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Ch 13: The Road to the White House
Televangelism: Power and Politics on God`s Frontier |  |
Ch 13: The Road to the White House
"There's only one job in the United States and in the world I
suppose, that would give me any more opportunity to do good for my
fellow man."
--M. G. "Pat" Robertson, President,
Christian Broadcasting
Network
Cervantes's classic character, Don Quixote, fancied himself a knight- errant. On his broken-down old nag, with a kitchen pot for a helmet, he tilted at windmills, thinking them to be ogres and dragons. Insisting on perceiving everything around him in terms of chivalry and medieval ballads, he usually ended his efforts in catastrophe.
By modern standards, he was psychotic. But to sixteenth-century readers, he was a tragic, romantic figure. As medieval society was giving way to a totally different social order, with chivalry one of the casualties, Don Quixote's doomed attempts to resurrect it had a certain nostalgic appeal. But readers also knew his lunacies could not be taken seriously. Common sense told them the world had changed.
And common sense tells late-twentieth-century Americans that the world has changed. Ours is a rational and pragmatic social order. Religion is fine as long as people keep it to themselves. But in the public arena, religion can be a mischievous and unwelcome intruder. Technology and the imperative of scientific management define what is desirable and essential in corporate and governmental bureaucratic order; and private morality is the god of the educated and sophisticated.
Media savants take for granted that we all live in a secular world. In their view, Pat Robertson's vision of America is simply out of touch with these realities. He is an anachronism. Robertson's adversaries see him in quixotic battle with a new order he cannot possibly hope to change. He represents a dying breed of American with archaic beliefs and simplistic solutions. Any presidential campaign run by him would be a hopeless gesture.
It was suggested earlier that Barbara Tuchman's concept of woodenheadedness might be a useful tool for understanding why the mass media have not been able to grasp the significance and permanence of the conservative movement in America. Wooden-headness may also be an obstacle to understanding why the media and America's liberal elite cannot move beyond their images of Pat Robertson as the kook who thinks he can shrink hemorrhoids and move hurricanes. But still there is something unnerving about him. When Robertson is the subject of cocktail conversation, laughter usually gives way to anger.
Both are manifestations of quiet anxiety.
The reason Pat Robertson is not a pathetic and laughable character is that his candidacy is no more a fluke than is the broadcasting empire he has built. The critical mistake made by media pundits and political professionals is that they assess Robertson's potential strength through the lens of an outmoded model of the political process. They continue to assume that political parties still are important and that party support is critical to gaining a nomination and winning an election.
Since their zenith in the late nineteenth century, political parties have been in a steady decline, resulting from "a loss of their nearmonopoly over several significant tasks that must be performed in a democratic society," notes David Everson in "The Decline of Political Parties. [1] Those services included dispensing patronage, providing services through precinct captains, running elections, and serving as a locus for social activities. [2]
Most significant has been the progressively diminishing role of political parties in the selection of candidates. Once the privilege of insiders and top party leaders, accomplished in closed-door, smokefilled rooms, the process gradually became democratized. The spread of primary elections, which began in the early twentieth century in various states, was evidence of both cause and effect.
Primary elections in themselves didn't immediately weaken party
leaders' influence. Until recently, caucus-convention and primary elections were still heavily locked within the party framework. Candidates without party support-and who had not put in their time as staunchly loyal activists-had little hope of winning more than minor local office.
As late as 1960, only fifteen states held presidential primaries. That number had increased dramatically by 1980, to thirty-seven. Democrats and Republicans don't necessarily select delegates in the same manner in each state. Not surprisingly, the Republican party has leaned toward control by an elite. In 1988 there will be thirty-seven states (including the District of Columbia) where Republicans will select delegates by primaries. More important, delegates selected by primaries will account for approximately 60 percent of the total.
In addition to the democratization of the primaries, three factors have contributed to the shrinking power of political parties over this century. These factors are (1) the development of mass media, (2) the emergence of a professional class of political campaign consultants, and (3) public funding of campaigns.
More than anything else, mass media have revolutionized the way we "do politics" in America. Where once the party machinery was the citizen's main conduit for news about candidates, the overwhelming proportion of campaign information is now transmitted via the mass media of television, newspapers, magazines, and direct mail. They are used both to transmit information and fund the process.
If a candidate can communicate directly with the communicators (mass media), or, better yet, directly with the voters, the party's role in selling candidates is diminished. How to do so more effectively is the business of political consultants, who, as Larry Sabato has documented so brilliantly, "have replaced party leaders in key campaign roles." [3] They communicate with the mass media, they develop advertising campaigns to communicate directly with voters, they develop strategies for combatting their candidate's opponent, and they raise money to pay for all of it.
High-tech mass-media campaigning is expensive. Laws governing campaign spending have tended to spread the giving around and further democratized the process. Campaign financing has become exceedingly complex since the Federal Elections Campaign Act of 1971. Political Action Committees (PACs) are created explicitly for the pur
pose of supporting candidates financially. Originally envisioned as an instrument for organized labor, they have become, with subsequent revisions of the law, a tool of virtually every kind of interest group. [4] As extremely effective-yet completely independent- instruments for financing political campaigns, PACs constitute yet another powerful blow to the control of political parties in America.
