Yesterday's Boston Globe had an excellent piece on the failures of the Kerry candidacy:
boston.com
On the trail of Kerry's failed dream
Pair of wars dominated strategy before election
November 14, 2004
Written and reported by Nina J. Easton, Michael Kranish, Patrick Healy, Glen Johnson, Anne E. Kornblut, and Brian Mooney of the Globe staff.
On the afternoon of Aug. 9, John F. Kerry stood on the lip of the Grand Canyon, about to make one of the biggest mistakes of his three-year quest for the presidency. A stiff wind was blowing across the canyon, and Kerry, whose hearing was damaged by gun blasts in Vietnam, had trouble understanding some of the questions being thrown his way. But he pressed on, coughing from the pollen blowing on the breeze.
Would Kerry have voted to authorize the use of force in Iraq, one reporter asked, even if he knew then that Iraq didn't have weapons of mass destruction? "Yes, I would have voted for the authority; I believe it's the right authority for a president to have," Kerry replied, as aides stood by, dumbfounded.
Kerry's answer ricocheted around the political world. Faced with the revelation that almost all the prewar arguments for invading Iraq were wrong -- the existence of weapons of mass destruction, close links to Al Qaeda -- President Bush had nonetheless insisted that he would do nothing differently. And he had been challenging Kerry to do the same, hoping to catch the Democrat changing his position on the unpopular war.
The senator explained to aides that part of the question had been lost in the wind; he thought he was answering a variation on the same basic query he'd been asked countless times: Was it right to give Bush the authority to go to war against Iraq? Kerry had simply given his standard "yes," with the proviso that he would have "done this very differently from the way President Bush has" -- yet the misunderstanding now muddied Kerry's message.
Worried advisers briefly considered issuing a clarification, but feared it might further feed Republican efforts to portray Kerry as a "flip-flopper."
Meanwhile, back in Washington, the Bush campaign pounced: Kerry now agrees with the president! Bush media strategist Mark McKinnon crowed about Kerry's "forced error," while the president repeated Kerry's answer over and over on the campaign trail and the GOP later advertised the Democrat's varied Iraq statements. "How can John Kerry protect us," the narrator in those ads intoned, "when he doesn't even know where he stands?"
Now, as Kerry campaign strategists try to fathom his Nov. 2 loss, one word emerges out of the rubble: war. History suggested the difficulties of beating a wartime president, even one with a job approval rating under 50 percent. But Kerry's own tortured relationship to war, dating to his youth, enabled the GOP to portray him as weak and inconsistent.
On Vietnam, Kerry had been both war hero and antiwar protester: Angry veterans were able to turn those contrasting roles into an attack on the candidate's character with a $25 million dollar ad campaign in swing states.
On Iraq, Kerry broke from a Senate record of opposing controversial military interventions -- in the 1980s, he fought President Reagan's involvement in Central America; in 1991 he voted against the Persian Gulf War -- to support a 2002 resolution authorizing Bush to use force against Saddam Hussein. But afterward he criticized the invasion and voted against a bill funding troops there.
Kerry was his own handler on Iraq, aides said, and he seemed to draw on his Vietnam experience. "He had a deep, personal aversion to saying plainly that Iraq was a mistake and [that] he would not have gone to war," said one adviser, explaining that Kerry was concerned about the impact on troops in the field. "Coming to grips with that truth, I think that was probably his biggest problem."
The senator firmly believed he was being consistent -- voting yes on the resolution to give the president the clout to resume inspections, but warning Bush not to move hastily. At one point, when aides tried to coax him into a simpler message, he spread papers on the floor to show how the fine points of his arguments fit.
"John got caught with his legalistic and logical mind wanting to make consistency matter, and not let them say [he's] a flip-flopper," said Kerry's longtime friend David Thorne.
