The Wilson Paradox: Little Political Gain From Success

Pete Wilson swept into the governorship eight years ago on a burst of bipartisan optimism, a popular Republican who entranced even liberals with progressive child-oriented proposals that softened his generally conservative political ideology.

Forced out by term limits next month, he leaves office a political paradox, a combative and unrepentant governor who managed California in tough times by dint of smarts and stubbornness, but whose actions have alienated some supporters and markedly hobbled his hoped-for presidential bid.

Among Pete Wilson’s backers as well as those who have veered away from him over the years, there is a haunting sense of what might have been, a refrain of possibilities squandered and divisions propagated.

His loyalists say he has never gotten enough political credit, particularly for maneuvering the state through the worst recession since the Great Depression. His opponents blast him as an opportunist who let his disappointments spiral into race-tinged demagoguery.

“He’s always been a divided man, and his tenure in office perhaps illustrates that better than anything else,” said former Democratic Assemblyman Phillip Isenberg, who has watched Wilson for decades. “He is simultaneously two people--a positive, upbeat moderate Republican and a somewhat sour and often angry partisan.”

There is the magnanimous Wilson, who calls himself “a very lucky guy.”

“I can look back on, I think, having made some very significant and needed change,” he said in an interview.

Then there is the contentious Wilson, who goes out of his way to blast state employee unions, to blame liberals for “deliberate” character assassination in retaliation for his drives against affirmative action and illegal immigration, and who pointedly boasts of his victories over his detractors.

“There are a lot of people who can’t forgive me, frankly, for winning on those issues . . . because they were so offensive to liberals and because we won,” he said, adding sarcastically: “Nothing’s more offensive than that.”

Like him or not, Wilson stands as the most successful statewide politician in modern times, given his four statewide victories in 12 years. He showed Republicans how to win in California--not that many of them have chosen to follow his path--and gave Democrats as well no little amount of direction. In 1998, Gray Davis’ tough-on-crime, strong-on-education message took heed of Wilson’s winning streak.

Yet there is this final dichotomy as Wilson, arguably the most dominant governor in decades, prepares to leave office: His popularity ratings have rebounded to approach what they were when he became governor, but Californians at the same time have turned a stiff thumbs down on his potential presidential bid.

Popularity High at the Beginning

Little of the chaos to come was evident when Pete Wilson took office in January 1991. He enjoyed strong popularity--61% of Californians had a favorable impression of him in a Times poll that month, and even senior Democrats openly lauded his first inaugural address.

Yet if Bill Clinton has become legendary as a politician who feels voters’ pain, then Wilson was a politician who inflicted it--almost immediately. The budget deficit ballooned to $14 billion--a third the size of the state’s general fund--his first year in office. Instead of pushing the preventive programs he had touted in his campaign, Wilson made gut-wrenching attempts to balance cutbacks. School kids or the indigent? Pregnant women or veterans?

And soon, Wilson’s combative instincts erupted. He drew ire when he suggested that his proposed welfare cuts meant recipients would have to get along with one less six-pack. He fought with teachers over education cuts. Gays blew up when he vetoed a bill meant to prevent employment bias against them. And Wilson compounded his problems by simultaneously blasting anti-gay conservatives.

Politically, he declared war on his allies, one by one. He infuriated conservative Republicans by sanctioning $7.5 billion in deficit-reducing tax hikes in 1991, then offended moderates and liberals with his “my-way-or-the-highway” approach to the 1992 budget.

One loyal aide says Wilson was irrevocably seared by the nastiness of the 1991 budget debate. “He became more callous,” the aide said.

Another loyalist said Wilson became more “hardened” politically, in ways that would haunt him in the future. “It changed him a lot,” the former advisor said. “Those battles were very tough; they were in some cases very vicious. He is the feisty little Marine. No question in my mind that he picked battles he need not have along the way.”

Some Wilson supporters insist that it was the governor’s image, not Wilson himself, that changed, and Wilson concurred. “I don’t know that it changed me,” he said of that first year. “I think it changed people’s perception of me.”

Some of the disappointment with Wilson, particularly among liberals, can be traced to a fundamental misunderstanding of who the governor really was, politically speaking. Though he was initially lauded as a moderate, Wilson assumed that position only on isolated issues such as abortion rights and offshore oil drilling, which he favored and opposed, respectively. His prevention platform was more than offset by his hard-line approach on crime and other evergreen conservative issues.

Indeed, his 1990 attack on opponent Dianne Feinstein’s pledge to appoint women and minorities to her administration in numbers parallel to their presence in California--”quotas” to Wilson--was a direct precursor to his 1996 fight against affirmative action.

“I think that if you look back you will find that there really is a rather considerable consistency,” Wilson said, when asked if his political views had changed over the course of his governorship. “If anything, I have become more convinced that there should be consistent and energetic efforts to control the size, the cost and the intrusiveness of government.”

That instinct to cut the budget--fired by the years of deficits and coupled with Wilson’s hardened attitudes--led directly to the contentious social-issue battles that defined the rest of his tenure and have damaged his political future.

Quicksand of Race Relations

Despite the roughhewn budget battles, Wilson maintained the grudging respect even of many opponents until he waded voluntarily into the quicksand of race relations.

His foray was not direct, of course, and Wilson partisans contend to this day that his most heated battles, over illegal immigration and affirmative action, had nothing to do with race. But, at minimum, he made it easy for his opponents to thread them together and say they did.

The emphasis on those issues also marked a defining shift for Wilson. After a successful political career shaped by being the rare Republican who was for things, he inexorably changed his focus to what he was against.