Many scholars, including Sabato, have cautioned against portraying a golden age when political parties were omnipotent. In retrospect, the clout they once possessed seems to have been exaggerated. But whatever the limits or weaknesses of the political parties of yesteryear, it is difficult to imagine parties as nearly impotent as they are today. The political boss, and the political party with real muscle, passed from the American scene when Chicago's Mayor Richard Daley died more than a decade ago. In most parts of the country, party leaders are like barkers in front of the Bourbon Street striptease joints in New Orleans on a January night; they beckon passersby to check out their candidates. And, like the barkers, the party leaders are out in the cold while the action is inside.
The political party's impotence was abundantly evident in the paraparty organization created by Richard Nixon for his reelection in 1971; the Committee to Re-elect the President "functioned virtually as a surrogate party." Notes Sabato:
Perhaps Neil Staebler's forecast that "elections will increasingly become contests not between candidates but between great advertising firms" is too pessimistic and simplistic. [6] But his framing of the
question dramatically highlights the shift in American politics from parties to campaigns managed by professionals.
So pervasive is the clout of the consultant that political scientist Nelson Polsky states bluntly:
Pat Robertson's candidacy, as well as possible candidacies by evangelical Christians in the future, must be understood in the context of the decline of traditional political-party strength and the rise of the mass media and high-tech political consultants.
Once upon a time, name recognition, one of the most indispensable resources for a candidate, was almost always achieved by working within a political party. But, as many people are failing to notice, this began to change back in the 1950s, when both major parties courted World War II hero General Dwight D. Eisenhower to head their ticket. Then there was an astronaut named John Glenn, and a movie actor named George Murphy, who used their careers outside of politics to boost them into the U.S. Senate. And, more recently, another Hollywood actor won the governorship of the nation's most populous state and used that as a launching pad for his flight to the White House.
Political pundits fasten on reasons that each of these cases are exceptions rather than barometers giving a sound reading on the new rules. But the exceptions are far too numerous to be dismissed as anomalies. Pat Robertson understands that the game of politics is being played according to new rules. And the playing field is one on which he is very comfortable.
Even if they don't understand how the game is played, the media savants see themselves as the contest gatekeepers. "No man cometh unto the people but by us" is their unspoken creed. The price for violating it is ridicule. Robertson would rather have a friendly press corps, but he knew before he began his presidential quest that such a development would be unlikely.
Feeling confident that he is more in touch with the genuine values
and religious sentiments of tens of millions of Americans, Robertson is bemused by the media's treatment of his candidacy. He thinks he knows who is wearing blinders. Half-laughing, he told the authors
He paused, and then added, "It's probably just as well, because they haven't caught up with what's happening." Pat Robertson knows that he needs media attention, lots of it, to build a solid campaign. But he also knows that the longer it takes the media to take him seriously, the easier it will be to grab the delegates and run.
If there is any lesson to be gleaned from the history of declining party influence and the rise of paraparty politics, it is that Robertson's initial core constituencies can be formed without relying on traditional parties. This has been increasingly true since the advent of electronics, particularly television. Perhaps his candidacy will finally help Americans understand that the road to big-time political careers no longer begins with the local precinct.
By the time Pat Robertson officially entered the race, a few political analysts were beginning to recognize he was a serious candidate. He already had in place an impressive organizational structure, but almost no one was willing to give him a real chance at winning the nomination. As students of contemporary American religion and the sociopolitical movement of the New Christian Right, the authors were persuaded early on that his chances were much greater than his sharpest critics feared or most of his closest associates realized.
Of course, anyone who runs for president is traversing an open mine field. Candidates face incredible scrutiny of their professional record and personal biography by reporters and by the hostile research staffs of other candidates.
The perceived unorthodoxy of Robertson's religious views, and the fact that he has not previously run for office, contribute to even more careful scrutiny. Beyond that, the chances of his running a flawless campaign are remote. Virtually every candidate for the presidency miscalculates on some critical issue. Sometimes there are develop
meets utterly beyond their control that have a decisive effect on their campaign.
Former Michigan Governor George Romney seemed to be doing well in 1968 when, upon his return from a fact-finding trip in Vietnam, he dealt himself a fatal blow by claiming that he had been brainwashed.
Former Maine Senator Edmund Muskie's presidential hopes wilted overnight when he broke down and cried in front of television cameras when discussing vicious rumors Republican operatives had spread about his wife.
And, perhaps more than anything else, it was an errant moment at Chappaquiddick that rendered forever improbable a bid for the presidency by Senator Edward Kennedy.
For former Colorado Senator Gary Hart, it was a failure to recognize that the rules of accountability had been changing. It wasn't so much what he did in his private life, but that he lied about it and attempted to project a fraudulent image of traditional family values.
Wise individuals attempt to assess the potential damage of"skeletons" in their personal closets before they commit themselves to the lure of presidential politics. And, quite probably, a lot of otherwise able people choose to turn back. Democratic vice- presidential nominee Senator Thomas Eagleton, who had been institutionalized briefly with mental-health problems, apparently did not anticipate the impact of this event on his candidacy. Nor, obviously, did Senator George McGovern, who chose Eagleton as his running mate in 1972.
Early in Pat Robertson's exploration of a presidential bid, rumors began to circulate that he used his senator-father's influence to avoid combat duty when he was a marine in Korea.
