It’s arguable that this distance is an isolated event, reflecting the peculiarity of the Clinton presidency and the carefree attitudes of a booming economy. This is, I think, a delusion. These conditions may have enlarged the disconnect, but the growing separation of Washington from the rest of the country is no fluke. It’s one of the defining trends of my three decades here. Over this period, Washington has grown more insular. People elsewhere tune out because they feel left out.
By Washington, I do not mean the place. Believe it or not, most people here lead lives like most other Americans’. They endure congestion, worry about schools and think only intermittently about politics and government. Indeed, this Washington depends less than ever on government. Since 1970, the metropolitan area’s population has grown roughly 60 percent to 4.6 million. This growth stems heavily from industries that could locate almost anywhere. America Online operates from a suburb; NEWSWEEK picked the area as one of its 10 high-tech centers.
What I mean by Washington is the political community–the ““inside the Beltway’’ crowd or ““governing class.’’ It consists of politicians, congressional staffers, White House aides, political appointees, top bureaucrats, the press, lobbyists, think-tank experts and the staffs of interest and advocacy groups. These folks subsist on politics, elections, legislation and public policy.
The widening gap between this Washington and the rest of the country is not altogether bad. America thrives in part because it’s decentralized. Governmental power remains dispersed among the national, state and local levels. The economy permits companies to expand, compete, contract and expire largely on their own. There is plenty of volunteerism, charity and philanthropy. The Statistical Abstract, for example, counts 330,000 churches and 40,000 foundations.
America can be well without Washington’s doing well. In a recent New Republic, Gregg Easterbrook noted some signs of ongoing national improvement: in 1997, the homicide rate was the lowest in 30 years; a typical new home is 40 percent larger than in 1970; births to teen mothers have dropped 12 percent since 1991; smog is down a third since 1970. Some gains–say, environmental improvement–stem from Washington; most do not.
Still, there’s something intuitively disturbing about Washington’s growing disconnect. In a representative democracy, people shouldn’t feel less and less represented. The war in Vietnam and Watergate are routinely advanced to explain the deep mistrust of politicians and government. But their impact is overstated. Almost a third of American adults were under 10 or not even born when Nixon left office in 1974.
When I arrived in Washington in 1969, it was widely believed that government could solve most social problems. This faith–plus confidence that the economy could produce boundless new wealth–inspired immense governmental activism. Washington connected with the rest of the country by showering new benefits on many constituencies. Although Democrats led this crusade, most Republicans (including, prominently, Nixon) joined. The elderly benefited from Medicare and higher Social Security; the poor received Medicaid and food stamps; schools and universities got more aid; Congress passed environmental and worker-safety laws.
We know now that this crusade foundered on its own heady assumptions. All social problems could not be solved; the economy couldn’t produce boundless wealth; budget deficits emerged because politicians wouldn’t choose between higher taxes and lower spending; regulations involved costs, as well as benefits. The political impact of this failure was profound. Lost was the old formula for connecting with the mass of moderate voters. Ever since, both parties have struggled vainly to find a new one. I am simplifying only slightly when I say that the result is two parties that–at least in rhetoric–are not so much liberal and conservative as reactionary and radical.
Democrats are reactionary because they seem to promise a return to the dreamy 1960s with expanding social programs and constituent benefits. Many Americans are suspicious. On the other hand, Republicans seem radical because, blaming government for almost any problem, they seem too ready to dismantle it. This frightens most Americans, who (despite misgivings) like their government benefits, from college loans to Social Security. Neither party commands the critical center; both offend it.
It is in this broader sense that Washington has become disconnected. The parties can’t speak convincingly to the messy reality of large but inevitably limited government. Political rhetoric often seems contrived. Except in token ways, Democrats can’t create new programs and Republicans can’t cut taxes. Barred from genuine action, politicians become more strident in their debates and more vicious in their personal attacks. They consort mostly with their own ““core constituencies’’ and sympathetic ideologues, deepening their isolation and illusions.
This insularity exposes Washington types, of all political stripes, to shocks from the hinterlands. Democrats were stunned by their loss of Congress in 1994; Republicans were stunned by their setbacks in 1998. Americans have increasingly defined down what they expect of political leaders. In Washington, Clinton’s impeachment seems extraordinary; elsewhere, it’s seen as the same old stuff, albeit at a higher level. This is a sad and apt commentary on three decades of change: Washington, though no less interesting, has lost touch and respect.