Even as aides fretted that Kerry had not found his voice on the issue, they continued to hope that his hybrid position -- maintaining vigilance in a post-9/11 world, but planning more carefully than Bush -- would capture the mood of the country. They were buoyed by the fact that voters in the primaries, when Kerry was also attacked for inconsistency, suddenly moved to his side, as if they had understood him all along.
They hoped it would happen again.
But every time Kerry tried to raise the level of attack on Bush over Iraq, he found himself trapped by his own previous vote for the war and the Republicans' relentless depictions of him as inconsistent. "John's complexity hurt him," said his former Yale roommate Daniel Barbiero.
By the time a new team of battle-tested advisers persuaded Kerry to speak in clear, simple terms -- calling Bush's Iraq policy "a colossal failure" -- the dynamics of the campaign were already set.
Bush's critics depict him as simplistic and stubborn. But on Election Day, it became clear that a majority of Americans took comfort in the president's clipped certainty in the face of dangerous times and moral flux. When voters left the polls that Tuesday, they gave the president a 3.5 million lead in the popular vote.
"If there was one most important basis by which Bush won and Kerry lost, it was that Kerry was not seen as a strong enough leader," said Andrew Kohut, president of Pew Research Center. "Not too many people were concerned about Kerry being too liberal or seeing Kerry as a tax-and-spend Democrat. But they were concerned about him as a person who changed his mind too much."
By mid-March, two weeks after Super Tuesday, as Kerry took a snowboarding break at his wife's Sun Valley, Idaho, getaway, Bush was already on the attack, saturating the springtime airwaves with $70 million worth of advertising.
A defining moment
On March 18, Bush's media advisers sat inside the campaign's glassy corporate office building in Arlington, Va., counting their good fortunes. The president's strategists had intended to pursue a tried-and-true strategy: Define your opponent and do it early. Now Kerry himself had handed them the words to do just that.
Bush had learned in his only losing campaign -- a 1978 US House race in West Texas, where he was labeled a liberal Eastern elitist -- that it was political death to let your opponents define you first. So in the ensuing years he had turned that same strategy against his foes. In the case of Kerry, Bush readily agreed to a plan to define the senator as a flip-flopper weak on defense.
A Bush campaign negative ad, released March 16, criticized Kerry for voting against an $87 billion bill to fund US troops in Iraq. The ad depicted Kerry voting no on "body armor for troops in combat," on "higher pay," on "better healthcare for reservists and their families."
Kerry's 2002 vote authorizing the use of force against Iraq had been cast with one eye on the upcoming presidential election; one faction of advisers argued he couldn't beat Bush otherwise. And Kerry's own past suggested the dangers of running as an antiwar candidate: As one of them, he suffered a devastating defeat for a US House seat in 1972, the same year President Nixon, despite Vietnam, won by a landslide.
Kerry's 2003 vote against the $87 billion to fund US troops in Iraq was likewise cast in the context of a presidential race. At the time, his primary opponent, Governor Howard Dean of Vermont, was enjoying a surprise surge, thanks to energized antiwar Democrats. At first, Kerry was willing to support the $87 billion, provided it was paid for by eliminating Bush's tax cut for the rich. When that provision failed, Kerry voted against it.
That vote provided ready ammunition for a GOP assault. Nicolle Devenish, communications director for the Bush-Cheney campaign, said the idea for their first attack ad grew out of a breakfast strategy session at political adviser Karl Rove's Washington, D.C., home. In early March, knowing that Kerry planned to surround himself with his "band of brothers" from Vietnam and to speak to veterans in West Virginia, "we decided to bracket him for voting against men and women in the military," Devenish said.
At that same West Virginia event, Kerry stepped into quicksand when, unsolicited, he decided to respond to the GOP attack ad and explain his vote. The words he chose would ring throughout the campaign.
"This is very important," he said. "I actually did vote for the $87 billion, before I voted against it."
Watching on television from Bush headquarters, McKinnon jumped out of his chair. "I just knew, immediately," recalled the onetime Democrat who switched sides after personally bonding with then-Texas Governor George W. Bush. "There was a buzz in the whole place. We knew immediately that it was a big deal.
