From this Sunday's
Magazine:
The Oklahoma Congressman Tom Cole is 58 years old, but he has never been famous before, and after this year, he will most likely never be famous again. Even this kind of fame, brief and slight, is uncomfortable on him. Cole is a party man, a lifelong Republican consultant, campaign worker and politician whose career, like that of a typical European Social Democrat, has recognized only a fluid and fungible line between political operative and elected official. It sometimes seems an accident he’s in Congress at all. He is tall and slightly formal, and slightly awkward; people who meet him casually describe him as cordial or gentlemanly. The Republican Party, in its current uncertainty, might have chosen an ideologue to fill Cole’s post or, as is its habit, a money man. Its choice of Cole, an operative, was the establishment insisting that its own learned habits were enough to save itself. “Right now, with where we are,” Ken Mehlman, a former chairman of the Republican National Committee, told me, “Tom Cole is the perfect leader.”
Cole is a year into his term as chairman of the National Republican Congressional Committee, the group charged with managing the party’s simultaneous campaigns for 435 seats in Congress, and this role has made him responsible for rebuilding the Republican Party from the ground up, and for mounting a defense of the political map. All campaign operatives are, to some extent, geographers, and the map of the United States, endlessly studied, is the object of their pieties and contains their own compulsions. Every operative has his own map, weighted by income, by ethnicity, by the practiced habits of ideology, but each believes his map is determinative and that elections do not contain surprises but more precise revelations of the map, of tendencies buried deep.
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In 2006, the Democrats won so many elections in what was traditionally Republican territory that Cole, as his party’s chief Congressional recruiter, now finds himself in the unlikely position of flying into what used to be considered safe conservative districts and trying to goad Republican businessmen and state senators into running for Congress. His progress, he told me, has been mixed. He mentioned a black Republican prosecutor from Indiana named Curtis Hill, from a district that the party lost in 2006. Cole said he thought the seat was a more natural fit for his party than for the Democrats, and he wanted badly to convince Hill to run. Hill happened to be a founding-fathers buff, and so Cole flew him to Washington to meet with the White House political team and be briefed on how he could win, to look out at the monuments from his window seat and imagine himself as part of history. “Very intoxicating,” Hill told me afterward. But he was not convinced. Cole then flew out to Indiana to press Hill to run, telling him that the Democratic congressman, Joe Donnelly, could be depicted as a tool of Nancy Pelosi, the speaker of the House, and out of touch with the values of the district. Hill thought about it hard. But he had five kids at home, and he also didn’t quite buy Cole’s description of Donnelly, whom Hill considered “a relatively conservative Democrat. I don’t think he’s done anything in his record that’s irritated anyone.” Hill turned the offer down. Cole said he had become convinced that Hill’s political gifts were so great that he would be running for senator or governor soon. “God, he’s just great,” Cole told me wistfully. “He’s just a star.”
After the 2004 elections, Karl Rove began to talk with growing conviction about a permanent majority for the Republican Party. That majority lasted two more years. It would have been difficult then to imagine a more stunning reversal. The Democrats now control both houses of Congress and suddenly enjoy an advantage in campaign funds that, given the G.O.P.’s intimacy with big business and the recent supremacy of Republican fund-raising, would have been unimaginable just three years ago. Cole maintains that the 2006 election was an event of equal scale and significance to the Republican victory in 1994 — “in many ways, it’s a flip.” Republican operatives now worry that the social conservatism that helped seal Rove’s majorities might create for them a deficit that lasts a generation, that the party’s position on social issues like gay marriage may permanently alienate younger, more moderate voters.