In six weeks, the American people will entrust either George Bush or Michael Dukakis with the keys to the nuclear kingdom. The presidency carries with it a moral responsibility that ought to humble even the most self-confident leader. Yet how do the candidates spend these final weeks, as they seek to shoulder this awesome responsibility? By reverting to a childlike state of dependency, with their every movement, gesture, word and response dictated by political handlers and chaperones. At the very moment the voters are asked to place their future in the hands of one of these men, the campaign staffs of Bush and Dukakis are trying to prevent their candidates from uttering a spontaneous thought in public.
Something has truly gone awry in 1988, as the election becomes transformed into a handlers' handicap. More than any other race in history, this has become a narrow-gauge contest between two disciplined teams of political professionals. The problem is not the caliber of the candidates, since both Bush and Dukakis have stronger claims to competence than many who have sought the office. Rather it is their passive and uncritical acceptance of the premises of modern political manipulation. Bush flogs patriotism at a flag factory, the far more restrained Dukakis joyrides in a tank, and neither seems embarrassed by the prearranged artifice. There is a cynical edge to it all, as the backstage puppeteers pull the strings, and Bush and Dukakis dangle before the TV cameras obediently reciting their memorized themes for the day.
If the choice in November comes down simply to a referendum on gamesmanship, not leadership, then Bush should win. Since James Baker took charge of the ill-focused campaign in August, the Bush forces have consistently outflanked, outthought and outfoxed their Democratic rivals. "The Republicans punch a button every four years, and all the old pros show up," says longtime Democratic wheelhorse Robert Strauss, chafing on the sidelines. "The Democrats bring out a bunch of bright, gracious people, who reinvent the wheel." Until the exiled John Sasso was summoned back on Labor Day weekend to become the de facto head of a triumvirate that includes campaign manager Susan Estrich and chairman Paul Brountas, the Dukakis camp was hobbled by lack of bold strategic planning. Even now, as Sasso belatedly tries to assemble a Democratic all-star squad, he is hard pressed to match the fast-break pace of Baker's disciplined band of G.O.P. playmakers.
Still, Sasso has his moments in this dizzying game of parry-and-thrust politics. Last Thursday, for example, the Bush campaign plotted a lightning raid on Boston, where the Vice President would dramatize his law-and-order thematics by accepting the endorsement of a Republican-leaning police union. This was a classic maneuver of Baker's and his operations officer, campaign manager Lee Atwater, a tactical gambit to keep his opponent off balance on the eve of the presidential debate. Earlier this month, the Bush armada had sailed unmolested into Boston harbor and excoriated Dukakis over its polluted waters. This time the Vice President stood in a garish Italian restaurant in East Boston, looked at the sea of blue uniforms and joked, "Who was it that said the police aren't there when you need them?"