"We kind of set the trap [with the original ad], and then he walked right into it."
If the Republicans had successfully written the first chapter of Kerry's general election campaign, another group of foes --swift boat veterans from Vietnam -- were conspiring to write the second.
Swift boat veterans attack
On April 4, a group of 10 Vietnam veterans crammed into a second-floor conference room in Dallas and began plotting the downfall of John Kerry. The room was decorated with Parisian watercolors of ostriches and kittens, a design favored by the host of this meeting, Merrie Spaeth, a public relations executive who had once been director of media relations for Reagan.
The original seeds of this meeting lay not with Spaeth, but with two Vietnam veterans whose relationships with Kerry dated back three decades: The first was John O'Neill, a Nixon White House ally who had famously debated Kerry over the Vietnam War on "The Dick Cavett Show" in 1971. The second was Roy Hoffmann, one of Kerry's former commanding officers.
O'Neill, who had donated a kidney to his ailing wife, was at a Texas hospital in early February when he saw campaign footage of Kerry on television and decided the Democrat had to be stopped. He began calling veterans who might also be offended by the prospect of a man who once accused soldiers of "atrocities" becoming the nation's commander in chief. The veterans discussed vague plans to publicize Kerry's antiwar activities.
O'Neill had not served with Kerry, so his knowledge of the candidate's combat action was limited. But Hoffmann had -- and was still steaming over his portrayal in a Kerry-approved biography, "Tour of Duty," by Douglas Brinkley. The book compared Hoffmann to the Robert Duvall character in the movie "Apocalypse Now," who said he loved "the smell of napalm in the morning." Brinkley wrote that swift boat veterans had described Hoffmann as "hotheaded, bloodthirsty, and egomaniacal."
Kerry had tried to head off Hoffmann's anger by calling and offering to ask Brinkley to change the offending passages. But Hoffmann would not be swayed. Mutual disdain for Kerry eventually brought Hoffmann and O'Neill together, and Swift Boat Veterans for Truth, the group that would later blindside the Democrat's campaign, was born.
The April 4 meeting in Dallas stretched to 12 hours, according to accounts from three people who were there, as the group ate barbecue and Tex-Mex and planned a news conference to denounce Kerry as "unfit for command." At one point, the veterans pulled out checkbooks and agreed to donate the first $60,000, with O'Neill offering $25,000. This seemed like a huge sum to many of them, but Spaeth said she told them they could collect much more through a fund-raising appeal -- an effort that netted $20 million.
The group debated strategy: Should it focus on Kerry's assertions that US soldiers had committed atrocities? Or should it go after his combat record, raising questions about whether he deserved his medals and three Purple Hearts?
Spaeth and others believed the group should focus its attacks on Kerry's antiwar efforts. Michael Bernique, who had gone on missions with Kerry, argued that he had acted courageously in combat. But others were adamant about going after his combat record.
O'Neill and Hoffmann had heard reports questioning whether Kerry deserved his first Purple Heart, given for a wound that Kerry's commanding officer had compared to a rose-thorn prick. They also entertained suspicions from veterans about Kerry's medals -- one a Bronze Star, the other a Silver Star. "We got very disquieting e-mails about what he had done in Vietnam," O'Neill said.
The O'Neill faction also argued that poking holes in Kerry's combat record would attract fresh media attention.
When the group decided to focus on Kerry's combat record as well as his antiwar activities, Bernique and several others objected and dropped out.
Kerry knew he needed to extend an olive branch to the many veterans still enraged over his 1971 assertions that fellow soldiers participated in mutilations, gang rapes, and the burning of villages. In April, Kerry went on NBC's "Meet the Press" and confessed that his accusations had been "a little bit over the top."
