Why Gore Should Concede

Al Gore should hang it up. And then he should hang his head in shame. In a great irony of which he may someday become aware, Gore proved at the end of his presidential campaign what he had spent most of that campaign trying to disprove. In words and deeds, in photo ops and tactical decisions, he kept trying to demonstrate that he was not Bill Clinton. And now at the end, by putting the country through a terrible trauma to serve his own needs and retain personal power, he shows that if he is not a complete Clinton clone, he is at the very least a man who has absorbed and accepted the central ethos of Clintonism: “We’ll just have to win, then.” No matter what.

To briskly review: there was a presidential election, and it was close. It came down to the state of Florida. They counted the votes. Mr. Bush won. But it was very close, so they had a recount. They counted the votes again—from the top of Florida to the bottom, from the east, where former Queens Democratic precinct captains paper the condos with Gore flyers, to the west, to the Panhandle, where Republicans stayed home after being told by the networks that it was over, Gore had won. (If Jesse Jackson liked these people, he’d call them “those who were cruelly disenfranchised by the media.”) And even the recount showed Mr. Bush the winner.

You know what followed. Democratic operatives file suits claiming badly designed ballots; the Republicans go to court to stop the suits; three counties begin hand counts; the Florida secretary of state certifies the election based on the recount, pending the overseas absentee ballots. Those ballots are counted: again Bush wins.

A Democratic state supreme court misreads the law to declare the election can’t be certified until the hand counts are in. The horrifying stories come out about what is happening in the hand-counting rooms: the changing standards, the interpretations of dimples and dents, the cheating; the ballots misplaced, used as fans, taped up, dropped; the throwing out of military absentee ballots. Newly assertive Republicans begin to protest, to march on Palm Beach in suits and ties. It goes to the U.S. Supreme Court.

And that is where we are. And we are here because Mr. Gore couldn’t do what Richard Nixon did: announce, the morning after the election, that he would accept the official outcome. Great harm has been done by Gore’s decision, and more is no doubt coming. If he manages to finagle his way to the presidency, his Administration is likely to prove true a dark saying: When you want it bad, you get it bad.

I know a number of people who are sitting back in fat chairs saying they find all of this quite comic. “It’s a farce, and I don’t care who wins.” Really? We have reason to believe a presidential election is being stolen and we don’t care? It must be hard to achieve that level of equanimity; maybe it’s God’s way of telling you that you have too much and have grown soft, and the softness has made you cynical. They’ve caught some of this Above-It-All virus on TV, on the news. On cable they obsess on the story, but shallowly. Television has both inflamed demonstrators and ignored what is behind their demonstrations. They inflame by showing hot pictures in constant rotation; they ignore by not letting the demonstrators speak their views at length. It’s as if TV reporters have cameras but no microphones.

And who are those people with the placards? “Partisans.” That’s how the people who care about what is happening in Florida are labeled on TV: they are partisans, which is to say narrow little people who desire not what is best for the country but what is best for their party. The media derision for the protesters, most of whom are Republicans, reached comic heights when a generic CNN anchorman became testy on the air because protesters were making too much noise. Who are these people to be getting in the way of my narration?

Well, they’re Americans. And they don’t think this is all a joke. And they don’t think they are being irresponsible in taking part in this story. They think they are being responsible. And in spite of their anger, and in spite of their real fear at what is happening in our country, they are protesting in the only right and helpful way, peacefully and lawfully. They not only care, but they’re caring in a responsible and constructive manner.

Mr. Gore is showing history who he is, and what he is showing is really, truly sad. The comfortable Americans who look down on the activists from a great height are showing history who they are, and that’s sad too. But there’s one group that seems to me to have distinguished itself with its protests, and that is the old silent majority that in its latest incarnation has refound its voice. And they’re not partisans. They’re patriots. They’re acting out their protectiveness toward a great Republic. Too bad Gore couldn’t.

Gore Agonistes

The scene: Midnight, Tuesday, in a mansion in the city. Inside, on the second floor, a handsome man with dark hair and sharp but fleshy features thrashes about on a king-size bed. He can’t sleep. It’s the noise. They’re chanting outside, across the street—“GET OUT OF DICK CHENEY’S HOUSE! GET OUT OF DICK CHENEY’S HOUSE!”

Close-up: The man in the bed puts a pillow over his head, around his ears. We hear his muffled internal dialogue:

“I’m gonna win this thing one way or the other, mark my words. Tie it up in the courts. Tie it up in controversy. I’ll exhaust Bush into conceding for the good of the nation. Heck, time I’m done I’ll exhaust the nation into conceding.

“Why not? What do I lose? If I win I win—everything. If I lose I still get to make a gracious-loser speech and say all I was looking for was justice. A really great ‘Profiles in Courage’ type speech. If we can get those yokel judges to string this thing along we can win back public opinion, and even if at the end I don’t win by a dozen votes I’ll still have clouded Bush’s victory even more.

*   *   *

“If I walk now what do I get? Nothing. I’ll be nothing. This is my life. What am I gonna do, run a government in exile? Who’d join? No one in the party likes me. What will I do with my resume? Go home and run? I couldn’t even carry Tennessee. Make speeches at 50, 75 grand a pop? What does that get me? Tipper’s no litigator. And Hillary could steal my thunder. A Clinton-Gore showdown in 2004—I’ll lose that battle. In a primary she’ll roast my chestnuts on an open fire, with Jack Frost nipping at my nose! Bill Clinton will help her—I’m Sore Loserman who blew the patrimony.

“I thought my speech Monday night was good. The flags, the emotion—‘A vote is not just a piece of paper. A vote is a human voice . . .’ I thought I got it across that this isn’t about me. I’m protecting democracy.

“Learned that from Bill. The impeachment, Monica, the mess. He went around saying ‘This isn’t about me, this is about protecting the Constitution.’ So that’s what he was doing. Talk about multitasking! But it worked.

“Nobody caught the tense I used the other night when I talked about the outcome. ‘If the American people choose me, so be it. If they choose Governor Bush, so be it . . .’ Not chose—choose. Future tense for the future president. This election is not over. The campaign is not over. There is no outcome. It must be discovered. In the future.

“The polls are turning against me, so now I’m asking for a full state recount. It’ll take days, weeks, months, to get this all sorted out in court. But I think it makes me look fair.

“I know they’re making fun of me. They think I’m like Rhett in ‘Gone with the Wind’ after his daughter Bonnie Blue dies—he stays in the room with the coffin making believe she’s not dead. They’re all waiting for Miss Mellie to come in and tell me it’s over.

“Well, there is no Miss Mellie. And it’s not over. I get up every day and game-plan, just like I used to. I tell Billy Daley what to do, I tell the speechwriter what I want, I tell Tipper to get out there and wave. We’re only buying ice cream, but so what?

“I saw Bush in his rinky-dink little speech. The way if the prompter doesn’t move quick enough to the next line he stops and waits like a doofus. ‘And so I will create a transition’ pause, pause, pause, ‘team.’ He doesn’t reassure with his strength. I reassure with my strength.

“And Reagan’s. I did a full Reagan imitation Monday night and all Tuesday. I’ve studied the Gipper and do him better than anyone. Why doesn’t anyone tag me on this? Get an old tape of Reagan standing at a lectern, the way he cocked his head, did a little shoulder roll, the good-natured chuckle. Can’t they see I’ve totally ripped Gore Agonistes it all off and put it on like a suit? I’ve become him, his mannerisms are mine! I do this because he was good—and if I seem like him, people will think I’m good.

“But I’m no phony, I’m me: the man who understands media and who tries to seem like other men you like. I’m just looking for the most popular version of me. If the American people would settle down and pick the one they like best—Reagan Gore, Kennedy touch-football Gore—I’d stick with it. I have discipline. But can they decide? No. They lack discipline.

“Speaking of the president. He’s loving all this. Me and Bush get to play the part of the warring children, he gets to play The Wise Judicious One. He gets to wear the Mideast Peace Face—‘Surely we can reason together, Yasser.’ That phony good-natured ‘children will squabble’ look he gets. He likes what’s going on because it makes him feel like—well, not a child. Like a victor. Like the Man Who Didn’t Need a Recount.

“Wait till I’m president and it’s pardon time. I’ll wear my good-natured Children Get Into Trouble face.

“I have friends telling me step back, who wants this dog’s dinner of a presidency that’s coming up? I’ll be Asterisk Boy with an almost even Senate and a split House and no chance to do anything big, and the next guy gets the recession anyway. But maybe not. The economy’s still so strong. And anyway, it looks like Big Bill is getting the dot-com recession. I’ll walk in and turn it around. As for the split Congress, so what? It means I can’t come through on my pledges—the big spending, the budget busting. I never would have gotten it anyway and if I had it would have hurt the economy. So I’ll lay down on spending and get credit for wanting it and credit for bowing to reality and not pushing it. And as for a tax cut, we’ll get one but it won’t be Bush’s big one, it will be my small one.”

