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January 29, 2008

Desperately Seeking Reagan

If there's one thing that can unite the GOP like the Gipper
did, it's the specter of another Clinton in the White House.
By James Ridgeway

It's only fitting that tomorrow the Republican presidential debates will come to an
end precisely where they began almost nine long months ago—at the Ronald Reagan
Presidential Library in Simi Valley, California, the closest thing the Republicans have
to hallowed ground. And it's to the memory of Reagan that the party turns as it
struggles to hold together the fraying strands of the conservative coalition, one made
up of traditional business interests, hawkish neoconservatives, Christian "social
conservatives," and libertarians.
Without strong support from each of these factions, the Republican nominee's road to
the White House will become a nearly impossible climb. Yet each of the field's leading
candidates—John McCain, Mitt Romney, and Mike Huckabee—draws support from at
best two or three of them. As it stands, says John Samples of the libertarian Cato
Institute, the Republican Party is suffering from "depression, lack of interest, and
confusion" in the wake of the Bush years. But all is not lost for the GOP. There's
nothing that pulls squabbling troops together more effectively than the need to
defeat a common foe, and no enemy is more reviled among Republicans than Hillary
Clinton.
The New Right coalition that launched the Reagan Revolution came together in the
late 1970s to oppose such developments as Jimmy Carter's handover of the Panama
Canal and the SALT II disarmament talks. Appealing to business-minded fiscal
conservatives from Main Street to Wall Street with its attack on New Deal regulation
and social programs, the coalition also pleased many libertarians with its emphasis
on reducing government, supporting states' rights, and defending national
sovereignty against such threats as the United Nations. It drew in social
conservatives through its shrewd alliance with Jerry Falwell's Moral Majority and its
opposition to such 1970s excesses as feminism and gay rights—and it was all held
firmly together by anti-Communism. By drawing these groups together, the New
Right delivered the White House to Ronald Reagan in 1980. Reagan, a divorced
former Hollywood actor, received two-thirds of the white Christian evangelical vote
over Carter, who was himself a Christian evangelical from the Deep South. He also
won support from so-called Reagan Democrats—working-class voters who were
drawn in, often against their own economic interests, by the Republican's tough
stance on national security, crime, and what they saw as a too-permissive society.
The Heritage Foundation became the brain trust of the Reagan era, spelling out the
nuts and bolts of the conservative revolution in a publication called Mandate for
Leadership, a catalog of the most horrifying things liberals could imagine:
privatization of everything from the nation's highways to the air-traffic control
system; closing down the Department of Education; ending food stamps and welfare;
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putting Medicare in private hands; rolling back health, environmental, and corporate
regulation; and cutting taxes on the wealthy and on corporations.
These different projects were not considered to be ad hoc or pragmatic steps towards
gaining power and running government. They were thought of as ways to implement
a conservative ideology. Above all, New Right ideology sought to reverse the New
Deal belief that government has the ability to aid, serve, and protect its people. "The
nine most terrifying words in the English language," Reagan once said, "are, 'I'm from
the government and I'm here to help.'" Such rhetoric—and the accompanying cuts to
both taxes and social programs—was music to libertarian ears, as well as a boon to
corporate profits. Reagan cared less about crushing abortion and gay rights, but he
paid enough lip service to issues of "morality" to keep the Bible-thumpers in the big
tent, as well.
Reagan's zealous anti-communism initially won the hearts of the original crop of
neoconservatives (though they ultimately found him too fainthearted in his quest to
expand the American empire). Under the so-called Reagan Doctrine—also designed
in large part by Heritage—U.S. troops remained at home, while covert support flowed
to right-wing guerrilla insurgents (then known as "freedom fighters") to help "roll
back" communism in Latin America, Asia, and Africa. He also benefited from the
courage of democracy movements in Eastern Europe and Gorbachev-era reforms
within the Soviet Union: Reagan may have said "tear down this wall," but it's Lech
Walesa and Vaclav Havel who did it, just in time to secure Reagan's legacy.
