At Play On Clinton's Field

A sitting president must hate watching the candidates who are trying to take his job as they signal all the ways in which they are better men than he. John Kennedy promised vigor, after eight years of footage of Ike on the golf course; Jimmy Carter promised he would never lie to us; George Bush promised a kinder, gentler nation, which prompted Nancy Reagan to mutter, "Kinder and gentler than who?" Bill Clinton promised to feel our pain, unlike the Preppie President who had never appeared to suffer so much as a toothache. And so the candidates in both parties take the field in the year 2000 carrying banners that proclaim, in a variety of codes and scripts, THAT THEY ARE NOT BILL CLINTON, defining themselves by who they are not before they can tell us who they are.

George W. Bush, out to avenge a heroic father who did indeed know something about suffering, denounces the baby-boom gospel of "If it feels good, do it." Bill Bradley preaches the Politics of Moral Superiority and grand crusades, the complete inversion of the pragmatic Clinton micropolitics of 1996. John McCain markets fearlessness and honor, not the kind of guy who would do absolutely anything to hang onto his job. And even Al Gore, lashed to Clinton's mast these past seven years, could stand up in a debate last week and act as though he would turn to dust if he so much as mentioned Bill Clinton's name.

If there is any satisfaction for Clinton, watching this spectacle of renunciation, it might come from this: they all, one way or another, may have come to do battle with him, but they all have to play by his rules and fight on his field. The economy is too sound, the public too content, for any leading candidate to write off the centrist politics that prevailed throughout the '90s. A TIME/CNN poll last week found that even Democrats aren't looking for "big, bold" ideas from their leaders: only 14% say they are, in contrast to 81% who prefer "steady progress." The number of voters of all kinds who think things are going well in the country, 80%, is the highest in 25 years of polling. Ever since Clinton changed the rules of the war and mastered the Politics of Infiltration, in which you can pluck your enemies' agenda and use it against them, the candidates who hope to succeed him can't afford to ignore him.

Clinton was a reluctant convert to balancing the budget, but that hasn't stopped him from taking credit for it. And even as he was morphing into a fiscal conservative, he was luring his opponents onto his turf. He has maneuvered the Republican Congress into arguing over which party is more devoted to defending Social Security. He is pushing G.O.P. lawmakers to soften their stand on gun control and HMO reform, and last week to abandon their $792 billion tax-cut plan in favor of an alternative that is one-sixth the size. When Trent Lott boasts that Republicans, who once vowed to abolish the Education Department, actually put more money for education into the budget than Clinton requested, you have to ask, Did God really put Republicans on earth to outbid Democrats on domestic-spending programs?

Meanwhile, out on the campaign trail, despite the flames and sparks, all four leading candidates have a way of sounding a lot like Clinton as they leave ideological purity to Gary Bauer and Alan Keyes and trundle down the center of the field. Bush and Gore both call for the deployment of faith-based organizations to backstop government; Bradley and McCain share examples of campaign-finance abominations. By last week, McCain was even borrowing Gore's class-war vocabulary to attack Bush's tax plan. Both sides have ceded ground: the Democrats are each pushing health-care plans that, in their level of ambition, do not come close to matching what Bush's father proposed back in 1992. The leading Republicans, while denouncing the Democrats' proposal that gays be allowed to serve openly in the military, settle on Clinton's compromise of "Don't ask, don't tell," rather than calling for a return to an outright ban.

Now that Clinton has made Social Security the Holy Grail, everyone has to sip from his cup. McCain spent last week denouncing Bush's "fiscally irresponsible" tax-cut plan for threatening Social Security while returning 60% of the surplus to the top 10% of wage earners, "like most of his top contributors." Said McCain: "I don't believe rich Americans need tax breaks." His plan, which he intends to unveil this week, would cost about $600 billion over 10 years, or 40% less than Bush's, and focus on Social Security protection and on propping up lower-income Americans. McCain's campaign chairman, Rick Davis, admits that the plan sounds a lot like what Clinton has said over the years. "Maybe Bill Clinton stole these concepts and made good use of them," he said. "But we're going to take them back."

Bush's plan gives a nod to the tee-time-and-tonic-water Republicans who like cuts in the top marginal rate. But he broadens it by slicing rates for the working class too and jabs McCain for caring more about paying down the debt than providing relief to a single mother earning $25,000 a year. While Bush is positioning himself to McCain's right, he still ignored a major, long-standing G.O.P. priority: his plan leaves capital-gains-tax rates untouched. And all through his speeches and policy positions are signals that he is the kind of Republican who cares about "those who live on the outskirts of poverty" and vows to "leave no child behind"--postideological promises that, during primary season at least, would once have been uttered only by a liberal Democrat.