Again, chanting from outside. They seem to be saying a poem: “I’ll count the ballots one by one/And hold each one up to the sun!”

Close-up again on the man in the bed:

“The Dr. Seuss poem again. It’s all over the Internet. Everyone’s sent it to me. I hate it. I am not the Cat in the Hat.”

The voices from outside continue: “I won’t leave office! I’m staying here!/I’ve glued my desk chair to my rear!”

The man on the bed:

“When this is over I’m gonna find out the names of those guys and find out what they belong to and I’m gonna put together a RICO suit at Justice . . .”

Voices from outside: “How shall we count this ballot box?/Let’s count it standing in our socks!/Shall we count that in a tree?/And who shall count it, you or me?”

The man on the bed: “Don’t get mad, get even. Later for mad, now for planning. Gotta keep Democrats aboard, keep the media. Broder with that Thanksgiving column—if he were on my side he wouldn’t be so sad. Gotta watch the Dean. Gotta keep Daschle and Gephardt. They looked embarrassed with the big phony phone call Monday. But so far they’re with me.

“Sixty percent of the people in ABC’s poll say I should leave. Zogby too. And Bush is getting some mileage out of leaking who’ll be in the administration. Cheney, hand it to him, he’s tough. But Powell won’t jump aboard until it’s very safe. Could be a problem if someone like Sam Nunn jumps to Bush, but he plays it safe too. That’s how they got where they are.

“The press picking up on that ‘Bush is a uniter not a divider’ stuff—that’s taking. It’s looking like maybe this is the first time since ‘94 the people have been with the Reps in a crisis. But here’s the thing—this time I can win without the people. I can win it in court. My guy Boies said so the other day. He said ‘This is something that’s too important to be solved in a partisan environment. This is something that ought to be decided by impartial judges.’

“Picking a president is too important to be decided by the people, take it to the judge! Uh oh, I thought. But he got away with it. And that’s our plan.

*   *   *

“You think I wouldn’t fight this all the way to the point of getting information about that elector who’s been through rehab twice and is drinking again, the elector with the little tax problem—you think my people won’t lean on them? You think we won’t fight this through the floor of the House? You think we won’t use any means, low and lower? You think I’m gonna wrap this up in a week? Only if Bush concedes in a week.”

And now he was happy. And now he could sleep. But first he threw off the pillow, bounded from the bed, walked to the window and yanked it up. He leaned out and yelled. “Fasten your seatbelts. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

But the crowd couldn’t hear him above the chanting: “I will not say that I am done/Until the counting says I’ve won!” There was laughter then and he heard it, he listened for a moment. And then he slammed the window shut.

Gore Agonistes

The scene: Midnight, Tuesday, in a mansion in the city. Inside, on the second floor, a handsome man with dark hair and sharp but fleshy features thrashes about on a king-size bed. He can’t sleep. It’s the noise. They’re chanting outside, across the street—”GET OUT OF DICK CHENEY’S HOUSE! GET OUT OF DICK CHENEY’S HOUSE!”

Close-up: The man in the bed puts a pillow over his head, around his ears. We hear his muffled internal dialogue:

“I’m gonna win this thing one way or the other, mark my words. Tie it up in the courts. Tie it up in controversy. I’ll exhaust Bush into conceding for the good of the nation. Heck, time I’m done I’ll exhaust the nation into conceding.

“Why not? What do I lose? If I win I win-everything. If I lose I still get to make a gracious-loser speech and say all I was looking for was justice. A really great ‘Profiles in Courage’ type speech. If we can get those yokel judges to string this thing along we can win back public opinion, and even if at the end I don’t win by a dozen votes I’ll still have clouded Bush’s victory even more.

*   *   *

“If I walk now what do I get? Nothing. I’ll be nothing. This is my life. What am I gonna do, run a government in exile? Who’d join? No one in the party likes me. What will I do with my résumé? Go home and run? I couldn’t even carry Tennessee. Make speeches at 50, 75 grand a pop? What does that get me? Tipper’s no litigator. And Hillary could steal my thunder. A Clinton-Gore showdown in 2004—I’ll lose that battle. In a primary she’ll roast my chestnuts on an open fire, with Jack Frost nipping at my nose! Bill Clinton will help her-I’m Sore Loserman who blew the patrimony.

“I thought my speech Monday night was good. The flags, the emotion-’A vote is not just a piece of paper. A vote is a human voice . . .’ I thought I got it across that this isn’t about me. I’m protecting democracy.

“Learned that from Bill. The impeachment, Monica, the mess. He went around saying ‘This isn’t about me, this is about protecting the Constitution.’ So that’s what he was doing. Talk about multitasking! But it worked.

“Nobody caught the tense I used the other night when I talked about the outcome. ‘If the American people choose me, so be it. If they choose Governor Bush, so be it . . .’ Not chose—choose. Future tense for the future president. This election is not over. The campaign is not over. There is no outcome. It must be discovered. In the future.

“The polls are turning against me, so now I’m asking for a full state recount. It’ll take days, weeks, months, to get this all sorted out in court. But I think it makes me look fair.

“I know they’re making fun of me. They think I’m like Rhett in ‘Gone with the Wind’ after his daughter Bonnie Blue dies-he stays in the room with the coffin making believe she’s not dead. They’re all waiting for Miss Mellie to come in and tell me it’s over.

“Well, there is no Miss Mellie. And it’s not over. I get up every day and game-plan, just like I used to. I tell Billy Daley what to do, I tell the speechwriter what I want, I tell Tipper to get out there and wave. We’re only buying ice cream, but so what?

“I saw Bush in his rinky-dink little speech. The way if the prompter doesn’t move quick enough to the next line he stops and waits like a doofus. ‘And so I will create a transition’ pause, pause, pause, ‘team.’ He doesn’t reassure with his strength. I reassure with my strength.

“And Reagan’s. I did a full Reagan imitation Monday night and all Tuesday. I’ve studied the Gipper and do him better than anyone. Why doesn’t anyone tag me on this? Get an old tape of Reagan standing at a lectern, the way he cocked his head, did a little shoulder roll, the good-natured chuckle. Can’t they see I’ve totally ripped it all off and put it on like a suit? I’ve become him, his mannerisms are mine! I do this because he was good-and if I seem like him, people will think I’m good.

“But I’m no phony, I’m me: the man who understands media and who tries to seem like other men you like. I’m just looking for the most popular version of me. If the American people would settle down and pick the one they like best—Reagan Gore, Kennedy touch-football Gore—I’d stick with it. I have discipline. But can they decide? No. They lack discipline.

“Speaking of the president. He’s loving all this. Me and Bush get to play the part of the warring children, he gets to play The Wise Judicious One. He gets to wear the Mideast Peace Face—‘Surely we can reason together, Yasser.’ That phony good-natured ‘children will squabble’ look he gets. He likes what’s going on because it makes him feel like-well, not a child. Like a victor. Like the Man Who Didn’t Need a Recount.

“Wait till I’m president and it’s pardon time. I’ll wear my good-natured Children Get Into Trouble face.

“I have friends telling me step back, who wants this dog’s dinner of a presidency that’s coming up? I’ll be Asterisk Boy with an almost even Senate and a split House and no chance to do anything big, and the next guy gets the recession anyway. But maybe not. The economy’s still so strong. And anyway, it looks like Big Bill is getting the dot-com recession. I’ll walk in and turn it around. As for the split Congress, so what? It means I can’t come through on my pledges-the big spending, the budget busting. I never would have gotten it anyway and if I had it would have hurt the economy. So I’ll lay down on spending and get credit for wanting it and credit for bowing to reality and not pushing it. And as for a tax cut, we’ll get one but it won’t be Bush’s big one, it will be my small one.”

Again, chanting from outside. They seem to be saying a poem: “I’ll count the ballots one by one/And hold each one up to the sun!”

Close-up again on the man in the bed: “The Dr. Seuss poem again. It’s all over the Internet. Everyone’s sent it to me. I hate it. I am not the Cat in the Hat.”

The voices from outside continue: “I won’t leave office! I’m staying here!/I’ve glued my desk chair to my rear!”

The man on the bed: “When this is over I’m gonna find out the names of those guys and find out what they belong to and I’m gonna put together a RICO suit at Justice. . .”

Voices from outside: “How shall we count this ballot box?/Let’s count it standing in our socks!/Shall we count that in a tree?/And who shall count it, you or me?”

The man on the bed: “Don’t get mad, get even. Later for mad, now for planning. Gotta keep Democrats aboard, keep the media. Broder with that Thanksgiving column-if he were on my side he wouldn’t be so sad. Gotta watch the Dean. Gotta keep Daschle and Gephardt. They looked embarrassed with the big phony phone call Monday. But so far they’re with me.