Wilson insisted that he has been the victim of character assassination since his 1994 anti-illegal immigration campaign, which he says was solely an argument about federal financial responsibility for controlling the borders.

“There’s been a consistent effort ever since then to paint me as divisive, as mean-spirited, as even racist,” he said. “And the people who know me in the Legislature know that those things are untrue, but nonetheless, some of them have continued to engage in that tactic because they think that there is political hay to be made.”

In the minds of many, even his supporters, Wilson’s decision to quickly follow the immigration set-to with battles over affirmative action and bilingual education cemented a negative, racially tinged image. “It made him look punitive,” one supporter said.

Wilson’s opponents acknowledge that his was not the harshest voice in the anti-illegal immigration and affirmative action debates, but say that his responsibility was to cool public passions, not to inflame them in a state reeling from economic collapse, riots and natural disasters.

“In my judgment, the anti-immigrant and the anti-affirmative action assaults are the most ignoble and, tragically, will probably caricature his administration,” Isenberg said. “If you read any California history, it is a history of responsible, middle-course politicians articulating fears--they think in a responsible fashion--about strangers and those sentiments legitimating the actions of irresponsible people.”

Curiously, voters were on his side on each of the issues: They, like Wilson, backed welfare reform, wanted illegal immigration to stop and opposed affirmative action. It is no small irony that Wilson is perceived to have lost ground politically on the very issues that were the most popular with the public.

“There is an oddity to that,” said Democratic state Sen. John Vasconcellos of Santa Clara, who offered this conclusion. “I’m not sure people like you if you appeal to the worst parts of them.”

Still a Mystery to Californians

In some ways, Wilson leaves office as much a mystery to Californians as when he entered it. Witty and engaging in private, he is relatively taciturn in public, his sense of humor limited to the sort of dry sarcasm that often doesn’t translate. Neither his personal hurt at being labeled a racist nor his joy at hammering through reforms filtered out to the public, observers say.

“He’s not one to wear emotions on his sleeve,” said Don Sipple, his campaign advertising consultant. “He’s a skilled political figure, but . . . he’s by nature reserved, stoic, and in today’s political culture of talking about what kind of underwear you wear, he looks a bit aloof and old-fashioned.”

Ultimately, Wilson will be judged by history, and if he gets his way, at least once again by voters. On paper, he should be what he wants to be--a competitive presidential candidate. But the resume--a scandal-free two terms as governor, two as U.S. senator, assemblyman, mayor--stands in stark contrast to the naysaying that greets his desire to reach for the presidency.

While Californians now are more positive in their judgments about how Wilson has handled his job, only 23% of voters in a September Los Angeles Times poll said Wilson should seek the presidency.

Times Poll Director Susan Pinkus said Wilson’s rising job ratings probably reflect the improved state economy, and are not necessarily an endorsement of Wilson himself.

“They think he’s doing a good job now, but they also remember how he was before,” she said. “He’s a very complex governor, and he has in a way polarized the state.”

That, bluntly, casts the greatest shadow over Wilson’s future. His poor relations with Latinos, in particular, frighten national Republicans who are casting about for a standard-bearer who can draw all types of voters into the party fold.

Right now, Republicans here and nationally are enchanted by candidates with a broader embrace, like Texas Gov. George W. Bush--who, ironically, campaigned this year on Wilson’s 1990 slogan of “compassionate conservatism.”

Even if his rough edges could be overlooked, Wilson is massively out of step with the party’s most dependable voters, religiously oriented conservatives, on a host of defining issues.

The very things that helped Wilson find success in California--support for abortion rights, a relative open-mindedness on taxes, and accession to some forms of gun control and environmental protection--are strong liabilities in Republican presidential primaries.

And Wilson’s moves in California served to diminish, not expand, the pool of voters that might be open to his candidacy. During his rashly unsuccessful campaign for the 1996 presidential nomination, analysts often pondered the small percentage of Republican primary voters who, like Wilson, favored abortion rights and gun control but disapproved of affirmative action.

While the national Republican Party is now engaged in public soul-searching over its direction--and many voices are proposing a move to positions like Wilson’s--few expect much dramatic rudder-shifting in the short term.

“The problem with Pete Wilson is: To the average Republican voter, he’s the worst of both worlds,” said one national Republican consultant. “He’s really divisive, and that turns off moderates. And he turns off conservatives with his position on abortion rights. He’s left with a coalition of pro-choice, divisive Republicans, and I don’t know how many of those there are.”

Besides the complications of his image, Wilson has two immediate strikes against him--the last presidential bid and the necessity of raising close to $25 million, a daunting sum for an unemployed politician to attract.

Wilson’s national campaign was an exercise in disarray, snake-bit by his throat surgery, an inexperienced campaign team, failure to realize the importance of the early primaries and an unsellable message.

Poor fund-raising also hampered his earlier presidential effort, and things would be even tougher next time, since Wilson will not be a sitting governor, able to look kindly on supporters.

While he has always been a good fund-raiser in California, donors can give as much as they desire in this arena. In presidential races, Wilson must abide by the $1,000-a-person rule, which exponentially increase the time and contacts needed to raise money.

Indeed, Wilson ended his presidential bid with a $1.5-million deficit, which he just now is paying off.

The governor acknowledges that money will be his most difficult hurdle. But he remains confident, even if many of his loyalists are not, that he can pull it off.

“I don’t have any doubts about my ability to compete on the stump in terms of ideas and arguments,” Wilson said. “That’s the fun part of it. The difficult part is raising the money.

“And if that’s there, then I’ll do it. If it isn’t, then I’m not going to put anybody through an unrealistic exercise.”