SI
SI
discoversearch

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor.  We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community.  If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.
Politics : Sharks in the Septic Tank -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?


To: Lane3 who wrote (55276)8/25/2002 8:43:21 PM
From: epicure  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 82486
 
I thought this was an interesting article:

WHITE HOUSE WATCH
Future Tense
by Ryan Lizza


Printer friendly
Post date 08.23.02 | Issue date 09.02.02 E-mail this article

If there is one lesson President George W. Bush is supposed to have learned from his father's presidency, it is that political capital disappears if it is not spent. George H. W. Bush's great mistake, the thinking goes, was that he failed to use his post-Gulf-war popularity to attack the domestic problems that concerned voters in 1992. So when Bush's approval ratings soared after September 11, White House aides promised that 43 would not repeat the mistakes of 41. Speaking to reporters last December, Bush Senior Adviser Karl Rove explained, "This president understands the perishability of [political] capital. You build up capital through right action, and you spend it. If you don't spend it, it's not like treasure stuck away at a storehouse someplace. It is perishable. It dwindles away."

Conservatives had hoped that Bush would spend his capital pushing the right's agenda through Congress. But there is scant evidence Bush ever intended to do so. Long before Enron, the White House decided against promoting Bush's Social Security plan in 2002. Bush hasn't wasted much energy fighting for his judicial nominees--51 are still pending before the Senate. And though the president opposed much of the important legislation passed by Congress this year--the farm bill, campaign finance reform, corporate accountability--he signed all of it into law. He hasn't issued a single veto.

What Bush has spent his political capital on is the 2002 midterm elections. Through August he will have visited 35 states, attended almost 50 fund-raisers, and raised about $110 million this year in support of dozens of Republican House, Senate, and gubernatorial candidates--a record that dwarfs Bill Clinton's 1994 politicking. And it's not just Bush. Vice President Dick Cheney has headlined some 50 separate Republican fund-raisers. The administration has tinkered with national policies and redirected federal resources to assist politically important areas of the country. Cabinet secretaries have fanned out to campaign in states and districts with competitive races. And long before the election season began, Bush and his aides personally recruited the strongest Republican candidates (like John Thune in the South Dakota Senate race) and stopped the weaker ones from running (like Tim Pawlenty in the Minnesota Senate race). In other words, Bush has spent a lot more time, energy, and political capital trying to elect a new Congress than he has spent working with the current one.

By injecting himself into almost every key race in the United States, Bush is--White House denials notwithstanding--turning himself into this election's major issue. Which has its dangers. For example, in South Dakota last week, Bush's failure to provide new drought relief for the state dominated coverage of his trip and hurt Thune, who had hoped having Bush at his side would gain him points with voters. And in California this week Bush's support for the doomed gubernatorial campaign of Bill Simon will become a widely covered liability for the president. It's true that midterms are always interpreted as a barometer of the country's happiness with the commander in chief; but by making the elections its top domestic priority, and by lending the president's credibility to so many candidates, the White House risks turning the election into a referendum on Bush.



few months ago tying Bush to Republican success seemed like a good bet. In a June 4 presentation, Rove cited several factors making the "midterm political landscape more favorable to Republicans": a "recovering economy," "increased importance of national security issues," and, most of all, an "extremely popular president." Today the first two are no longer operative: The economy is stagnant, consumer confidence is shaky, and a majority of voters are pessimistic about the economy's near-term prospects. On national security, polls show that voters are not inclined to cast their ballots based on the issue; worse, according to National Journal's Charlie Cook, the recent debate over attacking Iraq may have hurt Bush's approval rating. Which leads to Rove's third factor: "extremely popular president." At its current rate of decline, Bush's job approval on Election Day will be around 55 percent (it is currently in the mid-60s). As Rove himself noted in a slide titled "PRESIDENTS' STANDING MATTERS," historically in midterm elections when a president's approval rating is 50 percent to 59 percent, his party loses an average of 20 House seats.

The other fact that places Bush at the uncomfortable center of this fall's campaign is that it is taking place in red America. Most of the races that matter are being contested in states and districts Bush won in 2000. In the fight for control of the House, for example, Cook lists 39 races as truly competitive. Bush carried 23 of these in 2000. Of the twelve open seats (i.e., where there is no incumbent) that congressional handicapper Stuart Rothenberg identifies as the best opportunities for Democrats, Bush won nine. The battle for the Senate is also being waged in Bush territory. He won 13 of the 18 states with competitive Senate races. This raises expectations for Bush and his party. The better Democrats do in these red areas, the more the midterms will be seen as a personal defeat for Bush.



