Believer: My Forty Years in Politics

by David Axelrod

  It was a generous gesture and a memento I would cherish. Yet I knew that our relationship would inevitably change. We began the Senate race as lonely partners in a highly speculative campaign and spoke almost daily for the better part of two years. Now Barack would be in Washington, relying on his superb new staff to guide him on this next leg of the journey. I would continue to provide political advice and would work closely with Rouse, Gibbs, and others, but I would miss the day-to-day interaction of our shared odyssey and the running conversations that veered from professional considerations to the chitchat of friends about sports, family, and life.

  • • •

  As much as I would miss the man and the mission, I would not lack for work in the 2005 and 2006 election cycle. Obama’s out-of-nowhere ascension to the Senate had opened new doors for my firm, now known as AKPD Message and Media, to reflect the names of its four partners: Axelrod, Kupper, Plouffe, and Del Cecato.

  I first met David Plouffe in 1994, when, just twenty-seven, he led a Senate race on which I worked, in his home state of Delaware. Two years later he managed a knock-down, drag-out fight to elect Senator Bob Torricelli in New Jersey, and went on to run the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee. Though still young, he was whip smart, campaign savvy, and would add a Washington presence the firm needed.

  Del Cecato was Plouffe’s young press secretary at the DCCC when I recruited him to play the same role for Fernando Ferrer during the New York City mayoral race in 2001. John was passionate, hilarious, and creative, and struck me as a guy who could become a good ad writer, so I hired him after that race. My instincts were right. He picked up spot writing quickly, and would become a creative force at AKPD.

  While the company was still mine, I wanted to raise the profile of my colleagues. It was necessary to signify to needy clients that when these talented folks provided counsel, they were not the B-Team. Also, we needed a bigger A-Team. As a small, boutique firm headquartered in the Midwest, we had often struggled to land the high-profile races that usually gravitated to Washington-based media consultants, but now the Obama aura had enhanced our stature in the eyes of candidates looking to be the next new thing.

  While I was settled in to my other projects, Obama was trying his best to follow Hillary’s example and establish himself as a productive and respectful new member of the Senate. He made the rounds of the gray eminences, humbly asking their counsel. And he found an unlikely mentor in Dick Lugar, a well-regarded, five-term incumbent Republican from Indiana. Lugar, the chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations, worked closely with Obama and took him on as his junior partner in crafting legislation to combat the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction. “I like Lugar,” Barack reported. “He’s not a showboat. He a very decent, serious guy.” He also found Lugar’s laconic nature a welcome counterpoint to the committee’s verbose ranking member, Joe Biden. “Joe Biden is a decent guy, but man, that guy can just talk and talk,” Barack complained to me on one of our regular calls. “It’s an incredible thing to see.”

  A month before Obama took office, the Sun-Times had published an investigation revealing that Illinois veterans in large numbers were being unfairly denied disability payments to which they were entitled. After he was named to the Senate Committee on Veterans’ Affairs, Barack joined with our state’s senior senator, Dick Durbin, in a long campaign to address the problem. He also introduced a bill for the expansion of college Pell grants to needy students. And after reading a piece in the New Yorker on the emerging threat of the Avian flu, he wrote legislation to, among other things, fund the development and stockpiling of sufficient vaccine to combat a deadly influenza pandemic. In Obama’s first year in Washington, he held thirty-nine town hall meetings across Illinois and, according to the periodic public polls, remained an extraordinarily popular figure in the state.

  Yet Barack was frustrated with the slow pace and endless debate of the Senate. On a visit to Washington during his first year, I waited for him outside the Senate chamber while he was delivering a floor speech. His oration over, Barack burst through the door and walked past me. “Blah, blah, blah. That’s all we do around here,” he muttered. It was clear that Obama would not be comfortable growing old in the Senate. He ruminated again about the possibility of returning to Illinois, near the end of his Senate term in 2010, to run for governor. “Governors don’t just talk. They actually can do things,” he said. “And, besides, I’d be able to live with my family.”

