The Negotiator

by George Mitchell

  On one occasion I exaggerated to make a point. I took a large monthly calendar divided into hourly increments and blacked out most of the slots, leaving only a few slivers of white showing. I showed it to a group of senators and said, “The blacked-out areas are the times that I’ve been asked not to have votes because one or more of you have scheduled fundraisers. The white areas are when there are no requests not to have votes. As you can see, they cover only two to six o’clock in the morning, Tuesday through Thursday. So if I accede to all of your requests the Senate can vote only in the middle of the night in the middle of the week!” The reaction was good-natured, with a lot of bantering back and forth. As the meeting ended a good friend stood and said, “You’ve got a tough job, but nobody forced you to run for majority leader.” I nodded my head in agreement, smiled, and said nothing. But I thought, “He’s right. Nobody forced me to run for majority leader, or for the Senate. I didn’t just volunteer; I worked hard to win. And I’ve got to recognize and accept that fundraising is a big part of life in the Senate.” In the two decades since I left the Senate it’s gotten a lot bigger.

  Many men and women in many walks of life constantly struggle to balance the demands of work and family; many, among them several senators, appear to have achieved a balance that is right for them and their families. I was not one of them, and I have no one to blame but myself. Too often work won in the competition for my time and attention, and family or other personal needs lost.

  One concrete example illustrates the dimensions of the personal challenge. Not long after I entered the Senate I was invited to a conference on the aspirations of Maine’s young people. It was disheartening to hear that, on balance, they were low, especially in the rural, less populated, and less prosperous areas. I was asked to talk about my personal history, and later in the day a group of education officials urged me to tell that story in high schools throughout the state: “Our kids need to hear from someone with a background like theirs, who’s been successful, who they can relate to.” It seemed like a good cause: to use my position and experience to help lift the aspirations of young people whose lives were similar to my early life. In addition, I soon realized, I could benefit politically by getting around the state, especially into the rural areas which tend to be Republican and where I might otherwise have difficulty getting an audience. So, over time, two members of my staff—Mary McAleney, my administrative assistant, and Diane Smith, who handled my schedule—devised a plan in which I would speak at the graduation ceremony at every high school in Maine. It was a daunting task. Maine’s population of about 1.3 million is spread over thirty-three thousand square miles, and its 140 high schools all held their graduation on the same three weekends in June. But through a long process of planning and development that took over a dozen years, I made it to every one. The personal cost was high. Each year for the first three weeks of June I was in Washington for five days tending to Senate business; on weekends I scrambled back and forth across Maine, to speak at four or five graduations. Along the way we increased the goal: I would try to visit each school twice, once for graduation and once for an assembly or special class. I did make it to every one for graduation, but, although I made the second visit to most, I hadn’t reached them all by the time I left the Senate. The burden of travel was heavy, especially since I was trying simultaneously to visit each manufacturing plant, service club, hospital, and more. For the last three graduations I attended, on islands off the coast, I chartered a small single-engine plane and, hopping from island to island, made three graduation speeches in one day. In retrospect it is now clear to me that at some point in the process the healthy objective of visiting every high school became an unhealthy obsession.

  Over the Christmas break of 1993, eleven years after I made my decision to limit my time in the Senate, I felt the time had come. I had been majority leader for five years. As far as I could tell, I remained in good standing with the people of Maine. No serious opposition to my candidacy for reelection had emerged. I had earlier set a fundraising target of $2 million for my campaign for reelection and had quickly reached that goal, so I had stopped raising money.I By February I felt certain enough to plan an announcement. It had been five months since I’d met Heather, and I knew that before long we would marry. That reinforced my decision. Heather did not object to my seeking reelection; to the contrary, she encouraged me to do whatever I wanted. But I was wary; my first marriage had been adversely affected by my participation in political life, and I didn’t want that to happen again.

  There also had been a major political change. In November 1992 Bill Clinton was elected president. Shortly after the election he invited Foley, Gephardt, and me to Little Rock, Arkansas, to talk about how to proceed once he took office. We had a pleasant dinner with the president-elect and Mrs. Clinton, followed by a long, informal discussion. Although I had met him before, this was our first in-depth discussion. I liked him from the start. He was extremely well-versed in the major issues he soon would have to confront, and he had well-thought-out plans on how to do so. Among those issues were the budget, welfare reform, and health care reform. He would have to determine not just the substance of his legislative proposals in those difficult areas but also their timing and sequence. I left Little Rock reassured about his energy and ability to handle the awesome duties of the presidency and also about his positions on the many issues with which he and we would have to deal.

