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If the sessions of the Republican National Convention are any indication, the Party of Lincoln -- which has become the Party of Lincoln Navigators (with right-hand steering) -- is being dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century. The guy doing it is named George, and his choice of tractor is much like the one that a boy named Bill drove in 1992.
Back then, Bill -- also a governor from a state that drawls -- had a problem: The Democratic Party was out of step with the electorate. In fact, it seemed to be marching with two left feet. So Bill tacked left during the primaries, won the nomination, and then sailed back to the center during the post-convention campaign.
To demonstrate his bona fides as a centrist and prove he wasn't a pot-puffing, draft-dodging, tax-and-spend oaf from Arkansas, Bill had to overcompensate. So he denounced rap singer Sister Soulja for her divisive lyrics, distanced himself from the rhetoric of Jesse Jackson, and felt obliged to let the execution of a mildly retarded killer go forward.
SOUL BROTHERS? George, who is positioning himself as the anti-Bill, is running a campaign that is at once different and the same as his nemesis'. When George began gunning for the Presidency, he also found himself hobbled by a party out of step with the electorate. Only in George's case, the rootin', tootin' economy had vastly increased the ranks of independents. The new class of upwardly mobile, pro-investor, quasi-libertarian centrists was clearly at odds with the social conservatives holding sway in the Republican Party.
George jogged to the right in the primaries (so far that he almost fell off a cliff in God's Country, at Bob Jones University), is about to win the nomination, and is making an unapologetic beeline for the center. And like Bill, who is both his political polar opposite and soul brother, George is overcompensating. That's why the opening night of the Republican Convention featured a rapper. And that's why he's trying to keep wild-eyed right-wingers like House Majority Whip Tom DeLay in the bleachers and why he pressed for a delay in the execution of a controversial killer back home in Texas.
Most obvious, though, is the color thing. As The Philadelphia Inquirer pointed out, only about 4% of the 2,066 convention delegates are African Americans. But you'd hardly know that from watching the proceedings or even being there. The GOP is wearing blackface.
ON DISPLAY. On the night before the convention, DaimlerChrysler, which seized a marketing opportunity by displaying rows of new PT Cruisers and other hot-looking cars, co-hosted a massive party for J.C. Watts Jr., a high-profile African-American member of the House Republican leadership. The entertainment was the Temptations, and damn if there wasn't a whole bunch of black guests. On Day One of the convention, delegates heard from Paris Dennard, the conservatively dressed, highly articulate head of Teenage Republicans -- and, surprise, an African American.
There was a black preacher, a gospel choir, and a class of largely minority students seated behind Laura Bush during her address. And, of course, there was the pièce de résistance noire, General Colin Powell. Still, applause was tepid when Powell declared: "The party must follow Governor Bush's lead and reach out to minority communities and particularly the African-American community -- and not just during an election-year campaign. It must be a sustained effort. It must be every day. It must be for real." You can lead Republicans to diversity, but you can't make them embrace it.
And even if people do open their arms, like the overgroomed blonde wearing heels, an expensive suit, and an "I AM A COMPASSIONATE CONSERVATIVE" button, will anyone be there to wrap those arms around?
As an African-American security guard said when asked if he'll vote Republican: "Unh-uh."
Seventeen days after George W. Bush accepts the GOP nomination for President, the First Union Center in Philadelphia, where he has been performing, will rock with the sounds of the band AC/DC -- another act that apparently wants to have it both ways. By then, all the Republicans will be nestled in their clean Republican beds. But will visions of diversity still be dancing in their heads?
Scotti is senior editor for government and sports business. Follow his columns from the 2000 GOP convention in Philadelphia, only on BW Online Edited by Douglas Harbrecht
Copyright 2000, by The McGraw-Hill Companies Inc. All rights reserved.
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