Writing in the spring of 1997—three months into the second Clinton term—I realize how vastly I underestimated the significance of money in the recent presidential election. As new information emerges almost daily about the fund-raising frenzy by Clinton and the Democratic National Committee, it is clear that money, and what it was able to buy, played a much more central role in the president’s reelection than I initially thought. The money then in 1995 and 1996 paid for the Democrats’ unprecedented television advertising campaign, an artful, all-out media blitz that cost upwards of $85 million, according to Dick Morris, the president’s former chief political strategist. These two ingredients, money and advertising, were the keys to the Clinton victory.
If I were writing the script for a movie about the Clinton victory, I would begin with a scene depicted in this book (pp. 51–52): the December 27, 1994, White House breakfast between Clinton and Terry McAuliffe, the Democrats’ chief fund-raiser. That morning, McAuliffe did something unusual in American politics. He issued a guarantee. He promised he could raise the necessary money if Clinton would grant a favor: regular access for large campaign donors. “Sir, I need to get people to see you,” McAuliffe said. Clinton agreed at once. Access became the campaign obsession. Thus were launched a thousand fund-raising events in the White House under the guise of routine presidential outreach. Playing on Clinton’s natural gregariousness, DNC fund-raisers arranged for a continuous and incessant stream of donors or future donors to meet with the president at the White House. These meetings included informal coffees, Oval Office meetings with Clinton, state dinners, receptions, parties, movies, rides on Air Force One and sleepovers in the Lincoln Bedroom.
A second key scene in the movie (depicted in pp. 236–239 here) would be when Clinton and his campaign team realized they could skirt the donor and spending limits imposed on a presidential campaign. Federal campaign finance laws created after Watergate set a $1,000 limit on individual contributions to presidential campaigns and an aggregate spending limit of some $40 million. The Democratic National Committee, which Clinton controlled as head of the party, was not subject to the federal limits. Unlimited soft money from individuals and corporations—the so-called high-dollar contributions of $25,000 to $100,000 or more—was perfectly legal, if given to the DNC.
In the late summer of 1995, Clinton authorized an initial $10 million fund-raising drive for a DNC “media fund” to pay for a series of pro-Clinton television spots. The special fund-raising never stopped until the election, with the DNC providing tens of millions more just for television advertising.
“We created the first fully advertised presidency in U.S. history,” Morris later wrote in his book with pride. These ads, mostly thirty-second spots, were brutally effective. They were deceptive enough to be appalling, depicting Dole and the Republicans as anxious to “cut” Medicare by $270 billion when in fact the Republican plan called for a reduction in the rapid rate of Medicare growth. Clinton himself was proposing a Medicare growth reduction of half that amount. But the ads were also truthful enough to strike a chord with voters anxious about health care and their retirement. In the ads Clinton cast himself as the protector of programs such as Medicare, Medicaid (the health insurance program for the poor), education and the environment. These four issues—Medicare, Medicaid, education and the environment—became the cornerstone of Clinton’s campaign.
Clinton met one night most weeks with his campaign team in White House strategy sessions, personally editing the television scripts, honing his message, determining precisely what he wanted to say in the television ads. This intense involvement put Clinton through a process of what I would call “self-hearing.” He developed, heard and retained his own message. The ads reflected precisely what he wanted to say, stating the reasons he wanted to continue to be president. So, in the daily routine of being president, he began to echo his campaign message. Chaos, multiple and inconsistent daily messages had marred the first two years of his presidency. Clinton had been talking too much on too many issues. The new campaign message imposed a needed discipline. As president, he began using the same language that was appearing in the DNC-financed television ads. For the first time in the Clinton White House there was consistency.
Clinton’s television ads pierced into the soul of middle America and the homes of people who often did not read political coverage in their daily newspapers or watch the evening television news. The ads were carefully calibrated to appear in media markets rich with undecided or persuadable voters. The same ads or variations on them often appeared hundreds of times in key markets. Clinton’s poll numbers began to move up in these markets. This gave the president more confidence. He stuck to his themes. By moving to the center more, he neutralized the Republicans on their issues such as crime and a balanced budget. He never claimed to be tougher on crime than the Republicans or to be one to balance the budget faster. He would, however, tackle these problems in his own reasonable way. With those issues somewhat off the table, Clinton portrayed himself as the government’s mature protector. House Speaker Gingrich embodied radical extremism. As the Senate leader, Dole was Gingrich’s partner. The television ads almost always pictured Gingrich and Dole together, and the narrator referred to them as almost one person—“Gingrich-Dole.”
