Gore and Bradley: A Comparison
CEDAR RAPIDS, Iowa--Yesterday I hopped from the S.S. Gore to Bill Bradley's
battered dinghy. The contrast between the two candidates, and between the two
campaigns, could hardly be more striking.
Gore glides across Iowa's highways in a sleek vice-presidential motorcade,
with a plush bus for the candidate, black wagons full of Secret Service agents,
an ambulance, and two press buses. For longer distances, Gore hops aboard Air
Force Two. Bradley shambles through traffic in a ragtag caravan.
Here's the scene at the typical Gore event of yesterday, a huge rally in
Waterloo: A cheering, sign- and flag-waving throng of many hundreds fills the
bleachers and floor of the basketball arena at Northern University of Iowa. A
marching band blares out "Twist and Shout" as an enormously bloated Ted Kennedy
jiggles to the music. Kennedy gives Gore a rasping stem-winder of introduction.
"He has the potential for greatness," Kennedy thunders. "He has the potential
to be one of our greatest presidents." Gore assumes the stage like a rock star,
dressed in his best Iowa casual--deep-blue sport shirt, cowboy boots, and
khakis, with a Palm Pilot holster attached to his belt. The vice president
introduces another celebrity, the jazz pianist Herbie Hancock, before launching
into a feisty pep talk to his troops. The press watches from two raised
platforms, but throughout the day has no direct access to Gore.
Here's the scene at Bradley's only event last night, a talk to an
Arab-American organization at an Islamic cultural center in Cedar Rapids:
Perhaps 50 members of the group, most of the women in headscarves, sit
listening to stand-ins for the other candidates as they wait for Bradley to
arrive. Occasionally, people wander to the back of the room, where there are
platters of raw vegetables and cheese. The head of the organization introduces
Bradley as someone who "knows how to listen and acts on what he thinks."
Bradley turns up late, wearing a blue suit, red tie, and black shoes. He
delivers a restrained chat and then mingles with members of the audience. Any
reporter is free to walk up and ask an awkward question about his heart
condition or his downward drift in the polls.
But the biggest contrast between Gore and Bradley isn't a matter of style,
standing, or policies. It's the entirely different attitude the two men have
toward politics.
Gore presents himself as someone who once lost faith in politics but who now
embraces its potential. In his speech, he says that his Vietnam-Watergate-era
disillusionment gave way to a sense that by running for elected office he could
help people. He boasts about what the Clinton administration has accomplished,
mentioning the low unemployment rate and the passage of pro-union legislation,
among other things. He promises more money for public education, universal
health insurance starting with children, and "tax breaks to speed up the
purchase of new technologies." He slams Republicans, the Confederate Flag in
South Carolina, and HMOs. "I want to fight for you," he resounds, again and
again.
Bradley presents himself as someone ill at ease with the way politics is
currently practiced. He says that he's running on the "radical premise that you
can tell people what you believe and win." He talks about the power of example,
being a "good steward," and leading America in "a world of new possibilities
guided by goodness." Where Gore boasts about his accomplishments, Bradley says
he's trying "to find a balance between modesty and confidence." Almost every
comment Bradley makes contains an implicit criticism of the way politicians
ordinarily behave. And where Gore promises specific benefits and improvements,
Bradley reaches for something grander and less tangible, saying that the
fundamental challenge for someone running for president is to help people "find
some meaning in life that is deeper than simply the possession of material
things."
At the end of his speech, Gore implores people to vote for him. "Feeling
enthusiasm is great but you gotta be there and you gotta bring
more people with you," Gore thunders. "I need you. And I want to fight for you
and I want to fight for the future of this country! I need you to fight for
me--7 p.m. Monday!"
At the end of his speech, Bradley says that if people share his vision of a
virtuous nation, they are welcome to support him. "What my campaign is about is
asking good people to come forward and join us so that our voices can be
heard," he says. "I am behind. But there are two days left. ... We could
surprise a lot of people."
Gore's fighter/scholar distinction has taken root because there's a lot of
truth to it. When you see Gore, you see a thoroughbred politician who is simply
running for president and running as hard as he can. When you see Bradley, you
see a naturally diffident man talking about how he would like to run for
president and fretting about the distance between his ideal campaign and the
real one. This is the decisive distinction. It explains why Gore is almost
certain to defeat Bradley in the caucuses tomorrow night: because voters prefer
the man of action to the man of ideas. Because they prefer the politician to
the civics teacher. Because they prefer the probably better president to the
possibly superior human being.
