Outsider in the White House (16 page)

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Yesterday, the
Burlington Free Press
published a story analyzing Vermonters' opinions on whether Barbara Snelling should continue her candidacy for governor. Snelling, an old friend who is currently the Republican lieutenant governor, suffered a massive stroke a month ago. What that tells me is that the
Free Press
conducted a poll, and that means they asked more than one question. So I assume that in today's paper there will be a poll on the congressional race. That worries me, because it will undoubtedly show that the gap is closing. We're not going to win this election by the twenty-one points predicted in their last poll. Sweetser will then roll out the patter used by all challengers: “We're closing the gap, we're gathering momentum, the Sanders camp is panicking”—the usual stuff.

I hate polls. If you're the incumbent and better known, you're supposed to be ahead. If the race gets closer, as it invariably does when the challenger becomes better known, then you're “in trouble.” It is a no-win situation for a well-known incumbent. But what is particularly amazing about the
Free Press
poll is that I am so preoccupied with it. I even wake up in the middle of the night thinking about the damn poll. Yet, tomorrow I will have surgery on my vocal cords. Here I am, having surgery for the first time in my life, and I don't think about that at all. No nightmares. No anxiety attacks. Instead, I'm worried about a stupid poll five months before the election.

The operation is intended to correct a problem I've had with my voice. It's a scary business. I assume the doctors know what they're doing and they seem to think it's a minor procedure. Still, if they make a mistake, it's my voice for the rest of my life.

The idea of surgery has plagued me for months in a low-key, persistent way. The problem with my voice began a year and a half ago, toward the end of the 1994 campaign, when I developed a cold and was hoarse for a few days. In the midst of a campaign, you do what you have to do, so I continued giving speeches. Eventually the cold went away, but the hoarseness remained. Since then, I have had problems speaking: my voice sounds gravelly at best, and there are times when it rasps so much I have difficulty finishing a sentence.

The truth is that I've handled this voice situation stupidly. I've been a healthy person all my life: I was a mayor for eight years and have been in Congress for six, and in all that period I have missed less than five days of work. When I get a flu, I still go to work. Being sick is not part of my life. So when my throat became hoarse, I thought it would take care of itself. It didn't.

After a number of months without my voice improving, I consulted a specialist at Bethesda Naval Hospital. He told me I had a benign nodule on my vocal cords, and recommended an operation to remove it. I hoped there might be an alternative treatment, so I tried all sorts of nonsurgical remedies: throat lozenges, resting my voice, herb teas. Although my voice is marginally better than it was a year ago, it is still far from normal. All sorts of advisers, from my wife to close friends, tell me that my voice is the major point of discussion about me in the state. There's even some speculation that I have throat cancer.

The condition doesn't cause me any physical discomfort and I can forget about it most of the time. But no one else seems to be able to. On the radio last week, the last question on a call-in show was, “So, Bernie, how's your voice doing?” By now each Vermont newspaper has published several articles on the subject, including front-page stories. My medical condition is making Vermont's throat specialists famous. There has been more coverage of my vocal cords than any of the work I've been doing in Congress.

A month ago I went back to Bethesda and then to the medical center at Georgetown University. After sticking a tube down my throat and looking at my vocal cords on a TV monitor, the Georgetown doctor agreed that I could not escape surgery. The next day, I made an appointment for the operation at Bethesda. One has to remain silent for four days after the surgery, so we scheduled it for a time when it would be least inconvenient.

Naturally, I have fears about the operation, with so much at risk. It is through the voice that each of us communicates to our fellow human beings, be they wives or children or political constituents. Further, for me, an activist and a politician, speaking is an essential tool for what I need to do.

I hope to God this guy doesn't make a mistake. He seems to think it is a routine operation, no big deal. He tells me they do it all the time. I asked him, “What rate of failure do you have?” He told me there is success the overwhelming majority of times. We'll see.

