Spin Till You Win: Chapter 2
“Congressman, I have Chairman Richardson on line two.”
“Thanks Clarissa, can you put him on.”
Congressman Stewart rubbed his hand through his politician-perfect hair and picked up the phone.
“Congressman, how are you? Enjoying Washington life so far?”
“Yes, Mr. Chairman. It’s very different from work at a state capital, but I’m enjoying myself so far.”
“Well good, you certainly seem cut out for D.C., always quick to catch on. Now what can I do for you?”
Congressman Stewart sat down in the large leather chair at his desk. The chair had apparently once belonged to Nelson Rockefeller. The day he had arrived in Washington it had been delivered to him as a gift from the RNC Chairman, with a simple handwritten note: “Don’t sit on the sidelines. You’ve got what it takes to be a star.” The chair was the most valuable item in his office, otherwise filled with corny trinkets from his district that he’d proudly placed in the uncomfortably tiny workspace. Freshman always got the worst offices.
“Well, Mr. Chairman, I’m calling about this statement on the climate debate. I want to make sure I’m clear on the situation.”
Congressman Stewart could almost feel the Chairman perk up on his end of the phone.
“Absolutely, what do you need to know?”
“Well, it looks like we’re gearing up to go on the offensive?”
“Absolutely.”
“And we have no new reports, studies, or evidence to support our case?”
“No.”
“We have no new polling or public opinion reports supporting us on the issue?”
“No.”
“We have no factual basis to take issue ownership?”
“No.”
“We’re just going to continue as before but now we’re calling it the Extended Summer Effect, and we expect that will win us the debate?”
“Exactly.”
“So I should have my press team start releasing statements with the same talking points but use the term Extended Summer Effect?”
“You’ve got it, Congressman. Like I said, always quick to catch on.”
–
“Senator, what shall I say is your reply to Mr. Weinstein?”
“My reply is that he’s a fucking idiot!”
“Um, would you like me to relay that verbatim for you Senator?
“Actually, Keith, I’d prefer to tell him myself, put him through.”
Aides scattered out of the way as Senator Newman stormed into his private office. He angrily grabbed the phone from his desk, knocking the lump of coal placed next to it onto the floor. The coal was from one of his state’s many deposits; he’d always had a lump on his desk since originally keeping one from a photo shoot with miners twelve years ago. It was good to show respect for the coal industry. And he didn’t mind the running joke resulting from the desk prop that if you got on Greg Newman’s Bad List, you were going to get something a hell of a lot worse than a lump of coal. Placing the prized piece of coal back on his desk, Newman turned his attention to the phone in his hand.
“Weinstein, can you hear me?”
“Um, yes Senator, I can hear you fine,” the voice timidly responded from the other end of the line.
“Oh good, because I figured that you might have trouble speaking on the phone with your head shoved so far up your ass that –”
“Senator Newman, it really isn’t necessary to –”
“Shoved so far up your ass that you cannot see that we’re getting clobbered on every network!”
“We’re preparing a response for the President right now and –”
“We don’t just need the President speaking, we need every Democrat in Washington speaking. I turn on the TV and all I see are Republican Congressmen talking about the fantastic fucking summer. People on the Hill are coming up to me and saying they want to make a statement, but they’re waiting to get the green light from the President’s office. That requires a green light from you. Get on it.”
Newman slammed the phone down and the coal rolled back onto the floor.
Weinstein hung up the phone and wrung his hands through his hair. I knew we were going to get screwed on this, he thought to himself. He dialed up another number.
“Alex, we’re in trouble.”
“Yeah, it’s not going well.”
“We need to get our people on screen now. Spread word, get as many House members on television and talking to reporters as you can. Do it fast.”
There was a pause before Ramirez responded.
“Yeah, yeah. How’s the President’s statement coming along?”
“Too slowly. Get the response from members now.”
“Will do.”
I knew we were going to get screwed on this.
–
“Mr. Weinstein, John Calhoun is on the phone and he doesn’t sound happy.”
“Lovely,” Weinstein took off his glasses and rubbed his nose. “Put him through.”
“Weinstein, ya’ fuckin’ this up real bad.”
“Hello, John, always a pleasure. How are you?”
The crackly Southern drawl responded angrily, sarcastically, even teasingly.
“Oh I’ve been betta’, mainly on account of the way you’ve been handlin’ this.”
“Look John, I know you and Paulson want my job, but criticizing everything I do isn’t going to help you get it.”
“What Paulson and I want is for the President that we got elected ta have a successful term so that he can get elected again in three years, and your ridiculous response on this Summer Effect shit ain’t helping with that.”
“It was a perfectly fine response: Focusing on a name is pointless, because the name doesn’t matter, the issue matters. We should stop talking about the name and start talking about the issue,” Weinstein said, regurgitating the talking point he’d spent the day obsessing over. “The response does everything we need to – takes focus away from the name debate, brings attention back to the empirics where we’re strong, and it makes President Warren look like a statesman who’s above the partisan bickering.”
“What it makes the President look like is someone who just lost his climate bill. Turn on CNN.”
Weinstein flipped on the television hanging from the wall in his office.
“See that. That’s Congressman Stewart sayin’ what I knew the Republicans would say the second I read ya’ statement – if the name don’t matter, then why are we making such a fuss about it? If the name don’t matter, then why don’t we just stop complainin’ and call it the damned Extended Summer Effect”
Weinstein fumbled the phone, nearly dropping it. He dropped the remote control in his other hand instead.
“Well I . . . .”
“Ya’ getting’ smacked around by a freshman Congressman!”
“Okay, maybe the response wasn’t perfect but I don’t think it lost us the debate, and I definitely don’t think it lost us the climate bill.”
“No, you didn’t lose the climate bill with that. Ya’ lost the climate bill four hours ago when Newman scared you and Alex Ramirez into loosing every Democrat on the Hill without settin’ a message. We’ve been putting out twenty different talking points. Landstrom is sayin’ that the GOP is engagin’ in distraction tactics, Buckner is quotin’ specialists, Jones is discussin’ the etymology of the word summer, Lockhardt is sayin’ they’re using the term because Republicans are too stupid to understand the issue . . . . Weinstein, do you think callin’ Republicans stupid is a good way to encourage them to cross party lines and support us?”
“No, I don’t”
“Well that’s good to know. Now while we had all these different people sayin’ all these different things, the GOP had all their members makin’ the same point every time they got in front of a mike. Whose message do ya’ think is gonna resonate?”
Weinstein turned off his TV and tossed the remote at the wall, aiming for a blank spot to vent his frustration but hitting a framed picture of JFK instead. Well, fuck.
“Okay, there have been, mistakes. But I don’t think that the climate debate is over.”