The source of the rumors was traced to a letter written by former California Congressman Paul "Pete" McCloskey to Indiana Congressman Andrew Jacobs. Jacobs subsequently shared the letter with two syndicated newspaper columnists who used the material. Robertson recognized the damage such accusations could have on his candidacy, so he acted decisively to put them to rest. Labeling the allegation "wanton and reckless," Robertson sued Jacobs and McCloskey, accusing them of spreading false statements "for the purpose and with the effect of injuring, disgracing and defaming [Robertson's] good name and reputation. " He asked for damages of $35 million from each.
On July 24, 1987, federal judge Joyce Hens Green dismissed the claim against Jacobs, finding neither malice nor reckless disregard of truth in his sharing the letter. McCloskey also filed a motion for summary judgment to dismiss the suit, but Judge Green denied the motion and handed the case to a jury for consideration because of evidence that McCloskey may have willfully disregarded information supporting Robertson's position when he wrote the letter to Jacobs.
By taking the offensive, Robertson neutralized a potentially damaging issue. If he could win a judgment, it would represent an important political gain. A public retraction from McCloskey would similarly represent a victory. In his deposition, McCloskey made comments with the appearance of at least a partial retraction. And sources close to the case advised the authors that McCloskey's attorneys offered a public retraction in exchange for dropping the suit. But Robertson refused.
Why would Robertson insist on pursing the libel suit? From his vantage point, there are four important reasons. First, it is a matter of honor: his and his father's. Second, it is a matter of principle. Robertson believes that McCloskey's comments were a deliberate and malicious effort to damage his political aspirations. Third, his aggressive pursuit of one who has attempted to malign him serves as a warning to others who might consider similar action. Fourth, hanging tough on this case is a way of demonstrating that he is strong-willed, decisive, and capable of leadership.
The scheduling of the trial for March 8, 1988, the date of the Super Tuesday primaries, came as a blow to Robertson. He needs to be on the campaign trail, not tied up in a courtroom.
If the stumbling blocks along the campaign trail are often unanticipated-and the scheduling of the McCloskey libel trial could well be one for Robertson-the break that lifts a candidate into the limelight doesn't just happen. Surges of interest, events calculated to stimulate momentum, are usually well planned.
Pat Robertson is a decisive man who leaves little to chance. A year before his announcement and more than two years before the second Tuesday of November 1988, Pat Robertson's game plan was in place.
"I know what I'm going to do, and exactly how I'm going to do it," boasted Robertson's chief campaign strategist, Marc Nuttle. And as
the campaign began to take shape, Nuttle's confidence seemed warranted. Robertson staged as flawless a precampaign game plan as a candidate could realistically expect-a textbook operation.
Does he have a viable game plan? You bet he does. Consider the following. Political scientist James W. Davis, an expert on presidential primaries, has outlined what he called "the winning formula" for a successful candidate or aspiring nominee. As Larry Sabato warns, "There are literally hundreds of 'how to win your election' books and manuals in circulation, and in the main their recitation of 'do's' and 'don't's' is uninspired and tedious, not to mention repetitious." [8] But Davis's work is neither a "how-to" nor theoretical speculation. His conclusions are based on a careful analysis of recent elections. He identifies seven ingredients for a successful campaign:
1. An early start;
2. Grass-roots organization;
3. Decisive early fund- raising;
4. Early media impact;
5. A staff knowledgeable about primary laws;
6. A need for pluralities rather than majorities;
7. A high-risk strategy.
It is important to recognize, says Davis, that the process of winning delegates to the nominating convention is a very different process from winning the general election. This simple but profound observation cannot be overstated or repeated too often: The process of winning delegates to the nominating convention is a very different process from winning a general election!
And it is crucial to winning delegates. Winning the nomination by no means guarantees winning the general election, but without it, there is not even a viable chance.
In 1964, former Governor Nelson Rockefeller spent more money than anyone before him had ever spent in pursuit of the presidency. But Senator Barry Goldwater beat him in the primaries, in the state caucuses, and at the nominating convention. Goldwater proved that people who are motivated by commitment to a cause are more zealous workers than those who are motivated by money or prestige. And
Goldwater also proved that the key to winning the nomination is securing delegates for the national convention.
To run in the national election for the presidency, you don't have to be ideologically in the middle of your party. You don't have to be a loyal party worker. You have to secure delegates who will vote for vou at the nominating convention. Pure and simple. Barry Goldwater understood this. George McGovern understood this. Jimmy Carter understood this. Ronald Reagan understood this. So does Pat Robertson.
An Early Start. In recent years," says political scientist Davis, "the successful party nominee for president has invariably developed a longrange campaign strategy long before his formal announcement of candidacy." [9] If one were to do case studies of a couple of dozen candidates who have entered a presidential primary over the past two decades, it would probably be difficult to pinpoint exactly when each one really started running. In Washington, congressional staffers, political consultants, and reporters tend to view virtually everybody's behavior in light of a future presidential bid. It's a game, but it is also more than a game. Lots of people are strategizing, calculating, and otherwise trying to imagine a scenario wherein they or their boss might have a chance for the Big Race.
As already mentioned, Pat Robertson vehemently denied that the 1980 Washington for Jesus rally had anything to do with politics. And a few months later, he recoiled from the media hype of the National Affairs Briefing in Dallas. Quietly resigning from the Religious Roundtable, he gave Jerry Falwell a wide berth to assume titular leadership of the New Christian Right. And, one might add, to draw the flak from liberals and mass media.
Robertson simply went about his business quietly, without fanfare or the watchful eye of the mass media. In 1981, a year after he resigned from the Religious Roundtable, Robertson created The Freedom Council as a "low-profile" grass-roots organization.
