National Journal
By Josh Kraushaar
May 31, 2015
For
an example of how far leftward the Democratic Party has drifted in the
last two decades, look no further than Sen. Bernie Sanders of Vermont
emerging as the progressive
icon who can capture the spirit of Elizabeth Warren in the body of a
rumpled, crotchety old white man. Indeed, it's awfully telling that
Hillary Clinton's main opponent for the Democratic nomination is a
73-year-old self-proclaimed socialist.
Make
no mistake: Sanders is not a "liberal purist," as The New York Times
referred to him in its Burlington dispatch—he's further left than that.
He's never even been
a Democrat, and for much of his congressional career was regarded as a
radical curiosity. In his presidential kickoff, he called for a
"political revolution" against the billionaire class, shades of Marxist
rhetoric therein. His revolutionary instincts extend
to foreign policy: For his honeymoon in 1988, he vacationed in the
totalitarian Soviet Union, and the next year he traveled to Cuba in
hopes of meeting Fidel Castro.
But
it's Sanders, and not a more conventionally liberal candidate like
former Maryland Gov. Martin O'Malley, who's capturing the enthusiasm of
the progressive grassroots.
Last week's Quinnipiac poll found him polling at 15 percent—good for a
comfortable second place in the Democratic field, well ahead of Vice
President Joe Biden (at 9 percent) and O'Malley (only at 1 percent).
Among the most liberal Democrats, he polled at
28 percent, with Biden trailing him by 24 points in a hypothetical
matchup.
But
Sanders' early prominence is not a reflection of Sanders himself.
Instead, he's serving as the avatar for the emboldened attitude of the
party's progressive wing.
In
the past, the notion of an unreconstructed socialist winning widespread
support—even as a protest candidate—would have been fanciful within the
Democratic Party. The
closest recent parallel to Sanders is Dennis Kucinich, who tallied less
than 4 percent of the total primary vote in 2004. Ralph Nader's
high-water mark was in 2000, when his 2.7 percent third-party tally was
nonetheless enough to spoil Al Gore's hopes for
the presidency. Other progressive insurgents within the party, from
Vermont's own Howard Dean to Bill Bradley to Gary Hart, were squarely
within the party's mainstream—even if they stood on the leftward side of
it.
The
fact that Sanders is now considered part of the Democratic Party at all
says as much about the party's evolution as it does about his viability
as a nominee. His railing
against the wealthy fell out of favor with Democrats during Bill
Clinton's administration, but has made a furious comeback thanks to the
recession and Elizabeth Warren's relentless focus on income inequality.
Polling shows support for free trade is actually
on the rise, but an energized base views such deals as threatening to
workers, at home and abroad. Sanders was an outspoken opponent of the
Iraq war when it divided the party; now antipathy towards military
intervention is de rigueur among Democrats.
Like
the tea-party stirrings among Republicans in 2009, the Sanders boomlet
is a sign that liberal activists are getting restless, and looking for a
fight. For the first
time, congressional Democrats have shown a willingness to torpedo an
important presidential initiative to placate the base. Organized labor
is threatening to challenge vulnerable moderate Democrats in primaries
if they vote for the president's fast-track trade
authority. One of the most pugilistic progressives in Congress is
getting closer to a Senate bid, even though it could endanger the
Democrats' prospects for a Senate majority in 2016. The newly-aggressive
grassroots are letting their ideology blind them to
the political realities of the moment.
It's
no coincidence that Hillary Clinton has tacked left on every issue of
consequence, even though she doesn't need to worry about winning the
Democratic presidential
nomination. In the past year, she's backtracked on supporting free
trade deals, run to President Obama's left on immigration, and offered
no support to her party's hawks in skeptically viewing the possible
nuclear deal with Iran. On all these issues, she's
risking general-election support catering to a constituency that
doesn't seem all that threatening. Far from running on the warm memories
of her husband's presidency, she's implicitly rebuking much of his
legacy.
This
is the real threat that Sanders poses to Clinton—not as a candidate,
but as a sign that the Democrats' version of the tea party is ascendant
at the worst possible
time. By nonideological standards, Sanders is a weak challenger; he's
got an unhealthy mix of Donald Trump's ego and Michele Bachmann's
bombast. He's won statewide office in Vermont, the most liberal state in
the country, with a population smaller than Bachmann's
old congressional district.
But
Sanders is poised to play the same role as Mitt Romney's 2012 GOP
tormentors, a motley cast of characters who stood no chance of winning
the nomination but gradually
pushed Romney to the right. After all, Romney's infamous line about
"self-deportation" was a reaction to the fear that he was vulnerable on
his right flank from the likes of Rick Santorum and Newt Gingrich.
For
all their differences, Clinton has a political tin ear similar to
Romney's, and she is already worried about shoring up her left flank at
the possible expense of essential
support from the political center. It's hard to imagine she could be
threatened by Bernie Sanders. But she's clearly spooked by the notion
that a sizable chunk of her party is a lot closer to his views than she
would have imagined when she was last in the
White House.
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