-Caveat Lector-

http://www.esquire.com/features/articles/2002/021202_mfe_diiulio_1.html










The DiIulio Letter





On October 24, John DiIulio, a former high-level official in the Bush administration, 
sent the
letter below to Esquire Washington correspondent Ron Suskind. The letter was a key
source of Suskind's story about Karl Rove, politics and policymaking in the Bush
administration, "Why Are These Men Laughing," which appears in the January 2003 issue 
of
Esquire. Today, White House press secretary Ari Fleischer said that the charges 
contained
in the story were "groundless and baseless." After initially standing by his 
assertions, DiIulio
himself later issued an "apology." Esquire stands strongly behind Suskind and his 
important
story.



CONFIDENTIAL
To: Ron Suskind
From: John DiIulio
Subject: Your next essay on the Bush administration
Date: October 24, 2002

Dear Ron:

For/On the Record

My perspective on the president and the administration reflects both my experiences at 
the
White House and my views as a political scientist and policy scholar. Regarding the 
former,
I spent a couple one-on-one hours with then-Governor Bush during a visit he made to
Philadelphia a few months before the Republican Convention there. I helped with certain
campaign speeches and with certain speeches once he became president. I spent time with
the president in briefings, in meetings with groups, and on certain trips. I was there 
in the
White House during the first 180 days. I was an Assistant to the President, and 
attended
many, though by no means all, senior staff meetings. I was not at all a close 
"insider" but I
was very much on the inside. I observed and heard a great deal that concerned policy
issues and political matters well outside my own issue sets. Regarding the latter, I 
have
studied American government and public policy and administration for over twenty 
years. I
have worked and run research programs at both liberal and conservative think tanks,
developed community programs through national non-profit groups, and so forth.

In my view, President Bush is a highly admirable person of enormous personal decency. 
He
is a godly man and a moral leader. He is much, much smarter than some people—including
some of his own supporters and advisers—seem to suppose. He inspires personal trust,
loyalty, and confidence in those around him. In many ways, he is all heart. Clinton 
talked "I
feel your pain." But as Bush showed in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, he truly does 
feel
deeply for others and loves this country with a passion.

The little things speak legions. Notice how he decided to let the detainees come home 
from
China and did not jump all over them for media purposes. I could cite a dozen such
examples of his dignity and personal goodness. Or I recall how, in Philly, following a 
3-hour
block party on July 4, 2001, following hours among the children, youth, and families of
prisoners, we were running late for the next event. He stopped, however, to take a 
picture
with a couple of men who were cooking ribs all day. "C'mon," he said, "those guys have
been doing hard work all day there." It's my favorite—and in some ways, my most
telling—picture of who he is as a man and a leader who pays attention to the little 
things
that convey respect and decency toward others.

But the contrast with Clinton is two-sided. As Joe Klein has so strongly captured him, 
Clinton
was "the natural," a leader with a genuine interest in the policy process who 
encouraged
information- rich decision-making. Clinton was the policy-wonk-in-chief. The Clinton
administration drowned in policy intellectuals and teemed with knowledgeable people
interested in making government work. Every domestic issue drew multiple policy 
analyses
that certainly weighted politics, media messages, legislative strategy, et cetera, but 
also
strongly weighted policy-relevant information, stimulated substantive policy debate, 
and put
a premium on policy knowledge. That is simply not Bush's style. It fits not at all 
with his
personal cum presidential character. The Bush West Wing is very nearly at the other 
end of
this Clinton policy-making continuum.

Besides the tax cut, which was cut-and-dried during the campaign, and the education 
bill,
which was really a Ted Kennedy bill, the administration has not done much, either in
absolute terms or in comparison to previous administrations at this stage, on domestic
policy. There is a virtual absence as yet of any policy accomplishments that might, to 
a fair-
minded non-partisan, count as the flesh on the bones of so-called compassionate
conservatism. There is still two years, maybe six, for them to do more and better on
domestic policy, and, specifically, on the compassion agenda. And, needless to say, 
9/11,
and now the global war on terror and the new homeland and national security plans, must
be weighed in the balance.

But, as I think Andy Card himself told you in so many words, even allowing for those 
huge
contextual realities, they could stand to find ways of inserting more serious policy 
fiber into
the West Wing diet, and engage much less in on-the-fly policy-making by speech-making.
They are almost to an individual nice people, and there are among them several 
extremely
gifted persons who do indeed know—and care—a great deal about actual policy-making,
administrative reform, and so forth. But they have been, for whatever reasons, 
organized in
ways that make it hard for policy-minded staff, including colleagues (even 
secretaries) of
cabinet agencies, to get much West Wing traction, or even get a non-trivial hearing.

In this regard, at the six-month senior staff retreat on July 9, 2001, an explicit 
discussion
ensued concerning how to emulate more strongly the Clinton White House's press,
communications, and rapid-response media relations—how better to wage, if you will, the
permanent campaign that so defines the modern presidency regardless of who or which
party occupies the Oval Office. I listened and was amazed. It wasn't more press,
communications, media, legislative strategizing, and such that they needed. Maybe the
Clinton people did that better, though, surely, they were less disciplined about it 
and leaked
more to the media and so on. No, what they needed, I thought then and still do now, was
more policy-relevant information, discussion, and deliberation.