But if Kerry thought his mea culpa could tamp down 33-year-old flames of anger, he was wrong. On May 4, the swift boat vets convened a news conference in Washington to question Kerry's fitness as commander in chief. "This is not a political issue," said Hoffmann. "It is a matter of his judgment, truthfulness, reliability, loyalty, and trust -- all absolute tenets of command."
A phalanx of television cameras recorded the event, but the news conference didn't attract nearly as much publicity as the group hoped. What helped Kerry most was a change in headlines: The veterans' attack on Kerry was overshadowed by an unfolding scandal in a Baghdad prison that was about to knock the Bush campaign off course.
The failure of the swift boat veterans to gain traction lulled the Kerry campaign into a false sense of security. In fact, O'Neill was quietly preparing for a more intensive assault.
Opportunities missed
The Abu Ghraib prison scandal suddenly put Bush back on the defensive.
Images of American soldiers laughing as naked Iraqi prisoners were tied, hooded, attached to electrodes, and forced into sexual positions unleashed a wave of anti-American fervor abroad and self-doubt at home. A year and a half earlier, some officials had predicted America would be greeted as a liberator of Iraq. Now, US troops were gaining a reputation as occupiers, and a handful were grossly abusive.
Bush expressed his "deep disgust." The White House tried to distance the president from the scandal, but the furor mounted with each shocking revelation.
A black mood settled on Bush-Cheney campaign headquarters. For weeks, Republicans had been riding high, churning out negative ads morphing Kerry into a liberal loser, a second coming of the failed Michael S. Dukakis.
They could control the image-making. They couldn't control events. And the war in Iraq, already taking a toll on the president's popularity, now threatened his reelection. "You sort of see the campaign going down in flames," McKinnon recalled.
McKinnon called this period "Black May."
But the Kerry campaign wasn't firing on all cylinders either. The prison scandal, a spike in American casualties in Iraq, and the public investigation into the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks hurt Bush, but didn't necessarily help Kerry. Still largely unknown outside Massachusetts, the Democratic candidate was having trouble getting his message across.
This might have been an ideal time to hit Bush hard. Instead, the candidate proceeded on a deliberate course, crafted by media adviser Bob Shrum and campaign manager Mary Beth Cahill, to raise money, broadcast policy proposals. and advertise Kerry's life story. In early May, the campaign announced a $25 million, mostly biographical advertising buy -- the largest single buy to that date by either side.
Kerry's appearances focused on domestic issues, largely because campaign-organized focus groups rated healthcare and the economy as top concerns. At one campaign stop, Kerry even refused to answer whether the prison scandal should force Defense Secretary Donald H. Rumsfeld to resign, saying "I've already commented."
When Kerry finally started giving foreign policy speeches by the end of May, his words had a term paper quality. He would lay out "four imperatives" and insist that in the war on terror "we need to be clear about our purposes and our principles." Bush, meanwhile, was casting the campaign as a "choice between an America that leads the world with strength and confidence or an America that is uncertain in the face of danger."
If the Kerry team expected to sit back and let headlines sink the president, they were wrong. In June the bad news out of Iraq began to ebb, and Bush advisers realized the president's poll numbers had not dropped as badly as they expected. "We suddenly realized how resilient the president was," McKinnon said. "We took the toughest hit possible, and yet we found ourselves in June still beating Kerry."
During this period, Kerry himself expressed concern that his campaign message lacked spark. He called Paul Begala, the consultant who had helped steer Bill Clinton to victory and now cohosted the CNN show "Crossfire."
Didn't stay on message
"Kerry said, 'We need to get more focused,' " Begala recalled, "and I remember telling him the campaign was all over the map, no coherent rationale for him and [for] rejecting Bush. He agreed and said, 'I really need you to come aboard.' "
Begala, knowing the senator was a former prosecutor, asked the candidate to present his case to voters to hire Kerry and fire Bush. Kerry responded by naming six issues, according to Begala's notes of the conversation: Jobs, taxes, fiscal policy, healthcare, energy, and education.
This was a list, not a "case," Begala fretted.
