One of the small downsides of writing a blog is that you can never claim to have had an idea before someone else. If you had the idea, you should have written it -- what excuse is there? An editor sat on it? What editor? Trying to find more evidence to prove the thesis? It's a blog -- Who needs evidence?
So all I could do was say "Right On" when Kevin Drum put forward the compelling suggestion that Bush should be understood exactly as he wants to be known, as "the CEO President," adding
but the world is full to bursting with CEOs who have goals they would dearly love to attain but who lack either the skill or the fortitude to make them happen. They assign tasks to subordinates without making sure the subordinates are capable of doing them — but then consider the job done anyway because they've "delegated" it. They insist they want a realistic plan, but they're unwilling to do the hard work of creating one — all those market research reports are just a bunch of ivory tower nonsense anyway. They work hard — but only on subjects in their comfort zone. If they like dealing with people they can't bring themselves to read all those tedious analyst's reports, and if they like numbers they can't bring themselves to spend time chattering with distributors about their latest prospect.
I consider that one of the most insightful paragraphs that's been written about Bush yet, which is why the idea is catching on. I'm kicking myself, though, because I've had a draft blog post sitting around dated April 17 with the title, "The Bad CEO." I set it aside when I felt it was getting too tendentious, and that my argument depended on generalizations about corporate culture, and I don't know that much about life in corporations. But Kevin does, I believe, and his statement of the case is persuasive for its understanding of just what makes a bad CEO. And with his point as grounding, I'll try to salvage a little of what I wrote earlier.
Kevin strengthens my instinct that this is exactly the right way to understand the Bush presidency. Rather than trying to understand Bush in terms of his father, Nixon, Reagan, Harding, Taft, Grant, or some other presidential model, the books to read are the accounts of the failures of great American companies at the hands of incompetent leaders, like David Halberstam's The Reckoning or the books about the savings and loan crisis or the failure of IBM. And keeping the Bad CEO imagine in mind will be the way to defeat Bush. It's a familiar archetype to Americans, and it's exactly right. It helps you understand that he's not so much a born liar as a guy in so far over his head that he starts making things up to keep the stock price high. And he's not a moron, just a guy who would have made a perfectly competent regional vice president, but somehow had the right patrons and played golf at the right clubs, and wound up in the big office on the 35th floor instead.
What got me thinking about this a couple of weeks ago was a line in Condoleeza Rice's testimony to the 9/11 commission:
"If there was any reason to believe that I needed to do something... I would have expected to be asked to do it."
That line just crystallized her amazingly passive tone throughout her testimony, and also the tone of Bush's press conference that week.
For some reason, it brought to mind one of the most atrocious magazine articles I've ever read, one so bad that I still remember it fifteen years later, although it also had some insight. This was a New York Times magazine article, I think entitled simply CEO, from the previous era of the CEO cult, back in the late 1980s. In this magazine article, a writer followed the CEO of Avon Products around for several days, breathlessly chronicling all the tough choices and key decisions he had to make, much as Bob Woodward chronicles presidents. And yet what the article revealed, inadvertently, was that it is perfectly easy to sit at the top of a large organization, make dozens of "decisions" a day, and yet never really grapple with the issues the company faced. The Avon CEO's day consisted of meetings at which teams from various parts of the company essentially pitched him for authorization to spend more money or take more time on some project. The emotional high point of these heady days would come after lunch, when the CEO would ask his secretary to check the stock price, and if it was down, he would swear and slam his office door.
The article later became a book, which I didn't read, but I remember a review in which Joseph Nocera pointed out that neither the CEO nor the author seemed to show any recognition that "the company was a dog," since the business of selling cosmetics door-to-door didn't have much future. For all the decisions, the CEO was as helpless to change his company as the worst-paid, part-time salesperson.
I didn't have any interest in the cult of the CEO, and I've never worked in an organization so big that I didn't know the head of it, but it was still a revelation to me that someone could reach the top of an organization and yet be so completely passive and imprisoned within the assumptions of that organization's culture. There's all the bluster of leadership, all the "I'm the one who has to make the tough calls," all obsession with the stock price as if it's an impeccable barometer of success, but underlying it all, just drift, not mastery.
When I tried to write about this before, I struggled with the fact that Bush is not always such a passive figure. He drove the debate on tax cuts, he made the Iraq war happen despite every reason for it not to, he's forced Congress to act on issues such as Medicare prescription drugs that had been locked in partisan paralysis for years. But, as Kevin makes clear, the bad CEO isn't a lump. He has some subjects that he works hard at. He has some obsessions and pet projects. He has a constituency he favors, such as one division of the company to the expense of the others. And he's vulnerable to management consultants who spin grandiose solutions without any thought to the long-term consequences. In this light, Bob Woodward's description of the Pentagon's Douglas Feith, whose role in making the war happen seems larger than earlier realized, is revealing: “Feith has a high-pitched, insistent voice,” he writes. “He is articulate and has mastered the language of the management consultant, short, pithy sayings, what he called ‘big thoughts.’" (quoted by Hendrik Hertzberg in the New Yorker.)