“Sixty percent of the people in ABC’s poll say I should leave. Zogby too. And Bush is getting some mileage out of leaking who’ll be in the administration. Cheney, hand it to him, he’s tough. But Powell won’t jump aboard until it’s very safe. Could be a problem if someone like Sam Nunn jumps to Bush, but he plays it safe too. That’s how they got where they are.

“The press picking up on that ‘Bush is a uniter not a divider’ stuff-that’s taking. It’s looking like maybe this is the first time since ‘94 the people have been with the Reps in a crisis. But here’s the thing-this time I can win without the people. I can win it in court. My guy Boies said so the other day. He said ‘This is something that’s too important to be solved in a partisan environment. This is something that ought to be decided by impartial judges.’

“Picking a president is too important to be decided by the people, take it to the judge! Uh oh, I thought. But he got away with it. And that’s our plan.

*   *   *

“You think I wouldn’t fight this all the way to the point of getting information about that elector who’s been through rehab twice and is drinking again, the elector with the little tax problem-you think my people won’t lean on them? You think we won’t fight this through the floor of the House? You think we won’t use any means, low and lower? You think I’m gonna wrap this up in a week? Only if Bush concedes in a week.”

And now he was happy. And now he could sleep. But first he threw off the pillow, bounded from the bed, walked to the window and yanked it up. He leaned out and yelled. “Fasten your seatbelts. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

But the crowd couldn’t hear him above the chanting: “I will not say that I am done/Until the counting says I’ve won!” There was laughter then and he heard it, he listened for a moment. And then he slammed the window shut.

The Greenwood Position

We must fight. And we all know it. And it’s fine.

We like to complain, those of us of a certain age, that history has never given us the gaudy challenges it gave our parents and grandparents. But we’ve had our traumas, and from the time we were children: assassinations, riots, Vietnam, Watergate, the ayatollah, a stuck economy, the fall of the wall. We’ve had our moments.

And now we face a great trial.

And we’re up to it.

So let’s go.

*   *   *

There was a national election on Tuesday, Nov. 7. The presidential race was close, and would be decided by the state of Florida. The state’s votes were counted. At the end it was close, but George W. Bush won.

A statewide recount was immediately and appropriately called. At the end it was close, but Mr. Bush won.

But the higher reaches of the Democratic Party had a game plan for what to do in case of a close vote in a key state, and their machine went into motion while Republicans slept. Even before the recount was over the outcome was contested.

On the afternoon of Election Day a Texas telemarketing firm is hired to call Democratic voters in Palm Beach County and gin up a protest. They had been disenfranchised. By Wednesday there are charges that a “butterfly” ballot, designed and approved by Democrats and published to no protest in the press, was confusing and thus unfair.

Jesse Jackson is dispatched to Florida, where he charges that Holocaust survivors have been denied a voice. Elderly widows announce they never meant to vote for anyone but Al Gore. An army of Democratic lawyers, political operatives and union members is dispatched; they land in Florida and fan out, immediately assisting in demands for a hand count. Gore campaign manager Donna Brazile announces blacks were kept from the polls with racial harassment and, when that wasn’t enough, dogs.

Three Democratic counties in Florida announce they will hand-count. But the rules of the hand count change and change again.

The Florida secretary of state, a Republican elected official, calls a halt. She notes that hand counts are called only when there have been charges of broken machines or vote fraud. Fraud and breakdown were not charged, and did not in fact occur. She says she will certify the election’s outcome based on the original vote count and the recount that followed, plus overseas absentee ballots. Mr. Bush will be the victor.

She is immediately smeared by Democratic operatives and in the press. She is a political “hack,” a “Stalinist,” a “commissar”; she is a vamp, a lackey. The Washington Post, a great newspaper, publishes this description of Mrs. Harris: “Her lips were overdrawn with berry-red lipstick—the creamy sort that smears all over a coffee cup and leaves smudges on a shirt collar. Her skin had been plastered and powdered to the texture of pre-war walls in need of a skim coat. And her eyes, rimmed in liner and frosted with blue shadow, bore the telltale homogeneous spikes of false eyelashes. Caterpillars seemed to rise and fall with every bat of her eyelid, with every downward glance to double check—before reading—her latest ‘determination.’ ” Her mouth is “set in a jagged line.” She has “applied her makeup with a trowel.” “One wonders how this Republican woman, who can’t even use restraint when she’s wielding a mascara wand, will manage to . . . make sound decisions.”

At the same time the Democratic operative Paul Begala writes his now-famous essay suggesting Republican candidates draw their political strength from murderers, sadists, racists and the killers of innocent children.

Soon a Democratic operative in Washington is revealed to be gathering information on electors who will vote for Mr. Bush in the Electoral College. Why? To use the information to pressure them to vote Mr. Gore’s way. It would be surprising to hear that the famous Democratic Party private eyes are not on the electors’ trail.

The mainstream press, watching, thinking and facing deadlines, issues its conclusion: Conservatives are guilty of inflammatory rhetoric. Those columnists, writers and public figures who have come forward to oppose what they see as an attempt by Clinton-Gore operatives to steal the 2000 presidential election are denounced as hotheaded and extreme, dismissed as partisan.

*   *   *

The hand counting continues. From the first it is completely open to mischief. In walks mischief.

Ballots for Mr. Bush are put in Gore piles. Scads of chads on the floor. Vote counters can count a partly removed chad, and then an almost-removed chad, and then a mark, a dimple, an indentation, a “pregnancy.” Standards are announced, altered, announced and altered again. Questionable ballots are decided by Democratic-dominated canvassing boards.

Sworn statements under oath begin to emerge: Ballots are found with taped chads; ballots are sabotaged, used as fans, found bearing Post-It Notes, dropped, misplaced. Eyewitnesses say there is clear and compelling evidence of distorting, reinventing, miscounting votes. The vote counters—many exhausted and elderly, some state workers dragged off lawnmowers, work 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. shifts in badly lit rooms. A woman from Broward County whose husband is helping the recount writes, “He said it’s also frustrating because what we are seeing on the news is quite a bit different from what is actually going on, little chads everywhere and they have no idea where they are coming from.”

From the Associated Press, Nov. 18, datelined Palm Beach: “On Saturday [one vote counter] whispered in a pool reporter’s ear as she was leaving [the hand-counting room], “I’ve had it. I’m not coming back. There are some real games going on in here.”

And not only in there. From the Miami Herald, Nov. 18: “At least 39 felons—mostly Democrats—illegally cast absentee ballots in Broward and Miami-Dade counties. . . . Their convictions range from murder and rape to drunk driving. One is in the state’s registry of sexual offenders.”

In the first two weeks there is not a single charge of Republican mischief in the counting rooms. Not a single person comes forward to charge that a Republican has done a single thing that is dubious, untoward or wrong.

How could this be? With hundreds of people making thousands of decisions, is it possible no Democrat would even make up a charge that some Republican had done something wrong? One can’t help but infer that Democratic discipline is, as usual, operative. If they add to the charges of corruption, a fair-minded judge might say: Then we must protect both sides and stop the hand counting. But if they stop the hand counting, Democrats will not be able to find 930 votes for Al Gore. And 930 is what he needs.

So no Democratic charges of corruption are leveled or dreamed up.

*   *   *

There is no evidence that the absentee ballots of felons have been challenged.

But the absentee ballots of members of the military were challenged. Many were thrown out.

In the most shameful and painful act of the hand counts, the Democrats on the ground, and their operators from the Democratic National Committee and the state organization and the Gore campaign, deliberately and systematically scrutinized for challenge every military absentee ballot, and knocked out as many as they could on whatever technicality they could find or even invent.

Reports begin to filter out. The Democratic army of lawyers and operatives marches into the counting room armed with a five-page memo from a Democratic lawyer, instructing them on how to disfranchise military voters. The lawyers and operatives unspool reams of computer printouts bearing the names and party affiliation of military voters. Those who are Republicans are subject to particular and seemingly relentless scrutiny. Right down to signatures on ballots being compared with signatures on registration cards. A ballot bearing a domestic postmark because a soldier had voted, sent his ballot home to his parents and asked them to mail it in on time, is thrown out. A ballot that comes with a note from an officer explaining his ship was not able to postmark his ballot, but that he had voted on time—and indeed it had arrived in time—is thrown out, because it has no postmark.

The Democratic operatives are ruthless, focused. As one witness says, “They had a clear agenda.”

Received late Wednesday, an e-mail forwarded from a Republican who witnessed the counting of the Brevard County overseas absentee ballots.