In eight months, I heard many, many staff discussions, but not three meaningful,
substantive policy discussions. There were no actual policy white papers on domestic
issues. There were, truth be told, only a couple of people in the West Wing who 
worried at
all about policy substance and analysis, and they were even more overworked than the
stereotypical, non-stop, 20-hour-a-day White House staff. Every modern presidency moves
on the fly, but, on social policy and related issues, the lack of even basic policy 
knowledge,
and the only casual interest in knowing more, was somewhat breathtaking—discussions by
fairly senior people who meant Medicaid but were talking Medicare; near-instant shifts 
from
discussing any actual policy pros and cons to discussing political communications, 
media
strategy, et cetera. Even quite junior staff would sometimes hear quite senior staff 
pooh-
pooh any need to dig deeper for pertinent information on a given issue.

Likewise, every administration at some point comes to think of the White House as its 
own
private tree house, to define itself as "us" versus "them" on Capitol Hill, or in the 
media, or
what have you, and, before 100 days are out, to vest ever more organizational and
operational authority with the White House's political, press, and communications 
people,
both senior and junior. I think, however, that the Bush administration—maybe because 
they
were coming off Florida and the election controversy, maybe because they were so
unusually tight-knit and "Texas," maybe because the chief of staff, Andy Card, was 
more a
pure staff process than a staff leader or policy person, or maybe for other reasons I 
can't
recognize—was far more inclined in that direction, and became progressively more so as
the months pre-9/11 wore on.

This gave rise to what you might call Mayberry Machiavellis—staff, senior and junior, 
who
consistently talked and acted as if the height of political sophistication consisted 
in reducing
every issue to its simplest, black-and-white terms for public consumption, then 
steering
legislative initiatives or policy proposals as far right as possible. These folks have 
their
predecessors in previous administrations (left and right, Democrat and Republican), 
but, in
the Bush administration, they were particularly unfettered.

I could cite a half-dozen examples, but, on the so-called faith bill, they basically 
rejected
any idea that the president's best political interests—not to mention the best policy 
for the
country— could be served by letting centrist Senate Democrats in on the issue, 
starting with
a bipartisan effort to review the implementation of the kindred law (called "charitable
choice") signed in 1996 by Clinton. For a fact, had they done that, six months later 
they
would have had a strongly bipartisan copycat bill to extend that law. But, 
over-generalizing
the lesson from the politics of the tax cut bill, they winked at the most far-right 
House
Republicans who, in turn, drafted a so- called faith bill (H.R. 7, the Community 
Solutions
Act) that (or so they thought) satisfied certain fundamentalist leaders and beltway
libertarians but bore few marks of "compassionate conservatism" and was, as anybody
could tell, an absolute political non-starter. It could pass the House only on a 
virtual party-
line vote, and it could never pass the Senate, even before Jeffords switched.

Not only that, but it reflected neither the president's own previous rhetoric on the 
idea, nor
any of the actual empirical evidence that recommended policies promoting greater
public/private partnerships involving community-serving religious organizations. I 
said so,
wrote memos, and so on for the first six weeks. But, hey, what's that fat, 
out-of-the-loop
professor guy know; besides, he says he'll be gone in six months. As one senior staff
member chided me at a meeting at which many junior staff were present and all ears,
"John, get a faith bill, any faith bill." Like college students who fall for the 
colorful,
opinionated, but intellectually third-rate professor, you could see these 20- and 30-
something junior White House staff falling for the Mayberry Machiavellis. It was all 
very
disheartening to this old, Madison-minded American government professor.

Madison aside, even Machiavelli might have a beef. The West Wing staff actually 
believed
that they could pass the flawed bill, get it through conference, and get it to the 
president's
desk to sign by the summer. Instead, the president got a political black eye when they 
could
easily have handed him a big bipartisan political victory. The best media events were
always the bipartisan ones anyway, like the president's visit to the U.S. Mayors 
Conference
in Detroit in June 2001. But my request to have him go there was denied three times on 
the
grounds that it would "play badly" or "give the Democrat mayors a chance to bash him on
other issues." Nothing of the sort happened; it was a great success, as was having 
Philly's
black Democratic mayor, John Street, in the gallery next to Mrs. Bush in February 2001 
at
the president's first Budget Address. But they could not see it, and instead went back 
to
courting conservative religious leaders and groups.

The "faith bill" saga also illustrates the relative lack of substantive concern for 
policy and
administration. I had to beg to get a provision written into the executive orders that 
would
require us to conduct an actual information-gathering effort related to the president's
interest in the policy. With the exception of some folks at OMB, nobody cared a fig 
about the
five-agency performance audit, and we got less staff help on it than went into any two 
PR
events or such. Now, of course, the document the effort produced (Unlevel Playing 
Field) is
cited all the time, and frames the administrative reform agenda that—or so the Mayberry
Machiavellis had insisted—had no value.

