Clinton Takes a Different Road to Reach Black Voters

Before a Mt. Rushmore-like painting of seven revered and deceased black heroes, a tuxedoed Bill Clinton stood in a darkened hall recently to describe himself to an audience of black Americans.

The 10-minute speech by the Democratic presidential nominee to the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation Dinner in Washington expressed a simple, direct and unspoken--though clearly understood--contrast to the last 12 years. Clinton did not have to spell out a course of action to win their support.

Rather, he swore to the 4,000 black diners that if they helped him fulfill his quest to win the presidency, he would provide “full participation, full partnership” in a Clinton White House.

“If I change my address, I will only be a tenant there,” he said. “You still own the place, and I want you to act like it.”

For Clinton, the moment was special only because it occurred in the harsh glare of a spotlighted public gathering. More typical of his efforts to court black support was the private, closed-door fundraiser held hours earlier and a few blocks away at a downtown Washington art museum. That reception, hosted by some 60 affluent black American business owners, produced $600,000 for the Arkansas governor.

“This was a historic event,” Rodney Slater, one of Clinton’s top black aides, said immediately after the fund-raiser. “This represents the fact that African-Americans want to be key players in the Clinton Administration. When they can raise that kind of money--that’s more than African-Americans have ever raised for anybody--you can bet the candidate will pay attention to them.”

Like all contemporary Democratic presidential candidates, Clinton is counting on overwhelming support from the nation’s black voters to propel him to victory. But to achieve that, he has taken a significantly different approach than the party’s previous nominees.

Clinton has avoided offering himself as a benefactor of black Americans through dramatic, highly publicized appeals to them or by proposing a host of social programs. Rather, the Arkansas governor has conducted an almost stealth-like campaign within black communities, quietly collecting chits from influential leaders and middle-class blacks while limiting efforts directed at poor, ghetto-dwelling African-Americans. And in targeting middle-class blacks, he has tried to blend their political and economic concerns into the same mix of issues aimed at attracting the highly coveted white suburban voting bloc.

He has done this in order to claim a larger share of the white vote--especially suburban white males, who polls have suggested viewed previous Democratic presidential candidates as too eager to genuflect to black demands. No Democrat since Lyndon B. Johnson in 1964 has won a majority of the white vote, a major reason the party has lost all but one presidential election since then.

With this strategy, Clinton sought to give his campaign an inclusive middle-class cast, effectively defusing race as an issue and avoiding the need to reassure white voters that he would not unduly bend toward poor and needy blacks.

Surprisingly, as Clinton has pursued this strategy, polls have shown he has garnered increasingly enthusiastic support from black voters. A recent survey of 850 blacks by the Washington-based Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies showed more than 80% giving Clinton highly favorable marks on questions of knowledge, fairness and leadership.

In fact, if there has been any genius--or luck--to Clinton’s handling of black voters, it has stemmed from amplifying the hard-edged pragmatism with which many black political leaders and their constituents approached the 1992 campaign. Minimizing conflict within their ranks, they have kept their eyes fixed on the prize: returning a Democrat to the White House. And Clinton appears to have been the beneficiary of this growing political maturity among black voters.

“We’re smart,” Rep. Maxine Waters (D-Los Angeles), one of Clinton’s earliest and most important black backers, said recently. “We know where our best interest lies. Even if it means that we campaign a little bit differently and not in the ways that we have before, we are out to win, and we can win with Bill Clinton.”

Overall, blacks make up about 1-in-6 of Clinton’s voters, according to recent polls. In the final Times national pre-election poll, released last week, he was favored by 78% of black voters, with President Bush and independent candidate Ross Perot each backed by 9%.

Many of these voters are the legacy of the Rev. Jesse Jackson’s unsuccessful 1984 and 1988 campaigns for the Democratic presidential nomination, which excited political passions among blacks and swelled voter registration rolls within their communities.

