Wilder Shifts Campaign’s Focus to Woo Black Voters : Democrats: The presidential hopeful fails to make inroads with his message of fiscal conservatism.

Virginia Gov. L. Douglas Wilder paused dramatically during a campaign speech delivered from the pulpit of a black church, motioning into the audience for an aide to be recognized.

Joe Johnson, who once worked for the Rev. Jesse Jackson’s Rainbow Coalition, stood. He is the director of Wilder’s Democratic presidential campaign--and he is black.

“This man’s not head of special projects,” Wilder said over the applause and amens of the congregation. “He’s not head of minority outreach. He’s not assistant director for special markets. He’s not here today and gone tomorrow.

“He’s at the top of my campaign, and when decisions are made about what I do or say, he’s there to represent me. And you know what? He’s someone who looks like me--and you.”

The moment was revealing for how much it said about the shift in direction of the Wilder campaign.

Wilder--who in 1989 became the nation’s first elected black governor--kicked off his run for the White House with the idea of portraying himself as a tough, fiscally conservative Democrat, one who had balanced a state budget without tax increases. That’s how Virginia voters viewed him and what was dubbed his “new mainstream” Administration. And that, Wilder thought, is what would sell nationally.

But after encountering immediate difficulties raising money and attracting attention, Wilder is changing course. As was evident during a recent swing through several Southern states, he has shifted emphasis to strengthening his bond with black voters. Without them, Wilder and his strategists acknowledge, he cannot make a respectable showing in the presidential primaries.

Wilder, 60, is banking on the type of overwhelming support from blacks that proved the heart and soul of Jackson’s failed presidential campaigns in 1984 and 1988.

To that end, Wilder fund-raisers increasingly are being held in the homes of affluent blacks or hosted by black fraternal organizations. He has invited a small network of black newspaper columnists to the governor’s mansion in Richmond for lunch and background discussions about how to best reach black voters. He has intensified his speaking style, discarding prepared notes and “preaching” extemporaneously--an approach that comes across as more “down to Earth” in black churches.

But something in the equation has gone wrong. So far, he has failed to stir excitement about his campaign among this most important constituency.

“I think there is a belief some people have that says just because (Wilder) is running for President, the response (from black people) will be automatic,” said Dr. Winston Griner, who was among the estimated 150 people spread thinly over the 2,000-seat Clayborn-Ball Temple A.M.E. Church in Memphis when Wilder spoke there recently. “But there is a lot of work to be done. There’s no reason a church like this shouldn’t be overflowing to hear Wilder speak.”

Wilder aides recognize the problems. “African-Americans are aware and supportive of the governor,” said Fred Humphrey, the coordinator of Wilder’s Tennessee campaign. “They are proud of his achievements, but we might have to fine-tune . . . his message.”

The core of Wilder’s platform remains unchanged: a proposed $50-billion annual cut in the federal budget and a $35-billion package of middle-class tax breaks. Wilder also wants to send $15 billion to state and local governments to address social problems such as drug abuse and homelessness.

“Wilder’s message is that we need to get the nation’s fiscal house in order before we can tackle the daunting social problems,” said Joe Trippi, a Democratic media consultant who is advising the Wilder campaign. “It’s a difficult message (for Wilder) to explain to voters.”

Getting that message out is made all the more difficult because “people are continually trying to compare Gov. Wilder to Jesse Jackson, trying to juxtapose their two styles and compare where their respective campaigns are at the same point,” Trippi said. “I can understand why the average person does it, but it’s unfair.”

Perhaps. But even a frustrated Wilder blames Jackson, in part, for the slow start of his campaign. “He’s asked (black) people not to support me,” Wilder told reporters earlier this week.

Jackson, who himself remains uncommitted in the Democratic race, denied making any effort to undercut Wilder.

Regardless, Trippi acknowledged that Wilder “is going to have to earn his support from the black community,” rather than take it for granted.