Even more revealing than what happened during the first 180 days is what did not,
especially on the compassion agenda beyond the faith bill and focusing on children.
Remember "No child left behind"? That was a Bush campaign slogan. I believe it was his
heart, too. But translating good impulses into good policy proposals requires more than
whatever somebody thinks up in the eleventh hour before a speech is to be delivered, or
whatever symbolic politics plan —"communities of character" and such—gets generated by
the communications, political strategy, and other political shops.

During the campaign, for instance, the president had mentioned Medicaid explicitly as 
one
program on which Washington might well do more. I co-edited a whole (boring!) Brookings
volume on Medicaid; some people inside thought that universal health care for children
might be worth exploring, especially since, truth be told, the existing laws take us 
right up
to that policy border. They could easily have gotten in behind some proposals to 
implement
existing Medicaid provisions that benefit low-income children. They could have 
fashioned
policies for the working poor. The list is long. Long, and fairly complicated, 
especially
when—as they stipulated from the start—you want to spend little or no new public money
on social welfare, and you have no real process for doing meaningful domestic policy
analysis and deliberation. It's easier in that case to forget Medicaid refinements and 
react
to calls for a "PBOR," patients' bill of rights, or whatever else pops up.

Some are inclined to blame the high political-to-policy ratios of this administration 
on Karl
Rove. Some in the press view Karl as some sort of prince of darkness; actually, he is
basically a nice and good-humored man. And some staff members, senior and junior, are
awed and cowed by Karl's real or perceived powers. They self-censor lots for fear of
upsetting him, and, in turn, few of the president's top people routinely tell the 
president
what they really think if they think that Karl will be brought up short in the 
bargain. Karl is
enormously powerful, maybe the single most powerful person in the modern, post-Hoover
era ever to occupy a political advisor post near the Oval Office. The Republican base
constituencies, including beltway libertarian policy elites and religious right 
leaders, trust
him to keep Bush "43" from behaving like Bush "41" and moving too far to the center or
inching at all center-left. Their shared fiction, supported by zero empirical 
electoral studies,
is that "41" lost in '92 because he lost these right-wing fans. There are not ten House
districts in America where either the libertarian litany or the right-wing religious 
policy
creed would draw majority popular approval, and, most studies suggest, Bush "43" could
have done better versus Gore had he stayed more centrist, but, anyway, the fiction is
enshrined as fact. Little happens on any issue without Karl's okay, and, often, he 
supplies
such policy substance as the administration puts out. Fortunately, he is not just a 
largely
self-taught, hyper- political guy, but also a very well informed guy when it comes to 
certain
domestic issues. (Whether, as some now assert, he even has such sway in national
security, homeland security, and foreign affairs, I cannot say.)

Karl was at his political and policy best, I think, in steering the president's 
stem-cell
research decision, as was the president himself, who really took this issue on board 
with an
unusual depth of reading, reflection, and staff deliberation. Personally, I would have 
favored
a position closer to the Catholic Church's on the issue, but this was one instance 
where the
administration really took pains with both politics and policy, invited real 
substantive
knowledge into the process, and so forth. It was almost as if it took the most highly 
charged
political issue of its kind to force them to take policy-relevant knowledge seriously, 
to have
genuine deliberation.

Contrast that, however, with the remarkably slap-dash character of the Office of 
Homeland
Security, with the nine months of arguing that no department was needed, with the 
sudden,
politically-timed reversal in June, and with the fact that not even that issue, the 
most
significant reorganization of the federal government since the creation of the 
Department of
Defense, has received more than talking-points caliber deliberation. This was, in a 
sense,
the administration problem in miniature: Ridge was the decent fellow at the top, but 
nobody
spent the time to understand that an EOP entity without budgetary or statutory 
authority
can't "coordinate" over 100 separate federal units, no matter how personally close to 
the
president its leader is, no matter how morally right they feel the mission is, and no 
matter
how inconvenient the politics of telling certain House Republican leaders we need a 
big new
federal bureaucracy might be.

The good news, however, is that the fundamentals are pretty good—the president's
character and heart, the decent, well-meaning people on staff, Karl's wonkish 
alter-ego,
and the fact that, a year after 9/11 and with a White House that can find time enough 
to
raise $140 million for campaigns, it's becoming fair to ask, on domestic policy and
compassionate conservatism, "Where's the beef?"

Whether because they will eventually be forced to defend the president's now thin 
record
on domestic policy and virtually empty record on compassionate conservatism, or for 
other
reasons, I believe that the best may well be yet to come from the Bush administration. 
But,
in my view, they will not get there without some significant reforms to the 
policy-lite inter-
personal and organizational dynamics of the place.

Shalom,

John



RELATED LINK
http://www.esquire.com/features/articles/2002/021202_mfe_rove.html
Esquire's News Release About Suskind's Story

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