Reagan also said, "Politics is just like show business. You have a hell of an opening,
coast for awhile, and then have a hell of a close." Though in fact, the administration
that began and ended with a bang actually had to compromise on many of its goals,
restrained by a solidly Democratic Congress that managed to fend off the most
drastic cuts to the social welfare system and keep Robert Bork off the Supreme Court
(though it also increased military spending). George H.W. Bush couldn't energize the
conservative coalition the way Reagan had, and the party lost the White House in
1992.
But Mandate for Leadership paved the way for the Contract with America, and the
Republican back bench, led by Newt Gingrich, seized Congress in 1994. It tied
Clinton's hands except when he was willing to triangulate—as he all too often was,
agreeing to bank consolidation, welfare "reform," and widespread deregulation.
Clinton also helped bring sex to the foreground as an increasingly important
ingredient in the conservative coalition—not just Bill Clinton's irrepressible libido, but
the notion of controlling sex and sexuality as an organizing force for government. Sex
was brought to bear by the social conservatives, chief among them, the right-wing
Christian fundamentalists who clustered around Washington and plunged into politics
as never before. Unlike the libertarian and business-minded Republicans who were
usually pushing for less government, social conservatives didn't hesitate to use the
central government to achieve their goals, passing laws about who is allowed to have
sex with whom, who should reproduce and under what conditions, what family
structures were and were not legitimate. In addition to banning abortion, the social
conservatives wanted to legislate sexual behavior by rewarding traditional nuclear
families with tax cuts, punishing single mothers with welfare cuts, and ostracizing
gay people in whatever way possible. The 1998 impeachment was a shining moment
for the sex police. Conservatives of other ilks—including many who couldn't care less
what the president did with his cigars—were all too happy to climb on board because
of their general loathing of Bill Clinton and his policies.
Clinton-hating couldn't quite equal anti-communism as a glue to hold together the
conservative coalition—but it helped. And George W. Bush, who offered a born-again
Christian veneer on top of a blue-blooded, business-minded Republican background,
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was just able to please all the factions. With some help from the Electoral College, he
squeaked into the White House in 2000; and aided by a weak John Kerry candidacy
and September 11, stayed there in 2004. But the coalition, already oozing around the
edges, began to hemorrhage during the Bush presidency, with Reagan
revolutionaries balking at some aspects of the president's fundamentalist social
agenda and interventionist foreign policy—but most of all at what they saw as his
profligate spending.
Daniel Mitchell, a former fellow at the Heritage Foundation who is now at the Cato
Institute, said that the alliance between fiscally conservative libertarians, on the one
side, and social conservatives, on the other, has always been a "marriage of
convenience." It has worked because for the most part they have been "moving in
the same direction" toward the same ends, although sometimes for different reasons.
But, as Cato's John Samples said, there are ultimately internal contradictions
between the two: libertarianism's emphasis on liberty, limited government, and
individualism implies a certain skepticism about any ideology that offers "final
answers," as the religious right does on personal moral questions. Bush, Samples
believes, has been a "divisive factor" and has damaged his own coalition, especially
alienating libertarians by going into Iraq with "no strong defense justification" and
expanding the federal government's power and budget. "If the Democrats did what
Bush is doing," he said, "they'd be going apeshit." As a result, he says, the
"Republican brand has lost some of its meaning."
In the current primary race, the diverse field of candidates exemplifies the
breakdown of the Republican coalition. "Every Republican," Mitchell observes, "says 'I
am the new Ronald Reagan.' They're trying to out-Reagan one another." Yet unlike
Reagan, each appeals to a few of the constituent factions, and none represents all.