The Clinton television advertising ran for six months, from the fall of 1995 to the spring of 1996, while Dole and the Republicans engaged in bloody primary fights. The Republicans spent tens of millions of dollars on television attacking each other, including nearly $20 million Steve Forbes paid to portray Dole as an aging, big-spending career politician and Washington insider. The Republican primary battles gave Clinton the opening he needed. In retrospect, I would argue that Clinton won the 1996 election in late 1995 and early 1996. He found his message, stuck to it and brought it into the homes of millions.
Dole also lost the election of 1996. The economy’s strength, the relative absence of turmoil overseas and Newt Gingrich’s unpopularity made it an uphill battle for Dole, perhaps an impossible one.
After he had locked up the Republican nomination, Dole attempted to present himself as the seasoned, can-do master of Washington and politics. But he faltered almost weekly. In my extensive interviews with Dole, I found a basic decency in him. But that decency did not surface enough in the campaign.
Dole is not a natural executive; he is rarely decisive or crisp. He often seemed disoriented in his campaigning or message. The first fiasco of the summer of 1996 was his declaration that tobacco was not necessarily addictive. It looked like he was pandering to the tobacco states. When Dole fought with Today show anchor Katie Couric over the question of tobacco addiction, an issue apparently settled by most experts, he seemed old, out-of-touch and threatening. Scott Reed called it “tobacco gulch,” and Dole couldn’t get out of it. Dole’s statements hurt him especially with women, and with the press.
Knowing he would have to present an economic plan of his own, Dole finally proposed a 15 percent tax cut over three years, but he never got behind it with conviction. He talked and danced around the issue, betraying his doubts about his own program. He next selected Jack Kemp as his running mate. Kemp went over well initially with the Republican faithful. It seemed that Kemp, a former congressman, former Bush cabinet officer and former presidential candidate from 1988, had sufficient stature and seasoning. But Kemp faltered in the television debate with Vice President Gore, throwing out old sound bites from previous campaigns and speeches. He seemed unprepared for the debate and the vice-presidency.
Dole never mastered television. On the air, he frequently seemed uncomfortable, uncertain. He did not naturally hold convincing eye contact with the camera. He was out of Clinton’s league.
Dole’s last-minute effort to get Ross Perot to drop out of the race leaked to the media, and it looked like the desperation effort it was.
Dole also never had a fixed and trusted inner circle of advisers to lend his campaign order and consistency. For all his decades in politics, Dole was a strangely isolated man. He had hundreds if not thousands of friends. None were really close. I talked to those closest to him. “Dole didn’t know how to have a relationship with anybody,” one of them said, echoing a thought expressed privately by many others.
Dole was 73, running against a sitting president age 50. Though the polling never showed that the age issue was a big factor, I believe it was very significant. In the United States, the smallest and most inconsequential business would ordinarily not think of making someone at age 73 the chief executive officer. There would have to be an overwhelming reason. Dole did not provide one.
Clinton won the election by mastering most of the political fundamentals. I believe there are ten such fundamentals for a winning presidential campaign. They are:
1. A political base. That is a large, substantial block of voters or supporters. Clinton had a base by virtue of being president. He worked assiduously to prevent a primary challenger from within the Democratic Party and he succeeded. So there was no competition to the left of him in the ‘96 race.
2. Money. Clinton, Gore and the DNC raised more than $180 million, the key, as I have said, to the victory.
3. Political communications skills. Here Clinton has no equal. I have seen him maintain eye contact continuously for an hour-long interview, even through the bottom of a glass as he was finishing his soft drink.
4. Status as an outsider or anti-Washington. Though the president, Clinton always was at war with the Washington culture and the city’s permanent establishment. He reflected the national mood against Washington and was able to present himself as someone intent on altering the relationship between the citizens and their government. Dole, in contrast, was seen as the symbol of Washington. He lived at the Watergate apartment complex and had been in the city for 35 years.