  Despite his growing misgivings about the Senate, Obama stuck to the plan, trying to maintain a smooth and low-key debut. Yet he naturally remained the object of immense political interest. He topped the wish lists of candidates and Democratic state parties across the nation looking for a speaker who would boost their fortunes. Gibbs, who functioned as a kind of de facto political director in addition to communications director, deftly arranged the schedule with Alyssa for Obama to campaign for candidates and state parties in as many presidential battleground states as possible. “I just thought it was a good investment,” he said. In that same spirit, Obama immediately put his fund-raising power to good use, raising and distributing nearly $1.5 million to candidates.

  Despite his best efforts to accept his lowly place in the political hierarchy, Barack found himself inexorably drawn into the spotlight by unexpected and tragic events.

  During the August 2005 recess, Obama made his first overseas trip as a senator, accompanying Lugar to Russia, Ukraine, and Azerbaijan to inspect large caches of loose chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons that were dangerous relics of the Cold War. It was a prelude to a new arms-control law the two would introduce jointly. On their way back, the delegation had stopped in London when news of Hurricane Katrina reached them. Barack was watching TV in a hotel bar as CNN broadcast the horrific images of the hell on earth that was New Orleans. As the floodwater rose, desperate residents, many of them poor and black, stood on the roofs of their homes waiting for help that never came. “People in that bar were looking at us in complete disbelief,” he reported. “They were floored that negligence on that scale could happen in America.”

  When he returned to the States, Obama was besieged by media requests. Everyone was interested in what the most prominent African American officeholder in the country thought about the events in New Orleans and the laggard government response—and Barack felt compelled to weigh in. He was wary of being pigeonholed as a “black politician.” “I am of the black community, but not limited to it,” he would say. Still, he had spent much of his life wrestling with questions of race and identity, and understood the unique place he now held in America’s politics. Given the magnitude of the disaster, he felt a responsibility to speak out forcefully on Katrina. It was suggested that Obama head straight to New Orleans, but when the logistical challenges of such a visit were considered, the idea was quickly dismissed.

  Alyssa, Obama’s savvy scheduler, had a better idea. Former president Clinton and Senator Clinton were headed to Houston, where the Astrodome had become a temporary shelter for thousands of refugees. Former president George H. W. Bush would meet up with them there. What if she could wrangle an invitation for Obama to join them? When Obama, who was soliciting relief funds from Illinois companies, called Clinton to discuss the effort, the former president invited him to Houston.

  Obama was eager to dive into the Katrina issue, which he found deeply wrenching, but he was careful not to add to the outcry of racism it had provoked. “I don’t think the Bush guys said, ‘Those folks are black so take your time getting there to help,’” he told us before making the trip to Houston. “They just (a) blew it; and (b) have no clue about the state of these inner-city communities, where people don’t have the wherewithal of wealthy folks to pick up, jump into their Range Rovers, and flee.”

  As Obama went from cot to cot alongside President Clinton in Houston, warmly ministering to shell-shocked families, George Stephanopoulos was calling Gibbs and begging
for Obama to give him an interview. “If you’re ever going to do it, this is the right time,” George said. “People want to hear from him on this.” The decision to appear on the program marked the end of Obama’s self-imposed exile from the Sunday shows.

  Katrina was a turning point for Barack. However intent he had been on keeping a low profile, there was no avoiding the spotlight now. Obama was an eloquent and thoughtful bridge after the storm, giving voice to the more enduring crisis—the widening gap between the rich and the poor in America—that it had exposed. “I think the important thing for us now is to recognize that we have situations in America in which race continues to play a part; that class continues to play a part; that people are not availing themselves of the same opportunities, of the same schools, of the same jobs,” he told Stephanopoulos. “And because they’re not, when disaster strikes, it tears the curtain away from these festering problems . . . and black and white, all of us should be concerned to make sure that’s not the kind of America that’s reflected on our television screens.”