Freedom Council literature defined its purpose as defending, restoring, and preserving religious liberty in America. A mission statement affirms The Freedom Council to be a Christian organization, and, within this context, it would seek to "encourage, train, and equip Americans to exercise their civil responsibility to actively participate in government."
The Freedom Council was a tax-exempt organization so its activities necessarily were bipartisan. This was made explicit in the organization's statement of strategy "It will not support or oppose any candidate for elected office or participate, directly or indirectly, in any campaign for public office."
Freedom Council literature and staff emphasized the dual tasks of motivating Christians to get involved in the political process and training them to be active participants. Noted Freedom Council staffmember Allan Harkey:
The Freedom Council was certainly effective in motivating people and getting them involved in Michigan. A record number of people obtained enough petition signatures to qualify to be delegates to the first round in the complex process of naming delegates to the Republican National Convention. Robertson's Freedom Council, and later Americans for Robertson, registered as many, if not more, delegates as the partnership of George Bush's Fund for America's Future and the Bush-controlled Republican National Committee.
In the process, the claim that The Freedom Council was mobilizing nonpartisan Christians became strained. Technically, the people signed up by The Freedom Council were uncommitted. Some may indeed have been supporters of other candidates, most likely Congressman Jack Kemp. But in the final analysis, the overwhelming majority of those who were stimulated to get involved in politics by The Freedom Council would be Robertson supporters.
After the May deadline for delegate-filing in Michigan, Robertson formed his exploratory committee, Americans for Robertson (AFR). Technically, AFR and the Committee for Freedom, Robertson's political action committee, ran the partisan efforts to get people to the polls to vote for the people who had been registered as delegates by The Freedom Council. In reality, the distinction was, at best, messy. And, for the most part, the press made no distinction at all. To bolster
the nonpartisan nature of The Freedom Council, $5,000 was contributed to the Michigan efforts of Jack Kemp.
Robertson's adversaries, especially Bush operatives, have complained that The Freedom Council crossed over into partisan political activity. Perhaps so. But evenhanded observation ought to note that Bush's control and use of the Republican National Committee to bolster his partisan interests has the aura of heavy- handed establishment politics.
As far as Robertson and his staffare concerned, The Freedom Council scrupulously followed the letter of the law in Michigan. But Robertson's decision to establish an exploratory committee for his own candidacy strained The Freedom Council's ability to function as a bipartisan group. Thus, roughly on the schedule planned, The Freedom Council folded in the fall of 1986.
There is no way to directly trace Americans for Robertson volunteers to prior involvement with The Freedom Council, but it is clear that there were enough to give a hefty boost to Robertson's quest for 3 million petitions. Two days prior to his self-imposed one-year moratorium, Robertson announced he had 3.3 million signatures. It seems unlikely that this goal would have been achieved without The Freedom Council volunteers.
Whether or not Pat Robertson knew when he founded The Freedom Council that he would one day offer those who joined the opportunity to work for his candidacy, the outcome was the same. Any way you look at it, the net effect is that Pat Robertson was out of the gates and running early. His game plan was substantially in place even before there were rumors that Pat was praying and seeking God's will about a possible candidacy.
Grass-Roots Organization. Grass-roots organization is the key to election success. When political parties were in their heyday, they could reach from the top of the organization down to the precinct, and even the block, to communicate with voters. Today parties don't have enough clout to reward loyalty with turkeys at Christmas or a job for a favorite nephew.
Notes James W. Davis, "In recent years no presidential contender has won the nomination without first setting up an effective campaign organization in at least half of the presidential primary states and in a sizable number of caucus-convention states." [11]
Notwithstanding their diminished power, political parties still play a vital role in the electoral process. A small proportion of the citizens in every community are active party members. Party participation does for these folks what civic clubs and church participation do for others, providing a source of identification and loyalty.
Whereas a campaign can be organized independently of these existing structures, they offer a convenient work force. They also represent an important communications network. Typically, a prospective candidate will not plug into the party organization as such. Rather, he will court a few people who, in turn, attempt to sell others on the idea that Candidate X is a winner and ideologically attuned with them.
George Bush is the only candidate officially plugged into this organizational and communications network. For all intents and purposes, he controls the Republican National Committee. State party elites desire to be involved in national party affairs. The Republican National Committee may not be able to move the masses, but it has a lot of influence with the state elites who, in turn, ean use whatever muscle they have to move congressional districts and county party organizations.
In Kansas, presumably, the party apparatus is loyal to former Senator Bob Dole; former Senator Howard Baker might expect a similar loyalty in Tennessee, should he take leave of his White House chief of staff role and seek the nomination. But when these men move beyond their direct constituencies, they either have to convince the state leadership that it is in their interest to break with the initiatives of the Republican National Committee or they have to create their own grass-roots organizations.
All of the prospective candidates have an interest in dulling the clout of George Bush and the RNC. There will be behind-the-scenes battles to win the support of key state party operatives or at least to check their power. Where state party chairs are known to be loyal to Bush, leadership challenges will occur. Failing in this effort, candidates have the option of winning over subsectors of the party, or turning elsewhere to recruit people who have not previously been active in the political process.