5. A message for the 1990s. Clinton set himself up as the restraining force on Gingrich-Dole Republicanism. He was the protector of Medicare, Medicaid, education and the environment.
6. Focus and discipline. In 1995 I wrote in an afterword to The Agenda on the first two years of Clinton administration economic policy making that to win reelection, Clinton would have to face an issue, crisis or moment, and demonstrate that he would be willing to risk his presidency to prove his commitment and conviction. “Then might he find some higher ground and win reelection in 1996.” Such a moment or crisis never came. But Clinton was able to convert his own reelection into the all-consuming issue. No one brought more singlemindedness to the job of reelection than Clinton. The high ground, though it was not as lofty as the public might have liked, was winning. Holding a sober course that was a mix of Republican and Democratic ideas was enough. Though the concept was exceedingly modest, Clinton brought clear and convincing energy to the task. It spilled over; the permanent “up” and the condition of having always to be “on” came through. Clinton demonstrated the classic passion, the so-called fire in the belly that must be present to win.
7. A game plan and organization. Clinton essentially turned his campaign over to Dick Morris, who had clear theories and tactics for winning. Morris did not always win and Clinton ratified and approved each step. The dovetailing of the campaign and presidential messages was almost seamless.
8. Proven executive experience. Clinton had been president for nearly four years when people voted. He had clearly improved and learned, grown into the office. In contrast, the disarray in the Dole campaign must have given many voters pause.
9. The texture or feel of a president. This is more than image or charisma, it includes demeanor, humor and conviction. Here Dole was in the ballpark. Dole was always a plausible president. But less so than Clinton. This notion encompasses the stewardship role of the president as someone who will take care of the nation. Here Clinton’s basic message as the sober protector reinforced the feeling he was able to convey.
10. Be perceived as a truth teller. This is Clinton’s greatest weakness. Dole also had the problem. Dole flip-flopped and seemed to cut and trim on enough issues—abortion and assault weapons—to make voters feel he was not talking straight. Dole could look and sound shifty. In contrast, Clinton was smooth when he was shifty.
It is on this last issue—truth telling—that the Clinton presidency will likely endure or falter.
The question of straight talk is at the core of all the Clinton scandals. Whatever the poison in the current political atmosphere, Clinton would not have been subjected to a prolonged independent counsel investigation on the Whitewater land deal, which was made in 1978 even before he was Arkansas governor, if he and his wife had told the full and total truth early on. They had the chance in the 1992 campaign, and they didn’t, issuing a misleading report. But the deal was screwy, questionable if not sleazy. Then in 1993 they again had the opportunity to put it behind them, release all the documents, answer all the questions and probably be forced to apologize for getting entangled with a crowd that included James and Susan McDougal, their Whitewater partners.
But apology or contrition is not the Clinton style. Partial disclosure, legalistic justifications and defensiveness are habits they have brought to the White House. They continue to practice partial disclosure in truth telling, probably because it has worked in the past. The approach got the Clintons to the White House.
Clinton went through his first term as president and the first months of his second without being really tested. In the primary roles of the presidency—managing the economy, foreign and defense policy—he had not faced a genuine, full-scale crisis.
As president, Clinton had not had to deal with a stock market crash, a recession, urban riots, massive terrorism, foreign disaster or a war. Though the peacekeeping missions in Haiti, Somalia and Bosnia often turned violent, Clinton did not even have the equivalent of the 1991 Gulf War of his predecessor George Bush.
Most of Clinton’s tests have involved political or personal scandal—allegations of marital infidelity, draft dodging, the Whitewater land investment, the discovery of raw summaries of nearly 900 FBI files in the White House, and the escalating campaign fund-raising controversy. No one had really seen how he functioned as a leader in a national or international emergency.
Among a few friends and aides, Clinton complained, often bitterly, that the scandals, investigations and questions eroded his legitimacy as president. He was right. The suspicions created a nagging undercurrent of distrust that worked against his credibility and authority. Clinton blamed partisan Republicans, the media and the climate of investigative zeal that grew out of Vietnam and Watergate. He was partly right.
