In an Uncertain World (20 page)

My modesty about my skills in this world was frequently reinforced. In May 1993, as we were struggling to get our economic plan through Congress, I appeared on
The MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour
opposite Pete Domenici, the ranking Republican on the Senate Budget Committee. I spent considerable time preparing with Gene. My opening comment was that our deficit reduction plan was real and serious.

“Frankly, it is predominantly a tax plan,” Domenici replied.

I responded by talking about the “trust fund” we had proposed so that monies set aside for deficit reduction would go to deficit reduction.

“If the American people think there's too much taxes and not enough spending cuts in the plan, please don't think that calling the taxes a trust fund changes it,” Domenici said.

I responded that Leon Panetta and Alice Rivlin felt very strongly that the numbers in our plan were real.

Domenici responded that the defeat of our “tax plan” would be the best thing that could happen to the country.

I fired back with more specifics. The numbers produced by the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office were close to those produced by OMB. Both agreed that the ratio of tax increases to spending cuts in our plan was approximately 1 to 1.

Domenici responded that our tax plan would hurt the economy.

I thought I'd done pretty well and was very pleased to say so to Gene after the broadcast. They had asked me various questions, and I had come back with good, detailed answers. Domenici had just kept repeating the shibboleth that our plan was a tax increase. Gene had a different take. He said that people who saw the program would think that “you seemed like a nice, smart man who wanted to raise their taxes.” Domenici's performance demonstrated both how effective a simple message could be on television and how effectively our plan could be attacked. My response demonstrated the difficulty of crafting an effective, simple defense of our substantively complicated strategy.

Of course, part of the problem simply may have been me. Shortly after that episode, I spoke to Ricki Seidman, the deputy communications director, before I was scheduled to go on CNN's
Capital Gang.
Ricki told me quite bluntly that I needed some help in dealing with the very particular medium of television. Maggie Williams, who was Hillary Clinton's chief of staff, had said something similar a month or two earlier, so I decided to act. I got Leon Panetta, who was highly skilled at television, to substitute for me on CNN, and I made an appointment to see Michael Sheehan, a media coach who worked with President Clinton, among others.

I was skeptical about going to see Sheehan, because I knew I couldn't be anything other than myself, on television or anyplace else. I told Sheehan that, and he responded that I should indeed be myself but that I should also try to understand a few basic points about the medium and how it works. For instance, you can attack a question, but you should never attack a questioner, since TV tends to make a personal challenge look more hostile than intended. You should boil down your points and avoid long, discursive answers. You had to be somewhat more animated than in normal conversation just to seem natural, because TV tends to deenergize you. And most important, you have to go in with a clear sense of what you want to accomplish and respond from that perspective.

Over time, I developed some additional pointers about television, sometimes from watching tapes of my appearances with Gene and Sylvia—and later at Treasury, with Assistant Secretary for Public Affairs Howard Schloss, David Dreyer, or Linda McLaughlin. For instance, Sheehan was absolutely right about the importance of being sufficiently energetic on television, but energy with an edge could make you seem strident—which was Judy's comment after seeing me once on
This Week with David Brinkley.
And boiling complex ideas down into simple formulations could lead to a stronger statement than intended or than the subject matter warranted. I often dealt with that problem by adding a qualifying phrase—such as “at least it seems to me” or “the chances are very good that”—which reflected my approach to life anyway. I had no interest in becoming polished at television appearances—nor, I suspect, the capability to do that—but I did want to learn enough about the medium to be myself on TV and to get my points across at least somewhat more effectively. I also took Sheehan's rule about not attacking the questioner a step further and decided never to make ad hominem comments in any public appearances, even when someone criticized me in a personal way. But that was a matter of how I felt public discourse should be conducted and had nothing to do with television as a medium.

Another rule of mine was to talk about policy, not about politics. I wanted to engage substantively, not as a political pundit, and in most cases I wasn't qualified to make political forecasts anyway. So if someone asked me about the administration's chances of getting renewed funding for the IMF, I'd say we would ultimately be successful because the merits were on our side and then I'd set out our case. If that sometimes made me a less interesting guest, so be it. I avoided the most combative talk shows—which focused largely on conflict and predictions. In general, I found that, like most else in life, you got better at TV by thinking about what you were doing and preparing. I didn't rehearse answers since that seemed artificial and would undercut the responsiveness and engagement with questioning that is the whole point of television interviews. Instead, I got ready by trying to frame my views in ways that would work on television. I often found that this preparation was valuable in other ways. Thinking about how to express points succinctly often forced me to face contrary views and vulnerabilities in my positions, which sometimes led me to think them through more clearly or even to modify them. A commonplace in Washington is that a lot of policy is made through the speechwriting process. In the same way, I found that my policy thinking was sometimes affected as I prepared for television interviews.

I learned a great deal that first year about dealing with the print media as well. When I first visited newspaper editorial boards, Gene would come with me. We would sit there together, and I would answer a question. Then Gene would amend my answer—saying that what I had actually meant was slightly different from what I'd just said. In retrospect, this may have seemed slightly bizarre to the journalists in attendance. But it did help me learn how to respond to questions with an awareness of how my answers might create problems for me later.

Gene also taught me how a telling detail could turn into a useful symbol. He once mentioned to a reporter who was writing about the NEC that I often gave up my scheduled time with the President when I didn't have any pressing issue. That didn't seem like a big deal to me; on other occasions, I didn't insist on being present at briefings Gene would give Clinton in preparation for meetings and interviews. Gene was the appropriate person, and the President deserved to have as few people in the room as possible. I didn't feel cut out of the picture. To the contrary, I felt that the President's decision to have someone from the NEC brief him reflected well on the value of the NEC. But Gene's giving-up-time-with-the-President anecdote had salience because it cut against the familiar clichés about people jockeying for power and “face time” in the White House. As the story got repeated in other profiles, it helped to get across what the NEC was trying to accomplish in terms of creating a fair and open process.