Two weeks later: The operation is a success. For the first time in fifty-four years—my entire life—I have had surgery. I was very well behaved. They told me not to talk for three to five days afterward so, breaking the habit of a lifetime, I didn't. I fear, though, now that almost two weeks have passed, with all the demands on me, I am probably overdoing it. I shouldn't have given that speech to the regional United Electrical Workers convention a few days ago. So I am going to be cautious again. I've got to be very disciplined, because the worst thing I can do is to blow it now, which is what Governor Pete Wilson of California did when he had similar surgery. I do not want to go through this again, the voice I can't control, the fears, yet more surgery.

Jane thinks I am more relaxed now, which is probably true. Not knowing what sound was going to pop out of my mouth was nerve-racking. In order to compensate for the hoarseness, I had a natural tendency to raise the decibel level. On one occasion on the floor of the House, my voice went completely dead and only a glass of water brought to me by a colleague enabled me to finish my remarks.

Consequently, it is a strange experience to go to the podium for the first time following surgery. For a year and half I have had to shout into the microphone, but this time, coming forward to speak for an amendment, I am astonished. My voice is so clear and smooth that as I begin to speak, I actually
lower
it, and for the first time I appreciate the quality of the sound system in the House chamber. My voice resounds all over the hall, without any need to shout. Only now do I realize what a strain it has been.

Every year Burlington restaurants sponsor a remarkable festival called the Green Mountain Choo-Choo, bringing out thousands of Vermonters interested in sampling the wealth of dishes that the restaurants provide for the occasion. A large crowd always attracts my campaigner's instincts, so here I am, shaking hands and saying hello. Over and over again people tell me that my voice sounds great, that they are glad to see me back to my old self. I'm astonished that this matter attracts so much attention—more than any political issue I've ever worked on. But it's gratifying to find out how many Vermonters are concerned about my well-being.

Meanwhile, there have been some major developments in the campaign. Jack Long, a Democrat, will be entering the race. Long is the former state commissioner of environmental protection. Instead of a two-way race between Sweetser and me, there will now be a three-way campaign. Sweetser is delighted. She and many others believe that Long's candidacy will draw votes away from me. I'm not so sure. If he does well, he will hurt me. If he doesn't get many votes, Sweetser will probably lose as much as me. The Democratic candidate only received 3 percent of the vote in 1990 and 6 percent in 1992. In 1994 there was no Democrat.

Long, a lawyer and former state administrator, is more credible than past Democratic candidates. Governor Dean is supporting him, but states publicly that he doesn't think Long will get more than 10 percent of the vote. Clearly, I will lose some votes to Long from Democrats who would have voted for me because they dislike Sweetser. But Sweetser will lose votes from moderate Republicans who think she's too conservative and would never support me. Who knows how it will all shake out?

Long is staking out the “moderate” position. He says: “I think if I decide to run I will easily differentiate myself from Mr. Sanders and Ms. Sweetser. They are on the extreme ends, extreme right and left. There is no moderate candidate representing the views of moderate Vermonters.”

Another troubling development: a new
Burlington Free Press
poll shows that Sweetser has narrowed the gap. In March, according to their poll, I was ahead by 45 to 26 percent. By late May, my lead is down to 41 to 25. It's not good news. At this stage an incumbent should be doing better. We've got a lot of work to do.

The struggle never ends. If it's not one fight, it's another. If it's not the perversity of those who represent the wealthy, it's the absurdity of congressional politics. Right now, for instance, I am fighting very hard to maintain the Northeast Dairy Compact. The Compact is an attempt to save dairy farms in Vermont and throughout the Northeast.

I was born in Brooklyn, and did not know one end of a cow from the other when I arrived in Vermont twenty-seven years later. Today, while I am by no means an expert on agricultural economics or dairy farming, I do know it is absolutely imperative that we save the family farms. They are a vital part of our state's economy, they protect our environment, and they connect us to our heritage. Vermont can be many things without its farms, but it would not be what any of us know as “Vermont.”