hich is why Bush is so closely linking his 2002 activity with his 2004 reelection strategy. There are 16 states where the margin of victory for Al Gore or Bush was five points or fewer. If you consider the combined votes of Gore and Ralph Nader, this list of close states expands to 20. Bush and Gore split these states eleven to nine in 2000, while Bill Clinton won every one at least once and 17 of them twice. This is where the 2004 election will be fought, and it is where Bush has concentrated the majority of his efforts this year. By The New Republic's count, 46 of his 75 political trips this year have been to these states, and almost half of his fund-raisers have been for candidates in them--even when there's little at stake in 2002. For example, Bush has traveled four times to Ohio this year and held one fund-raiser for incumbent Governor Bob Taft--even though there is no Senate race in Ohio this year and just one competitive House race, and Taft is one of the safest Republican gubernatorial candidates in the country. But Bush won Ohio by just 3.5 points, and the state is essential to his reelection.

The danger for Bush is that the more time he spends politicking out in the country, the more the 2002 election results will be interpreted as about him. This has already happened in the gubernatorial race in Florida, where Bush's brother is running for reelection; in the Senate race in South Dakota, considered a proxy battle between Bush and his Senate tormentor Tom Daschle; and in the gubernatorial and Senate races in Texas. Since these are all states Bush carried or where his candidates enjoy incumbency, he has already lost the expectations game in these races. If Republicans win all of them it will be a significant victory for him, but losing any one will be considered a giant defeat. And the number of races where Bush himself is the key issue is increasing. In Mississippi, Representative Charles Pickering, son of the Bush judicial nominee rejected by Senate Democrats, is in danger of losing. Hoping to avenge this defeat, Bush and Cheney have made the race a White House priority.

What's more, Bush has spent a great deal of energy wooing a set of special interests and religious and ethnic groups. He proposed a pro-coal energy plan, slapped tariffs on steel imports, signed an expensive farm bill, and tried to court Catholics and Hispanics with his faith-based initiative and immigration proposals. How these targeted groups treat Bush's favored candidates this year will give us the first indications of Bush's own prospects for 2004. The West Virginia race of Republican incumbent Shelley Moore Capito will be a referendum on Bush's coal policy. In Pennsylvania's fifteenth district, vulnerable Republican Patrick Toomey will find out how effective steel tariffs have been for the GOP. The competitive Senate races of Iowa, South Dakota, Missouri, and Minnesota will test his farm policy, while the two competitive House races in New Mexico that the White House has targeted will test Bush's wooing of Hispanics. Bush is spending his political capital alright, but if the GOP loses at the polls this fall he may find it has bought him nothing but trouble.

Ryan Lizza is an associate editor at TNR.



To: Lane3 who wrote (55276)8/26/2002 9:49:09 AM
From: epicure  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 82486
 
Remember when I told you about the book Virtual War? His whole point was that democracy has been decoupled from war making. If you haven't read the book, you might want to. I didn't always agree with him, but he made some fantastic points.

I reprint your article below.

We the People, We the Warriors
By Talbot Brewer
Monday, August 26, 2002; Page A15
One common philosophical argument for democracy is that democratic regimes are particularly unlikely to start wars. When the power to declare war is closely tethered to the preferences of those who would bear the costs of fighting, it stands to reason that this power will be used sparingly. Thus, many political philosophers have followed Kant in supposing that the universal embrace of democracy offers the best hope of world peace.

Our nation now finds itself on the verge of initiating war against another sovereign nation. We have not been attacked by Iraq, and we have thus far failed to produce convincing evidence that Iraq has aided, or plans to aid, those who have attacked us. If we go to war, we will be the initiators of aggression.

It would be a mistake, however, to take this as fresh cause for doubt about the link between democracy and peace. We ought instead to view this imminent possibility as an occasion for raising hard questions about whether, in the critical matter of waging war, we still function as a genuine democracy.

It was widely viewed as a victory for the peace movement when the draft was abolished and military service became voluntary. Unfortunately this arrangement does not really serve the cause of peace but rather lowers the threshold of war by creating a decisive cleavage between the social classes that wield political power and those that supply the country its soldiers. Too many of our political leaders are now in a position to choose war with little fear that it will endanger their friends or loved ones. This is dangerous for the same reason it would be dangerous to entrust the power to determine tax policies to a class of citizens who have been granted blanket immunity from taxes. It breeds political irresponsibility.

No doubt many of our political leaders do feel a certain generalized concern for the lives of their fellow Americans, including those in the military. Still, even this potential call to moral seriousness is dampened by the otherwise happy fact that our technological and military mastery permits us to fight and win wars with remarkably few casualties.

