Leadership in the House is less about getting people to like you than it is about inspiring fear, and there is no better practitioner of winning through intimidation than the former pest exterminator from Sugarland, Texas. DeLay is a cold, pragmatic politician. All of K Street lives in fear of him. He has threatened to cut off access to trade organizations that hire Democrats, and his aggressive fundraising stops just short of a shakedown. With his tight grip on the purse strings of the GOP’s House campaign committee, he keeps members in line. He is the most powerful force on Capitol Hill, the dark side of Speaker Denny Hastert’s teddy-bear demeanor and the wily coyote who outmaneuvers Senate leader Bill Frist at every turn.
Delay’s close tie with social conservatives extends his power beyond the Capitol dome. Cross DeLay and you risk the wrath of the most influential wing of the Republican Party. The last 10 days demonstrate his reach. He announced that the House would not vote to extend the ban on assault weapons, an audacious move that assumes soccer moms in the wake of 9-11 no longer care about the most rudimentary gun control. Democrats believe they lost Arkansas, West Virginia and Tennessee in 2000 because of the gun issue, so DeLay will face minimal opposition in pleasing his favorite interest group, the National Rifle Association.
Working in tandem with Karl Rove, Bush’s resident guru, DeLay orchestrated a power play in the Texas legislature to rewrite congressional district lines in a way that would ensure the defeat of several Democrats and boost the GOP majority in Congress by five to seven seats. Reapportionment fights usually rank below the latest livestock prices in terms of media interest, but this one made the front pages when 51 Texas Democrats walked off the job and hid out in a Holiday Inn across the border in Oklahoma. The plan is dead for now, but DeLay’s ambition remains unchecked.
When the Texas Democrats fled, DeLay reacted by pushing the boundaries of hardball politics. He declared that finding the runaway state legislators was a federal matter. The FBI was asked to intervene but refused. Someone phoned a division of the Department of Homeland Security for help on the pretense that a small plane carrying former Texas House Speaker Pete Laney was missing. The plane had not disappeared; it was on its way to Oklahoma. When the propriety of involving the government was questioned, the Texas Department of Public Safety, which initiated the call, ordered that all records of the request be destroyed. Here’s where the story takes a darkly comical twist. Texas has a law of “open records,” but since no formal request had been made for the records before their destruction, it’s possible no law has been broken.
Democrats have invoked Watergate images of obstruction of justice, and have tried to tie DeLay to the original request to Homeland Security and the subsequent destruction of records. “Not since Watergate and Richard Nixon 30 years ago have government investigative agencies been used in domestic politics,” said Texas Rep. Martin Frost. “This may be the beginning of the end for Mr. DeLay.” Democrats believe the director of DeLay’s federal fundraising PAC was in the room when the call was made to initiate federal help, and they’re pressing the Department of Homeland Security to release its tape recording of the conversation. Secretary Tom Ridge appointed an internal investigator who had to recuse himself when it was revealed he had close ties to the Texas GOP. A second inspector general has been named, allowing Ridge to stonewall questions while an investigation is ongoing.
Assuming this will end DeLay’s career or even crimp his style is wishful thinking and misses the point. DeLay doesn’t mind getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar as long as he gets the cookies. The Democrats can have their media event, but if DeLay can deliver five seats to a permanent GOP majority, he’s a hero to his constituency. Having more Democrats than Republicans in the Texas House delegation galls DeLay, just as it irritates Bush that a Democrat represents the Western White House in Crawford. “Short of winning elections, it’s a way of ensuring Tom DeLay’s lifetime tenure,” says a spokesman for Texas Democrat Lloyd Doggett, whose district would be carved into four parts with one as narrow as two city blocks stretching 400 miles to the Rio Grande.
Bad publicity hasn’t deterred DeLay in the past, and it’s unlikely to stop him now. He single-handedly drove the impeachment of President Clinton. After the GOP lost seats in the 1998 congressional election because the country rebelled against the moral inquisition, the drive to impeachment seemed stalled. DeLay re-energized the GOP with his “book of crimes,” a compilation of Clinton’s alleged wrongdoings, which he distributed to all House Republicans. Bush has never liked DeLay, but he finds him useful. DeLay keeps the base happy and allows Rove to position Bush as the compassionate conservative. “If Rove didn’t have DeLay, he’d have to invent him,” says a Democratic consultant. Bush is the glad-handing front man, the same role he played for the Texas Rangers. As long as Bush doesn’t get tied to DeLay and identified with the hardliners, it’s a winning strategy in the big leagues of politics.