Over the years I have developed an almost emotional attachment to the state's dairy farmers and have fought hard for them against overwhelming odds. Today there are fewer than 2,000 dairy farms in the state, a number that declines annually. The work is not attractive to young people, since the hours are long and the work week usually runs seven days. No wonder our farm population is aging.

Most people who see lovely red barns and cows grazing in pastures do not understand the economy behind the pastoral vista. Farmers have a great deal in common with workers in urban areas. Like low-wage workers everywhere, many are able to survive only because of food stamps and other programs for low-income families. And like both unionized and nonunionized workers, farmers are at the mercy of huge corporations. Agribusiness dominates the feed industry and is rapidly taking over milk production and processing. Now it is even trying to turn cows into an extension of the corporate production process.

Several years ago I led the effort in Congress against Monsanto's bovine growth hormone (BGH), which treats cows as if they were chemical factories for producing milk. The last thing that Vermont farmers need is the production of
more
milk to drive prices even lower, and the addition of new costs, not for hay or equipment but for genetically engineered chemicals. The last thing that consumers need is milk produced with artificial stimulants that make cows sick. But Monsanto, a multibillion dollar corporation, has enormous political influence with the Food and Drug Administration as well as in Congress. There was very little support in Congress for my efforts to stop the introduction of BGH.

Each of New England's six states passed legislation to create the Northeast Dairy Compact. Briefly, the Compact would enable representatives from the six states to set a fair price to farmers for the milk sold within the region. Because it is an interstate compact, it requires the approval of the United States Congress. Vermont's two senators, Patrick Leahy and James Jeffords, have worked hard and effectively on the issue, as have a number of us in the House. Finally, against great odds, the legislation has been passed. It is now awaiting the signature of the secretary of agriculture, Dan Glickman, whom I knew from his days in the House. Glickman has to decide whether the legislation meets the criteria of “compelling public interest.”

The Northeast Dairy Compact legislation is on his desk and we are waiting for him to sign it … and waiting, and waiting. I am worried. There is strong political opposition from midwestern Representatives who mistakenly believe that the Compact will hurt their dairy farmers. There is also opposition from the powerful forces that want cheap milk—the chocolate companies, the food processing industry, and the milk processors—whose profits go up when milk prices go down. On several occasions, I have spoken to President Clinton about the legislation. He appeared supportive, but certain people in his administration were definitely unsympathetic. I also spoke to his chief of staff, Leon Panetta, and to Glickman himself.

Clearly, the Northeast Dairy Compact was more than an agricultural issue. Politics were involved. There's a presidential election coming up. Vermont has three electoral votes. Wisconsin, Minnesota, and other midwestern states have a lot more. I wonder if Clinton's folks will abandon us in the end. Glickman reassures me that the Compact will be signed. Still, I worry.

Now, right at the end of this enormously convoluted legislative process, one of those ironies that are so commonplace in politics occurs: Wisconsin's David Obey, a friend and a fellow progressive, offers an amendment in the Appropriations Committee to kill the prospective legislation. Obey represents Wisconsin, and they're opposed to the Compact. But here is another twist that underlines the strangeness of congressional politics: Bob Livingston, a Louisiana conservative and Gingrichite, chairs the Appropriations Committee. His job is to push through the Agriculture Appropriations bill, which contains the Compact. The Republican leadership is nervous that, because the legislation contains so many compromises, it could easily unravel. They want to keep the bill whole, and, at that late date, it doesn't matter any longer what is in it.

In theory, the Compact—which allows heavy government regulation of the price of milk in the Northeast—runs directly counter to all that Livingston, a free-market conservative, stands for. On the other hand, it is consistent with Dave Obey's general outlook. Dave is a progressive, who has long advocated a strong role for the federal government to protect working people.

Fortunately for us, on this one, Livingston wins and Obey loses. The Northeast Dairy Compact, as part of a major agricultural bill, is shepherded to victory by an anti-government conservative. We take it any way we can get it.