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                                                                                COVER STORIES, Page 26

THE FIRST PRESIDENTIAL DEBATE

It's Clinton's to Lose


First the President's attacks backfire, then Clinton and Perot
best him in the St. Louis debate. Only a miracle can save
George Bush

By MICHAEL KRAMER -- With reporting by Michael Duffy, Walter
Shapiro and Richard Woodbury/St. Louis


    There ought to be something uplifting about a free nation
of more than 250 million people choosing their leader, and if
the rest of the 1992 campaign had matched the face-off in St.
Louis, Missouri, the spectacle would indeed have been
inspirational. Although none of the candidates said anything
particularly new or revealing (aside from George Bush's promise,
if re-elected, to make former Secretary of State James Baker a
domestic-policy czar), the debate transcended the flawed
campaign; it was more possible than ever before to get a sense
of the contenders, a feel for what they believe, and insights
into their underlying personalities.

    As for its impact on the campaign, the first debate will
probably reinforce rather than alter voters' impressions. Ross
Perot's strong performance will change some minds. All but the
most partisan were surely left to wonder what might have been
had Perot stayed the course. Bush's continuing attack on Bill
Clinton's character and patriotism may eventually drive up
negative ratings for the Democrat, but a betting person would
have to say that the leader going into the debates will be the
leader coming out -- and that he will still lead on Nov. 3.

    Each candidate seemed to have a mental checklist of points
he was determined to make, no matter the question or his
rivals' response; each understood that many Americans would be
paying attention for the first time, and that oldies for some
would be goodies for most. The President, who often uses English
as if it were his second language, was coherent, but almost
listless. Rather than firmly sketch his plans for a second term,
Bush made a plea for four more years that was almost plaintive.
In 1988 Barbara Bush said, "I can't explain it, but yes, the
camera shrinks him and makes him look small."

    Last Sunday the President's own halting performance
reinforced that impression. Bush was understandably best when
dealing with foreign policy, but his repeated insistence that
"it's not all that gloomy; we're the United States" seemed
wildly out of touch with the pain so many Americans feel, and
the fear of so many others that they will experience similar
hardship. The cartoonist Herblock once drew Bush on the
sidelines of the Central American wars waving a banner that said
GO CONTRAS! That the President felt it necessary to play
cheerleader in St. Louis is likely attributable to his having
run up against two unfortunate requirements: the need to avoid
being too negative and the need to avoid appearing too
desperate. In trying to do both, he seemed passive, too
unemotional and far too casual, which might be fine if the
nation were looking to continue the status quo, but it is not.

    As with John Kennedy (whom he shamelessly imitated by
saying "We can do better and we must"), the lasting impression
of Clinton was his vigorous, confident demeanor and his often
bemused attitude toward Bush. He struck back when the President
again attacked his patriotism, cleverly invoking Bush's father's
famous castigation of Joseph McCarthy. Clinton, in an attempt
to humanize himself, invoked almost every member of his family,
both living and dead -- his recovering drug-addict brother who
"is alive today because of the criminal-justice system"; his
widowed mother, a paragon of family values even as a single
parent; his "heart-of-gold" grandfather, who taught him to hate
segregation; his daughter, just for being alive; and his wife
because it was their 17th anniversary. (Ronald Reagan knew how
to do schmaltz; no one else should ever try.)

    Clinton was best on what he is best about -- policy. As
usual, he knew more about more issues than anyone present. Bush
could have at least scored for humor if he had repeated his
stump line about Clinton having more programs than there are
problems. His answers were forthright and comprehensive, and
almost miraculously, he avoided making long lists in all but a
few answers. On the stump Clinton can appear too smart; indeed,
at times he is almost smart-alecky, like the kid who raises his
hand to remind the teacher that he forgot to assign homework
over Christmas. There was none of that in St. Louis, just an
appropriate sense of urgency coupled with rhetorical certitude,
the two combining to leave the impression that Clinton knows
where he would take the nation if he gets the chance.

    There will be two more debates and plenty more name
calling, attack advertising and scare stories. When it gets
rough, as it will, it will be easy to forget that the nation is
poised to change direction. The end of Reaganism seems at hand.
George Bush, the vestigial Ronald Reagan who has called his
presidency a "stewardship," is suffering the cancer of politics,
the high negatives; his job-approval rating is lower than Jimmy
Carter's in October 1980.