  His inauguration was a time of promise for Democrats. The youthful, energetic combination of Clinton and Gore raised expectations to a dangerously high level that would be difficult to meet. His first few months brought everyone down to earth. None of us had anticipated the speed and skill with which congressional Republicans would catapult to the forefront the policy of “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” on gays in the military. With congressional Democrats divided and the administration unprepared, there was an early stumble. Differences of opinion within Congress and between the administration and Congress on an economic stimulus package that spring generated more difficulty. But gradually the president and his team gained their footing and went on to a successful first term, in particular in the adoption of a budget and economic program that narrowly overcame unified Republican opposition but, once enacted, laid the foundation for spectacular economic growth, creating budget surpluses and more than 22 million new jobs. His welfare reform program was enacted, but his health care package was not. It was a record that ultimately enabled him to easily win reelection in 1996.

  That was in the future, however. In early 1994, I considered my own plans. I had worked closely with the president for two years and found it painful to leave in the middle of his first term. A few of my close friends suggested that I run for reelection and, if I won (which then seemed very likely), serve for two years, to the end of Clinton’s first term, then retire. I rejected the suggestion as unfair to the people of Maine. If I ran for reelection to a six-year term I would have to serve it out; anything less than that would have been dishonest. So, after long and careful consideration, I decided to retire from the Senate.

  In late February I informed a few members of my staff and scheduled a public announcement for the first week in March. By coincidence I was invited to a small private dinner with President Clinton the night before. As the dinner drew to a close I asked to speak privately with him. After the other guests had left we sat in his small office in the residence of the White House. There we talked for about two and a half hours. When I told him of my decision he tried to talk me out of it. Anticipating that he would do so, and knowing how persuasive he is, I had made arrangements to start the process of delivering copies of the videotape in which I announced my decision to every television station in Maine, so I told him it was too late; no matter what he said I could not change my mind. Eventually he accepted that my decision was final and he asked, “If in the future something comes up where I think you can be of assistance, would you be willing to help? Or are you just turned off of politics?” I told him
that I enjoyed public service and would be happy to help if he thought I could be useful. My answer was as abstract as his question. But within a month he became very specific.

  On April 6, 1994, Associate Justice Harry Blackmun announced his intention to retire from the Supreme Court. The speculation about his successor began immediately, and my name was among those mentioned. Early the next week President Clinton called and told me that he had decided to nominate me to succeed Blackmun. I thanked him and told him that I was honored and flattered. As a lawyer and a former federal judge I regarded membership on the Supreme Court as the pinnacle of professional accomplishment and an opportunity for important service. In response to a question from the president I said I didn’t think I’d have any trouble getting confirmed by the Senate; while there inevitably would be some opposition I didn’t think it would amount to much. He agreed. But I also told him that I was concerned about the effect my departure from the Senate would have on the legislative battle over health care, which was just heating up. It was the administration’s highest priority in that session of Congress.

  Less than five months earlier I had introduced the president’s health care reform bill in the Senate; Dick Gephardt, the House majority leader, had simultaneously introduced it there. The bill was the product of many months of study and drafting by a large team led by the president’s wife, Hillary Rodham Clinton. Among many other provisions it included a requirement that employers (other than small businesses) provide health insurance for their employees. The employer mandate made it clear that the president intended to build on and reform the current system, not sweep it away and replace it with something entirely new. Employers had been providing health care coverage to their employees since World War II. With millions of men serving in the armed forces and demand rising to meet the material needs of a worldwide conflict, employers competed vigorously for workers. Unable to offer the traditional incentive of higher pay because of wartime wage and price controls, they began to offer other benefits, including health insurance coverage. The system grew to the point that most Americans who had health insurance received it through their employment.

  Despite this history, most Republicans in the Senate, and some Democrats, were strongly opposed to an employer mandate. A month after the bill had been introduced, just before Christmas, twenty Republican senators, including their leader, Bob Dole, introduced their own health care reform bill; they were joined by four Democrats. It did not include an employer mandate; instead it proposed what was then the relatively new concept of an individual mandate. Rather than requiring employers to provide coverage to their employees, the bill put the burden on each individual to obtain such coverage, through employment or otherwise. The principal author of the Republican bill was Senator John Chafee of Rhode Island. Chafee and I had often worked together on two major committees, Finance and Environment and Public Works.

  When we returned in January 1994 for the second session of Congress, health care reform was the most important and most controversial issue confronting us. There were numerous conferences and endless meetings, some partisan, some not. Chafee and I saw each other often and discussed health care regularly. Although there were many areas of disagreement, I believed that there was a realistic chance for reform if both sides were serious and prepared to compromise. I thought if Democrats could be persuaded to make a major gesture (one possibility was dropping the employer mandate and accepting the individual mandate) we might receive in return major concessions from Republicans. Chafee too wanted to get to a compromise; though he was keenly aware of and stressed the many difficulties, I believed he shared my hope and my sense of possibility, so I felt there was a reasonable chance that we could get a meaningful health care reform bill through the Senate that summer. As I considered the Supreme Court offer, I didn’t want to exaggerate or dramatize my importance, but I was the principal sponsor of the administration’s bill and had led the Democratic effort for reform. My departure would significantly reduce our chances of success.