In the 1986 election campaign, Pat Robertson took every opportunity to be active in the Republican party and to lend his support to
party nominees. And outside of the campaign, he has spoken at scores of Republican gatherings. He hoped that such activities would help break down some of the hostility toward his candidacy, but it seemed clear that he would not make a serious bid for the Republican party's nomination by courting party regulars. At least not at the outset.
Pat Robertson's grass-roots strength is grounded in the conservative Christian community which has been recruited into the political process over the past seven years by the New Christian Right. Back in 1976, a Southern Baptist Sunday school teacher named Jimmy Carter awoke the sleeping giant and persuaded a lot of evangelicals and fundamentalists that it was all right to get involved in politics. For nearly ten years-with high visibility for the last seven-Jerry Falwell stormed across America telling conservative Christians that it is their duty to be involved. While the Moral Majority was more of a media organization than a grass-roots effort, it also succeeded in motivating people and enhancing communications networks.
For five years The Freedom Council was an important instrument for educating evangelical Christians and encouraging them to become involved. It served, as Council staff person Allan Harkey put it, "as a glorified civics teacher." But there are literally hundreds of New Christian Right organizations across America that have moved beyond civics instruction to engagement in the political process, taking up voter registration efforts, organizing rallies and protests, lobbying, and so on. Beverly LaHaye's Concerned Women for America claims a halfmillion members. Her husband Tim's American Coalition for Traditional Values (ACTV) claims to have registered 2 million new Christian voters for the 1984 elections. ACTV's executive committee and board members include Ben Armstrong, Jim Bakker, Bill Bright, Kenneth Copeland, Paul Crouch, James Dobson, James T. Draper, Jerry Falwell, John Gimenez, Richard Eiogue, Rex Humbard, D. James Kennedy, James Robison, Adrian Rogers, Charles Stanley, Jimmy Swaggart, Robert Tilton, Jack Van Impe, and Don Wildmon.
Like Falwell's Moral Majority, the grass-roots strength of CWA and ACTV probably is exaggerated. It would also be an exaggeration to assume that all Pat Robertson needs to do to obtain the enthusiastic support of these people is to put out the word. Robertson must work hard to consolidate conservative Christian support. But it is evident
that Robertson achieved some measure of success in plugging into this network. And early successes made it easier for him to tap this latent reservoir of support.
There are two other important bases for building grass-roots organization. The first, of course, is local churches. For decades, the black church has been a focal point for political organization. Liberal Protestant churches were a locus of political organization during the civil rights movement and the protests against American involvement in Vietnam; today, some are involved in the antinuclear movement and the sanctuary movement. In the past decade, the foundation has been laid for engaging conservative Christians in the process.
The other important pillar of grass-roots support was virtually overlooked by the political commentary on Robertson's "almost announcement" of September 17, 1986, that he would seek the signatures of 3 million people pledging prayers, financial support, and labor. That petition represents a mailing list of prospective campaign volunteers that would be the envy of any presidential candidate.
The petition goes beyond the pledge to work. Signers are asked to check how many of a half-dozen types of campaign jobs they are willing to do, giving a computerized list of people willing to work door- todoor, man phone banks, display signs and bumper stickers, and so on, for every zip code in America, which can, in turn, be translated into precincts.
Quite simply, the petition was an ingenious move. For recruiting volunteers, it is more valuable than any list that might be assembled from the computers of the Republican and Democratic parties.
Decisive Early Fund-Raising. In 1972, George McGovern financed his campaign with early waves of direct-mail solicitations, which asked many people for only modest contributions. This sort of political "March of Dimes" greased the wheels of his momentum in key primaries. His campaign, observes James Davis, demonstrated "that it was possible for an unknown candidate to come from out of nowhere to win the nomination-if he had adequate campaign funds to underwrite the drive." [12]
The fund-raising acumen of televangelists is almost legendary-and Pat Robertson's Christian Broadcasting Network and related enterprises heads the pack in fund-raising skills. In 1986, they reported income of $230 million.
On the surface, it would appear that raising big bucks would be the least of Pat Robertson's concerns, that he or his surrogates can go on "The 700 Club" and raise money for his campaign the way his telethons raise money to support his religious programs. Not so.
And some people presume that skill in raising money for one enterprise will automatically transfer to raising money for another cause. The degree to which this may be so is not clear. Although The Freedom Council was always a low-key operation, it is clear that CBN contributed significantly to its funding. Also, Jerry Falwell was not as successful in raising money for the Moral Majority as for The Old Time Gospel Hour" and its related activities.
The truth is that a lot of people who are inspired by the preaching and programming of religious broadcasters are simply not turned on by the televangelists' this-worldly political agendas.
Robertson's petition drive was a critical step in building the financial foundation for a campaign. The audiences in the 216 auditoriums that received a satellite feed from the September 17, 1986, gathering in Constitution Hall in Washington, D.C., were given petitions and a "personal gift form." With a patriotic color scheme of red, white, and blue, the form read, "YES, Pat! I/we want you to be the next President of the United States." Below this boldface banner, the copy read:
Enclosed is a contribution of:
____$100 (individual)
____$200 (husband and wife)
And below this appeared a checklist of how the gift would be transmitted: by check, by billing, or by credit card.
Two weeks before his official announcement, Robertson claimed his goal of 3 million signatures had been exceeded by 300, OO0. To achieve this goal, Robertson had to go to the telephone banks. Still, this is no small accomplishment. And with the telephone banks in place, he set a new goal of 6 million signatures.
