Democrats squirm as their candidate falls farther behind

By Kenneth S. Baer of The Washington Post

Sixteen years ago, in a “Saturday Night Live’’ sendup of the 1988 presidential debates, Jon Lovitz—playing Michael Dukakis—replied to a windy diatribe by Dana Carvey’s George H.W. Bush with the exasperated remark: “I can’t believe I’m losing to this guy.’’

Once again, it’s presidential debate season and once again Democrats can’t believe their candidate is losing to a Bush—especially this one. After all, George W. Bush failed to win the popular vote (and every president elected in that way has lost re-election); he stands to become the first president since Herbert Hoover to oversee a net loss of private-sector jobs on his watch; and he must defend a pre-emptive war against Iraq that was based, at least partly, on evidence now known to be wrong.

To top it off, polling by CBS News-New York Times this month shows half the electorate believes the country has “pretty seriously gotten off on the wrong track,’’ and a Washington Post-ABC News poll shows half of registered voters are “dissatisfied with the way things are going’’ in the United States.
Why then, Democrats wonder, isn’t Kerry cleaning the president’s clock?

To win this race, Kerry needs to stop focusing on Election Day and start thinking about his would-be presidency’s last day. What does he want his legacy to be?

Launching a devastating attack against one’s opponent or insisting you’re on the “right” side of a series of issues is not enough to win the White House. The office of president of the United States is different from the governing seat of almost every other country in the world in that its occupant is both head of the government and head of state. A candidate must not simply display a command of policy minutiae and legislative process but also a grasp of the office’s symbolism and an understanding of the nation’s historical moment.

Think back to 1976. Jimmy Carter promised a country jaded by Vietnam and Watergate a “government as good as our people are.’’ And even though he was just a former one-term governor from Georgia, that clearly defined vision—and his own personal embodiment of it—propelled him to the presidency.

Four years later, Ronald Reagan told a nation battered economically and losing strength and influence abroad that America did not have to accept this fate. As he explained in his acceptance speech at the GOP convention: “The American people, the most generous on earth, who created the highest standard of living, are not going to accept the notion that we can only make a better world for ourselves by moving backwards ourselves.”

In 1992, Bill Clinton ran for president to “provide leadership that will restore the American dream, that will fight for the forgotten middle class, that will provide more opportunity, insist on more responsibility and create a greater sense of community for this great country.’’

The rationale for the presidency of George W. Bush—the legacy he wanted to leave—was that he would “restore honor and integrity to the White House.’’ Bush, the “compassionate conservative,’’ proclaimed no intention of radically altering the policy course of a prosperous country at peace.

Then, the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001 happened, and Bush embraced a different potential legacy: He would become the “war president” who took on global terrorism and Saddam Hussein after too many dangerous years of half-hearted reactions to both. Now, as Bush told the nation upon accepting his party’s renomination this month, “I wake up every morning thinking about how to better protect our country. I will never relent in defending America —whatever it takes.’’

This simple explanation of what he wants his legacy to be addresses the most important issue to voters—security—and underscores the leadership qualities Americans want in a president but that can’t be conveyed through policy proposals. And it seems to be working. What’s holding Kerry back is that he has yet to put forward a compelling legacy to compete with Bush’s.

Kerry won his party’s nomination by running as the “real deal,’’ who in a crowded field was the only Democrat who could beat Bush. At the Democratic convention, the argument was that Kerry would make America “strong at home and respected in the world.’’

When the sole rationale put forward for Kerry’s foreign policy leadership—his service in Vietnam—was impugned by swift boat veterans opposing his candidacy, this became an empty slogan. Kerry chose not to complete his Vietnam story—the different courage needed to criticize the war after returning home and the life of public service that ensued—and tell voters what it all means today.

For nearly two months, the Bush campaign was free to fill in those blanks. It isn’t that Kerry lacks an agenda; in fact, he has a popular one. In addition to his critiques of Bush and an explanation of what Kerry would have done differently, he needs to flesh out what he would do—not just in Iraq, but with his presidency.

The contours of what his legacy could be are becoming clear: He will be the adult who cleaned up the mess the careless and reckless Bush has made. This is a natural fit for Kerry’s biography and personality.

As Kerry said in his speech, “It is never easy to discuss what has gone wrong while our troops are in constant danger.... I know this dilemma firsthand. After serving in war, I returned home to offer my own personal voice of dissent. I did so because I believed strongly that we owed it (to) those risking their lives to speak truth to power. We still do.’’

As we approach the presidential debates, Kerry’s august demeanor and languorous seriousness can be an asset if framed as part of a man who will repair the damage an intemperate Bush has done to the country’s economy and security.

And if Kerry is allowed to be Kerry, voters will sense his authenticity—the most potent rebuttal to the charge of “flip-flop.’’ Kerry now has three debates and just over 30 days to persuade voters to give him a chance to add his legacy to the history of America.