  • • •

  In September, Rouse arranged a call between Obama and his inside and outside advisers on the pending nomination of John Roberts to become chief justice of the Supreme Court. The Left was bitterly opposed to Roberts, a politically astute judicial conservative who, at a youthful (by Supreme Court standards) fifty years old, could shape the Court for decades to come. For Obama, it was not an easy decision. Friends had contacted him to vouch for Roberts. Besides, Obama said, “If I become president someday, I don’t want to see my own, qualified nominees for the Court shot down because of ideology.” Interesting, I thought, that he would frame it that way. Gibbs said a vote for Roberts would position Obama more in the political center, which could be advantageous in future races. “Not in a primary,” I replied. We were all talking around it, but national politics had quickly emerged as a subtext of our discussion. Finally, Rouse came down against Roberts, and so, too, did Obama.

  “I spent time with Roberts, and came away convinced that he is qualified in every way,” Barack said to us. “He’s obviously bright. He knows his stuff. But I also have this nagging feeling, based on his opinions, that anytime there’s a contest between the powerful and the powerless, he’ll find a way to make sure the powerful win. That’s how he’ll interpret the law. And that’s not my vision of how the courts should work, and particularly not the Supreme Court.” I didn’t think Barack was rationalizing his decision, but I also knew the politics were not lost on him.

  The other issue drawing Barack out was Iraq. The situation there was eroding. Public opinion was turning sharply against our involvement, and sentiment for withdrawal of our 160,000 troops was growing. Iraq had become an albatross for those who had supported the war, and the wisdom of Obama’s early opposition seemed clearer by the day. He had kept a low profile on the war during his first months in the Senate, in part because he didn’t want to appear to be showing up Democratic colleagues who had supported it. “Everyone knows where I was on this from the beginning,” he explained. “I think it’s best to be a little low-key for a while.” By late summer, however, Barack’s posture had changed. He felt he couldn’t stay quiet any longer. He and his national security adviser, Mark Lippert, a crew-cutted naval reservist, developed a plan for a “phased withdrawal” of American troops, tied to political and security benchmarks.

  Barack unveiled his Iraq proposal in a speech to the Chicago Council on Foreign Relations, where he assailed the absence of a coherent strategy from the Bush administration. Just as with Katrina, though, Barack’s critique of Bush was more nuanced than a raging antiwar screed. Barack’s “phased withdrawal” plan, calling for a significant number of our troops to be out of Iraq by the following year, didn’t please those on the left who favored immediate withdrawal; nor did it captivate those on the right who opposed any withdrawal. Yet it thrust Obama back into the middle of an Iraq debate that was likely to shape the 2008 election.

  Between Katrina, Roberts, and Iraq, Barack’s determination to keep a low profile for 2005 went by the boards. The murmurs about 2008 predictably picked up, and a trip he unexpectedly added to his schedule at the end of the year would only fuel the speculation.

  Throughout the summer and fall, Senator Bill Nelson of Florida had asked Obama repeatedly to give the keynote address at the state’s Democratic convention in mid-December—and each time, Barack had demurred. It was a weekend speech, and he knew it would mean time away from his family. Besides, he had irritated Michelle by traveling the country several weekends that fall instead of coming home from Washington. So when Gibbs suggested they give the Floridians a definite no, Obama stunned him by replying, “What if I want to go?”

  Obama told Gibbs he was eager to “try some themes,” and he thought the Florida event would be a great place to roll them out. Left unspoken, because it needed no amplification, was what Florida had come to mean in national politics. No Democrat would recapture the White House without it, which is why three men who were looking hard at 2008 had signed up to speak there. Edwards, Vilsack, and Governor Mark Warner of Virginia were all eager to flash their chops for thousands of delegates at a Disney World resort. By tapping Barack for the prized keynote, the organizers had spared themselves the dilemma of having to choose among the aspiring candidates. The invitation also reflected the growing curiosity and interest Obama was generating all over the country. What was clear to all of us who worked with Obama was that his unexpected decision to risk Michelle’s ire and go to Florida reflected growing curiosity and interest of his own.