It is 11:30 PM (Tuesday) and I have just returned from the count of absentee ballots, that started at 4PM. Gore had five attorneys there, the sole objective was to disenfranchise the military absentee voter. . . . They challenged each and every vote. Their sole intent was to disqualify each and every absentee voter. They constantly challenged military votes that were clearly legitimate, but they were able to disqualify them on a technicality. I have never been so frustrated in all my life as I was to see these people fight to prevent our active duty Military from voting. They succeeded in a number of cases denying the vote to these fine Men and Women.

This was a deliberate all out assault on the Armed Forces solely to sustain the Draft Dodger and his flunky. These people must have a hard time looking at themselves in a mirror. . . . They denied a number of votes postmarked Queens NY, ballots that were clearly ordered from overseas, clearly returned from overseas, and verified by the Post Office that DOD uses the Queens post office to handle overseas mail, were denied because it didn’t say APO, They denied military votes postmarked out of Jacksonville, Knowing full well it came from ships at sea and was flown into Jacksonville . . . .

This is what you can expect from a Gore administration a further trampling on the Military and more trampling on your rights. . . .

The attorneys there treated it all as a joke, and when my wife protested their actions she was told she didn’t understand.

*   *   *

Television both reports the story of what is happening in the vote-counting rooms and doesn’t report it. There are comic pieces and sidebars: “Amazing as it seems, Bernie, there’s actually a charge that one of the Democratic counters has eaten a chad!”

But 16 days into the drama there has not been a single serious, extended and deeply reported piece on network television investigating the charges comprehensively. No “60 Minutes,” no “Dateline,” no “20/20.” No extended look at charges of vote tampering, no first-person interviews with eyewitnesses who saw the Democratic operatives go after and throw out the military ballots.

Television does, however, report “extraordinary anger among Republicans.” Ed Rollins says “partisan Republicans” are very angry about this. Bill Schneider on CNN says he’s never seen Republicans in Washington “so angry.” They muse about “the big question”: Will these Republicans ever accept the legitimacy of a Mr. Gore if he becomes president?

Oddly enough Republicans do not think that’s the big question.

Can the Democrats steal this election is the question.

Why is mainstream television (not the talk shows, not Sean and Alan, not “Crossfire,” but the mainstream news shows) missing this story, underreporting it?

It would be taking sides.

It would be partisan.

It would be extreme.

But there is more. We have all noticed the ideological evolution of media in our time. Television is liberal, establishment-oriented, and does what it does: It entertains. Shut out of television and eager for news, conservatives have turned in the past 20 years to radio. And so now radio is conservative, and full of uproar. The Internet too is conservative, and full of information, of samizdat.

But television, the elite media, the great broadsheet newspapers, and the clever people who talk loudly on television—that is, the powers that be, the forces that are—day by day appear through action and inaction, through an inability to see and a refusal to see, to be (a) allowing the stealing of an election in Florida, and (b) subtly taking out the critics of this hijacking.

*   *   *

What are we to do?

In 1939, during parliamentary debate on the coming war in Europe, Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain finished another of his hopeful, frightened speeches about making peace with Hitler. The Labour member of Parliament Arthur Greenwood rose to speak in opposition. As he did, the voice of a Tory parliamentarian pierced the chamber. “Speak for England, Arthur!” he called. At that the chamber exploded, and Chamberlain realized that further appeasement was intolerable.

We are all of us, one way or another, in the Greenwood position. And we must speak not as members of a party but as members of a nation—the great and fabled one that has been, through our lives, the hope of the world.

*   *   *

The Florida Supreme Court, known for its liberal activism, consisting of six Democrats, one independent and no Republicans, ruled that Mrs. Harris must include in the certified Florida results the final tallies from the corrupted hand counts.

Gov. Bush will fight in the courts and perhaps in the state Legislature. “Make no mistake,” he said Wednesday in responding to the justices in Tallahassee, “the court rewrote the law. It changed the rules, and it did so after the election was over.”

And we must fight, too.

We must first of all know this will not be over soon. We must be in it for the long haul and must fight in any peaceful and legal way open to us.

Yesterday we rested and thought and spent time with our families and thanked God for all he has given us. Today we must return to the trenches, refreshed and ready.

Ideas, all modest and obvious, and yours will be better:

Every Republican senator and congressman, every governor and state legislator should starting now come forward and pledge his opposition to the Gore attempt to steal the election. They should be all over the local airwaves back home, making the case against the dishonesty that is occurring. They might point out that most thieves have enough respect to rob a house when it is empty, but in this case the thieves are stealing while the country is home, and watching.

Every writer, scribbler, Internet Paul Revere, talker, pundit, thinker, essayist, voice: Come forward and speak the truth. Howl it.

We must point out what needs be pointed out again and again and not ducked or hidden: The Clinton-Gore operatives are trying to steal the election—and it is wrong. The Democrats in their hunger for power will throw the men and women who protect us with their lives over the side—and it is wrong.

We must keep our arguments sharp. The other night Alan Colmes challenged Newt Gingrich: Do you really think it fair to charge the Democratic Party with trying to suppress military votes? Mr. Gingrich replied that you can see the Democratic plan in this: They issued a five-page memo on how to knock out military votes, which they assume lean Republican. There was no five-page memo on how to throw out the absentee ballots from Israel, which they assume lean Democratic.

Ever since this exchange I haven’t heard anyone ask if the Democrats really mean to be doing what they’re doing.

We must accept that the venue of the fight will change and change again. This all may be decided by the Florida Legislature. Or the U.S. Supreme Court. Or in Congress. When venues change you must be nimble.

We must be prepared, and learn all we can, and know all we can, and spread the word.

We must accept too that in spite of being spoofed and put down and accused of being extreme, it is not wrong to fight in this case, it is right. It is not irresponsible—it is the only way of being responsible.

It is wrong to yell “Fire!” for the fun of upsetting your neighbors. It is right to yell “Fire!” when your neighbor’s house is in flames.

We must through e-mail and telephone calls and call-ins to radio and television report all of the data we are receiving, all of the evidence that the theft of an election is taking place day by day in Florida. Those on the ground in Florida, in the counting rooms, must even more become part of this. The one thing history needs more of—and the courts need, too—is first-person testimony.

Some have suggested a march. I don’t know if that’s a good idea, but it should be discussed, and soon. Perhaps a march on Washington, perhaps millions, perhaps dressed in black—in mourning for an attempt to subvert democracy. I suppose it would look like a huge New York dinner party, but it would also look like a people resisting. Perhaps they should march silently, past symbols of democracy that are more eloquent in their silence than we with our sound. Perhaps there should be placards with the names of men and women from military bases whose attempt to vote for their commander in chief has been denied.

Lawn signs. E-mail chains spreading word of what is happening in the counting and the deliberating. Calls to political leaders, to local newspapers, to radio and television, registering our dismay and resistance.

It must of course remain peaceful—peaceful protest, passive resistance, voices strong, clear and modulated. We don’t support breaking laws—we support upholding the law.

*   *   *

And of course, in some part of our minds we must look to the future. To legislation that will normalize and regularize our voting procedures, make clear and just its rules and regulations, see to it that a Florida will never happen again.

A new modesty seems in order. We Americans like to brag about how this oldest and greatest democracy can always teach the other, little countries how to perform. We’ve been braying and sending our vote counters to less secure republics for years. The cocktail parties of the world are now having fun at our expense. They should. A modest bow from us seems in order.

And this idea, from a conservative activist. In January President Bush, as his first act in office, should announce that he will give a complete pardon to anyone who goes down to the FBI within 30 days and swears out a confession of his involvement in vote fraud and vote tampering in the 2000 elections. It’s harder to spin history when history has the affidavits.

And of course we must all pray. I say this more than I do it, and not many of us have done it enough, which is the reason this happened. Prayer can move mountains; it could have redirected Al Gore’s ferocity and need, too. Prayer—simply talking to God—is the one thing without which we lose.

And after praying, consider this. There is now all over the Internet a quote attributed to Stalin that for so many sums up the Florida story: “It doesn’t matter who votes, it only matters who count the votes.”

True enough at the moment. But I prefer the last words of a more likable lefty, Joe Hill of the Industrial Workers of the World: “Don’t mourn—organize.”

The Donkey in the Living Room

For many years there has been a famous phrase that derives from the 12-step recovery movement. It refers to a thing that is very big, and obvious, and of crucial importance, that people around it refuse for whatever reason to acknowledge. It’s called the elephant in the living room.

There is an elephant in the living room in the Florida story. Actually, it’s a donkey. And actually, there are a number of them.

When the story of the Florida recounts and hand-counts and court decisions is reported on network and local TV, and in the great broadsheet newspapers, the journalists uniformly fail to speak of the donkey in the living room. They give great and responsible attention to the Florida story. But with a unity that is perhaps willful, perhaps unconscious, perhaps a peculiar expression of an attempt at fairness, they avoid the donkey.

