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Requiem for a Heavyweight.
Jun. 4th, 2008 06:00 amI'm going to tell a story about politics.
A while ago, Hillary Clinton decided she would be president. Then, she decided how she was going to become president. It was a brilliant plan.
Republicans had won the last two elections relying on core values: strength, power, experience, security. Of course, they'd then gone and screwed everything up. Clinton would claim those values for her own, and the voters in the "center" who had responded to those values presented by Republicans would shift to support those values presented by Democrats. Clinton would be unhindered by the need to play to an overly religious base and by the failure of Republicans to fulfill their promises of safety in recent years.
Clinton maneuvered her voting record into position, raised lots of money, and secured early support of key Democratic leaders. Entering the primary season, Clinton was the "presumptive nominee." It was a position that meshed with the values she was going to present to America. She was going to enter on top, stay on top, and use the momentum of each victory to power her drive to the White House. With the same kind of evangelical zeal that characterized Bush's campaigns, Clinton would enter the race with the confidence and support to know she was going to win. She was the overdog not just of the primary, but of the election.
Then, Barack Obama won Iowa.
That wasn't supposed to happen. One of the reasons Clinton relied on the story that had previously been dominated by Republicans was that it seemed like the best one. The Democratic Party had been trying to create a new message to counter it for a while, fruitlessly. Yet suddenly, here was a candidate who had a message that was seriously resonating with voters.
Clinton didn't waver from her overdog strategy. And how could she, really? You can't switch from overdog to underdog, even when you're behind. You're just the overdog who's behind (temporarily of course, a minor setback). And Obama used that to his advantage, because it meant that even when he was in the lead, he could still be the underdog.
As the underdog, Obama had a classic American story to fulfill. And his role as underdog was increasingly the role of America. Democrats looked at the world and saw American supremacy slipping away. America was falling behind in the global economy, in world leadership, in environmental stewardship. But in identifying with the identifying with the underdog, the situation wasn't a decline, it was the low moment when the underdog turns things around. America would triumph from a disadvantageous position—just like Obama!
Clinton's strategy continued to work the way it was supposed to. She brought in the rank-and-file voters who were dedicated to Democratic issues but who had been responding to Republican rhetoric. But there was a risk to adopting the overdog technique—it's history as Bush's strategy. Democratic talking heads and progressive bloggers became increasingly uncomfortable with a tone that reminded them of the attitude and actions of their sworn enemy for so many years. They could no longer see the pragmatism of deploying it against the Republicans, because they felt too deeply the pain of it having been deployed against them.
What Clinton as overdog had been offering to them was a power fantasy. It was what they thought they wanted, to be the ones on top, to cruise effortlessly over their opponents, to feel the thrill of certainty, of destiny. But with Obama as a viable underdog, they had a better story. Instead of skipping to the end and enjoying power, they could play out a story more similar to their own. After all, they were underdogs and had been for several years. They wanted to be feel themselves lifted up from where they were to where they wanted to be. And once the underdog actually became the favorite, the overdog had nothing to offer. By supporting Obama and vilifying Clinton, they could play out the story they'd really been dreaming of, they one they'd been talking and writing about for the last eight years—serving the overdog his comeuppance.
Of course, the overdog they'd been talking about all that time had been Bush. But when it comes to the stories we don't realize we're telling, one overdog is as good as another. And as things wore on and on and on, the contest between Clinton and Obama didn't just seem analogous to Bush versus the Democrats. It began to resemble a specific moment. The worst moment. The most painful political moment in recent Democratic Party history.
Picture it: One candidate has a lead among voters, albeit a slim one. The other candidate has an arrogance and a willingness to rely on political favors. The matter seems destined to be decided not by votes, but by an unelected cadre beholden to political insiders.
For many Democrats, the last few weeks of the primary have replayed November of 2000. And Clinton has been playing the role George W. Bush. And the Democrats, filled with screaming rage, have demanded that Clinton do now what they feel Bush should have done then—step aside, let the true victor get to work.
It was a brilliant plan.
It should've worked. It would've worked.
Clinton would have barreled over her less-experienced candidates. The pundits and bloggers would have fallen in line despite brief misgivings. The Republicans would have had no message left. You can see that alternate timeline in the position that Clinton's supporters have maintained throughout the campaign—Trust her experience, be pragmatic, reap the benefits.
And for what it was, her campaign was perfect. She came into the fight as the heavyweight, she hit hard and mercilessly, she never got pinned to the ropes, she never got knocked down.
But the overdog can beat everyone but the underdog, and that's who she was destined to fight.