  For a few days there was speculation in the press about a scheme in which I could be nominated and confirmed but then delay my departure from the Senate until health care was completed. I regarded that as nonsense. I had no idea if anyone at the White House had such thoughts, but I did not. It would have been disruptive and harmful to try to do that. My choice was straightforward: I could decline the president’s offer and stay in the Senate for the rest of the year to fight for health care reform, or I could leave the Senate for the Supreme Court. While I believed I could do a good job on the Court, I knew that there were many others who could serve as well if not better; among them was Stephen Breyer, the man ultimately chosen. So I told the president that because I thought there was a reasonable chance we could pass a good bill in the Senate, I would stay to finish the fight for health care reform. While heartened by my assessment of the chances for reform, he was disappointed by my decision. I told him that I wanted to end any distraction and get the issue out of the way quickly. He agreed and consented to my promptly making my decision public. On April 12, six days after Blackmun made his announcement, I made mine.

  In the next few months it became clear that my assessment of our chances on health care had been unrealistic. The health insurance companies had launched a huge and successful campaign against our bill, stressing its complexity. As opposition solidified and spread, Senate Republicans became less and less open to compromise and Democrats became increasingly apprehensive. Through the spring and into the summer support for the president’s bill hemorrhaged slowly on both sides. We hit what seemed at the time like rock bottom when the Senate Finance Committee gathered in July to “mark up,” or draft, the bill. On the way into the Committee hearing room, where we would spend days debating and voting, I said to Chafee, with a smile, “I’m going to introduce your bill as an amendment and force you guys to vote on it.” He was not amused. “Oh, don’t do that,” he replied. “You’ll embarrass me but you won’t gain anything.” The Republicans had moved so far away from the center on the issue that not one of them, not even Chafee, would now vote for the bill they themselves had introduced seven months earlier. Chafee was right, of course. We would embarrass him and his colleagues, but it wouldn’t help us pass a bill. He also knew that, given our close friendship and our history of working together, I would not do anything to embarrass him.

  We got the bill out of the Committee and, with great difficulty, on to the Senate floor for debate. To no avail, I kept the Senate in session during what would normally have been the August recess. The debate was heated. Angry words were exchanged. Tension rose. Tempers flared. What particularly inflamed Democratic senators, myself included, was the inconsistency between the public position and the personal behavior of Republican senators. Even though the administration’s bill did not provide for a government takeover of the health care system, but rather built on the existing private system, over and over and over again Republican senators hammered away at “government health care.” With dramatic flourishes they warned of how terrible it would be for the American people. And yet those same senators had chosen to accept and were receiving “government health care” for themselves and their families. After deploring “government health care” in powerful speeches on the Senate floor they would walk a few steps to the Senate Physicians Office in the Capitol, where they were greeted by a government receptionist, prepared by a government nurse, examined and treated by a government doctor. When surgery was required they went to a U.S. military hospital where government surgeons opened them up and sewed them back together. Their message to the American people was, in effect, Do as we say but don’t do as we do. Yet, whatever Democrats said, it was clear that our concern did not resonate with the public. The Republicans were increasingly unified and solid in opposition, while I was unable to unify the Democrats. Each day, with increasing frequency and intensity, I was beseeched and assailed by my fellow Democrats with contradictory requests: “Pull the plug”; “Keep going.” The ou
tcome was inevitable long before I took the bill down and put the Senate into recess.

  The president was deeply disappointed, as I was. We hadn’t handled it well. Try as we might, we were unable to significantly reduce the bill’s length or complexity, rendering it vulnerable to the criticism that it was too complicated to ever work in the real world. In addition many of the interest groups who supported the bill were more interested in improving their position (and their finances) than they were in overall reform. But the circumstances were such that even with the best handling it may well have failed. The scars from that battle were so deep that it was a quarter century before it was again joined.

  I didn’t have much time to feel sorry for myself. A heavy agenda awaited us when we returned to session in early September, and I was extremely busy trying to bring the last session of my Senate career to a successful close. We finally adjourned on December 1. Heather and I had scheduled our wedding for December 10, and I had to think about what I would do with the rest of my life. In November I was asked by a high administration official if I would serve in a full-time diplomatic position. I declined, telling him that if I were going to stay in government full time I’d continue as a senator. A few weeks later I was asked to serve as special advisor to the president and the secretary of state on economic initiatives in Ireland. The lengthy and ambiguous title reflected the president’s concern that the British government not be offended. That government had long resisted efforts by the government of Ireland to involve others, especially Americans, in efforts to end the conflict in Northern Ireland. Clinton stressed that my duties would be limited in time and subject matter. I was to organize a White House conference on trade and investment in Northern Ireland, to be held in May 1995. It seemed perfect: a brief, interesting assignment to ease my transition to private life.