You know what the donkey is. The donkey is the explicit fear, grounded in fact, in anecdotal evidence, in the affidavits of on-the-ground participants, and in the history of some of the participants, that the Gore-Clinton Democratic party is trying to steal the election. Not to resolve it—to steal it. That is, they are not using hand-counting to determine who won, they are using hand-counting to win.

They are attempting to do this through chicanery, and by interpreting various ballots any way they choose. As in, “This ballot seems to have a mild indentation next to the word Bush. Well, that’s not a vote. Person might have changed his mind. This ballot seems to have a mild indentation for Gore; the person who cast this ballot was probably old, and too weak to puncture the paper card. But you can see right here there’s a mark kind of thing. I think that’s a vote, don’t you Charley?” “Oh yeah, that’s a vote all right.”

That’s how the chads probably got to the floor in the counting rooms. That is one of the increasing number of stories—none of which are ever the lead, all of which wind up on page 11—indicating the possibility of significant vote fraud throughout the election.

*   *   *

Columnists are writing about it—George Will wrote a great column suggesting what is happening in Florida amounts to an attempted coup, and Michael Kelly wrote suggesting Mr. Gore is not a helper of democracy but a harmer of it; the conservative magazines have weighed in, as has The Wall Street Journal editorial page. You can hear vote fraud discussed on the all-argument political shows on TV and radio.

But it is not reported as news. And it only counts when it’s news. And this is most extraordinary because the Republican fear of fraud—the legitimate fear of it—is the major reason the Bush people don’t want more hand counts. They do not trust the counters.

This question—the extent of vote fraud in this election, and the fact that the Republicans think it is governing what is happening in Florida—is not the unspoken subtext of the drama. It is the unspoken text.

Republicans are convinced, and for good reason, that Bill Daley, who learned at his father’s knee, and Al Gore, who learned at Bill Clinton’s, are fraudulently attempting to carry out an anti-democratic strategy that is a classic of vote stealing: Keep counting until you win, and the minute you “win” announce that the American people are tired of waiting for an answer and deserve to know who won.

Could a political party in this great and sophisticated democracy, in this wired democracy where sooner or later every shadow sees sunlight, steal a prize as big and rich and obvious as the presidency?

Yes. Of course. If the history of the past half century has taught us anything it’s that determined people can do anything. What might stop it? If the media would start leading the news with investigations into the prevalence of vote fraud and the possibility that the presidential election is being stolen.

*   *   *

There have been a number of shameful public moments in the drama so far—Mr. Daley announcing that “the will of the people” is that Mr. Gore win, Mr. Gore’s own aggressive remarks in the days just after the election, Hillary Clinton announcing, in the middle of what may become a crisis involving the Electoral College, that her first act will be to do away with the college. And there is this Internet column from Paul Begala, who prepped Mr. Gore for his debates with Mr. Bush. He acknowledged that when you look at an electoral map of the United States, you see a sea of red for Mr. Bush, and clots of blue for Mr. Gore.

“But if you look closely at that map you see a more complex picture. You see the state where James Byrd was lynch-dragged behind a pickup truck until his body came apart—it’s red. You see the state where Matthew Shepard was crucified on a split-rail fence for the crime of being gay—it’s red. You see the state where right-wing extremists blew up a federal office building and murdered scores of federal employees—it’s red. The state where an Army private who was thought to be gay was bludgeoned to death with a baseball bat, and the state where neo-Nazi skinheads murdered two African-Americans because of their skin color, and the state where Bob Jones University spews its anti-Catholic bigotry: they’re all red too.”

It was a remarkably hate-filled column, but also a public service in that it revealed what animates Clinton-Gore thinking regarding their opponents: hatred pure and simple, a hatred that used to be hidden and now proudly walks forward.

It stands in the living room too.

As does the unstated but implicit message of the hatred: that extraordinary means are understandable when you’re trying to save America from the terrible people who would put George W. Bush in the presidency so that they can kill more homosexuals and black men and blow up federal buildings and kill toddlers. Really, if Republicans are so bad it’s probably good to steal elections from them, don’t you think?

I never thought I would wind up nostalgic for the days when I merely disagreed with Democratic presidents. But whoever doubted the patriotism, the love of country, of John Kennedy or Jimmy Carter?

This crew we have now, Messrs. Gore and Clinton and their operatives, they seem, to my astonishment as an American, to be men who would never put their country’s needs before their own if there were even the mildest of conflicts between the two. America is the platform of their ambitions, not the driving purpose of them.

Another donkey in the living room: the sense that Republicans are no match for the Democrats in terms of ferocity, audacity, shrewdness, the killer instinct. Republicans seem incapable of going down to the level of Gore-Clinton operatives. They think that you cannot really defend something you love with hatred because hatred is by its nature destructive: It scalds and scars and eats away.

Republicans seem to be losing the public relations war. The Democrats have David Boies and Bill Daley, each, forgive me, smooth as an enema, in Evelyn Waugh’s phrase. The Republicans have James Baker, who seems irritated and perplexed. Perhaps he is taken aback by how the game has changed, how the Democrats he faces now operate by rules quite different, and much rougher, than the ones they played by 20 years ago.

*   *   *

Now the game for the Gore camp is to win any way you can in Florida, and if you can’t win delay, and in the delay maybe you’ll win when the Electoral College comes together, or maybe at the very least even if someone stops you, you’ll have ruined the legitimacy of the man who does win, which will make it easier for you as you wait in the wings for the rematch in 2004.

There are a lot of donkeys in the living room in Florida, and maybe the Bush people should start to talk about them. Maybe that will make them news. It can’t hurt. It’s a circus down there anyway.

Why Hillary Won

Why did Hillary win, and win so big?

She won because she chose to run in a state that has two million more registered Democrats than Republicans, a state with a strong liberal infrastructure, a state in which her husband is adored. She won because the Democratic nominee for president beat the Republican in New York by 25 points—60% to 35%. Al Gore’s rising tide lifted Hillary Clinton’s boat, and capsized Rick Lazio. The Lazio campaign thought his candidacy would survive a Gore win of 15% or less, which is where the numbers were a week before the voting; over 15% would probably not be survivable. (This underscored the wisdom of Mrs. Clinton’s choice of New York. If she had gone back home to Arkansas, she would have drowned in the George W. Bush tide.)

*   *   *

Mrs. Clinton won because she ran a better campaign than her rival—more insistent, more focused, more disciplined. She won because she was a good candidate—hardworking, tough, unwavering.

She won because she pounded the state almost every day for 18 months, a lifetime in politics. She used that time to make the impression she wanted to make, to shake every hand and tour every precinct, to memorize the state bird and dazzle her fans with her knowledge.

Mr. Lazio had none of these things. He came in late, unknown and 20 points behind. Libby Pataki, the governor’s wife, said some already famous words about why; she later apologized but shouldn’t have. She said that Rudolph Giuliani spent the first nine months of 2000 “jerking everybody around” as he pondered his existential realities. In that time Mrs. Clinton put a dynamic campaign in place.

Having been a great New York mayor, Mr. Giuliani succumbed to Great Man Disease: “This is all about me.” It wasn’t about him, but the people of New York, who were forgotten in his calculations.

Those New Yorkers who say Mr. Giuliani could have beaten Mrs. Clinton are probably wrong. He would have suffered from the same dynamics as Mr. Lazio, and in addition would have brought to the race his reputation as insensitive and divisive. Mr. Lazio was the best candidate available.

The Clintons energized Hillary’s base with their celebrity and cemented their advantage with intense minority outreach and, apparently, record minority turnout. There is anecdotal evidence of brilliant organization: The last weekend of the election, members of New York’s minority communities were getting four taped phone calls each, from Bill Clinton, from Bill and Hillary together, from Jesse Jackson and from former Rep. Floyd Flake.

The unions were also disciplined; members showed up in record numbers.

Early exit data suggest professional women who are Democrats, and who had throughout the campaign resisted Mrs. Clinton, came home. The last commercial of Hillary’s campaign, broadcast the weekend before the election, reached out to them. A tough blond Long Island woman, a breast-cancer survivor, speaking in perfect New York pitch, said Mr. Lazio had failed the community. She said she knew some women had doubts but said, “I tell them, get over it. I know her. She’ll be there for us.” It was the best commercial of the campaign.

Early numbers continue to be interesting. It appears that Mrs. Clinton did better than Mr. Lazio at pulling out her base. How could this be? The Lazio campaign tried so hard to reach beyond its base that it forgot its base. It didn’t hit hard on Mrs. Clinton’s record—her statements and speeches showing a lifelong leftism that would encourage higher taxes, higher spending, more regulation, more government, less freedom. It thought the Republican base knew Hillary, and thought that would be enough to get them out.

