• U.S.

Ready To Play Ball?

8 minute read
Laurence I. Barrett

The scene was a curious mixture of high drama and slapstick satire. Michael Dukakis, only hours away from the climactic triumph of his primary season, tries to hold a private midnight meeting with Jesse Jackson. His Secret Service limousine takes him to a back door of the Hyatt Wilshire in Los Angeles, where Jackson is staying. Reporters, alerted to the rendezvous, race through the hotel, but Dukakis evades them. Jackson’s suite is a mess. As aides dispose of the remains of a chicken-and-greens dinner, Secret Service agents sweep swarming journalists from the corridor.

The Greek American comes bearing a gift: a Dukakis-for-President button with blinking lights. Then the two candidates sit down alone — no aides, no translators — for a 90-minute session, the longest of their three meetings in as many weeks. Jackson complains about the inequities of the delegate- selection system and argues for a tougher stand against South Africa’s racial policies. Dukakis listens sympathetically. Looming over the meeting is a too- hot topic that remains pretty much unspoken: whether Dukakis should offer Jackson the second spot on the ticket (which he won’t) and what will happen when he doesn’t. Down in the lobby, Mark Gearan, a Dukakis spokesman, entertains drowsy reporters with a piano rendition of Getting to Know You from The King and I.

The Massachusetts Governor’s resounding finale last week — victories with more than 60% of the vote in California, New Jersey, Montana and New Mexico — gave him more than enough delegates to win the nomination in Atlanta. It also prompted three of his vanquished adversaries — Richard Gephardt, Bruce Babbitt and Paul Simon — to endorse him with all the rhetorical goo expected on such occasions. But Jackson refused to play along. Instead, he took the role of the iron-whimmed King of Siam.

After losing the final round last week, Jackson praised the nature of Dukakis’ surprisingly successful campaign — but said he would remain in the race and fight for delegates not formally bound to other candidates. That tactic had some precedent, but Jackson’s demand for first-refusal rights to the vice-presidential nomination did not. It was a noticeable hardening of his responses on the subject. Earlier in the campaign, he dismissed the second slot as irrelevant. More recently, he argued that his strong showing had earned him “consideration.”

Last week Jackson redefined his terms. “Well,” he told an interviewer, “consideration does mean offered. It does not mean just in passing.” To a CNN correspondent, he indicated that he would press Dukakis hard: “I’m going to push him until I get a response.” He contended that the 6.7 million people who voted for him (vs. 9.7 million for Dukakis) had earned representation on the Democratic ticket. When asked why he was now pushing for a job he once spurned, Jackson proved yet again how eloquently he can cloak his own ambition in historic significance. “For some people who have come by way of the stars and have had silver spoons in their mouths and many job options — Shall they run their father’s ranch, shall they run his plantation, shall they run the family corporation? . . . maybe Vice President is a step down for them. But do you understand my background? The vice presidency is not quite the top. But it’s a long way from where I started.”

Losers in primaries frequently attempt to console themselves by prodding the winners on policy questions. In 1960, for instance, Nelson Rockefeller extracted from Richard Nixon the “treaty of Fifth Avenue,” which clarified stands on civil rights and national security issues. Jackson may be seeking more: the transformation of his campaign into a permanent movement within the Democratic Party.

After Jackson asserted his claim to the vice-presidential nomination, Ron Brown, who has pretty much displaced Campaign Manager Gerald Austin, said Jackson “went further than he meant to go.” Ann Lewis, another adviser, said he had spoken out emphatically because his earlier comments about his role in the party had not been taken seriously.

In fact, Jackson seems largely motivated by a desire to increase his bargaining leverage. His demands are in part a powerful gambit to ensure that he will not finish empty-handed. Among the things he seriously seeks, for example, is a uniform proportional-representation rule for future primaries to improve his chances in 1992 or 1996. The cliched question of the spring — What does Jesse want? — seems to be yielding to a fascinating puzzle for the summer: Does Jesse know what he wants? And if so, what might he settle for?

There is no doubt that Jackson’s ploys are making life difficult for Dukakis. He managed to win the nomination with little strife. Now he deserves to bask in a bubble bath of party unity, enjoying his current advantage over George Bush in polls. Instead, Jackson’s carping about delegate-selection rules undermines the validity of Dukakis’ victory, at least among Jackson’s passionate following.

Making matters worse was the kibbitzing of some supposed allies, most notably Mario Cuomo. The New York Governor, barely concealing what looked a lot like jealousy, had to be prodded by reporters into endorsing Dukakis: “It’s an empty question. I gave the endorsement months ago to whoever came out first.” After a bit more prodding: “I endorse him! I endorse him! I endorse him! There.” He then went on to say, somewhat unhelpfully, that he thought Jackson would be good for the ticket. “How could you say no?”

Dukakis will have to find a way. Simply put, Jackson will not be his running mate. The civil rights leader’s impressive voter appeal does not mask the fact that he carries back-breaking negatives, in terms of both his ideology and his personality. Like some earlier polls, a USA Today-CNN survey last week showed that Dukakis teamed with either John Glenn or Bill Bradley bests Bush by 6 to 8 points, but a Dukakis-Jackson ticket runs 7 points behind.

Dukakis is likely to consult with Jackson, and he may even give him a tacit (though unofficial) veto over the final selection. But any explicit concessions would alienate the crucial moderate voters necessary for a November victory. On the other hand, a blatant rebuff of Jackson would offend blacks, normally the most loyal bloc in the Democratic coalition. Dukakis and his advisers are thus maintaining a diplomatic silence, hoping that Jackson will pull back. If he does not, a Dukakis strategist predicted, “you’ll have hell to pay.”

Most frustrating of all to Dukakis is the sense that he has only limited leverage over Jackson. His late-night foray to Jackson’s hotel was part of a mutual effort to warm up what has been a cool, correct relationship. In his speeches, Dukakis frequently butters up Jackson, making a somewhat stretched comparison between his own immigrant heritage and Jackson’s rise from poverty and racial discrimination. Yet Jackson’s advisers, themselves divided over strategy, continue to complain that Dukakis does not understand Jackson.

Dukakis agrees with Jackson that the U.S. should be tougher on South Africa, but he declines to support the step of labeling South Africa a “terrorist state” like Libya and Iran. He might go along with yet another review of delegate-selection rules, but he is not about to denounce the present system as undemocratic. Jackson, who believes that Party Chairman Paul Kirk is hostile to him, might seek his replacement after the convention. If he presses the point, Dukakis might sacrifice Kirk for the sake of amity. Last week Jackson admitted that he might back away from his demand to be on the ticket if he wins on other matters, telling reporters, “The ticket will be a consideration, but it will be one of many considerations.”

On larger issues, Dukakis knows that satisfying Jackson would mean alienating many voters. For instance, Jackson argues for tax increases on the affluent and a significant reduction of Pentagon resources. As Dukakis fends off Republican charges that he is a tax-loving liberal dove, he can hardly embrace those ideas. Nor can he court Jackson too ardently without looking weak or Mondale-like.

A few mannerly floor fights in Atlanta on platform items could be a good thing for the party. They would perk up interest and allow Dukakis to continue to appear as the commonsense centrist keeping the party’s left wing in check. But an emotional brawl over Jackson’s claims to the vice-presidential nomination would ignite racial animosities and could leave the Democrats fatally divided. In their dealings between now and Atlanta, Dukakis must rely on Jackson’s enormous savvy, and on his fear of playing the spoiler in a year when the Democrats have a real chance to recapture the White House.

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