Good question–and one that a remarkable number of Democrats seem to be ask-ing themselves as the 2004 presidential campaign begins. The early odds of unseating President George W. Bush look daunting. Yet the list of possible Democratic challengers keeps growing. Already in: Gov. Howard Dean, Sen. John Kerry and Sen. John Edwards (who took the plunge last week). Rep. Dick Gephardt joins the race this week, Sen. Joe Lieberman next week, Daschle (assuming The Shrine works its will) the week after that. Beyond the six so-called Majors are other possibles: Sens. Bob Graham and Joe Biden, the Rev. Al Sharp-ton and former NATO commander Wesley Clark. “It’s turning into an awfully large group,” frets an aide to one of the Majors.
Bill Clinton’s legacy–or, rather, his lack of one–is one reason why. The policy differences he papered over–on trade, taxes and the use of force abroad–will soon be exposed. Rather than shrink the field, Al Gore’s departure had the opposite effect. The one figure who could squash the field–Hillary Rodham Clinton–isn’t running, either. Even the best-known Democrats are placing far behind Bush in the test match-ups; none is an obviously strong candidate against him. Rather than discourage Democrats from entering the race, weakness emboldens them: if no one has a chance, then everyone does–or so they tell themselves.
Though they are afraid to say it publicly, Democratic contenders as a group remain privately contemptuous of Bush. They concede that he performed well in the months after 9-11, and recognize his willingness to engage in (or to allow Karl Rove to engage in) cutthroat campaign tactics. Still, they see Bush as a lucky lightweight who will crumble politically in the inevitable next round of crisis: another domestic terrorist attack, perhaps, or an avoidable mistake in Iraq or North Korea. They see him as a reincarnation of his father, whose 91 percent approval rating shriveled in the recession of 1992. Big players declined to run in that cycle, leaving the field for Bill Clinton. “People look back at ‘92 and say, ‘I’m not going to make that mistake again’,” says one Democratic strategist.
For some, running may be about nothing more than the chance to launch high-profile attacks on Bushian policies. Democrats think he’s squandering America’s good will in the world with an arrogant approach to foreign policy, and they loathe his views on taxes, judges, medical care and more. Given the media’s (especially cable TV’s) obsessive coverage of presidential politics, Democrats can get more ink in Iowa than in Washington, where they are in the minority everywhere. “Whatever else happens, we’ll have 12 months and at least six candidates with which to spell out our policy disagreements with Bush,” says Steve Riccetti, deputy chief of staff in Clinton’s White House.
Besides, to “run” in 2003 doesn’t mean you’re in the race to stay. The goal this year is to assemble the management team, grass-roots contacts, donor network and bankroll ($30 million) needed to compete in the frantic downhill of primaries in early 2004. Each quarter of this year, candidates must disclose how much money they’ve raised. It’s a quarterly pre-election election season in which those who lag lose–and leave. In Edwards’s case, if his earnest effort to run as the avatar of “regular folks” fails, he can still file to run for re-election to the Senate from North Carolina.
In the meantime, other candidates with access to a large “donor base”–Minority Leader Daschle, Graham of Florida, former House leader Gephardt–think they can compensate for months of organizational work by the likes of Kerry, Edwards and Dean. Washington lobbyists, lawyers and Big Labor bosses–eager for the chance to raise cash and demonstrate loyalty to men who will remain in Congress even if they lose–aren’t likely to tell any of their friends to forget it. They’re far more likely to ask, “Why not?”