By the end I thought Mrs. Clinton would lose in part because I thought Mr. Bush would lose New York by a dozen points, and in part because she lacks a New York style. New Yorkers like their leaders to have either class, grace and intellect (the Daniel Patrick Moynihan model) or a leavening New Yorkishness, a one-of-usness, like Al D’Amato and Mr. Giuliani. Mrs. Clinton’s candidacy was marked by a lack of grace and graciousness, a charmlessness and cynicism—on the Puerto Rican terrorist group FALN, on Jerusalem, on the United Nations vote—that managed even in this time and place to dazzle.

But powerfully countering that was class’s best substitute: the appearance of class. The look of it. Mrs. Clinton was glamorous, surrounded by limos, agents, an entourage, Hollywood stars; she looked like one of the most famous women in the world. She was sleek, professional, a glamorous blond CEO in a shiny silk suit. She was attractive; she attracted.

*   *   *

In the end, though, Mrs. Clinton won because Mr. Bush collapsed.

We are all so busy looking at Florida and wondering how it will play out that we have paid little attention to what appears to have been a stunning Bush collapse in the final week of the campaign. Pollster John Zogby was right—it was in the final days, and particularly the last weekend, that Mr. Bush’s numbers went down and Mr. Gore surged. Mr. Bush indulged himself. As a man who loves him and supports him said, “He hasn’t been in politics long enough to know to be scared. What was he doing in California, where he wasn’t going to win? What was he doing in New Jersey and Maine? He’s a good man but this was the arrogance of the naive, of those who think they’re lucky.”

Mr. Gore fought tooth and nail, and he knew exactly where to go—sweating in the dark at rallies and going scrambling for every vote with Ben Affleck in star-loving Miami.

Mr. Bush was home, sleeping, as last-minute undecideds appear to have broken for Mr. Gore, all of them in opposition to the tradition that last-minute undecideds go for the challenger.

Mr. Bush is awake now, though.

The biggest lesson for conservatives on Mrs. Clinton: We know who she is and long ago made our decisions about her. But our understanding of Mrs. Clinton is not shared by moderates and liberals. They do not share our aversion, or, sharing it to some degree, have made their bargains with it and have put it aside for other reasons and calculations. This is an important lesson to learn, and will have future applications.

Mrs. Clinton will be modest in the Senate at first, and collegial; she will make friends. In my book on Mrs. Clinton, I spoke of Orrin Hatch talking to reporters one year into her Senate term and telling them how delightful she is. I was interested to see that Mrs. Clinton got one call from a Republican senator the night she won. It was Mr. Hatch.

It is absurd to think that Mrs. Clinton will be one voice of 100 in the Senate. She will be the great Democratic star of national politics, the voice of the Democratic Party. She will come to represent more than she does now and more than anyone ever has.

Her long-term future is being decided now not in Schenectady or Utica but in Florida. If Mr. Gore wins, she will not run for president until 2008. If Mr. Bush wins, we will hear stirrings of a presidential candidacy by early 2003.

She said the day after the election that she will serve out her term. But that’s what her husband said in 1990, when he was running for re-election in Arkansas. He swore he wouldn’t run for president in ‘92. Then he talked to the people of Arkansas and announced they were begging him to run. He called it a listening tour. When it was over he said he would have to bow to their wishes.

One for Our Grandchildren

We will never forget this night as long as we live. We will never stop talking about it. What a moment in our democracy—and it was Al Gore who captured with what now seems a certain prescience how the whole election might turn out. In one of his last, dramatic rallies Monday morning, Mr. Gore spoke in Miami, and he told the audience that this would be the kind of election we told our grandchildren about, the kind of election where we could brag, “My vote made a difference.”

Well, everyone’s sure did. But not enough!

Almost a hundred million cast. And it may come down to a few thousand this way or that.

And what a night! Florida given too soon to Mr. Gore, taken too soon from Mr. Bush; then Florida, now perhaps the key, is called undecided. Then Florida, now crucial, now decisive, is given to Mr. Bush, who is the winner and our next president. He accepts Mr. Gore’s concession. Then Mr. Gore rescinds the concession. He thinks he may have won Florida.

And so an election that has quite preoccupied the country for more than a year will not, amazingly enough, reach its climax at the end of the day of voting.

The story continues.

And with it come what will soon be a million questions, some of them serious, some of them matters of deep concern.

If Mr. Gore wins the popular vote and Mr. Bush the electoral vote (or Mr. Bush the popular and Mr. Gore the electoral), will the ultimate victor’s prize—the presidency—be diminished or even tarnished by the drama of this election? Will the American people accept as legitimate a presidency that lacks the two pillars of popular and electoral victory, that stands unsteadily on only one? Will the eventual winner forever be Asterisk Boy, his office won by a handful of votes?

What will be the international implications of such an outcome? The world is used to an America that sees itself as the oldest and most stable of democracies. An election of this extraordinary closeness—of this extraordinary delicacy, if that’s the word—might well tend—subtly or maybe not so subtly—to undermine the authority and standing of the future American president in his dealings with the world.

What about voter fraud? How believable will the final Florida outcome seem, and who will decide what is believable and what is acceptable as believable? If the vote count in Florida comes down to a few hundred votes—if, as is possible, Florida, and therefore the presidency, is won by Mr. Bush or Mr. Gore by, say, 214 votes, what is to stop a dozen other close states from having their final tallies challenged? How would this all work, how would it all play out?

*   *   *

Was Mr. Gore right to retract his concession? Certainly the votes were close in Florida, and the national popular vote remains unsettled. But I must admit my thoughts turned this morning to Richard Nixon and his great patriotic act. Nixon, of course, lost the 1960 election against John F. Kennedy by more than 100,000 votes. And he had every reason to believe—and history has tended to back him up—that those votes came through the last minute electoral chicanery of Chicago’s loyal old Democratic war horse, Mayor Richard J. Daley—the man whose son Bill, in the wee hours of this morning, announced that Mr. Gore wasn’t conceding.

Nixon could have challenged the outcome of the election. He was urged to. But he resisted. Do you remember why the famous bad man didn’t challenge the results? If you’re of a certain age you do. He thought it would be bad for the country.

It was a patriotic act—even his great foes admit as much, and have lauded his statesmanship in this instance.

One wonders if Mr. Gore had a moment of remembrance of Nixon’s great moment, and thought himself of holding back on his rescinding of his concession. Perhaps. But one tends to doubt it. The idea of such statesmanship these days might seem quaint. And Mr. Gore’s hunger for power seems sometimes similar to that of Bill Clinton—huge and, perhaps, ungovernable.

In time we’ll read the histories, and know. Perhaps.

*   *   *

As Florida is recounted, will it turn out to be possible for anyone to assert with conviction that in an election in which 100 million votes have been cast, most every vote has been being correctly accounted for?

A last question, and of course like all the others a big one, maybe the biggest, if not the most immediate, of all. The extraordinary and historic closeness of this election puts in sharp relief what so many of us have perceived over the past few decades. And that is that more and more, not less and less, America seems to be divided into two countries—two entities that live with each other, together and yet apart. We have different names for the great divide and refer to the two nations with different phrases—”the culture wars,” “up North and down South,” “big city vs. outer suburbs,” “Christian right vs. Hollywood,” “liberal vs. conservative.”

But it seems this is a time to note that these divisions are growing not smaller in our lifetimes but perhaps more definite, and more evenly divided. Exactly half of our country voted for the liberal, and appears not at all to like or respect Mr. Bush. Exactly half of our country voted for the conservative, and in general seems not at all to like or respect Mr. Gore.

All night all of us looked at the electoral maps—with the big red L starting at the top of the Mountain states, and going on down to Texas, turning right and finishing up on the Atlantic shore. That is Republican America. And dotted in the Northeast, around the Great Lakes and on the Pacific, we see Democratic America.

The states can and do change here and there and now and then. But the sentiments—the worldviews, to use the clunky but serviceable phrase—of the people of each of the two camps seem to stay, and dig in.

And what is most worrisome is the idea that that each of the two nations seems to distrust the other more with time, not less. And yet one of the nations will have to bow to the leadership of the other at some point over the next few days or weeks. And the difficulty with which it bows may tell us a few things about just how divided, and untrusting, we really are.

The Case for Bush

A change is in order. In the past eight years the American people have built and fueled a miracle: the greatest economic engine in the history of the world. Income up, standard of living up, investment up. The deficit has become a surplus. We are fat and almost happy. Once Rabbit was rich; now Rabbit is rolling, with a Rolex, with a Beemer and a Benz.

It happened once before in our time: the years 1983 to 1989 marked the greatest peacetime economic expansion to that point in all of U.S. history. President Reagan took steps that encouraged growth, and while the American people produced it, he directed the rollback of communism, the fall of the Wall. By the end, an amazing thing: a more just and peaceful world, with America known not as a bully but as a friend to freedom in the world.

