Toward a Better Presidential Campaign

POLITICS is a monster in the land; it is bigger, louder, more expensive than ever, even if the latest campaign-spending-limitation bill becomes law. It is airplanes, polls and delegate counts. It is cocktail parties, TV cameras and ghostwriters. The campaign of '72 just might expend more national energy and resources than any in history and enlighten the people less.

Right now, about 75% of a presidential campaign is hoopla, manufactured movement and entertainment designed to bedazzle. Substance, and there is some, is largely buried and ignored in the rush of the jets, the bands, rallies and booze. Ensnared in all this tinsel, the candidates come up with ridiculous pledges, like the one about setting foot in all 50 states (Nixon in 1960). That is an exercise in locomotion, not intelligence. Rushing madly along the trail, looking over their shoulders at the pursuers and scared to death of making misstatements in the blur, the men have tended in recent years to grow more and more reluctant to commit themselves on vital issues. Richard Nixon refused in 1968 to divulge any detail of his plan to end the war, the most important issue before the nation.

In this climate, real reform of the process by statute or national party declaration is extremely difficult. Perhaps nothing can be done about it in the season of the primaries, a kind of primitive elimination contest. But after that, the chosen presidential candidates could accomplish genuine reform by radically changing the very nature of American campaigning.

Richard Nixon could attend to his job as President and cut out those frantic jet hops from city to city in the days before the election. They are a dubious form of political evangelism, costing millions of dollars, exhausting President and people alike. They may even be harmful politically. So many major stops are jammed into a day, and a President repeats himself like any other candidate. The merciless and omnipresent eyes and ears of TV often show him at day's end as a repetitive bore.

But even greater progress would be made if the Democratic challenger this year were to renounce the frenzied rituals of campaigning--held over, really, from the days when politics was a major social event. The heaviest burden will fall on him, not on the incumbent President with all the built-in resources for reaching the public and making news that the White House provides. The question is what alternative to the present madness exists for the challenger to grasp. Herewith, free to the Democrats, a modest proposal:

The man in opposition should set up a shadow White House. From that alternative, potential seat of government, he should use his limited, precious time between nomination and election to actually form a government, discuss and clarify issues and establish a meaningful national dialogue on problems and goals. The model lies in the British experience.

The American electorate has a right both to expect and get definite plans and ideas for dealing with the nation's problems. They should be offered by a challenger who has precise times and schedules for future efforts. It does not happen now partly because the candidate and his men are so busy onstage that there is no time or energy left for reflection. The system is perpetuated more by the politicians than by the people, who, with the aid of a remarkable educational system and television, are ready for more meaningful rites.

Just imagine what would happen it the Democratic candidate were to take his court beyond the miasma of Washington this year, say to Cleveland or St. Louis, and there establish his White House. Rents certainly would be cheaper, the view perhaps clearer. For old time's sake the candidate could still schedule a couple of speeches a week in distant cities, give those hours to the archaic evenings of smoke and oratory, pump the hands of people at the fences and endorse the local candidates. There would remain the need to make the far-off cadres of campaign workers feel as if they were a part of the operation.

But in between these purposefully limited excursions, the candidate could actually designate a Cabinet or at least gather a pool of talented men around him and make it clear that they would be his Cabinet members if the trial period went smoothly. The same could be done for the heads of key agencies and White House staff. The formation of recent Administrations after victory has been a frenzied and sometimes sloppy operation. The President-elect and his people are exhausted, often stunned by winning. Opportunists and party contributors swarm into Washington, smelling the power that has settled on the victor. Rushed beyond belief, the President-elect must too often rely on hearsay and vague recommendations about the men he recruits to guide the Republic for four years.

One disadvantage might be the reluctance of talented men of the party in office (in this case the Republicans) to commit themselves or participate in the new program. Some openings might be left for this desirable "cross-fertilization." Success would ultimately depend, of course, on a true spirit of national interest that would transcend old notions of party loyalty. Beneath some commendable skepticism about why Democrat John Connally joined Nixon's Cabinet is a realization that the country is in an age when party labels have lost a lot of meaning.

It is now estimated that one-fourth of the voters in 1972 will be independents, men and women who have been driven away from their old blind allegiance, by events and common sense.The appeal to them of a mature approach to leadership might bepolitically decisive. If an atmosphere of restraint, mutual respect and gentlemanly (or womanly) debate could be established, the massively obvious advantage of the incumbent would at least be reduced to acceptable proportions.

Then there is the matter of forming a viable and articulate set of national purposes, transforming them into programs and finally legislation. Why not make that part of the campaign too? Summon key Congressmen and leading academicians, industrial technocrats and lay experts in all fields to spend hours and days in open debate on the issues and what should be done. Presumably a White House staff of sorts would take form under this regime, and methods of operation could be tested and perfected. In previous Administrations the pressure of time has led to a slapdash throwing together of programs in the confusion of transition, or to long delays in getting to real programs. A new Administration with an added three months of fruitful work would be way ahead of the game.

Would the nation pay heed to such an opposition encampment? It is inconceivable that the television networks, newspapers and magazines would not assign men to the shadow. There could be one or two press briefings a day, similar to those in the functioning White House. Thus Walter Cronkite could have a film clip on what went on in the aspirant's Administration for his evening newscast. Shadow Cabinet officers could debate their opposite numbers in office, or counter White House claims of benefit or progress.

Intelligence, boldness, cleverness and humaneness would still be required. Not all "show business" would be eliminated. To keep up interest, there would have to be citizens' panels, papers from towering minds in every field. There could be examination on film and in text of selected problems, right down to examples: a real small town, for instance, that could be rehabilitated under Hubert Humphrey's rural-redevelopment plans; an actual river that could be cleaned up according to Edmund Muskie's decrees in his long fight to conquer water pollution.

Yes, there would still have to be family scenes and maybe a golf game or two, but always there would be an aura of creative and useful work, not the fuselage salesmanship with hired bands and balloons bought by advance men or those minions of Mayor Richard Daley that are dutifully trotted out with their reusable placards.

There is no rule in politics worth saving that suggests that a candidate in this day cannot make major executive decisions in advance. George McGovern wants to end the war. Let him, should he be the man, put the project down in detail. If elected, he could declare, I will end the war on such and such a date. Let the Joint Chiefs of Staff be on notice that if McGovern inherits the power, he wants the troops, the planes, the men all gone within so many days, and the Chiefs had best be thinking about how to do it.

The myth that only Presidents and their men have all the information and are qualified to make decisive judgments has long ago been shattered. Besides, tradition has established the other candidate's right of access to most inside information during a campaign.

Politicians are far more timid creatures than many like to admit. Dramatic and sensible departures have not been a notable part of their approaches in the past decades. Those who did advocate drastic change were too often mystics or men of such extreme views that a majority of Americans could not take them seriously. Credibility, viability, seriousness of intent and dignity would be required in this venture. But it might generate more excitement than can now be measured in a nation that craves reality.

Should it come about, it is conceivable that hundreds of thousands of dollars could be saved in travel expenses and the more monstrous requirements of packaging and selling the candidate on commercial television. Men of means might even be lured to the shadow bivouac at their own expense. More important, the energy of the candidates would be husbanded and expended on meaningful effort. The public would be spared political oversell. The successful challenger presumably would arise on the morning after his election reasonably clear of eye and steady of limb. Within a few hours, he would confirm the designation of his Cabinet and other high officers and then resume polishing his prose and his programs for the day two months away when he would assume the presidential mantle. At that hour he would be an executive off and running.

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