    For a dozen years, the nation's life has been dominated by
a philosophy that proposes to limit government, encourage the
creation of private wealth and confront enemies with a huge
arsenal and a hair-trigger willingness to fight. The record is
mixed. The Reagan-Bush policies hastened the collapse of
communism and the end of the cold war. But at home only the rich
have truly prospered. The middle class is hurting, the poor are
poorer, inequality has grown and the country's ability to
compete has been hindered by an undistinguished education system
and widespread inattention to the problems of those caught in
the backwash of the West's victory over the "evil empire."

    So the nation seems ready for change, although fear of it
-- and of the untested newcomer who would lead it -- still
gives some hope to Bush. A majority may yet decide, in Reagan's
phrase, that America's future is too important "to be trusted
to a blind date." Enough may agree again with what Bush said
four years ago: "Maybe there is an old-shoe familiarity. People
will give me credit because, see, I've been through the mill."

    Which is exactly what Bush is trying to put Clinton through
right now; the Republicans, who have owned the White House, with
the exception of the Carter hiatus, since 1968, are not inclined
to yield easily. As the President again demonstrated Sunday
night, no punch is being pulled. Bush has labeled this year's
campaign the "nastiest" he has ever seen, but it is he who
borrowed a tactic from the early career of Richard Nixon to
imply that Clinton, as a student, was tainted by communism.


    No wonder so many voters say they are soured, numbed and
disaffected by the long procession of public statements,
charges and countercharges, newspaper photographs and television
film of seemingly nonstop campaigners at endless rallies. A
disenchantment bordering on bitterness consumes the public
attitude toward the whole punishing business.

    How did the campaign get to this point, and what might the
homestretch offer?

    A year ago, Bush was headed for a coronation. Serious
Democrats bowed out; better to wait till the Constitution
precluded the President from seeking a third term. Believing
that anything could happen and hoping that something would, the
opposition's second string filled the void.

    At the beginning, no one had the upper hand, and each
reasoned that a credible loss was the ticket to a more realistic
chance next time. Clinton, the eventual winner, was hobbled by
character flaws of his own making, and fumbled responses to even
the easiest inquiries when his foibles were exposed. Through it
all he persevered, his resilience and toughness becoming
antidotes to the attacks on his character. A lifetime in
politics equipped him with tactical savvy and strategic good
sense. Like other Southern populists before him, Clinton seemed
instinctively to know how to put the hay down where the goats
were. In the end, however, only the flatness of the field around
him rescued his tottering effort, and his prospects against Bush
seemed dim. But events beyond Clinton's control were already
chipping away at the President's invincibility.

    Foremost among the President's troubles was, and is, the
economy. Accompanying the economic recession is a widespread --
and still widening -- psychological depression. People for whom
unemployment was always someone else's problem have been
affected. The jobless numbers themselves are not particularly
outsize, but the fear is palpable: in many polls, fully 50% of
respondents fear that they will lose their jobs in the next 12
months, and upward of 65% of Americans view the nation as on the
"wrong track."

    But Bush insisted that recovery was just around the corner,
and at every turn seemed oblivious to the hardship so many
experienced. The President reminded one of another patrician,
Nelson Rockefeller, who in 1968 began an analysis of the economy
with the words, "Take the average guy who earns $100,000 a
year." Early on, Bush telegraphed his insensitivity with a
stance that still rankles -- a lack of action, actually, that
many recall when pressed to explain their having strayed from
the President's camp. With only the mildest expression of
concern for those he would harm, Bush cavalierly refused to
extend unemployment benefits beyond their normal 26-week run.
The national outcry forced him to relent, but to many of those
who elected him -- and especially to the Republican-leaning
Democrats without whom he would have lost -- the President's
initial action was incomprehensible.

    If the Gulf War were ever a serious counterweight to the
anger so many expressed, its ability to boost Bush's standing
evaporated long ago. In fact, the President's masterly handling
of that conflict seems to have backfired. The war, many say,
proved the President's competence -- when he focuses. Ergo the
nation's problems might be less acute if Bush had only applied
himself at home as he had abroad. Which is why Al Gore's
audiences respond most heartily when the Democratic
vice-presidential nominee says four more years of Bush-Quayle
seems "more like a threat than a promise."