WedNYTX: 5:15.
A while ago, Hillary Clinton decided she would be president. Then, she decided how she was going to become president. It was a brilliant plan.
Republicans had won the last two elections relying on core values: strength, power, experience, security. Of course, they'd then gone and screwed everything up. Clinton would claim those values for her own, and the voters in the "center" who had responded to those values presented by Republicans would shift to support those values presented by Democrats. Clinton would be unhindered by the need to play to an overly religious base and by the failure of Republicans to fulfill their promises of safety in recent years.
Clinton maneuvered her voting record into position, raised lots of money, and secured early support of key Democratic leaders. Entering the primary season, Clinton was the "presumptive nominee." It was a position that meshed with the values she was going to present to America. She was going to enter on top, stay on top, and use the momentum of each victory to power her drive to the White House. With the same kind of evangelical zeal that characterized Bush's campaigns, Clinton would enter the race with the confidence and support to know she was going to win. She was the overdog not just of the primary, but of the election.
Then, Barack Obama won Iowa.
That wasn't supposed to happen. One of the reasons Clinton relied on the story that had previously been dominated by Republicans was that it seemed like the best one. The Democratic Party had been trying to create a new message to counter it for a while, fruitlessly. Yet suddenly, here was a candidate who had a message that was seriously resonating with voters.
Clinton didn't waver from her overdog strategy. And how could she, really? You can't switch from overdog to underdog, even when you're behind. You're just the overdog who's behind (temporarily of course, a minor setback). And Obama used that to his advantage, because it meant that even when he was in the lead, he could still be the underdog.
As the underdog, Obama had a classic American story to fulfill. And his role as underdog was increasingly the role of America. Democrats looked at the world and saw American supremacy slipping away. America was falling behind in the global economy, in world leadership, in environmental stewardship. But in identifying with the identifying with the underdog, the situation wasn't a decline, it was the low moment when the underdog turns things around. America would triumph from a disadvantageous position—just like Obama!
Clinton's strategy continued to work the way it was supposed to. She brought in the rank-and-file voters who were dedicated to Democratic issues but who had been responding to Republican rhetoric. But there was a risk to adopting the overdog technique—it's history as Bush's strategy. Democratic talking heads and progressive bloggers became increasingly uncomfortable with a tone that reminded them of the attitude and actions of their sworn enemy for so many years. They could no longer see the pragmatism of deploying it against the Republicans, because they felt too deeply the pain of it having been deployed against them.
What Clinton as overdog had been offering to them was a power fantasy. It was what they thought they wanted, to be the ones on top, to cruise effortlessly over their opponents, to feel the thrill of certainty, of destiny. But with Obama as a viable underdog, they had a better story. Instead of skipping to the end and enjoying power, they could play out a story more similar to their own. After all, they were underdogs and had been for several years. They wanted to be feel themselves lifted up from where they were to where they wanted to be. And once the underdog actually became the favorite, the overdog had nothing to offer. By supporting Obama and vilifying Clinton, they could play out the story they'd really been dreaming of, they one they'd been talking and writing about for the last eight years—serving the overdog his comeuppance.
Of course, the overdog they'd been talking about all that time had been Bush. But when it comes to the stories we don't realize we're telling, one overdog is as good as another. And as things wore on and on and on, the contest between Clinton and Obama didn't just seem analogous to Bush versus the Democrats. It began to resemble a specific moment. The worst moment. The most painful political moment in recent Democratic Party history.
Picture it: One candidate has a lead among voters, albeit a slim one. The other candidate has an arrogance and a willingness to rely on political favors. The matter seems destined to be decided not by votes, but by an unelected cadre beholden to political insiders.
For many Democrats, the last few weeks of the primary have replayed November of 2000. And Clinton has been playing the role George W. Bush. And the Democrats, filled with screaming rage, have demanded that Clinton do now what they feel Bush should have done then—step aside, let the true victor get to work.
It was a brilliant plan.
It should've worked. It would've worked.
Clinton would have barreled over her less-experienced candidates. The pundits and bloggers would have fallen in line despite brief misgivings. The Republicans would have had no message left. You can see that alternate timeline in the position that Clinton's supporters have maintained throughout the campaign—Trust her experience, be pragmatic, reap the benefits.
And for what it was, her campaign was perfect. She came into the fight as the heavyweight, she hit hard and mercilessly, she never got pinned to the ropes, she never got knocked down.
But the overdog can beat everyone but the underdog, and that's who she was destined to fight.
WedNYTX: 5:15.