Understanding Bush as "the bad CEO" will have a positive effect on Democrats' language. Take, for example, a pet peeve of mine: The use of the phrase "failure of diplomacy" to describe Bush's pre- and post-war behavior, the phrase Daschle used. I think "failure of diplomacy" concedes far too much. The good CEO might be guilty of failures of diplomacy, of having a vision for change and pushing hard. The strong leader breaks some china, as they say. Diplomacy is namby-pamby and superficial. But if you think of Bush as the Bad CEO, you don't hesitate to call it what it is: a failure of leadership. Leaders persuade others, and leaders also absorb information and other points of view. They change direction in order to find the smoothest path to their goals. They react quickly to changes, to get ahead of them.
Kerry improved on Daschle a bit, charging Bush with "a failure of diplomacy, a failure of foreign policy, a failure of creative leadership." Still, there seems to be a hesitation about critiquing Bush as a leader -- it's the last of three items, it has to have an adjective, "creative," attached.
It takes a long time to realize that your strong, decisive leader is all bluster. But once people realize it, it's all over.
Spinonymous? Anonyspin?
I've never objected in general to anonymous sources in newspaper articles. Most stories that provide real new information involve some sources who are taking a chance by telling their story, and that goes double for those in a system as closed and intolerant of dissent as the Bush administration, just as it was in the Nixon administration.
Although anonymous sources are often assumed to be shakier and less trustworthy than those willing to put their name behind a statement and take responsibility for it, it's often the case that greater credibility attaches to an unnamed source, who is assumed to be acting independently in revealing the truth, than to the spin of an official spokesperson. It's the difference between, say, "White House spokesman Scott McClellan said the President was committed to the Middle East peace process," which is just the official position, and "an administration official who asked not to be named said that the President had expressed a strong commitment to bring peace to the Middle East." While both are baloney, the second sentence seems to be revealing something a little deeper and more real than the first.
The master practitioner of this art form was Henry Kissinger, the original "high-ranking administration offiical." But this administration, at every level, has mastered the art of using the anonymous quote to deliver pure vacuous spin, with the particular assistance of the Washington Post. Fairly often, for example, one finds sentences such as, "'The president believes our long-term economic outlook is bright and that Congress should make the tax cuts permanent to create jobs,' said an administration official who asked not to be named." Why not? What's the point of that? And why can't a reporter say, "Look, if you're just going to give me a pre-packaged soundbite from the press office -- or if you are the press office -- I'm not going to put your words in unnamed. Either stand behind it, or I'm just going to paraphrase."
Washingtonian magazine late last year published a good little rundown on who the unnamed sources usually are. Unbelievably, it's often the official spokespeople themselves.
More recently, I've noticed the proliferation of little phrases intended to give even a little more credibility to anonyspin: "...said an official who asked not to be named because his responsibilities do not include speaking to the press" is a phrase I've noticed a few times in the Post particularly. That creates the impression that the reporter is operating a little behind the scenes, finding the worker bees who know the real deal. I guess this is really just code that means it's not the press secretary or the agency spokesperson speaking. On the other hand, the official obviously is speaking to the press, and if the line he's pitching is just the standard Scott McLellan line, then why does it matter what his formal responsibilities are? He's speaking to the press and the nature of the quote makes it obvious that he's been authorized to do so.
And then a classic example this morning in the Post, although it is a minor footnote to the almost unbearable stories about torture at Abu Ghraib: "Bush is 'not satisfied' and 'not happy' with the way Rumsfeld informed him about the investigation into abuses by U.S. soldiers ..., according to the official, who refused to be named so he could speak more candidly."
But there's absolutely nothing "more candid" about these quotes. It was the line of the day, in every paper and on every morning news show: Bush was angry at Rumsfeld, and castigated him. I assume it's true, but for all we know it's not. The point is, it's the story that Scott McClellan and Dan Bartlett decided should be in the paper this morning. The official is hardly going to get fired for putting out the line of the day. Under those circumstances, I think there's no reason for the reporter to allow the quote to be anonymous, or for it to bear the subtle editorial endorsement that it is "more candid" because anonymous.
My guess is that these phrases are not the reporters' own emendations, but are carefully negotiated terms, under which the White House officials refuse to provide a quote unless it is anonymous and is given one of these endorsing phrases. What puzzles me is why the reporters seems to have no leverage in this negotiation. Why can't they just say, we don't need a quote under those conditions?
Posted by Mark Schmitt on 05/06/2004 at 06:07 PM in daily comments, Decembrist archives | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBack (19)
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