viewpoints now

find little real voice. This suggests a valid concern: the present

party system fails not only to provide any effective public

showcase for a bipartisan elite viewpoint, but also to offer any

platform for serious libertarianism or populism because of the

enormous private influence of the elites. Politicos like Perot and

Buchanan, with their nationalism, culture wars, anti-Washington

crusades, and support for bypassing the elites and going to the

people are anathema to the establishments of both parties. So are

the left-populist insurgencies of Jesse Jackson, Ralph Nader, and

Jerry Brown. Even a more sophisticated version of populist or

reformist insurgency may have to go outside the

Republican-Democratic framework.

Which helps explain why the party system so shaky. America's

bipartisan centrist elites are frustrated, and legitimately, at how

neither party can showcase their ideas because of seething

populism and the role of anti-elites within both parties. The

bipartisan centrists find themselves obliged to use bipartisan

commissions or summits to pursue policies that they presumably

would prefer to press directly with the electorate. Unfortunately

(and undemocratically), these mechanisms are designed to

suspend the ordinary rules and retributions of politics to let the

elites in both parties team up to recommend and often enact

measures that have little public support. Prior examples range

from the Greenspan Commission's 1983 insistence on major

Social Security tax increases to the early 1990s deal between the

parties to raise congressional salaries with as much camouflage as

possible. The Bipartisan Commission on Entitlements, chaired by

Kerrey, is the latest in this long line. Those who give it bipartisan

cheer and a steady flow of memos see it as a way to make the

middle class pay for deficit reduction with entitlement cuts,

consumption taxes, and spending cuts, while promoting tax

changes friendly to investorsþin short, more self-serving

policy-making by the upper bracket.

No wonder voters think that the interests of ordinary Americans

are not represented in Washington. Their economic interests

certainly aren't. Whenever bipartisan elites meet backstage in

Washington, they are usually seeking to sidestep public opinion,

not uphold it. Critics of Rush Limbaugh should broaden their

concern. Precious few talk-show hosts can match the effect of

senior members of our two-party system in breeding national

cynicism.

A second related failure of this party system is the bipartisan need

to pander. George Bush and Bill Clinton, while miles apart in their

socioeconomic and ideological origins, reached the White House

the same way: by promising the American people they would do

things either that they never intended to do or that required

populist battles for which they lacked the stomach. How could

such governance not breed widespread popular contempt?

In 1988 and thereafter during the Bush administration, and in

1992 and then during the Clinton administration, the U.S.

electorate has seen these shortcomings dominate each party in

turn. Small wonder that voters are beginning to wonder about

how well the two-party system serves the public interest. It is a

debate that is likely to grow in 1995-96 as we watch what is

rapidly becoming the saddest spectacle in American democracy:

how so few, if any, of our Republican and Democratic wannabes

are also oughtabes.