The Price of Politics (2 page)

Dave Camp, Republican of Michigan, chairman, Ways and Means Committee (January 3, 2011–present)

Jeb Hensarling, Republican of Texas, supercommittee co–chair

Kevin McCarthy, Republican of California, Majority Whip (January 2011–present)

Paul Ryan, Republican of Wisconsin, chairman, House Budget Committee (January 3, 2011–present)

Chris Van Hollen, Democrat of Maryland, ranking member, House Budget Committee (January 3, 2011–present)

NATIONAL COMMISSION ON FISCAL RESPONSIBILITY AND REFORM

Co–chairmen

Alan Simpson, former Republican senator from Wyoming

Erskine Bowles, Democrat, former chief of staff to President Bill Clinton

The lavish dinner at the Capital Hilton Hotel in downtown Washington on the evening of Saturday, March 11, 2006, was about the last place you would expect to find him. But there was Barack Obama, age 44, the junior senator from Illinois for only the last 14 months, in formal white-tie with tails and very much at ease in the crowd of 600. His trademark smile, broad and infectious, dominated his face as I met him for the first time.

We were at the annual Gridiron Club dinner—a rite of passage for national political figures such as Obama. The crowd included President George W. Bush and most of the major politicians in Washington. It was one of Senator Obama’s maiden voyages into the unsavory belly of the Washington beast. Bush was to speak for the Republicans, and Obama had been selected to speak for the Democrats.

Founded in 1885, the Gridiron—named because its motto was to “singe but not burn”—had the reputation of being an old-school event of in-jokes, skits and music that seemed more fitted to a bygone era.

“You’re from Wheaton, Illinois,” Obama said to me, referring, unprompted, to the small town where I was raised in the late 1940s and ’50s. Wheaton, 25 miles west of Chicago, is home to Wheaton College, best known for its alumnus evangelist Billy Graham, whose influence permeated the town.

“I’ll bet you didn’t carry Wheaton,” I said confidently, referring to his Senate race 16 months earlier. A bastion of Midwestern conservatism and country-club Republicans, Wheaton was the most Republican town in the country in the 1950s, or at least regarded itself that way.

“I carried DuPage County by 60 percent!” Obama responded, beaming that incandescent smile. Wheaton is the county seat of DuPage.

I said that seemed utterly impossible. That couldn’t be the Wheaton or DuPage I had known.

Obama continued to smile me down. The certainty on his face was deep, giving me pause. Suddenly, I remembered that Obama’s opponent for the Senate seat had been Alan Keyes, the conservative black Republican gadfly. Keyes had substituted at the last minute for the first Republican nominee, who withdrew from the race when divorce and child custody records revealed that he had taken his wife to sex clubs in New York, New Orleans and Paris.

“Well, everyone who runs for office should have Alan Keyes as their opponent,” I said, trying to hold my ground.

Obama smiled some more—almost mirthful, yet unrevealing. The conversation turned to Illinois politics, and Obama ticked off the areas where he had strong support—Chicago, the labor unions—and weak support, downstate and the farm areas. He defined the categories skillfully, expanding on the state’s interest groups and voting blocs. He made it clear he knew where he had work to do.

He sounded like a graceful old-fashioned pol. Though he had carried DuPage by 60 percent, he had won 70 percent of the statewide vote.

His wife, Michelle, stood by his side in a stunning gown. But the focus and the questions from people crowded around were all directed at the dazzling new star.

• • •

When he appeared at the podium several hours later, Obama stood perfectly erect, projecting radiant confidence.

“This is a true story,” he said.
¹
“A friend sent me a clip about a new study by a psychologist at the University of Scotland who says sex before
a public speaking engagement actually enhances your oratorical power. I showed this clip to Michelle, before we arrived here tonight. She looked it over, handed it back and said, ‘Do the best you can!’ ”

The laughter ignited instantly.

“This appearance is really the capstone of an incredible 18 months,” he said, citing the keynote speech at the Democratic National Convention in 2004, cover of
Newsweek
, a best-selling autobiography,
Dreams from My Father
, a Grammy award for reading the audiobook. “Really what else is there to do? Well, I guess . . . I could pass a law or something.”

The self-deprecation played well.

Referring to Senator John McCain’s positive treatment by the press up to that point, Obama said, “Some of my colleagues call John a prima donna. Me? I call him a role model. Think of it as affirmative action. Why should the white guys be the only ones who are overhyped?”

The self-awareness played smooth.

Noting the speculation that the 2008 presidential campaign could come down to McCain, a maverick Republican, versus Senator Hillary Clinton, he said, “People don’t realize how much John and Hillary have in common. They’re both very smart. Both very hardworking. And they’re both hated by the Republicans!”

This played bipartisan.

Obama turned toward President Bush, who was on the stage nearby. “The president was so excited about Tom Friedman’s book
The World Is Flat
. As soon as he saw the title, he said, ‘You see, I was right!’ ”

The joke played confident.

“I want to thank you for all the generous advance coverage you’ve given me in anticipation of a successful career. When I actually do something, we’ll let you know.”

The audience clapped and hooted in delight.

After dinner the buzz was like a chain reaction. Not only could this young Obama tell a joke on himself, with the required self-effacement, but he had remarkable communications skills. An editor at
The Washington Post
once said that journalists only write two stories: Oh, the horror of it all, and Oh, the wonder of it all. Obama was the wonder of
it all that night and he basked in the attention he had captured. Rarely have I seen anyone manage the moment so well. He had frankly and forthrightly trumpeted his lack of accomplishment, and the roomful of egos ate it up. But if he had done nothing much so far, why was he there? Why the buzz? The approbation? What exactly was being measured?