What have Clinton-Gore done in eight years? Have they inspired us, made us proud, done the brave, tough things that needed doing, shown commitment and vision?

Sadly, no. They’ve dithered and ducked, coasted and claimed. They squandered their opportunities to create a coherent American agenda in the world. They failed to make us safer from nuclear, chemical or biological attack. Domestically their attitude came down to this: Reform the entitlements? We’d rather go to a fund raiser. Bring new life to dead schools? Rather go to Hollywood. Our children are poisoned by a sour, searing culture? Let them eat something else. Let them eat cake. Clinton and Gore have been unserious in their stewardship. What most characterized their two terms was summed up by the Vice President in famous words: “No controlling legal authority.”

The scandals have been as humiliating for our great republic as they have been historic in scope and size. Filegate, Travelgate, hidden e-mails, lying under oath, hell to pay, abuse of the FBI, of the personnel system; a health-care task force that violated federal law; grand juries, billing records; Lincoln bedroom, troopers, bimbos, coffees, lies. Most terribly, foreign agents carrying cash meet with our President in the Oval Office; they stand in their shiny shoes on the great seal of the United States and later receive what they want: military technology. As a result, China now has weaponry that one day, perhaps, may be used against your children and mine. If there were a word in English that stood for “the shame we feel for others who should feel shame and don’t,” that word would be their legacy, the big vivid thing that they gave us.

A change is in order. We have Gore, whose victory would represent an endorsement of the Clintonian ethos. And we have Bush, who asks, “Where’s the wisdom in America? I believe it’s with the people. I trust the people.” Those are the simple words of a common man who has been lucky in life—who made the most of his chances, made his mistakes, corrected them, became serious, began to love God, came to trust him. The trust spread within him and became a habit; in time it gave shape to his policies.

George Bush is a compassionate conservative. He sees the needs other, older conservatives did not always see, or did not always think they must or could address. But he applies conservative solutions to these needs: more freedom, more choice, the inclusion in the public sphere of faith-based approaches. All the money in the world, he knows, cannot and will not turn around a troubled child’s heart. But God can, and his workers are eager. Bush does not fear faith as an opposing power center to the state. He likes it as an opposing power center to the state. After all, faith freed Poland; perhaps it can free a tough 16-year-old in inner-city Detroit too.

Bush is sunny, ingenuous; he assumes good faith. His assumption of good feeling has a way of spreading it. That has been his history, in Texas, and in baseball, and in business. Gore, on the other hand, is a rather strange individual. He has seemed in the campaign like a rapper on MTV, all strut and no strength. He cannot summon the courage to break with his patrons (the unions, the White House) but is aggressive and cutting in the pursuit of power; he will divide to conquer. He is a sophisticated man, and yet he speaks the language of yesterday’s class warfare. He seems at times like an illustration of the idea that some modern men have become, in the great age of feminism, confused about what it is to be a man. The more he huffs and puffs and tries to dominate the less manly he seems. Powerful men don’t deride and intimidate; they speak the truth and lead. They don’t lie.

There is no nice way to say this: we can’t afford another famous liar in the White House. America is a strong country, but it may not be able to sustain another fabulist; one can be called an accident, a trick of history, but two would amount to a culture of governance, a way of being. It is by institutionalizing the acceptability of lies that a great power becomes a punch line.

“Don’t change horses in midstream,” Mario Cuomo tells us. But Clinton and Gore were not the horse that brought us across the stream—the American people made the great economic current that pushed Clinton and Gore safely to shore. And now the latter brag at how they used the spurs and whip.

A change is in order: the stream has been crossed, the horse should buck, throw off the old and get a new rider, one worthy of it. Of us. That man in this race would be Bush, the gentleman from Texas.

The Meaning of the Vote

I will vote Tuesday and so will most readers of this page because we love politics and history. We are interested, engaged, highly motivated. We not only care about our country but see the direct connection between the decisions made at the polls and the country’s literal future.

But not everyone votes, as we well know. This is considered a matter of grave concern in many quarters, but to me it is only partly a matter of concern. It is also to some extent a reason for gratitude.

Because we live in a democracy we are free to vote; because we have individual liberty, we are free not to. We each of us get to decide. We can go or not go, take part of not. This is good. In some countries in the past voting has been mandatory. Even if you didn’t care, even if you were drunk, even if you were completely unwilling, they made you vote. This is not good. It is a violation of rights in the name of “democracy.”

Today I would like to thank that portion of the nonvoting public that does not vote for good reasons.

If you have absolutely no interest in how our country runs and is run, and know that you have no interest, and feel that your disinterest should preclude your taking part in this great national decision—well then heck, thank you for not diluting my vote with your vote. Because I have a great deal of interest.

If you pay no attention to the great issues of the day, refuse to read or hear about politics and politicians, and know that you are utterly uninformed about political and current affairs, and feel that your relative ignorance should preclude your taking part in the vote—well heck, thank you for not watering down the vote of those who bother to be informed, and who put themselves out to learn, who feel it’s part of their responsibility as citizens. It’s good of you not to weaken their vote with yours. It’s good of you to be honest about it.

And if you have no real views on things—if you are in fact that amazing thing in America, a walking talking opinion-free zone, and don’t feel you should be out there voting with all the people who’ve formed views and pondered questions, well, great. Thank you for not voting too.

I’ve always had the hunch that some maybe-significant portion of the people who don’t vote may be acting on a kind of personal modesty or humility: “Why should I vote when I don’t really care, why should I dilute the vote of the neighbors who do, who have signs on their yard and show up at speeches and read the papers? I haven’t really earned the right by caring.” This strikes me as fair minded and just. Also generous.

So I thank principled and honest nonvoters, and hope that when we vote a lot of us think of you and say, “Thank you, modest people for not diluting my serious and thought-through vote. I will try to make the one I cast worthy of your generosity.”

*   *   *

Most every adult I know will vote this year and not only because we live in New York, where politics is our religion. And not only because we have pro-Hillary and anti-Hillary on our ballot.

Turnout will probably be high pretty much across the board this year because two men are running for president who are very different, who stand for different things; because there is no incumbent; and because so many of us on both sides have been building up passion the past eight years. We’ve been passionately for what’s going on in Washington, and passionately against.

It feels like 1980. Either stay the course or change.

Al Gore is doing a great job this weekend getting out the vote among members of his base, and on Sunday he said something that a lot of us would agree with. He told a rally in Pennsylvania, “This is the kind of election you’ll tell your grandchildren about.” It will be “close” and “hard fought,” he said, and at the end we may be able to brag, “My vote changed the outcome.”

A lot of us feel that way—that our vote really counts this year. It’s almost as if we feel each vote this year has a special weight.

I believe Mr. Bush is going to win this year, that Republicans across the country will do well but that Mr. Bush in particular will win more handily than expected. One of the reasons is that I think the kind of people who poll Americans by phone—and the way they sound as they ask for your views—and the times and places they call—chronically turn off and ignore and so underreport Republican voters. (Also, so many Republicans are the kind of people who would hang up on pollsters. We don’t have time for interviews.) I think the Gore campaign is insisting the race is close because it’s not close, and I think the networks and broadsheet papers are trumpeting the Gore line because they want to whip up interest in their product, which is the news.

And this is all fine with me. First, maybe I’m wrong and they’re right: maybe it is close. Second, and more important, the closer people think it is the more people will feel their vote really counts, the more people will show up.

*   *   *

The one group I know will show up is the group I expect will have the biggest impact on the election’s outcome.

And they are the Broken Glass Republicans. So named by Byron York of the American Spectator.

They’re called Broken Glass Republicans because that’s what they’d walk over to throw the Clinton-Gore administration out. That’s what they’d crawl over to remove them from power. That’s what they’d crawl over to remove this extraordinary corruption from our national life. That’s what we’d crawl over to give Clinton-Gore a rebuke, and remove them from our history.

The BG Republicans want to do something else. They want to prove that we’re still a good people—that we’re still a good people in a good country, that the Clinton-Gore reality is not representative of who we are.

Someone somewhere along the way will try to capture the sheer propulsive force of the BG’s, the size and drive of their emotional and philosophical commitment.

Let me give you two examples that I think speak of or to how we feel, and I say “we” because though normally I see myself as a conservative, these days I’m rooting so much for the BG’s that I know I must be one.

Bear with me on the cliché, but my examples are movie images.

The first is from “The Verdict,” with Paul Newman. It’s near the end of the movie and the gifted actress, Lindsay Crouse is on the stand. She’s the working class nurse who knows the secret the hospital is trying to hide: The doctors made a mistake in administering an anesthetic, and that’s why the patient was mortally injured. The nurse doesn’t want to testify but she does. And she says of the doctors who did the deed and the establishment that protected them, “Who are these people? Who are these people that they could do this thing?”