Nor are we prone to give sufficient thought to the foreigners whose futures we put at risk when we make use of our impressive capacities for destroying nations and our very modest capacities for rebuilding them. Today we wage war at an anesthetizing distance, with precise munitions that make killing an abstract activity, registered largely in terms of hit and miss rates. We rarely are recalled to moral reality by the last look in the eyes of those our errant bombs maim or shred, or by the anguish and indelible anger of the sons and daughters they leave behind, or by the political chaos that we ourselves all too often leave behind when our troops and journalists decamp.

These are familiar and deeply troubling sources of moral levity in the public war deliberations of the world's dominant military power. There is, however, another, less familiar yet possibly more troubling source of such levity. It is the relative passivity with which most Americans now experience the mobilization for war. This process has become highly undemocratic. Large groups of ''we the people" now are insulated not only from the physical risks of injury or death in war but also from the moral risks that attend any active role in the initiation of war.

What are the moral risks of war? Consider, to begin with, that one cannot responsibly choose to start a war without supposing oneself to have the capacity to discern those rare historical moments when war has a realistic chance of doing more good than harm. Overestimating one's capacity to shape the course of history raises the risk of becoming responsible for the creation of a damnable mess.

Consider, too, that one cannot responsibly choose the path of war without being certain that one's enthusiasm for fighting is not rooted at least partly in such dark psychological sources as an overgeneralized thirst for revenge or intoxication with the capacity to humble one's enemies. To overestimate the purity of one's war motives is to risk becoming responsible for evil, entered into -- as evil ordinarily is -- with every belief in one's good intentions.

Today both sorts of moral risks are in play. We are contemplating a fresh military adventure at a time when our attempts at statecraft in Afghanistan show signs of crumbling into anarchic violence. If we depose Saddam Hussein and his tyrannical regime, it is by no means clear that we can establish a stable successor. Meanwhile, we run the danger of provoking Hussein to use weapons he might otherwise not dare to use.

There is also good reason for scrutiny of our desire for combat. We are hurt, angry and still grieving over the meaningless loss of thousands of American lives in the attacks of Sept. 11. Desire for revenge is general in our land and often overgeneralized in its target. We hear this in George Bush's loose talk of an ''axis" of evil formed somehow by countries that have almost no dealings with one another. We see it in our readiness to tar Iraq with the same brush used to discredit the Taliban.

The cause of peace is threatened as much by specialization in the distribution of the moral risks of war as by specialization in its risks to life and limb. Both sorts of specializations can lull citizens into passive fascination with impressive shows of power staged by a military that is, in theory, supposed to do the public's will. In a properly constituted democracy, decisions of war and peace must emerge from the conscientious deliberation of the public's true representatives, and their deliberations must shape and be shaped by the equally conscientious if less organized deliberations of an engaged citizenry.

While today's Congress hardly answers to this ideal account, it remains the center of the nation's public political deliberation.

It is, then, a blessing that Article I, Section 8, of our Constitution clearly vests the power to declare war in Congress. Yet we have fallen from this democratic element of our own Constitution to the point at which the public expresses little or no outrage when the president speaks and acts as though he has the unilateral prerogative to initiate a war in nonemergency conditions.

The first fateful bomb might fall on Baghdad before Congress even begins its formal discussion of the wisdom of the war. Even if debate does take place, it likely will be a mere fifth wheel to the seemingly self-sufficient decision-making already underway behind closed doors in the White House. Under these circumstances, both Congress and the public it represents are reduced to the role of spectators.

It may be objected that presidential decisions about war and peace are in good democratic order, because presidents generally are concerned about maintaining their popularity and can do so only if their decisions reflect public preferences. One superficial problem with this objection is that it applies only to those reasonably popular first-term presidents who have a realistic hope of reelection. But the more fundamental problem is that it overlooks the vast difference between what a person is capable of applauding and what a person is capable of making the deliberate and considered decision to do.

If war policy is chosen behind closed doors and then conveyed to the people in conjunction with a skillful caricature of the predetermined enemy (supported, perhaps, by intelligence whose precise nature cannot be revealed), the public can be made to prefer an array of unsavory wars that it would never choose in the light of open deliberation. To think that democracy boils down to making sure one's decisions can be made popular in retrospect is to reduce the ideal of democracy to competency in marketing.

It is true that we cannot make decisions about war and peace more democratically without also making them more slowly and openly. It is also true that openness and deliberateness can be costly. Yet these costs are part of the price of self-rule, the essence of the political freedom we Americans have historically cherished.

We must assume these costs, along with the burdens of the citizen-soldier, not only to realize our own aspiration to self-rule but also to give the world the best available guarantee that we will use our vast military power as responsibly as is humanly possible.

The writer is an assistant professor of philosophy at the University of Virginia.

© 2002 The Washington Post Company