    What to do when the polling numbers are bordered in black?
In 1988, before Bush had a White House record to defend, House
Republican whip Newt Gingrich explained the President's
predicament simply: "It's hard to elect George Bush in an
election that focuses primarily on George Bush." So the
President's campaign is characterized by a wee bit of positive
presentation, a whole lot of Santa Claus as Bush spreads federal
largesse around key states, and a prayer that Perot will level
the playing field by tarring both candidates' economic plans as
pain-free nonsense. But following the President's own
instructions ("We're going after this guy"), the Republicans are
engaged mostly in tearing down Clinton's character. The
presentation is seamless. The stump speeches follow the ads (for
which the G.O.P. has about $15 million more on hand than the
Democrats for a final blitz). St. Louis was merely another riff
on a message that never varies: You can't trust Clinton
personally, and you can't trust him not to raise taxes; times
may be tough, but they could be worse. The key, Jim Baker has
said, is "repetition, repetition, repetition."

    THE FIRST LESSON CLINTON learned from Michael Dukakis' 1988
defeat is that any charge left unchallenged is presumed true.
Counterpunching is the hallmark of this year's Democratic
campaign -- but so is Clinton's tendency to ape Bush's tactics
with inaccurate swipes at the President's record and proposals.
While the dirt prize goes to Bush, Clinton has trolled in the
gutter long enough to fear for his soul too.

    But periodically -- and from Clinton with some regularity
-- there is enough of a debate about future directions to
perceive two very different governing philosophies. It simply
is not true, as even many academics contend, that the candidates
differ only at the margins. From Bush it is more of the same,
a laissez-faire embrace of free markets, a scarcely subtle
survival-of-the-fittest signal. The Republicans, it is clear,
see nothing wrong with extending the Me decade indefinitely; no
matter that Reagan's trickle-down nostrums, which were supposed
to lift all boats, have so far lifted only yachts.

    Neither Bush nor Clinton has fully accounted for the cost
of their competing agendas, and there are waffles and
flip-flops on both sides. But the core of Clinton's economic
vision is distinguishable from the President's and is perhaps
best described as a call for a We decade; not the old
I-am-my-brother's-keeper brand of traditional Democratic
liberalism, but an acknowledgment that the interconnectedness
of global economics requires that many prosper, or no one will.

    As spun out at every opportunity, whether in shorthand in
St. Louis or in some greater detail on the stump, the
differences between the candidates' economic views could not be
greater. The two candidates' views regarding the recently
negotiated North American Free Trade Agreement illustrate that
gap. Both support NAFTA as vital for the nation's economic
future, but Bush clearly believes that merely establishing a new
North American trade zone is sufficient to spur economic growth.
In the President's mind, free trade is an end in itself; once
established, market forces will determine winners and losers on
the merits. Clinton sees NAFTA's benefits as more elusive; to
ensure that they are reaped, he favors companion legislation
requiring a form of "industrial policy" that would create a
partnership of government, business and labor to provide, among
other things, a coordinated effort of worker retraining.

    So beneath the fog, there is a real debate, as St. Louis
somewhat unexpectedly revealed. In the end, however, the vote
for the presidency is a complicated, subtle act. "People vote
for President by feel," says Robert Teeter, the President's
campaign chairman. "There are hundreds, maybe thousands of
subconscious factors that create a general perception of a
presidential candidate." Unfortunately for Bush, many of those
subconscious factors are working against him. Many things the
President has said and done over the years appear to have
settled negatively in the electorate's brain, an accumulation
of winces ready to cause a mass defection from his candidacy.

    In the days remaining before the election, Bush's assaults
will continue and escalate. It is possible he can still destroy
Clinton. If that is the result, he can be assured of a
terminally hostile Democratic Congress through his second term.
Moreover, he will have no positive mandate from the voters and
will have to contend with a bitter battle within his own party
over his successor in 1996. As he wandered over the line of
decency last week in his red-baiting attacks, a troubling
question arose: If Bush wins a second term by these destructive
tactics, will he have destroyed his presidency in order to save
it?