I realized from the start that the NEC effort would surely go astray if I took advantage of my position or my access to the President to try to promote what I believed personally. So I always bent over backward to be fair to those with opposing points of view. Even when I was alone in the Oval Office telling the President what I thought, I would go out of my way to say that while I thought
X,
Bob Reich thought
Y,
and Laura Tyson thought
Z.
Sometimes, when I had my regularly scheduled time with Clinton, I would ask people who disagreed with me to come along to the meeting to present their views themselves. People in Washington often assume that effectiveness in a presidential administration depends on maximizing your access and exercising your power. But I found that by not seizing all the face time I could, I was more effective. By cultivating a sense of teamwork and fair dealing, I persuaded colleagues to work within the NEC process—and also, in the end, I think, enhanced my standing with the President.

This kind of teamwork contributed greatly to the development of policy and to internal support for our policies, as shown by the 1993 economic plan. Another memorable illustration was the way we handled trade negotiations with Japan. The members of our economic team had a variety of views—though all were basically committed to trade liberalization. At one end of the spectrum were those who thought that Japan would never open its markets to American competition without extreme pressure. At the other end were the more doctrinaire free traders who felt that our trade deficit with Japan was more a function of our own problems, including our low savings rate, and that, in any case, we benefited from the imports. For my part, I believed that the second-largest economy in the world having significant trade impediments was a major problem for the global trading system, and I supported strong efforts to pry open the Japanese markets. But the point is that in our process, everybody had a fair and full say. Not only did that lead to better decisions because all views were considered, but the participants also bought into those decisions, despite their reservations, because they felt fully invested in the decision-making process. That meant that, despite internal differences, the administration spoke with a single voice in taking a tough stance when the trade issues came to a head at the G-7 Tokyo summit in 1993. One cabinet member reported back a conversation with the Japanese ambassador. In previous administrations, the ambassador said, Japanese officials could visit with administration officials and identify differences among them, which was then helpful in defending Japan's trade policies. He was amazed that under Clinton, no cracks appeared; every member of the administration hewed seamlessly to the decision that had been made.

Of course, every rule has exceptions. In a few areas, I thought the free play of internal debate wouldn't be constructive. Occasionally, someone in the administration would suggest discussing dollar policy or Federal Reserve Board decisions on interest rates. I was able to persuade the others that these two issues should be exceptions to our NEC process. If the outside world knew that our strong-dollar policy or support for the independence of the Federal Reserve Board was subject to internal debate, confidence could be shaken and the markets seriously affected. If others had expressed strong concerns, perhaps some kind of quiet process would have been needed, but that didn't happen.

   

THE CLINTON ADMINISTRATION is widely viewed as having gotten off to a rocky start. Throughout the first year, the press focused heavily on flare-ups over the $200 haircut, the Travel Office firings, Whitewater, and so on. These incidents may well have reflected a shortfall in White House organization and discipline, but the coverage and the impression of chaos seemed to me greatly overstated.

For chaos was certainly not what I experienced. To the contrary, in the early months of the administration, I saw people working together in an effective, productive way. I used to make that point, and others would look at me as if I'd been spending time on another planet. Clearly, the White House was perceived as less than effectively organized in dealing with communications, media, and political relations—despite very good senior people. But most of that wasn't really part of my world. I now think that Clinton's tardiness, his taste for open-ended discussions, and a few other stylistic hallmarks of his first year created a powerful impression at odds with the reality I knew. What I didn't grasp at the time but have come to appreciate in retrospect is how powerful an influence this kind of style and symbolism can have on how an administration is seen. But however many meetings ran late, work on the vast majority of the substantive economic issues was both organized and effective—and led to major legislative accomplishments. What might have looked messy to outsiders was actually a process of deliberate and open discussion, of smart, committed people engaging in debate as a way of getting to the best decision.

Some people said that the President shouldn't be involved in a lengthy discussion of whether the Coast Guard should have a little more or a little less in the budget. My view is that the President's hands-on involvement in drawing up his first budget in the fifteen or so presidential meetings between January 22 and February 12 contributed enormously to making all of the very difficult decisions necessary to produce a $500 billion deficit reduction plan in such a brief time. What's more, from then on Bill Clinton possessed a detailed, practical understanding of how the budget process works, and of a vast number of programs in the budget, that provided him with strong grounding for eight years of annual budget making. Another advantage was that Leon and the rest of us knew in considerable detail what the President's views on various programs were. Many of the important decisions that Clinton made in his first six weeks were issues that remained settled business within the administration for eight years. Moreover, Clinton wanted to be deeply and personally involved in the budget, and I'm not sure anyone could have prevented that.

Mack McLarty, Clinton's boyhood friend who became his first chief of staff, took a lot of criticism for our early troubles. Again, my view is somewhat at variance with the conventional wisdom. The press tended to apply a Washington template that judged the chief of staff's effectiveness on the basis of the President's approval rating and the appearance of order—or the lack of it. But it seemed to me that the key issue was whether the head of an organization created an environment that produced substantive results (although appearances can affect the ability to achieve results, especially in Washington). In substantive terms, I viewed Mack as successful. Mack wasn't a type like John Sununu, President Bush's chief of staff, who I gather would lay down the law for others to follow. Mack would never try to dominate. Instead he focused on developing an atmosphere in which people could work together effectively, which was what Clinton wanted, rather than spending time and energy on infighting. Mack achieved something that Washington didn't quite know how to deal with: the creation of an environment with a good measure of mutual support and respect, in which for the most part people functioned well together.