Most temporary residents of our nation's capital -- in other words, elected representatives and their staff people -- are eminently unmemorable. Personnel changes on Capitol Hill generally are merely cosmetic. But thus far in 1991, two dramatic changes have taken place, and they are worthy of note.
One of the great legislators and caretakers of the common good, Rep. Morris Udall (D-Ariz.), retired on May 4 after more than 15 full terms in the House of Representatives. The Parkinson's disease that had plagued Udall for more than a decade and was exacerbated by a fall in his home finally took its toll. Udall could no longer fulfill his duties.
Few politicians have held the good of the country -- all of it, especially its least protected elements -- so close to their heart. Udall's integrity and wit combined to make him one of the most popular and effective members of Congress in memory.
On issues of water conservation, protection of federal lands, campaign finance reform, and the tribal rights of American Indians, Udall championed the well-being of the disempowered, the wilderness, and the future. This did not always bring him popularity in the Arizona district he had represented since 1961. Still, Udall's strong commitment to principle and integrity brought him the support of many who disagreed with his politics.
"He was willing to take risks that no one else would," said Patty Marks, an attorney with a Washington, DC law firm representing a number of Indian Nations. "And under his leadership on the Interior Committee, Indian issues were not used as leverage to pass anything else in the House. Virtually all of the positive legislation to come out of Congress since his arrival has had Udall's stamp."
Udall is from a humble background, which gave him an attitude toward the Indian community quite different from many of his colleagues, according to Marks. While many Western congressional representatives have run anti-Indian election campaigns in order to get elected, Udall did not. His sensitivity caused him to invite Indians in for early dialogue on any issue that might affect them. Udall valued public discourse.
Rev. Richard Austin, an organizer behind the ground-breaking 1970s legislation to limit strip mining, recalls that Udall "had a level of conscientiousness and care that was consistently impressive. He took ordinary people seriously -- people who had rocks sliding into their backyards because of bad mining practices."
Udall was more interested in integrity in politics than in the limelight. After his barely unsuccessful run for the Democratic presidential nomination in 1976, Udall said, "Beware of the presidential candidate who has no friends his own age and confidants who can tell him to go to hell, who has no hobbies and outside interests. God help us from presidents who can't be a little bit gentle, and who don't have a sense of humor."
One longtime political analyst recently said of Udall, "I wish he was young and just getting started, because we could really use someone as capable and committed as him now."
THE OTHER CHANGE in the Capital City is the death of Republican National Committee Chair Lee Atwater. After a year of fighting inoperable brain tumors, Atwater, barely 40, died on March 29.
Life magazine printed Atwater's reflections on his life and work shortly before he died. The pain of his struggle was evident in the photos, which presented a barely recognizable Atwater suffering the effects of intensive treatment. Even cynical political minds were moved.
An influential force in conservative ideological circles, Atwater was especially known for his zeal for negative campaign tactics -- the attempt to misrepresent and distort facts simply to exploit the vulnerability of an opponent. He provided a down-home face to this negative style. Whereas John Sununu, Roger Ailes, William Bennett, and the rest of the negative ad club could never have popularized this style -- they look too mean -- Atwater was a young, clean-shaven, home boy from South Carolina.
His image made it possible for him to say in a 1980 South Carolina campaign that the Democratic candidate, who had been treated for depression by electroshock therapy as a teenager, should not be trusted since he had been "hooked up to jumper cables." As George Bush's campaign manager in 1988, he said that before the campaign was over, he was going to make America think that Willie Horton was Michael Dukakis' running mate -- race-baiting at its worst. As Bush talked about a kinder, gentler nation, Atwater's "wedge" politics created an uglier and more divided country.
Atwater pulled a page from Founding Father James Madison's blueprint for the nation. Madison had suggested to his peers (other landed, white men) that even in a democracy the elite can rule. If the "common people" can be divided enough, geographically and interest-wise, the privileged can protect their own interests.
Atwater lived by this divisive philosophy in politics. He argued that winning was easier than it seemed, since convincing the opponent's supporters to stay home was as good as convincing the undecided to vote for your candidate. Once "common people" are disempowered, the landed gentry extend their control. Negative advertising is at heart a strategy to undermine any vision for change.
Just before he died, Atwater wrote letters to a handful of people, mostly of his own class and race, apologizing for campaign attacks upon them. But letters to Dukakis and other "landed gentry" don't repair the damage done. Atwater owed apologies to people like Rodney King and other victims of racial, class, and gender violence. Lee Atwater may have been truly sorry for his behavior. But the consequence of divisive politics and policies is a society that is driven by fear and hatred of that which is different.
Of course, many people saw through the veneer and down-home style. When he was selected to be a member of the board of trustees of Howard University, the student body took over campus buildings demanding his ouster. Howard students didn't play the game with the man who tried to make Willie Horton every white person's nightmare.
In his last months, Atwater added the Bible to the list of his favorite books. He wrote in his Life article that he wished that he had spent more time with his children. The very human feelings that eluded him during his political career emerged at the end of his life. But we, the survivors, are left with his legacy.
Morris Udall spent decades encouraging broader participation in the democratic process and ensuring the security of the future. Atwater spent years trying to separate people from each other and ensuring the consolidation of power into the hands of a few. It is easier to tear down than to build up. If we desire values in our politics, we can only hope that Mo Udall is the model for the next generation of leaders.
Bob Hulteen was Under Review editor of Sojourners when this article appeared.
Got something to say about what you're reading? We value your feedback!