Consider the implications of these petitions for fund raising. The petitions didn't just ask people for pledges of support; they asked for work prayers, and gifts. If each petitioner contributed $100, Robertson would have a campaign war chest of $300 million-an unprecedented figure in American electioneering. Of course, he didn't achieve
anything like this figure during the petition drive phase of his campaign. But when he announced his candidacy on October 1, 1987, he had raised over $11 million. The only other candidate to approach this figure was George Bush.
The petitions represent an unprecedented list of prospective campaign workers and financial contributors. It is doubtful that any candidate ever possessed a better base for direct-mail solicitation. A large proportion of these signers are conservative Christians who regularly give generously to their local church and some television ministry. On a per capita basis, they give away a higher proportion of their money than the average American.
Federal Election Commission laws on campaign spending are keyed to voting-age population in each state. Using 1987 figures, a candidate could spend approximately $27 million in pursuit of his or her party nomination. But this spending limit does not apply if a candidate elects not to accept federal matching funds. Robertson's donor base provides him the potential to forgo matching funds and, thus, outspend the other candidates.
In short, by the time of his announcement, Pat Robertson's campaign was assured of financial viability-even without any support from the big spenders, which he is likely to gain. The conservative new rich in America like Pat Robertson. In May of 1986, Robertson raised more than a million dollars at a dinner in Washington. Attendees contributed between $1,000 and $25,000 per couple. In August, his friend Bunker Hunt invited a few pals to his ranch to meet Pat. They showed up 3,000 strong. Apparently the organizers fell short of breaking the record of raising $3.5 million at a single event, which the governor of Texas set for President Reagan in 1982.
"It's going to take an awful lot of money," Robertson noted in the spring of 1987 after a successful first round in his bid to take control of the Republican party in South Carolina. Robertson was elated with his campaign's early progress and seemed overwhelmed by the responsiveness he was finding. "If we can raise the money, I think I can win the nomination," he stated.
The latter may not follow necessarily from the former, but no one denies that money is crucial to staying in a presidential campaign. And it is equally undeniable that Pat Robertson has far more expe-
rience in soliciting contributions than anyone else on the campaign trail.
Early Media Impact. With twenty-five years of mass-media experience, Pat Robertson has a pretty good idea of what will and what will not attract media attention. From the very first "rumors" of his interest in the presidency, Robertson has staged a masterful media campaign"
When Jimmy Carter began his lonely trek across America, he was lucky if he found a reporter now and then who would interview him. From the beginning, Robertson had a press corps to meet him wherever he traveled. This provided local and regional coverage, and, with increasing frequency, his comments about current events appeared on the national wire services.
But more important, Robertson "staged" a number of events that have drawn attention. For six months Robertson used the "Pat Who?" letter of Democratic National Committee Chairman Paul Kirk wherever he spoke. But he waited until he appeared on a platform with six other Republican hopefuls in Nashville-thereby ensuring national coverage-to accuse Kirk of being an antireligious bigot. He not only got attention, he upstaged the other prospective candidates.
In July 1986, Robertson addressed the summer convention of the Virginia Press Association and outlined a six-point agenda for a "Post-Reagan Era." Journalists began following the activities of Robertson's Freedom Council if only because it made for unconventional stories. That same summer, Robertson gave the go-ahead for his presidential exploratory committee, Americans for Robertson.
The ambiguity of the Michigan primary/caucus process, coupled with the fact that it was the first official campaign event for the 1988 elections, assured the event would receive media attention. George Bush's decision to make Michigan a test of his personal strength was ready-made for the media-conscious Robertson. By registering as many, or nearly as many, delegates as Bush, Robertson experienced an important surge of media attention between the May filing deadline and the statewide primary in early August.
The gala testimonial in September was another demonstration of skilled media management. There were press conferences and fanfare beforehand, and there was scarcely a major print or broadcast media organization not in attendance at the main event. In addition, the
satellite linkups provided a natural hook for local news coverage. All over America, newspapers ran one story on the Constitution Hall event and another on the local turnout.
A few days before the testimonial, Pat Robertson went to see Jimmy Swaggart. It was reported that Swaggart was intent on dissuading Robertson from making a bid. Instead, Robertson received Swaggart's endorsement, which was announced immediately after the September 17 event.
A few days later came a black-tie gala celebration with fireworks to commemorate CBN's twenty-fifth anniversary. Broadcast live on CBN, the event also drew a sizable national press corps. The emcee was Gavin MacLeod, popular captain on the long-running television show "The Love Boat." And in the front row, reminding the audience of their roots, were Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker of the PTL Network.
In the time between the first rumors and the "almost announcement," Robertson went from "Pat Who?" to cover stories and guest appearances in major secular print and broadcast outlets.
A Staff Knowledgeable about Primary Laws. As difficult as it is to grasp how the complex Michigan nominating process works, it is much more difficult still to grasp how fifty state parties select their delegates.
Caucuses and primaries are the two major delegate-selection methods, but within this seemingly simple structure is an ever-changing jigsaw puzzle.
Knowing the rules for each state, and keeping on top of changes, requires considerable expertise. How a candidate approaches a state primary depends on the nature of its rules, and in some states it is critical that a candidate get involved in the rule-making process. Standing on the sidelines can result in the adoption of rules favoring one candidate, usually the establishment candidate, over the others. Unless a candidate has a good chance of winning, putting time and money in one of the winner-take-all contests is questionable. When delegates are distributed proportional to the number of votes received, it usually makes sense to go for what you can get. It also matters whether a primary is binding for one, two, three, or more ballots-or is merely a preferential poll.