Democratic nominees Walter F. Mondale in 1984 and Michael S. Dukakis in 1988 each publicly enlisted Jackson to their cause in hopes of gaining the allegiance of his followers. But while both Mondale and Dukakis harvested the vast majority of black votes cast in their respective races, neither was able to generate a huge turnout by African-Americans. That was especially apparent four years ago, when the failure of blacks to turn out in large numbers was seen as a major reason Dukakis lost close races to then-Vice President Bush in several states, including Illinois, Pennsylvania, Maryland and Missouri.

Clinton, during most of his campaign, took the alternative approach of keeping Jackson at arm’s length while beckoning an aspiring breed of black leaders to supplant him as a link to black voters.

Among the first black officials to join the Clinton cause early in the primary season--at a time when Jackson’s disdain for the Arkansas governor was undistinguished--were Reps. John Lewis of Georgia, Mike Espy of Mississippi and William J. Jefferson of Louisiana.

These three, like others, are not especially well-known nationally. But for the Clinton camp, what counts is that each commands strong and favorable name identification among blacks in their home states. And while in large measure these politicians offered their early support based on their association with Clinton as a fellow Southerner, it also reflected the new pragmatism among them.

Waters, a national co-chairwoman of the Clinton campaign, most vividly illustrates this phenomenon, given her past close ties to Jackson. Echoing countless other black elected officials, she makes clear that winning the White House is what matters to her this year, not the strategy the candidate employs to get there.

“I don’t question it at this point,” she said. “I want George Bush out of the White House so bad, I’ll buy (Clinton’s) strategy.”

Like Waters, Rep. Craig Washington (D-Texas) is unconcerned about Clinton’s primary focus on white, middle-class, suburban voters.

“He needs to go where he can get votes that I can’t get for him,” Washington said. “The fact that he doesn’t come into black churches every Sunday and that he doesn’t campaign in black communities (to avoid) turning off Joe Willie Six-Pack doesn’t bother me. He doesn’t want to send them back to help the Republicans.”

Linda Faye Williams, associate professor of government and politics at the University of Maryland, said statements like those from black elected leaders--most of whom were faithful Jackson supporters in the past--reveals the “12 years of pent-up leadership hopes” among black leaders.

She also said that “many black elected officials chafed during the last two (presidential) elections over their own roles as leaders because Jesse was always the one out front. Clinton has answered their prayers by giving them room to maneuver.”

Ironically, in the campaign’s final hours, Clinton finds himself more dependent on black votes in some key states than many of his advisers anticipated. As many polls have shown the race tightening, the Arkansas governor’s fate appears increasingly tied to a heavy turnout among traditional Democratic constituencies, including blacks.

That’s especially true in two key regions. It appears Clinton needs a high black turnout in the Midwestern battleground states of Michigan and Ohio--where blacks cast 8% and 12%, respectively, of the votes four years ago--and in such hotly contested Southern states as Georgia and Louisiana, where blacks constituted about a fifth of the vote in 1988.

These political realities have helped lead to a rapprochement between Clinton’s campaign and Jackson. The campaign is hoping Jackson can help spur a big turnout among blacks for the Democratic ticket. And the civil rights leader, for his part, is quietly cooperating in hopes of gaining clout.

Meanwhile, some blacks have remained lukewarm toward Clinton, worrying that his campaign strategy will serve only to get him elected without demonstrating a real commitment to helping poor blacks. These leaders were distressed that the well-publicized bus tours that helped define the Clinton campaign immediately after the summer’s Democratic National Convention focused on small towns and rural America, where the crowds were made up mostly of white faces.

“We’re going to have to put a lot of pressure on Brother Clinton once he gets in the White House,” said Cornell West, director of Afro-American studies at Princeton University. “I hope he wins, but I recognize he’s not a true warrior for our cause.”

After a flurry of complaints that the campaign was avoiding black voters and ignoring their issues, Clinton’s staff squeezed in time for him to campaign a few weeks ago with a delegation of black congressional leaders as they barnstormed several Southern states in a get-out-the-vote effort sponsored by the Democratic National Committee.

Still, the bus trip failed to quell all of the concerns. Even some of those who joined in the journey dubbed it “The Back of the Bus Tour.”