But Clinton was also responsible. Faced with inconsistencies, criticism or doubts, his reflexive instinct often seemed to be to reveal only a small portion of the truth. Partial, often misleading, disclosure became the order of the day. Outright denial was another strategy.
“The Lincoln Bedroom was never sold,” Clinton said on February 25, 1997. “That was one more false story we have had to endure.” But Clinton’s own handwriting was on the back of a 1995 memo from Terry McAuliffe putting a price tag on the use of the Lincoln Bedroom. Clinton wrote that he wanted to start the “overnights” for the donors who had given $100,000 or $50,000. Two days later Clinton was asked, “Can you really say the White House was not used as a fund-raising tool?”
“Absolutely,” Clinton declared in the face of irrefutable evidence that the lure of the White House was used for thousands of potential or actual large donors.
The Justice Department set up a special task force to investigate the campaign fund-raising, and the FBI developed evidence from sensitive national security wiretaps and communications intercepts that the People’s Republic of China planned to funnel up to $2 million to influence the 1996 elections. This was the most serious part of the inquiry and threatened to keep the spotlight on fund-raising abuses for months if not years to come.
Vice President Gore’s personal involvement in making fund-raising calls and assembling the most formidable money network in American politics almost guaranteed that the controversy would last as Gore and others geared up for the 2000 presidential campaign.
For their own survival, the Clintons now need to break the cycle of evasion. At this point the scandals pale significantly when compared to Watergate, which was the active subversion of government by Nixon. Watergate was a massive effort to use power to be reelected and seek vengeance on political enemies. Nixon was forced to resign because the Republicans in his own party, typified by Senator Barry Goldwater, rebelled when the final batch of secret tape recordings was revealed. Too many crimes, too many lies, Goldwater said.
Nixon had a dozen key witnesses who testified to their own corruption and to the crimes of the president. Nixon had piles of documents and dozens of tape recordings that showed his guilt.
Interestingly and significantly, there are no witnesses from Clinton’s White House years who are known at this point to provide incriminating testimony alleging that the president or his wife committed crimes. The Clintons and their lawyers ought to find comfort in that. Without credible human witnesses or tape recordings, the Clintons should not be in legal trouble. But the suspicion of them is very deep, and the only way to end the investigations of independent counsels and congressional inquiries is full disclosure and, if necessary, apology.
For months after the Watergate break-in on June 17, 1972, perhaps even up to a year afterwards, Nixon probably could have come clean, even admitted technical violations of law, and humbly apologized. Watergate would then have gone away. Americans are forgiving.
But Nixon persisted in the cover-up and in his misreading of evidence, public sentiment and history. In the end, he lost the most vital element of the presidency: He lost moral authority.
President Clinton has a strong, decent, caring side. When he loses his temper and rages, he often directs his fire at himself. He is not small like Nixon. He ought to capitalize on his capacity for larger purposes, and his obvious ability to define the next stage of good for the country. But he needs to clear the decks and put the scandals behind him. That will require rigorous introspection and self-investigation. The daily dance of justification, denial and technical defense is insufficient.
Clinton and Dole agreed to meet after the election. The afternoon of Friday, December 20, Dole went to the Oval Office to see the president alone for nearly an hour. Clinton didn’t seem in a hurry.
Dole sat in one of the two gold chairs, the one normally used by Gore or a head of state. He wished Clinton success, and noted that not only had the president won, but the election had not been close, with Clinton getting 49 percent, Dole 41 and Perot 8. “Wasn’t embarrassing, but it wasn’t close,” Dole said of his defeat.
Clinton said that after Dole had resigned from the Senate, the Republican Congress had been great in the last months, passing a limited health care reform bill and raising the minimum wage.
“I noted that,” Dole replied.
Clinton said he was very appreciative of the Republican leadership in those last months.
“Yeah,” Dole replied somewhat acidly. He knew the Republicans had to deliver on some legislation to save their own skins. “They gave you everything you wanted—and then some.”
Though Clinton had won 379 electoral votes compared to 159 for Dole, the president voiced disappointment that he had lost Georgia and Colorado, even expressed concern about losing Montana.
