Presidents are an odd lot, sometimes too much so, ranging from the heroic to the reprehensible, and from the ridiculous to the sublime. But most, at least lately, have had one thing in common. In picking a president, voters have chosen the left and the right, the poor and the rich, the pious and the rakish, the handsome and the homely, the young and the old. But in every election since 1932, the voters have gone, without reservation, for the candidate seen as the stronger, the more decisive, the more aggressive, the more forceful man.
Franklin D. Roosevelt, the greatest political talent of the twentieth century, projected an air of such radiant vigor that most people forgot, or never knew, he was crippled. Harry Truman took the battle to Thomas E. Dewey, who refused to engage him. Adlai E. Stevenson’s scholarly diffidence saw him lose twice to Dwight Eisenhower, the man who freed Europe. Many believe that John F. Kennedy won his debates with Richard M. Nixon because he was “cute,” whereas Nixon was scowly. Kennedy was cute, but what he mainly did was establish a psychological dominance over Nixon, who seemed cowed by and eager to please him. He was the one who set the tone of the argument, calling for “vigah” and movement against Nixon’s defenses of the status quo.
Nixon was never charming or popular, and was deposed in the Watergate scandal. Yet even he was able to win two terms — one in a landslide — against men regarded, for different reasons, as weak. Hard as it now may be to remember, Jimmy Carter beat Gerald Ford in 1976 partly because he seemed the stronger man. Ford appeared gaffe-prone, while Carter campaigned as an ex-career naval officer, a protege of Admiral Hyman Rickover. Four years later, Carter had been exposed as a hapless soul set on by rabbits, who could not keep peace in the world or his party. He lost to Ronald Reagan, the model cold warrior, who wasted no time in firing the illegally striking airport traffic controllers and bringing the country’s defenses back up to par. With his spectacular ad of the Bear in the Forest (who would you trust to be holding the rifle?), Reagan then wiped out Walter Mondale in 1984.
Michael Dukakis was not incorrect in 1988 when he declared that the campaign was about competence and not ideology. His problem was that after saying that, he went on to run a stunningly incompetent campaign. His weaknesses on crime and defense were symbolized in the awkward photo of himself in a tank, and his lame answer to a debate question about the hypothetical rape and murder of his wife. He launched into a long discussion of root causes and his anti-drug program, giving the impression he would sentence the killer to soft time and counseling. The message sent — reinforced by the unsupervised furlough he had granted to Willie Horton, the murderer set free to maim and pillage again — was that Dukakis would not defend anything: not his wife, not your wife, not even the country. Bill Clinton, who was never personally popular beyond his own base, won two elections with less than 50 percent of the vote because his rivals appeared both too old and too tired. And this year, the two candidates, men of similar age and background, have seen their fortunes rise, fall, and fluctuate with the energy and leadership they have shown.
Let us revisit some critical moments to see this dynamic play out. Immediately after the primaries ended Al Gore was seen as the probable winner, while George W. Bush was viewed as having been damaged and even diminished by his primary battles. But just after this Bush began building his lead, proposing a series of policy ventures to which Gore responded with shrill, even silly, attacks. From the time of the primaries through his convention, Bush took the lead, set the agenda, dictated the terms, and made Gore come to him. His lead soared into double digits; he attacked enemy pockets of strength. This changed only with Gore’s pick of Joe Lieberman — an aggressive and daring maneuver — with Gore’s aggressive speech at the convention, and with Gore’s aggressive conduct ever since.
Let us recall that the Democratic convention was seen as a failure while it was ongoing; and that Gore’s speech was seen, by the press, as having said the wrong things. Let us suggest then that Gore’s surge has had less to do with his speech or his convention than with what happened in the two weeks that followed. The parties of offense and defense changed places. No challenge came from the Bush camp to Gore’s ludicrous claims as a populist. Gore took charge of the tone, the debate, the agenda. Bush came to him. Bush seemed defensive, dazed, even diffident. Gore’s bounce was in part at least Bush’s deflation, as he lost, for the moment, the leadership edge. Can he regain it? Whoever holds it in the end will win.
Always crucial in every election, the leadership issue may turn out to be more important in this year than in most. The two parties appear at absolute parity. The candidates do not scare people, or seem out of the mainstream. In some ways they are rather alike. They are the scions of political families, with the same kind of privileged background. They went to good schools, where they did not win honors. Their resumes are impressive, but not overwhelmingly so. This is an era of peace and prosperity, presided over by a Democratic administration, but also by a Republican Congress and many Republican governors. People seem to assume the good times will continue, with either party or candidate. Indeed, the public believes there is little at stake. The wild swings of opinion have stunned both parties, showing how shallowly rooted are the allegiances, how easily perceptions can change. These perceptions have mainly been about power and weakness. And they may well decide the election.
This is a year in which each campaign and candidate has achieved odd highs and lows in performance, falling into swoons at unlikely moments, and then roaring back from the dead. No one expected Gore to fade as he did in 1999, or to then knock off Bill Bradley so quickly. No one expected George W. Bush to lose New Hampshire by the margin he lost it, or then to so fiercely regroup. No one expected Bush to so dominate most of the summer, and no one expected Gore to recover.
What will happen next cannot now be guessed: It will doubtless be something that no one expects. These are two preppy princes, who may tend to coast when things look too easy, but fight back when they face the abyss. And they are fighting not just for themselves but to avenge the defeats dealt their fathers. A loss for each would be doubly appalling. Legacies seeking to justify privilege, each needs to be seen as a man.
And voters, too, need to see them as manly. The presidency, as we know, is a job like no other. The president is the face, and the right arm, of the nation. He is the commander in chief. He must be able to stare down a rival and impose his will on others. He must be able to adapt quickly to changes and to snap back after a loss. He is not there merely to choose among health plans, but to lead when the unexpected and dangerous happens: when the news crosses his desk that the Japanese are attacking Pearl Harbor; that Soviet missiles have been spotted in Cuba; that Iraq has gone into Kuwait. This is what people sense in electing a president, and why they look for strength.
Polls say the “issues” now favor the Democrats, but the same issues also favored the Democrats when Ronald Reagan was racking up landslides. This is because there is a sizable group of voters who will choose a leader with whom they may have disagreements over a weakling with whom they do not. This is why the polls this year have tracked so exactly the candidates’ levels of force and resilience. We vote in the end for the alpha male, but for reasons that know not of earth tones. The better men may not always win our elections, but the men seen as powerful do.
Noemie Emery is a frequent contributor to THE WEEKLY STANDARD.