Trippi added, “And I think Doug Wilder can do that in this campaign, while at the same time he will campaign on issues that matter in a broader sense to all Americans.”

Clearly, Wilder would prefer to run a campaign that draws on his political accomplishments sans racial appeals.

“I was convinced we had moved past (race) being a factor in politics,” Wilder told a packed congregation at Bethel A.M.E. Church in West Memphis, Ark., during his recent Southern campaign swing.

His “new mainstream” theme, after all, had proved a winner in Virginia, enabling him to capture the votes of conservative whites while preserving a solid base among black voters.

But in the move from state to national politics, few voters--white or black--have seemed eager to climb aboard the Wilder bandwagon. He has had obvious fund-raising problems. As of late November, campaign director Johnson said, contributions totaled about $600,000. To remain competitive through the multi-state slate of Super Tuesday primaries on March 10, Wilder will need about $3 million, Johnson said.

Crucial to Wilder’s strategy is remaining competitive in key early primaries held in New Hampshire on Feb. 18 and Maryland on March 3 before winning a commanding share of the southern branch of the Super Tuesday sweepstakes.

Those Southern states, laden with black voters, hold the key to his chances of emerging from the primary season with a constituency that gives him clout at the Democratic convention, said Larry Sabato, a University of Virginia political scientist.

“He’s got to have a super-majority, 75% or 80% of black voters, on his side,” Sabato said.

If that is accomplished, Wilder could reasonably cite his electoral experience and public support to stake a claim, at the least, to the vice presidential spot on the Democratic ticket. But without the concentrated support of black voters, Sabato said, Wilder’s campaign is political theory.

Hence, the heightened attention to them.

On Wilder’s recent Southern trip, Arkansas state Rep. Ben McGee repeatedly introduced the candidate with an overt racial appeal.

“The media says Wilder can’t get the nomination or be elected because he’s black,” McGee said to the predominantly black crowds that gathered to hear Wilder. “But it’s white Democrats” who can’t seem to be elected, he added. “Isn’t it time we tried something new?”

On another occasion, Wilder made the appeal himself. “I’m running as an African-American,” Wilder said from the pulpit of Bethel A.M.E. Church. “I can’t hide it, and I’m not trying.”

At Clayborn-Ball Temple A.M.E. Church--where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. organized support for striking sanitation workers days before his assassination in 1968--Wilder likened his campaign to the struggles of the revered civil rights leader.

“I have a dream, too,” Wilder said. “My dream is that these youngsters (in his audience) one day will be called upon to serve. And when they are called . . . the fact that they are African-American won’t mean anything at all.”

Wilder also told his audience that King’s spirit called him to run for the presidency. King seemed to know in his final days that “he would not see the promised land,” Wilder said. “But he also knew that people like me could and would.”

While Wilder seems under increased pressure to run a campaign based on racial pride, he is well aware of the risks. Nationally, some white voters are likely to be turned off by the tactic. A key test will come in New Hampshire, where there are few black voters.

One Wilder campaign official, meanwhile, offered an example of a problem the governor could face in New Hampshire, even if he plays down the racial theme.

In focus groups assembled in the state, white voters “who didn’t have a clue who he was” were receptive to Wilder’s record and campaign promises, said the campaign official, who requested anonymity. “They gave his speeches 10s and they eagerly endorsed his positions.”

But when the focus group was shown a potential Wilder television campaign ad, attitudes changed.

“One woman took a look at the campaign spots and shouted ‘Oh, my God, he’s a black man’,” the official said, adding, “I didn’t believe he was up against this until I saw these focus groups. But that was enough proof for me to understand how difficult it is for Wilder to sell his message to the nation.”

But Mame Reiley, Wilder’s New Hampshire campaign director, dismisses the potential impact of racism on the governor’s hopes in the state. “I think we’re going to place first, second or third,” she said. “Our goal is to break double figures. If we break double figures, regardless of where we place, we will have won.”