The same can be said of the maze of federal elections laws. They pose a formidable mountain of red tape and restrictions requiring a
small army of accountants. A modern presidential campaign requires an expert staff to steer its way through these regulations without committing some sin of omission or commission, however inadvertent, in reporting contributions and expenditures.
Robertson has a staff monitoring his strategy in light of separate state primaries, but their inexperience in election laws became apparent in December 1986. The Internal Revenue Service turned its attention to the Christian Broadcasting Network conglomerate to see if Robertson's various organizations, such as CBN itself, The Freedom Council, the Committee for Freedom, and Americans for Robertson, had provided incomplete or false information.
Money did flow from one organization to another, and records appear not to have been always consistent and in order. "Mistakes were made, confusion did reign," Thomas A. Bruno, a Freedom Council lawyer, told the New York Times in admitting that there had been some "sloppy" bookkeeping. But, he added, "there was no attempt to defraud. There were no tricks or gimmicks." [13]
If nothing else, Robertson's problems with the IRS demonstrate that it is not enough to have a staff expert in mapping out the best ways to garner delegates in various state primaries. Post-Watergate elections laws demand legal accountants with the sophistication to keep on top of ever-changing and increasingly detailed federal regulations and requirements.
A serious presidential campaign must (1) understand the primary procedures of each state, (2) develop strategies to maximize the chance of winning delegates within each state's selection procedures, (3) constantly monitor the ever-changing rules, (4) to the extent that one has any party strength, support or resist rule changes depending upon whether they will help or hurt, and (5) quickly adjust strategies to exploit favorable changes and control damage when rule changes are unfavorable. There is almost no way for a candidate to wander into the primaries a few weeks or months before filing deadlines and expect to do well just because he or she may be riding high in public opinion polls. Colorado Congresswoman Patricia Schroeder demonstrated an understanding of this fundamental principle when she decided, after 75,000 miles of barnstorming around the country, not to seek the Democratic nomination. "[It's] too late to get in and . . . catch up,"
she told supporters and reporters on September 28, 1987, in Denver. [14] The benefits of running for the presidency while occupying the vice presidency are enormous. George Bush was able to use the resources of the Republican National Committee to plan and coordinate his campaign with state GOP party leaders. From his position of national leadership, Bush was able to twist arms for campaign support and for beneficial state rule changes, such as rules that automatically entitle certain elected officials to be delegates. Elected officials, be they members of Congress, state legislatures, or elected party officials, are more likely to benefit from something Bush has to offer than are private citizens elected by some democratic procedure. Hence, they can more readily be counted upon to be loyal to the "incumbent."
One Robertson staff member estimated that in the worst scenario, George Bush could tie up about 25 percent of the 2,235 Republican National Convention delegates merely by manipulating the rules, without ever winning a delegate through open general public primaries. Clearly, "incumbency" has its rewards.
One thing that Robertson had going for him was that every other presidential hopeful had the same interest in resisting rule changes that would favor Bush. Another advantage was the series of changes that moved almost all of the caucuses and primaries of the southern states to the same date (March 8, dubbed Super Tuesday). Clearly, this initiative was meant to strengthen the conservative influence of the southern states. What was not anticipated when Super Tuesday was conceived was that it would provide Pat Robertson and Jesse Jackson, playing to their respective strengths with evangelical and black voters, the opportunity to emerge as the front-runners of their respective parties.
A Needfor Pluralities more than Majorities. Most people, notes James Davis, think of electoral victories in terms of majorities, but in presidential primary politics, pluralities (winning more votes than any other candidate although less than a majority) are often more important.
Quite often, no single candidate receives a majority of the votes in a presidential primary. In most states, delegates are awarded proportionately to candidates, based on the votes they receive. However, in some states, the winner of a plurality of votes receives all of the
delegates. This "winner-take- all" policy is more common in GOP primaries than in Democratic ones. In both cases, the candidate's goal is to win as many delegates as possible. It doesn't take a majority of votes to enter the national convention with a majority of the delegates.
Both Jimmy Carter in 1980 and George McGovern in 1972, for example, depended on pluralities to secure the Democratic nomination. In fact, Carter registered an absolute majority in only eight of his seventeen primary triumphs.
What's more, early plurality wins can be critically important in helping establish a candidate as a front-runner. For example, in 1976 Jimmy Carter won only 29 percent of the precinct caucus vote in Iowa (38.5 percent were uncommitted), but it placed him 13 percent above his nearest rival, Indiana Senator Birch Bayh. As a result, Time and Newsweek, the three major television-network evening-news programs, and the press in general focused attention on Carter's campaign, to the relative exclusion of his opponents. Suddenly he was identified as the candidate to beat. Notes James Davis, "Carter's firstplace finish in Iowa made him a national celebrity.... Carter's media coverage also served to publicize cost-free the 'new face' image he sought to project across the country." [15]
Most analysts who have assessed the Pat Robertson candidacy have tended to think in terms of the straightforward demographics of an evangelical vote. And the way they read the political tea leaves, there just are not enough evangelicals in America to tip the scales in favor of Robertson.