It was the dramatic impact he was having on his audience. The triumph was the effect.

Twenty-five years earlier in 1981, I had attended a Gridiron dinner where the speaker for the Democrats was Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan, the bookish intellectual who had served in prominent posts in both Republican and Democratic administrations. Moynihan, then 53, made some good jokes, but his theme was serious: what it means to be a Democrat. The soul of the party was to fight for equality and the little guy, he said. The party cared for the underdogs in America, the voiceless, powerless and those who got stepped on. It was a defining speech, and the buzz afterward was that Moynihan was going to be president. He wasn’t, of course. That was then, this was now.

Obama had not once mentioned the party or high purpose. His speech, instead, was about Obama, his inexperience, and, in the full paradox of the moment, what he had not done.

Two and a half years later, he was president-elect of the United States.

T
wo weeks before their inauguration, President-elect Barack Obama and Vice President–elect Joe Biden headed to Capitol Hill to meet with the Democratic and Republican leaders of the House and Senate. It was 3:15 p.m. on Monday, January 5, 2009, and Obama was fresh from a 12-day Hawaiian vacation.

The leaders gathered in the ornate LBJ Room of the Senate decorated with a painting celebrating the laying of the first transatlantic cable. In it, the allegorical figures of Europe and America joined hands in friendship across the ocean.

As if in that spirit, Obama called on the group to work together across the partisan divide to address the looming economic crisis.

“Action on our part is urgent,” he told them. Unemployment was at 7.2 percent and rising, and the economic situation was threatening to get worse with the financial system in full-blown crisis. He wanted the Congress to quickly pass an economic stimulus package in the range of “$800 billion to $1.3 trillion.”

It would include some tax cuts—sweet music to the Republicans—and some investment, such as spending on roads, buildings and other job-creating projects. In addition, he said, they had to “build in medium- and long-term fiscal discipline” to tame the growing federal deficit.

Looking at the four Republican leaders—the GOP was in the minority in both houses of Congress—Obama reached out.

“I want everyone’s ideas,” he said. “But we can’t get into political games.”

Nancy Pelosi, the California Democrat and speaker of the House, interjected, “I come to Washington to work in a bipartisan manner.”

Both Republicans and Democrats stifled chuckles. Pelosi, a 12-term veteran of Congress and the first female speaker, was notably partisan in her leadership of the 257 House Democrats. She had been born into Democratic politics. Her father was a congressman from Maryland and both her father and brother served as mayor of Baltimore.

“We’re in a unique situation,” said Harry Reid, the soft-spoken but combative Senate majority leader. The son of a miner, Reid had grown up in the tiny town of Searchlight, Nevada, without electricity or indoor plumbing. A former amateur boxer who had faced down organized crime bosses while chair of the Nevada Gaming Commission, Reid avoided declarations about bipartisanship, adding simply, “I want to work.”

The Senate Republican Minority Leader Mitch McConnell spoke next. At 66, a veteran of five terms representing Kentucky in the Senate, McConnell was known for the ruthlessness with which he ruled the Senate Republican minority. He cut straight to his suggestions.

I like the idea of tax cuts, he said. But we should also take a look at the money the federal government pays to the states for programs like Medicaid, the health insurance program for the poor. Beloved by the Democrats, Medicaid cost the federal government more than $250 billion a year. Perhaps, he suggested, we should treat that money as loans instead of outright grants. Having to pay the money back would make the states more judicious in spending it, he said.

Obama seemed receptive. “If it works, we don’t care whose idea it is,” he said evenly.

John Boehner, the leader of the House Republican minority, came next.

Tanned from many hours on the golf course, Boehner (pronounced
BAY-ner) spoke in a casual Midwestern baritone roughened by years of incessant cigarette smoking. At age 59, he was beginning his 10th term as congressman from his largely suburban district in southwestern Ohio. The second of 12 children, Boehner had grown up working in a bar owned by his grandfather, and was the first person in his family to attend college, working his way through Xavier University in Cincinnati to earn a degree in business administration. The minority leader was a conservative and ardently pro-business, but not an ideologue. A force for moderation, who had forged agreements with Democratic icon Ted Kennedy on education, Boehner understood that the secret to getting anything done in Washington was the ability and willingness to cut deals.

Boehner knew how to tend to personal relationships and, unlike many of his colleagues, was not a workaholic. Informal and on the surface accessible to colleagues and press, he liked to tease fellow congressmen and staff, and enjoyed a glass or two of red wine at the Republican Capitol Hill Club in the evening.

A stimulus package would have to go through the congressional committees to ensure transparency, Boehner said, but he agreed they could not tolerate unnecessary delay. “The economy is in unprecedented turmoil.”

No one needed to spell out the political risks of passing a new stimulus bill, but Obama said he thought there was a lesson to be learned from TARP, the Troubled Asset Relief Program, which had passed in the last months of the Bush presidency. TARP was controversial and dauntingly complex, a $700 billion temporary bailout for the banks—money that was supposed to be paid back. “If the public doesn’t know what the money is for,” the president-elect said, citing TARP, “it’s a big problem.”

He pledged to personally sell the stimulus package to the American people as something that would help everyone. At the moment, Barack Obama, president-elect, was the most famous and possibly the most admired political figure in the world. The Republicans were a dispirited lot. Political writers were speculating that the GOP might
devolve into a regional party representing mainly Southern whites as the Democrats ascended to permanent majority status. Obama held all the cards. How would he play his first hand?

“There will be times,” he said cordially, “when we will want to bulldoze each other.”

True, all knew.

“This isn’t one of those times,” he said.

“Time frame?” asked Boehner.