It’s a great heartfelt cry. A decent person looking at organized malevolence and saying: These people are not us.

And that’s part of what the BG’s think when they look at the long trail of corruption that has been Clintonism: Who are these people?

Another scene, from the movie “Rudy.” A popular but not fully appreciated movie of about a dozen years ago about “Rudy” Rutiger, the kid who wanted nothing in life but to play for the Irish of Notre Dame. (It has a wonderful, rousing musical score that they use in a lot of movie commercials. It also has beautiful, tight editing, and first rate acting in the star role by Sean Astin.)

It’s the last game of Rudy’s senior year, his last chance to be chosen to play. He’s suited up, the team is in the field house, they’re waiting to go on. It’s a home game there in South Bend, and it’s a big game, and the coach does the speech.

And he looks at the boys and he says, “No one comes into our house and pushes us around.” And the kids begin to clap, and they take to the field, and they win. And Rudy gets in the game.

That’s how the BG’s feel: No self appointed elite comes into our country and pushes us around, not forever, not without answering. The answer comes Tuesday. And we’ll all be in the game.

It is because of the BG’s that Clinton-Gore are about to be rebuked. They are about to be chastised. They are about to be rejected. They are about to be ejected.

And this is good. A new beginning, a fresh start, the stables swept clean. New history begins.

*   *   *

A final word for those who will vote, and who even look forward to it and, corny as it is, feel a spring in their step as they go to the polls.

The other night I was dining with another family and I turned to a mother and said, “I actually get choked up when I vote. Do you?” I said it because it’s true but also because kids were there and I wanted us to do a little spontaneous commercial for democracy.

And she said, “Oh yes,” and I was surprised. She told me she takes her kids to vote with her, so they’ll remember.

I do that too, I told her, I take my son. I let him press the lever with his finger over my finger.

When I vote I get kissing sickness, and have to stop myself from embarrassing my son. But I want to kiss the curtains of the voting machine, I want to put my lips to them quickly in gratitude. I would like to kiss the metal knobs and paper with the candidate’s names.

My heart beats quickly when I’m in the booth, and my hands tremble a little. I get choked up as I wait on line. I go and sign in at the big registration desk and I am so proud to write my name, it gives me satisfaction, and I make a joke with the ladies who hold the book, and I look at the people on line and smile and I notice a lot of people are kind of—there’s a heightened feeling.

I know I should be thinking things like, “Good men died so I could do this,” and “God bless the Founders,” and in a way I guess I do, but really I’m thinking, Thank you God that I’m so lucky I can vote, isn’t it wonderful this country has been voting for more than two centuries, aren’t we the luckiest people on earth that we have this gift. And we all do it together and we’re all equal and Bill Gates has a bigger boat and a bigger house and a bigger pool than the girl at the counter at the deli next door but his vote is no bigger and has no more weight.

She is his equal.

We are all equal. In the eyes of God, in the eyes of the law, and in the voting booth. It’s really wonderful. It leaves me choked up. Maybe it does you, too.

And so to those who chose this year not to vote: Ladies and gents, I still respect your choice but please start to pay attention so that next year you’ll let yourself vote. It feels great. It’s very moving. So earn yourself the right.

Memo to the Governor

You’re in danger. What you do or fail to do now could conceivably change the outcome Tuesday. So breathe deep, get serious and don’t get stubborn.

Let’s start with the facts, which in many ways are on your side. It happened a quarter century ago. You always said that when you were young and irresponsible you were young and irresponsible. Now we have fresh proof of how right you were. Only you were 30 when it happened, which isn’t so young. But it’s early enough in the arc of the story of your life to be not a revelation but a reaffirmation of what we know: You used to drink much, then you grew up and stopped.

You never lied about your wild and wooly past, and that’s good, and right too. But in your own way you’re sensitive about it. That time I saw you last spring at dinner, as we chatted you mentioned that when you were a young man you’d taught Sunday School in Midland. From everything I’d read about your life I associated your young manhood with party time, so I blurted, “You taught Sunday School? Boy, that musta been some class!”

Karl Rove and Karen Hughes were there and they laughed, and so did I. But you didn’t. You looked mildly irritated.

Well, people get irritated when relative strangers refer to their foibles. But I’ve got a hunch you’re feeling a little irritated now, and if I’m right it’s gonna do you no good, so I want you to listen.

I’m watching you right now, live, on CNN. You’re talking Social Security in Saginaw, Mich. That’s no good. I can almost feel it, thousands of miles away, sitting in my office in New York: The audience is thinking about A, and you’re talking about B. And you can talk B for the next four days, but no one’s going to stop thinking about A.

So you get on A too.

*   *   *

You could lose the election over this thing if it breaks badly, and if you don’t begin to view it as an opportunity.

It’s not that America will turn against you because of a drunk-driving incident 24 years ago, especially when you never hid the theme of your past.

But Al Gore is surrounded by people who see themselves as killers, and they mean to kill you. That’s what I’m told some of them call themselves, “The Killers.” So expect their continued efforts to make you dead.

A Democratic political professional told me this afternoon: “The guy who leaked the story was a Gore delegate to the Democratic convention. And they [the Gore campaign] have no involvement? I’m a priest who can fly.”

What the killers will likely do next is make this story just a bit worse, and then just a bit worse, so by Tuesday everyone who’s for you has doubts. Maybe on Sunday some man will come forward and announce that he owes it to the country to tell us he saw you drunk 10 years ago, after you said you’d stopped drinking. Or maybe some woman will come forward and say you made a drunken pass at her back in ‘90. Whatever it is, even if it’s a lie, it will be the Gore people trying to make the story worse, so you’ll lose.

So what should you do? Know what’s up, and respond. Breathe in deep, put your feet on the floor of the plane cabin, shake your head, and decide to go with what’s going on. Use it to communicate more of who you really are.

That’s apparently not your first impulse. Your first impulse has been to stay on message, undeterred by the scandal.

It’s a mistake. Turn the scandal around by talking scandal. Talk about it the way you feel about it.

*   *   *

You’ve already outclassed Clinton and Gore by owning up to the truth of the story, taking responsibility, admitting the facts are correct. You didn’t lie.

When it happened you actually pled guilty and paid the fine. Your family didn’t try to hide or destroy the records.

A good beginning, but more is needed.

Today or tomorrow, give a serious thoughtful speech about the scandal. Begin with a candid statement in which you again take responsibility, again refuse to dodge the facts, again admit the charges are true, again explain that you didn’t want your kids to know.

That last most everyone understand, a lot of us very personally. It’s something that all of us grownups are facing these days: how to be candid with our kids and yet not corrupt them with our candor, not damage them with an implicit message of “I smoked dope and lived to tell the tale, so can you.” Sometimes you can’t put all the cards on the table, because children aren’t old enough to see the joker was wild.

This statement should be within a speech at a rally, and the speech should be like the one—or exactly the one—you gave at that San Jose rally two days ago. It was a speech about faith and healing, about what makes people become better human beings, and it was terrific. It was about how God changes lives, and how he changed yours.

This scandal is part of that story. So use it, include it, weave it in.

Connect your own past experience with the experience of all of us who’ve done awful and stupid and harmful things. Believe me, and you know without being told: That’s most of the country.

Don’t let this story, and the ones that will follow, knock you out. Let it help you connect and be serious with all the other imperfect Americans.

*   *   *

One of the great and delightful clichés about you is that you’re putty in the hands of your staff—pliant, pliable, ever willing to listen, ponder and agree. But it’s not true. You’re often prickly, sometimes mulish, frequently sure you’re the one who knows the answer. What I’m speaking of is the layer of obstinacy below which is your humility and above which is your charm.

I suspect there’s another element at work here. You saw your father get ragged around by consultants and advisers. Deep down in your gut you hate the idea of consultants and advisers. Or rather, you hate the idea of handlers. You don’t want to feel you’re being handled. You don’t want to doubt your own gut.

And you don’t want to talk about the foibles of your past any more than you have. For a number of reasons including this one: You know your past was nothing compared to those of some of your contemporaries, in politics and out, who never got tagged for bad behavior and who acted up worse than you.

Well, that’s too bad. They’re not running for president. You are.

You don’t want the scandal to change the facts and tone of the campaign—but it’s already changed the facts and tone of this campaign. And now you must be nimble.

*   *   *

Don’t be a rock, be a river. Rocks sit and get hit by the wind and the rain. The elements wear them down. Rivers flow around obstacles. They flow true, with force, they go over rocks and around them and wear them down.

Don’t be a rock, be a river. Flow over, through and around this trouble. You can wear it down into the small thing it is—or should be.