Eager to help but reluctant to drop his TV career to join the campaign, Begala in May gave a private briefing to Kerry's campaign staff members about their failings. He took out a whiteboard and, according to notes provided to the Globe, listed 12 ways to define and defeat Bush:
"Over his head/incompetent," he wrote. "For the rich/special interests.
"Ideological/stubborn/rigid. Out of touch. Ignores problems. Can only to do one thing at a time. Liar/broken promises. Wrong Priorities. No plan for the future. Divider. You're on your own. Ignores middle class."
Pick one, Begala urged Kerry's staff, and then hammer it until Election Day.
But as June dragged on, Begala saw no change. His friends, including longtime associate James Carville, pressured him to quit CNN and take up Kerry's offer. Carville also talked to Kerry, and believed the senator had committed to giving Begala a key position. Begala now convinced himself; he had to join the Kerry campaign for the good of the party.
So in mid-June, Begala met with campaign manager Cahill at Kerry's campaign headquarters in Washington and said he had changed his mind; he would quit CNN and join Kerry.
The reaction was not what he anticipated. What are you talking about? Cahill asked, according to Begala.
"It seems obvious you don't have a message or strategy-driven campaign," Begala said he replied.
Again, Cahill asked what Begala was talking about. Begala remembers that she looked "like I was going to perform open-heart surgery on her. She said: 'I need to think about this. Give me a couple of days to set that up.' From that day to now, I never heard another word from her. And you know, I was pretty angry. I'm still pretty angry."
Cahill says she regrets leaving Begala up in the air. " I made a mistake by not calling him back," Cahill said, adding that she was already in discussions about the message with numerous outside advisers.
His secret deliberations
As a politician, Kerry tends to be cautious and deliberate. He is also adept at keeping secrets, even from his staff.
So when it came time to choose a running mate, Kerry set up a search operation headed by James A. Johnson, a friend and financier known for his discretion. But it was Kerry alone who settled on a choice and then kept the news under wraps, even from Johnson.
Kerry's frenetic use of his cellphone was never more apparent than during the vice presidential search in May and June, as he called scores of friends for advice. His first choice was Senator John McCain of Arizona. But by late spring it was clear McCain preferred to hug fellow Republican George Bush on the GOP campaign trail than join the Democrats.
To bolster his national security credentials, Kerry's supporters urged him to turn to retired General Wesley K. Clark or Richard A. Gephardt, a former House minority leader. But Clark was relatively untested, and Gephardt carried a different risk -- the odor of political failure.
According to aides, Kerry believed Gephardt was the politician most qualified to step into the president's shoes. He had been in the US House since 1977 and was Democratic leader for seven years. He couldn't be pegged as soft on defense; Gephardt had stood alongside Bush in the Rose Garden after helping craft the resolution authorizing the use of force against Iraq.
But Kerry and aides worried that after two failed presidential runs and his longtime inability to recapture the House for Democrats, Gephardt would be considered past his prime. And with the campaign still struggling to find its footing, Kerry believed he couldn't risk a disappointing vice presidential choice, aides recalled.
Playing it safe also meant ruling out Governor Thomas J. Vilsack of Iowa, who was untested in national politics.
Over and over, Kerry kept circling back to the man who clearly wanted it most: Senator John Edwards of North Carolina. During the primaries, Kerry had held the junior senator in low regard: At one point, a Globe reporter overheard Kerry chortling over the idea that the former trial attorney was running for president before he'd even finished one term in the Senate: "And people call me ambitious!" he exclaimed. On another occasion, Kerry speculated that Edwards could not even carry his home state for him in November.
But polls indicated that he was the runaway favorite among Democratic voters. He had been tested in an arduous primary contest and had shown surprising political skills as the last major rival to Kerry. And Edwards, with his son-of-a-millworker biography and passionate rhetoric about an economic divide creating "two Americas," offered an appeal to the middle class that the Brahmin-bred Kerry lacked.
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