Jackson’s Difference Is the Difference : While His Race May Make Some Nervous, the Message Is in Tune With ’88 Voters

Several weeks ago a very nice woman from a Democratic special-interest group called me up and invited me to come over: “We’re getting together soon to make a list of our priorities. Otherwise we might not get enough input on our plank of the platform!”

I said sure, that was fine--and that I planned (I thought) to vote for Jesse Jackson in the primary.

Dead silence on the phone. “Oh. Well.I guess you can still come, but don’t say anything, OK? Don’t argue. Because we’ve got to get this list to Dukakis before it’s too late, or we won’t have any input at all.”

I didn’t say anything, I didn’t argue, I just stayed home. But I began to steam about it. It’s bad enough that California, the most populous state, has the most meaningless primary, coming as it does as a period at the end of a very long political sentence. But my vote this time would be doubly meaningless--no arguments within the party, no controversy; Dukakis would win.

Why was this happening? Was it a purely racial issue? One of my friends thought so. “Jesse Jackson has more charisma than anyone since Bobby Kennedy,” she remarked. “And Americans love charisma so much! But they must dislike blacks more than they love charisma.”

I think it’s something more. When Dan Rather asks Ed Bradley, “What does Jackson really want?” and has to be reminded, however gently, that the man is running for President--that wall-eyed incomprehension, that panicky voice on the phone that says don’t argue , indicates more than our familiar racism.

I suggest that Jesse Jackson is far more than merely black; he’s different. He’s different from any other presidential candidate we’ve seen in 25 years (or ever) in three ways:

--Jesse Jackson is physically attractive. Once mentioned, this attribute is too nerve-racking to discuss. Let future Freudians write learned monographs on this, and how it might have disturbed White America’s greatest fantasies and fears. Scale that down a bit: Who among the candidates this year would you rather talk to, have by your side on a New York street, spend a Saturday with, go to the movies with? My choice would be Jackson, but I was told not to argue.

--Jesse Jackson acts like a human being. Not until you see him acting like one do you realize how strange it seems, how foreign that’s become to the American perception of what a President should be. Jackson is happy when he wins and sad when he loses. Consider how long it’s been since we’ve seen a man in public life laugh spontaneously. Again, not since Bobby Kennedy. We’ve grown used to a psychotic displacement of emotions: When Nixon was insulted or under stress, he whipped his hands in and out of his pockets; when Carter was insulted, he grinned; when Bush is insulted, he smiles; when Dukakis is insulted, he does nothing at all.

And maybe that’s all to the good--who knows? Look what happened to both the Kennedys. But there it is, Jackson acts like a human being: Even his most questionable act is a personal one--dabbing Martin Luther King’s blood on his clothes, claiming that King died in his arms. You can imagine that scene in a Shakespearean history play very easily, but try to imagine Dukakis or Bush smearing himself with a fallen hero’s blood. Get serious! That could ruin a good suit! Besides, it has nothing to do with ICBMs or “Star Wars” or payloads or windows of vulnerability or silos or underground tests . . . .

--Jesse Jackson is playing a different game. For the last 43 years the United States has been playing the Soviet Union in an endless contest. The conflict is at once boring, terrifying, hypnotizing. But the game has some definite advantages. It provides plenty of jobs for physics majors, economists, pundits. And it stands up to every criticism: If an observer mentions that Ronald Reagan speaks only when he’s under a helicopter, or that somebody “on our side” has been shipping drugs into this country, the final rejoinder is: “Shut up! We’re still alive! We’re still in the game, don’t rock the boat. Don’t argue!”

But the game takes up the real interest of only two-thirds of the Northern Hemisphere. Ask a Sikh, holed up in India somewhere defending a temple, who has more strategic weapons--the United States or the Soviet Union--and five will get you ten he won’t know or care. Iranian women in chadors don’t know, don’t care. Argentine ranchers don’t know, don’t care. And because the weapons game has become so expensive and so exclusively the province of white-guy technocrats on either side, there are a lot of people in this country and maybe over there, too--their educations short-changed, their material needs not met--who don’t care, either. They’re yawning in the bleachers; they’re not paying attention to the game.

But Jackson’s playing a different game. Remember, back in 1983, when Robert O. Goodman Jr. got taken hostage? Jesse Jackson went over to Syria, talked to President Hafez Assad in a villa outside Damascus for eight or ten hours and got Goodman out. Goodman’s father said, “Jackson is due all the credit in the world for Rob’s release,” but Goodman Senior was speaking as a human being; he wasn’t playing the game, either. The faces of dignitaries at the White House ceremony “celebrating” Goodman’s release reflected irritation. The rules of the hostage game are: You don’t talk to the other side (except covertly), you express “sympathy” for the hostages and then you let them rot, because that shows strength.

The USA team wants to get on with the game. Ronnie’s running his last play; Bush and Dukakis are waiting on the bench. On to the Super Bowl! But Jackson’s still out there, talking about drugs, social reform, education. He’s talking to the people in the bleachers and he’s bringing them down to the field. No wonder he makes Dan Rather and the lady on the phone so nervous. Jackson makes me nervous, too, I won’t deny it. But I’m voting for him in the primary.