Former eBay boss Meg Whitman
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Spine of Steel
Against a backdrop of a crippling statewide financial crisis and a national Republican Party civil war, Whitman is attempting her greatest balancing act yet: running for governor of the country's most populous state as a fiscally conservative, socially moderate woman. As an accomplished business executive, she claims she is in the best position to create jobs and control spending in California, while playing down her pro-choice, socially moderate views. But at a time when GOP elements are conducting a witch hunt to purge moderates from the party, she may have to pass ideological litmus tests in order to get the Republican nomination.
Then there is the matter of carving out an identity as a female candidate, a tricky proposition when Sarah Palin, for all her flaws, is the rock star of the party. Whitman is fashioning herself as sort of anti-Palin. Whereas Palin can be catty, superficial and outrageous, Whitman is wonky and almost humorless, as if too many consultants (she has about two dozen) have massaged and smoothed over her imperfections so effectively that she's as brittle and shiny as a Christmas tree ornament. She presents herself as a pragmatist who doesn't much care about tightening gun-control laws or limiting a woman's right to choose. She tries to project a muscular toughness, as Hillary Clinton did, with plans to fire 40,000 state employees and constant talk about her "spine of steel." "Sarah Palin almost ruined it for women," says Bruce Cain, executive director of the University of California Washington Center. "But Hillary Clinton did wonders. If you want to run, you want to be like Hillary. You want to know your stuff cold."
That's particularly true in California, a state in almost perpetual crisis — it's "effectively bankrupt," as Whitman likes to put it — with a budget deficit befitting Argentina and crises with water, highways, prisons, schools, immigration and unemployment. The legislature and the governor are openly hostile to each other, and the electorate is disgusted with both of them. (Their approval ratings are 18% and 28%, respectively.) This state of affairs is alternately described as the end of civilization or America's bright future, depending on whom you ask. Driving around the state, you'd never know that California was on the brink of apocalypse: the sun is shining and the lawns are bright green, even in the desert, so it's as tempting to believe the optimists as it is the hysterics.
Over coffee before a speech in a San Diego hotel, Whitman ticks through her plans. "Let's try to get a few things done at 100%, as opposed to trying to solve every problem," she says. To that end, she proposes three ideas: creating jobs by slashing taxes and regulation; improving the education system by grading schools and launching more charter schools; and reducing government spending, primarily by firing thousands of state workers. (She won't say which ones.) And — surprise — she intends to reap big savings from the state budget by eliminating "waste, fraud and abuse" through the introduction of more technology to the statehouse. Then that "spine of steel" comes up again. "If you have a huge need to be liked, if you have a huge need to be popular, I think in the near term this is a very bad job for you," she says.