  With Barack’s input, Favreau and I worked together on the first of what would be many collaborative efforts in the years to come. Most political speeches today are a series of applause lines, strung together with filler. Barack viewed speeches as carefully constructed arguments. He had learned to animate them with inspiring stories from the lives of people he had encountered, and considered the sound and cadence, as well as the meaning, of words and how they played against one another. Favreau, an accomplished musician as well as a gifted young writer, was innately attuned to the rhythms of language. He and Obama were a perfect match, and the Florida speech was a moving—and suggestive—composition, recalling the themes that animated Obama’s maiden voyage on the national stage in Boston.

  “We’re tired of being divided, tired of running into ideological walls and partisan roadblocks, tired of appeals to our worst instincts and greatest fears,” he thundered. “Americans everywhere are desperate for leadership. They are longing for direction. And they want to believe again.”

  Obama flew back home the same night, leaving a huge buzz of “believers,” and a few deflated presidential aspirants, in his wake.

  “They may not be able to pronounce his name, but Florida Democrats sure love Barack Obama,” wrote Steve Bousquet in the St. Petersburg Times. “He was introduced to 2,000 party activists as a ‘rock star’ Saturday night, and the freshman senator from Illinois lived up to the grandiose billing.”

  Barack was just thirteen months removed from the Illinois State Senate and had not yet been in Washington for a full year. A 2008 campaign for president still seemed ludicrous and remote. Yet clearly things were changing. It would be easy to ascribe it all to some unseen hand pushing this audacious idea along. Still, it was impossible to miss that one of the hidden hands steering events belonged to the man himself, who continued to say no even as his body language now said, “Maybe.”

  Attuned to these developments and the shifting political tide, Rouse sent me a memo he wanted to share with Obama. In it, he advised that if there were even a small chance that Barack might change his mind and run in 2008, we should build out his travel in 2006 to include meetings at every stop with influential locals who could be useful down the line.

  I agreed with Rouse and the team that this was the way to proceed, and we sent the memo. Barack quickly returned it with a three-word note in the margin that spoke v
olumes:

  “This makes sense.”

  TWELVE

  FROM “NO, I WON’T” TO “YES, WE . . . MIGHT”

  JUST A FEW DAYS into 2006, Obama set out for his first trip to a country half a world away that was playing an increasingly prominent role in his political story.

  Three years earlier, he had warned against an invasion of Iraq. Now he and a group of congressional colleagues headed there to assess the efficacy of the war effort. Nothing Barack saw on the ground allayed the concerns he had expressed from the start. With the dictator Saddam Hussein gone, the historic rivalries between Sunni, Shia, and Kurd that he had subdued by force were reemerging with a vengeance, challenging the prospects for a viable democratic state.

  “It was just what I was afraid would happen,” Barack said to me later. “We can send all the troops we want. But if these sectarian factions can’t come to a political settlement, we’re just spinning our wheels over there—and at a hell of a cost. We’re trying to build a house on a bed of sand. It needs a better foundation if it’s going to stand.”

  When he returned, he sat with Russert on Meet the Press to discuss his findings. Praising the heroism of our troops, Obama argued for the need to phase down our involvement while increasing incentives for reconciliation. Before he could escape the chair, the dogged host pushed Obama again on his political plans. Confronting Barack with a Tribune article assessing his first year in the Senate, Russert noted that Obama had used more ambiguous language than his unequivocal disavowal on the same show a year earlier.

  “There seems to be an evolution in your thinking,” the host said. “This is what you told the Chicago Tribune last month: ‘Have you ruled out running for another office before your term is up?’ Obama answer: ‘It’s not something I anticipate doing.’ But when we talked back in November of ’04 after your election I said, ‘There’s been enormous speculation about your political future. Will you serve your six-year term as United States senator from Illinois?’ Obama: ‘Absolutely.’”