Mike Huckabee may thrill the evangelicals with his credentials as a preacher, his
denial of evolution, and his past support for quarantining people with HIV/AIDS, but
other conservatives pale at the idea of him having control over fiscal policy, much
less the nuclear button. Constitution-waver Ron Paul has attracted a faithful
following, but even many libertarians aren't supporting him; Cato's Samples says
there's "not a lot of enthusiasm for Paul" at the institute, and cites racially tinged
nativism and conspiracy theories some have found in the Texas Congressman's
newsletters. The hawks who liked Rudy Giuliani before they actually saw much of him
now seem to agree with the New York Times that the "real" Giuliani is "a narrow,
obsessively secretive, vindictive man." Mitt Romney has pandered to all factions—
worshipping the freemarket, denouncing his own past moderate social positions, and
warning of the Muslim fundamentalists' plan to "unite the world under a single
jihadist caliphate." Yet he appears to have convinced none of them.
Can John McCain, or anyone else, pull the winning coalition back together? In New
Hampshire, where the Arizona senator rose from the dead, his single most important
supporter was the Manchester Union Leader. The paper, whose influence in
conservative circles reaches far beyond New Hampshire, was clearly measuring the
candidates against the Gipper in settling on an endorsement. "We're desperately
seeking Ronald Reagan," its editorial page editor, Andrew Cline, wrote in late
December. The paper could well have chosen to back Romney, who was studiously
saying all the things he thought Reagan would have said. But the Union Leader>
backed McCain largely because of his thinking on foreign policy—not just his
determination to win the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and chase Osama bin Laden
"to the gates of Hell," but also, as Cline said in an interview last week, "listening to
him talk in great detail off the top of his head about how he will use diplomatic and
military resources abroad." McCain managed to pass conservative muster on
domestic issues, as well, with his concentration on cutting spending and setting a
limited government agenda. Cline believes McCain would only serve one term, and
during that time there would be "only a few things he wants to get done" on the
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domestic side. These would focus on what conservatives like to call "entitlement
reform"—which means trimming away at what's left of the social safety net. He cites
McCain's positions on Social Security, where he would add private individual
accounts, and on Medicare, where he would appoint a commission to recommend
reforms to the program.
On the other hand, there are influential Christian Right leaders like Focus on the
Family's James Dobson, who say they won't vote for McCain "under any
circumstances," citing his past acquiescence to abortion and gay unions. It's clear
that the social conservatives have started to feel dissed since several high-profile
Republicans commented that the 2006 midterm elections were a call for the party to
move toward the center. "Values Voters are not going to carry the water for the
Republican Party if it ignores their deeply held convictions and beliefs," Dobson has
warned. "If they continue to abandon their pro-moral, pro-family and pro-life base,
the big tent will turn into a three-ring circus."
In addition, the antiwar libertarian contingent that supports Ron Paul could even flee
the party before they'll vote for McCain. Other libertarians, including those at Cato,
favor an open, market-driven immigration policy, but a wide swath of conservatives
hate McCain for his tolerant stance on immigration. Others object to his efforts at
campaign finance reform, which threaten the cash pipeline from corporations into the
party's coffers. And some Republicans despise him simply for failing to be an
obedient party man through his years in Congress.
There's one thing, however, that all Republicans will always hate more than they hate
one another: the Clintons. In Iowa, Barack Obama pulled in votes from independents
and even some Republicans; in New Hampshire he and McCain split much of the
independent vote. But the right uniformly loathes Hillary and also detests Bill, who is
more and more emerging as her true running mate. Running against the two of them,
offers an opportunity for the tattered conservative coalition to pull itself together to
oppose what Peggy Noonan calls a Clinton "dynasty."
Some commentators have suggested that as a woman, Hillary Clinton would have no
chance against the war hero McCain. But Hillary is no Dukakis-style dweeb, standing
up in a tank turret with a helmet on her head; she's a fighter to the core, and if she's
nominated she will also surely move to the right, on foreign policy and everything
else. In terms of both policy and personal grit, she would make a tough opponent for
McCain. But ultimately, what may decide the election is whether Republicans can
mobilize all factions of its fractured conservative coalition. Like all voters,
Republicans this year will vote with their feet—and the specter of another Clinton in
the White House might just get them walking in unison.
James Ridgeway is Mother Jones' senior Washington correspondent