Is ‘compassionate conservatism’ obsolete?
The GOP primary candidates competing for the affections of Republican
voters have plenty of labels with which to tar each other: Influence
peddler. Failed politician. Cayman Islands account holder. Aspiring
polygamist. But perhaps the worst smear they could lob at an opponent
would be to call him a "compassionate conservative."
There's no
place for compassion in this race, which has featured debate audiences
cheering the death penalty and booing the Golden Rule.
Candidates
have jostled to take the hardest line in opposing government-funded
programs to help the poor, with Newt Gingrich calling Barack Obama a
"food stamp president" and Rick Perry blasting "this big-government
binge [that] began under the administration of George W. Bush."
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Just
three years after Bush left the White House, compassionate
conservatives are an endangered species. In the new Tea Party era,
they've all but disappeared from Congress, and their philosophy is
reviled within the GOP as big-government conservatism.
Is this
just a case of the Republican Party wanting to distance itself from the
Bush years—or is compassionate conservatism gone for good?
Bush
was not the first person to use the phrase "compassionate conservative,"
but his adoption of the label in the 2000 campaign made it instantly
famous. Bush and his advisers sought to soften the GOP's image, which
had taken a beating during the years of Gingrich's speakership and the
Clinton impeachment. Bush's faith-based initiative was the signature
policy to grow out of his compassionate conservative philosophy.
In
2008, former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee also ran for the GOP
nomination as a compassionate conservative, refusing to apologize for
supporting state tuition breaks for the children of illegal immigrants:
"You don't punish a child because a parent committed a crime." Huckabee
was fond of saying that he was a conservative, just not angry about it.
Like
the Ecuadoran horned tree frog, a handful of compassionate
conservatives can still be found—if you know where to look. Sen. Dan
Coats (R., Ind.), who was involved with faith-based initiatives before
Bush ever heard about them, is one. And former Bush aide Michael Gerson
continues to preach the gospel from his perch as a Washington Post columnist.
After the Iowa caucuses, both Gerson and New York Times
columnist David Brooks hailed former senator Rick Santorum as the
second coming of compassionate conservatism. And it's true that in his
victory speech in Iowa, Santorum sounded very much like a populist,
arguing that Republicans need to offer more than tax cuts and balanced
budgets to Americans who are struggling.
But when it comes to
specifics, there aren't many government policies—particularly domestic
programs—that Santorum supports to help alleviate poverty. He cheered
most of the harsh cuts in hunger and housing programs that House
Republicans proposed last summer. Santorum, a devout Catholic, has said
he believes that the U.S. Catholic bishops are wrong to back immigration
reform, and he has confessed that he is unfamiliar with the phrase "a
preferential option for the poor," which is an essential component of
Catholic social teaching.
There is a meanness to the way many
Republicans talk about the poor these days that was not in vogue during
the Bush years. Unlike Huckabee, they are angry conservatives.
Gingrich
spits out the words "food stamps" and implies that they are gold coins
showered on undeserving recipients. When debate moderator Juan Williams
asked Gingrich whether his comments are "intended to belittle the poor
and racial minorities," he was roundly booed by the conservative
audience in South Carolina.
The conservative Heritage Foundation
released a report in September arguing that those living under the
poverty line in the U.S. aren't really poor because they have
refrigerators and microwaves.
What happened to compassion? One
answer is that it turned out to be expensive. Providing housing and food
assistance, giving grants to charities that help low-income Americans,
supporting job training programs—these all cost money. The federal
deficit ballooned during the Bush administration, and though much of
that came from funding the Iraq War and an expensive Medicare
prescription drug benefit, Bush's domestic faith-based programs and
tripling of U.S. aid to Africa have been tagged with the blame.
In
addition, the Tea Party movement has embraced what political writer
Jill Lawrence calls "Darwinian conservatism." You could also call it
"Ayn Rand conservatism," after the libertarian philosopher whose work
many congressional Republicans praise. In 2010, Republican Senate
candidates attacked programs such as Social Security, student loans and
unemployment benefits, saying they made Americans lazy.
The
debates in this election cycle have also encouraged the turn away from
compassionate conservatism. Led by Gingrich, the candidates have played
to audiences hungry for red meat. These party faithful lustily cheer
attacks and boasts, and they boo any statement that carries a whiff of
moderation.
Just before the South Carolina primary, a progressive
Christian group called the American Values Network released an animated
video, Tea Party Jesus, to mock the disconnect between popular
conservative rhetoric and Gospel teachings. In a "Sermon on the Mall," a
cartoon Jesus stands flanked by GOP politicians and pundits as he
declares, "Blessed are the mean in spirit . . . blessed are the pure in
ideology."
It didn't take long for a Tea Party site to promote
the video instead of taking offense. Tea Party activists might not have
gotten the joke, but if the Republican Party rejects completely the idea
of compassion for struggling Americans, it will be no laughing matter.
—USA Today
