The Audacity of Hope

pensions, their crop supports, their cause. Simply put, they have an ax to grind. And
they want you, the elected official, to help them grind it.
During my own primary campaign, for example, I must have filled out at least fifty
questionnaires. None of them were subtle. Typically they would contain a list of ten or
twelve questions, phrased along the following lines: “If elected, will you solemnly
pledge to repeal the Scrooge Law, which has resulted in widows and orphans being
kicked to the curb?”
Time dictated that I fill out only those questionnaires sent by organizations that might
actually endorse me (given my voting record, the NRA and National Right to Life, for
example, did not make the cut), so I could usually answer “yes” to most questions
without any major discomfort. But every so often I would come across a question that
gave me pause. I might agree with a union on the need to enforce labor and
environmental standards in our trade laws, but did I believe that NAFTA should be
repealed? I might agree that universal health care should be one of the nation’s top
priorities, but did it follow that a constitutional amendment was the best way to achieve
that goal? I found myself hedging on such questions, writing in the margins, explaining
the difficult policy choices involved. My staff would shake their heads. Get one answer
wrong, they explained, and the endorsement, the workers, and the mailing list would all
go to the other guy. Get them all right, I thought, and you have just locked yourself into
the pattern of reflexive, partisan jousting that you have promised to help end.
Say one thing during the campaign and do another thing once in office, and you’re a
typical, two-faced politician.
I lost some endorsements by not giving the right answer. A couple of times, a group
surprised us and gave me their endorsement despite a wrong answer.
And then sometimes it didn’t matter how you filled out your questionnaire. In addition
to Mr. Hull, my most formidable opponent in the Democratic primary for U.S. Senate
was the Illinois state comptroller, Dan Hynes, a fine man and able public servant whose
father, Tom Hynes, happened to be a former state senate president, Cook County
assessor, ward committeeman, Democratic National Committee member, and one of the
most well-connected political figures in the state. Before even entering the race, Dan
had already sewn up the support of 85 of the 102 Democratic county chairmen in the
state, the majority of my colleagues in the state legislature, and Mike Madigan, who
served as both Speaker of the House and chairman of the Illinois Democratic Party.
Scrolling down the list of endorsements on Dan’s website was like watching the credits
at the end of a movie—you left before it was finished.
Despite all this, I held out hope for a few endorsements of my own, particularly those of
organized labor. For seven years I had been their ally in the state legislature, sponsoring
many of their bills and making their case on the floor. I knew that traditionally the AFL-
CIO endorsed those who had a strong record of voting on their behalf. But as the
campaign got rolling, odd things began to happen. The Teamsters held their
endorsement session in Chicago on a day when I had to be in Springfield for a vote;
they refused to reschedule, and Mr. Hynes got their endorsement without them ever
talking to me. Visiting a labor reception during the Illinois State Fair, we were told that
no campaign signs would be allowed; when my staff and I arrived, we discovered the