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1993-04-08
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THE POLITICAL INTEREST, Page 43 Playing Out The End Game
By Michael Kramer
What is left for George Bush now is to bow out gracefully,
an act of self-preservation to which he is well suited by
temperament and breeding.
What is left for Ross Perot is the rehabilitation of his
reputation. Without the oxygen of feedback -- the laughs and
snickers that accompany his homilies when his fabulists people
the room -- Perot's act quickly tires. As he moves beyond
diagnosis to prescription, Perot must ensure his presentation
is persuasive enough so that if the nation's stagnation
continues, he can reappear in 1996 to ask credibly, "Now are you
ready to act instead of talk?"
That Bush knows the jig is up seemed evident in the second
presidential debate last week -- a forum that resembled a
teach-in rather than a brawl. Scripted to strike again at
Clinton's character, Bush clearly didn't relish the role.
Swatted down by Clinton, who wouldn't play, and then by the
moderator and the audience, Bush avoided pressing his charge
that Clinton's demonstrating against the Vietnam War while
studying abroad should be received as a disqualifying act.
Experience shows that whenever Bush says something like, "That's
what I feel passionately about" (as he added in his dig at
Clinton), you can bet it is the last thing he believes really
matters. If he truly thought Clinton's behavior morally
repugnant, Bush would have soldiered on. The President is worn
and beaten. The light touch is gone. Were he on top of his game,
Bush would have deflected the question of how the recession
personally affected him by saying, "Well, if the polls are
correct, it's about to cost me my job."
The Republicans, including the President, are already back
in the gutter, but Bush should salvage his dignity by stepping
away. It is still within the President's power to write his own
epitaph as a decent man who tried his best, a legacy he could
squander if he continues the mudslinging when all is lost.
Bill Clinton's task is the trickiest of all. The nation's
12-year vacation is over. It is time to pay the bills and get
back to work. The electorate's hopes could not be higher.
Clinton is being chosen to fix the economy, which no President
can control unilaterally. To have any reasonable chance of
affecting matters at all, Clinton, as President-in-waiting,
should use the remainder of the campaign to shape a mandate. He
must sharply define and carefully limit both the number and the
reach of his plans so they become both instantly recognizable
and easily digestible. As Ronald Reagan did, Clinton should
stress a few core principles, priorities the people and Congress
can identify without prompting as the essence of what he has
been elected to do.
Unfortunately, programmatic discipline is not Clinton's
strong suit, as his plan for national service illustrates.
Clinton has been charmed for years by the idea that the
government would pay college tuition for students in exchange
for community service, and he routinely offers it as a defining
expression of his governmental philosophy. But like many of his
ambitious proposals, national service should be approached with
the wariness one brings to purchasing toys: look for the
small-print message ASSEMBLY REQUIRED. Ever mindful that his
candidacy could crumble if Bush's "tax and spend" label sticks,
Clinton's fully developed national-service proposal reflects a
sober appreciation of fiscal reality, a caution invariably
missing from his grandiose stump presentations. At the second
debate, Clinton again implied that government-paid tuition would
be available to any student who agreed to perform two years of
community work.
What Clinton didn't say is that the plan would be phased
in gradually, that the maximum tuition assistance available
would be $5,000 a year (less than the annual cost of an
education at even most state universities) and that, when fully
implemented, the program could serve only a fraction of those
who might be attracted to the idea; others could apply for loans
repayable after graduation. "From a budgetary standpoint,"
Clinton's issues director, Bruce Reed, says, "we're not going
to create another entitlement so that anyone who wants to go
into national service can do it. We'll spend up to $7.5 billion
a year on it and try to provide as many slots as that money can
pay for." By that calculus, only about 250,000 students could
become national servants, or roughly one-eighth of those
currently eligible if the plan had no monetary ceiling. Consider
also that the scheme might entice others to seek a postsecondary
education, and, however wondrous in theory, national service
becomes a prescription for disappointment.
As Clinton's articulation of national service raises
impossible expectations, it illuminates a far graver potential
problem. If he hopes to govern as he has so far campaigned, as
a leader with a program for every problem, Clinton, like Jimmy
Carter, will dissipate his political capital and end up
presiding over an ad-hocracy in which disparate policies never
quite mesh.