In their rush to judgment, they seem to forget that winning a nomination is a separate task from winning a general election; and that the key to winning delegates is not necessarily majorities but pluralities. And pluralities can often be achieved because of a proportionately higher voter turnout among supporters of a particular candidate. Robertson understands the importance of pluralities. He also understands the importance of getting supporters to the polls.
A High-Risk Strategy. The idea of long- range, carefully calculated strategies seems incompatible with the notion of taking high risks. But in presidential politics, a "play-it-safe" strategy is almost certain to lead to failure. Presidential nominations, says James Davis, "usually go to a candidate who is willing to gamble and risk his political future
on a bold course of action." [2] "Underdogs," "dark horses," and "outsiders" have nothing to lose with bold, high-risk strategies.
"Recent history," adds Davis, "shows that the convention nominee of the out-party candidate has usually been the candidate who was willing to risk big stakes in the primaries." [3] Risks may include spending large sums of money that the candidate doesn't have, taking strident stands on issues to detract attention from well-established candidates' and taking on the front- runner head to head.
John F. Kennedy, as a young senator from Massachusetts, gambled when combatting Minnesota's ranking and popular Senator Hubert H. Humphrey in the latter's neighboring state of Wisconsin. Kennedy beat Humphrey and gained instant national recognition. With the outcome of the nominating convention very much in doubt, Kennedy again challenged Humphrey directly in West Virginia, a state where Humphrey's strong support from labor should have given him a decisive edge. No Catholic ever having won the presidency, Kennedy took a big chance by putting the issue on the political agenda. And he chose Houston, in the heart of the Bible belt, to do so. Without these and other risks, John F. Kennedy would have remained a senator.
Perhaps Jimmy Carter's high- risk roll was in New England. Faced with a financial crisis early in his campaign, he borrowed heavily, putting up his family farming property as collateral. By beating Morris Udall and Henry Jackson, he established himself as a viable candidate, and, thereafter, the campaign contributions began to flow.
Pat Robertson's candidacy, in itself, has to be judged as a high risk. For openers, he has no experience in elected office. While he has other credentials, he has spent most of his career as a television evangelist. Anticipating criticism of preachers in politics, Robertson resigned his Southern Baptist ordination on the eve of the announcement of his candidacy. But that didn't negate the fact that his religious views have been portrayed by the media and by his adversaries as beyond orthodox leaning toward "radical" and "fanatical." Similarly, his political views have been portrayed as just as far out as his religious beliefs. His bid for the presidency, then, represents a great risk to himself and to the highly successful broadcasting network he left behind.
"I understand this radical thing," he acknowledged in an interview, noting that the secular press has tended to portray him as a right-wing religious extremist. But then he added, "Anyone who wants to promote innovative change has to be somewhat radical." [16]
When Barry Goldwater ran for president, his campaign slogan was, "A choice, not an echo." Robertson knew that his problem would not be being perceived as just another voice. But he needed to take two distinct kinds of risks. First, he would need to persuade people he was not the "kook" he had been portrayed to be. And second, he would have to show himself to be something new and different from the other candidates pressing toward the Republican nomination.
Evidence of his willingness to take risks came early. His libel suit against former Congressman Pete McCloskey and Congressman Andrew Jacobs meant the possibility of losing. The choice of the streets of a poor black neighborhood in Brooklyn for his announcement involved the risk of hecklers, which he got. But he also got videotape that, later in the campaign, would symbolically demonstrate his concern for the poor.
Generally, politicians try to differentiate themselves from other candidates by claiming to have a plan or program that will solve some problem. But conventional wisdom dictates that one does not risk getting bogged down in explaining details, or, for that matter, making details available for others to criticize. From early in his campaign, Robertson demonstrated a willingness to take risks in firmly establishing the ways in which he differed from the rest of the candidates. There was no soft peddling of his views, or waiting to see which way the latest public opinion polls were leaning.
More than any man who has run for president since Woodrow Wilson, Pat Robertson is an intellectual. And he has faith in his ability to communicate complex ideas so that a layman can understand them. Robertson understood before he started that political platitudes would not be enough. From the beginning, his campaign took the risk of unveiling concrete programs to deal with problems Washington has ducked for a long time. He knew that many of his proposals would be unpopular with the press and probably would not be initially well received by the public. But his plan was to sell Americans on the necessity of squarely facing and solving problems. And by getting a
lot of issues out on the table, Robertson hoped to draw other candidates away from campaigning-as-usual toward serious discussion of real alternatives for real problems.
Organization is imperative and Robertson demonstrated a great deal of skill in developing grass-roots and staff support. But success depends on his ability to undo the negative stereotypes that early dominated secular news coverage. In the end, success means building an image of himself as not only qualified to be president, but the one logical successor to Ronald Reagan.
Notes
. Epigraph: Pat Robertson, interview with Sojourners, September 1979. Cited in Carol Flake, Redemptorama (New York: Penguin Books, 1984). David H. Everson, "The Decline of Political Parties," in Proceedings of the Academy of Political Science, 3414, 1982, p. 52.
Nelson Polsby, "The News Media as an Alternative to Party in Presidential Selection," in James I. Lengle and Byron E. Shafer (eds.), Presidential Politics (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1983), p. 141.
James W. Davis, Presidential Primaries: Road to the White House (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1980), pp. 78-110.
Jeff Gerth, "Tax Data of Pat Robertson Groups Are Questioned," New York Times, December 10, 1986.
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Ch 13: The Road to the White House
Televangelism: Power and Politics on God`s Frontier | |