Capital Letters: Michael and Me

Michael W. Lynch from the February 1999 issue

(Page 2 of 3)

The lights were low, making it hard for people to schmooze. It took more than the usual brief glance at someone's name tag to pick up the vitals. "Is your surname Reason?" a man asked in a Crocodile Dundee accent. I explained that I worked for REASON, a magazine, and was doing a story on holiday parties. "ALEC is brilliant," at "bringing politics and business together," he offered. It turns out that this fellow, Kym Bonnefin, is planning to do such a thing in Australia, which, he informed me, is composed of the same original stock as America. "Criminals," I replied. Kym soon moved on, but not before telling me that he had to meet 90 percent of the people in the room.

I was itching to leave, when I spotted the Reason Public Policy Institute's Ken Green. I headed over for a chat. "What are you doing here?" he asked, as if it were an exclusive gig, rather than an annual stuff-your-face fest. When I told him I was "covering the spreads," to borrow a line from Steve Postrel, for my column, I could tell he hadn't a clue of what I was talking about. You know, my Capital Letters column, I coaxed. No recognition. "Now Jacob's stuff I read," he jabbed, as I was giving him grief about not reading the magazine. "Did you read my last policy study?" he shot back. He had me pinned. It was time to leave.

Date: Wed, December 9, 1998 7:36:27 PM
From: [e-mail]
Subj: White House Social Security Conference

Headed to the White House conference on Social Security yesterday, which was held up at the Woodley Park Marriott near Chuck Freund's place. Popping out of a cab at 8:25 a.m., I managed to get my credential, make it through the metal detector, and slither to a seat right before a disembodied voice announced President Clinton's entrance. The only seat I could find, coming in a bit late, was to the stage's left, which happened to be just behind the section reserved for the day's presenters. So while I awaited the president's arrival, I found myself staring at the back of Norm Ornstein's head and listening to talk of "caps" and "rates of return." A fellow in front of me, who I later discovered was former Congressional Budget Office Director Robert Reischauer, was reading a critique of Martin Feldstein's partial privatization plan by the Center for Budget and Policy Priorities. He would later read a document titled "AFSCME Opposes All Forms of Social Security Privatization," or something to that effect. This about sums up the approach the labor and left wings of the Democratic Party.

This conference was a big deal, which was reflected by the presence of high-rent policy wonks and more than a handful of congressmen. But while it was ostensibly designed for dialogue, no one was interested in listening to anyone else. And why should they be? The president talked eloquently about "putting progress ahead of partisanship," the need for everyone to "sacrifice their view of the perfect to work for the common good," and ended his talk by thumping the podium in an admonition to work together. But like most of what comes out of his mouth, this was just convenient blather. Social Security is like any other issue in Washington. It's about politics and spin: Doing what's right is but a tertiary consideration. And it was only after the president left the room that the real business--which C-SPAN's cameras, so diligently pointed at the stage, don't capture--commenced: the spin operation in the back of the room.

I made the mistake of retaking my center-of-the-aisle seat for the second panel, which consisted of two people who must have distinguished themselves in Washington's wonk world but whom I had never heard of and hope to never hear from again: Marilyn Moon and Rudy Penner. (For the sake of diversity, they are both from the Urban Institute.) As they did their best to accurately portray a dull, dull, dull topic, the din from the back of the room grew louder. I decided to shimmy out of my seat and join the noise.

I located the source of the noise behind the bank of cameras. A gaggle of reporters surrounded an ample, bearded man, whom I didn't recognize but who was most likely from the White House. Many others were talking on cell phones. "I think it went fine," I overheard Sen. Rick Santorum (R-Pa.) tell someone on his phone. Santorum had earlier delivered a speech. And as harsh a critic as I am, I must say his assessment was correct. He had presence, and props. The president even took notes. Santorum articulated a clear case for individual accounts, taking head-on the argument that we must keep the current system intact because it privileges women and widows.

The wife of a man who worked his entire life but died at 61, just a year prior to eligibility for early benefits, would receive a whopping $255 death benefit, explained Santorum, as he held up four bills totaling that amount. Now if that same man had invested his taxes in an individual account, Santorum continued, his bereaved wife would receive more than $260,000, and he pulled out a foot-high stack of faux money. Clinton's eyes lit up: Perhaps he was thinking the cash would be of use for his legal bills. After Santorum finished his speech, he even let Clinton fondle the money.

I was able to get a short interview with Santorum. "In light of your bold advocacy for individual accounts today," I led, buttering him up, "do you think it's wise to do nothing until the president sends a complete plan to Congress?" He replied that he planned to introduce legislation in January, but that the president needs to lead.

The din must have grown unbearable for those trying to listen to the official program, because White House staff were pushing us upstairs. I finished my interview with Santorum just as we reached the top of the staircase. There was filmmaker Michael Moore, with his entourage of camera people, producers, and writers. He was soon interviewing Santorum, who should have had the good sense to stay away but who, like Reps. Mark Sanford (R-S.C.) and Clay Shaw (R-Fla.), was drawn to Moore's celebrity and camera like a bug to a zap lamp.

I stood surveying the scene. Gene Sperling, the White House point man on Social Security, was surrounded by reporters, speaking, no doubt, the truth in very serious tones. (I only know it was Sperling because a White House flack suggested I might want to join the crowd.) An older woman, a real live senior citizen, handed me a paper coffee cup. It was Betty Miller from the National Council of Senior Citizens (NCSC), a labor-backed seniors group adamantly opposed to any change. The cup entitled me to a free cup of coffee. But it was really an attempt to play on my fears. "The Social Security Debate in a Cup," the cup read. "Should the current system be scrapped so Americans can invest 2 percent of their income--the price of a cup of coffee a day--in a volatile stock market?"

Miller, a retired government worker, lives on Social Security and a bit of other income. She was there for first-person testimony on how important the program is. But I was not to take her word for it--she pointed out two other seniors who live exclusively on their Social Security checks. This, my friends, is how Washington insiders and reporters meet real people. Interest groups provide them to us. It's like a traveling zoo.

Another NCSC activist, a woman not quite eligible for Social Security, later accosted me. "Have you talked to someone who lives entirely off Social Security?" she asked, pointing to two women. I showed her my cup in an attempt to end the conversation. But this wasn't enough, as she wanted to provide me with the human element. I pulled out my notepad, revealing Betty Miller's name under a page of scribble. "Betty, that's good," she said, and I was free.

Moore, by this time, was free too, and I sneaked passed his producers, writers, and cameramen and introduced myself. REASON--I know you guys, he said. You're 50 percent right, but forget that we are part of a human family. I had seen Moore at Ken Starr's congressional testimony and, given that the White House was testifying today on the Hill, I was interested in his news judgment in choosing to cover a conference on Social Security. "That's not an issue," he said. "That guy just lied about sex. Find me one guy who hasn't lied about sex. Some of us guys, the only way we get sex is to lie." Moore's producers soon separated us. "Got to work," he said, as he walked away to interview Congressman Shaw.

But I was soon back, with tape recorder in hand. I wanted his opinion on Social Security. "It should not be in the private sector at all," said Moore, who became more animated and quicker with the quips when his camera's light came on. "This is a public responsibility to take care of our people when they become old."