“Those Medicare ads,” Dole said, “you know, they were killers. We weren’t going to take people off the Medicare rolls. And my name is not Gingrich-Dole, the way it was in all the ads.”
Clinton indicated that he had to do what he had to do.
Dole understood, but he said the Medicare ads were particularly lethal to him in Florida, a traditionally Republican state that Clinton had won.
“We had a thousand things going in Florida,” Clinton said ominously.
Knowing Clinton, Dole figured it was probably an exaggeration, but Dole was struck by how little he knew about what had hit him in Florida and elsewhere. Dole realized that Clinton had it mapped out and planned.
“I hope you’re going to stay active,” Clinton said.
Dole said he intended to do some things but to wait a while.
“You’ve got such credibility in the disability community,” Clinton noted, and there was much to be done.
“I intend to do some of those things,” Dole added, noting that he and Elizabeth planned to stay in Washington.
At one point, Clinton got around to complaining about the millions of dollars in legal bills he faced from the various Whitewater and other investigations.
“You’re going to be a young man when you leave this White House,” Dole said. “You can go out and make millions of dollars. Don’t worry about it.”
Dole had always been opposed to the independent counsel law that required the appointment of a lawyer to investigate possible wrongdoing by a president or his cabinet members. He had always said that it was pretty sad if the country couldn’t put faith in the attorneys in the Justice Department. In contrast, Clinton had supported the new law and signed it.
“You were right and I was wrong on the independent counsel,” Clinton said.
Nearly three months later, on March 10, 1997, I went to do a final interview with Dole, who was still keeping a suite of offices on the tenth floor of his old campaign headquarters building. He was in his traditional white shirt and a subdued necktie. For more than two and a half hours we reviewed the campaign, what had happened and why. There were no tears, no self-pity, no blame for others. There was a new serenity about Dole. His response after his defeat had been to appear on television comedy shows, the Late Show with David Letterman, Saturday Night Live and the Tonight show with Jay Leno. He had also appeared in a couple of humorous commercial ads, giving most of his fees to charities.
Why this response to defeat?
“Well, your instincts are to run out on a Wednesday, you know, and justify everything. You know, it wasn’t our fault, da-da, da-di-da. It was my responsibility for winning or losing, and we lost, and I assumed all the experts would comment on it without my help.” He acknowledged that in some form he had known for days or even weeks before November 5 that he would lose. “It just seemed to me that the thing for me to do was not to rush out and growl.”
Why the Letterman show, of all things, as his post-election debut?
“It occurred to me this would be the way to kick it off and demonstrate that there is life after defeat. There’s a lot of people—thirty-eight million I think—out there looking for something other than a poor loser.”
Why did he lose?
“I think I’ve always said it in shorthand that Clinton elected a Republican Congress and a Republican Congress reelected Clinton, because I think there were fears out there of some of the excesses and people were frightened.” He was referring to Gingrich, the Contract With America, the talk of a Republican revolution. “And I was part of it,” he added. “I’m not saying I’m blameless.”
Dole noted how the good economy no doubt helped Clinton. The president and his team were expert in polls. “I’m a poll watcher too, but I’m a novice compared to these people. He’s good at it.”
Dole had been defeated in the 1988 New Hampshire primary by Bush in large part because of a celebrated television ad calling Dole “Senator Straddle.” He noted the parallel between the 1988 defeat and the most recent loss. “It was all about TV ads again!” He was following the unfolding campaign finance scandal. “It’s mind-boggling to somebody who follows it every day and you sort of, for a while you want to leap out and say something. But I’ve gotten over that, too.”
What did he really think of Clinton? “He’s sort of a likable rogue,” Dole said. “This is a guy who’s always on the edge. He’s just always on the edge, and maybe you never slip off that edge, but, boy, you can’t always be on the edge.”
Dole added, “He’s always pushing the envelope. Go as far as you can. ‘Nobody’s going to catch me. I didn’t do anything wrong.’ And it doesn’t look like that’s what happened. Somebody did something wrong.”
Dole looked up. He didn’t wince or shake his head. He just stared straight ahead.