Harshing on Scott

Harshbarger's troubles at the top reflect the Democratic party's identity crisis

by Michael Crowley

Manna from heaven! All of Scott Harshbarger's dreams came true two weeks ago, when Joe Kennedy bailed out of the 1998 governor's race. Suddenly the attorney general -- who ignored early ridicule for daring to take on a Kennedy, then quietly watched as controversy devoured Joe's popularity -- has found himself alone in the Democratic field with nearly $1 million in the bank, a strong campaign team, and a carefully crafted public image.

But Harshbarger's men are learning quickly that life at the top isn't all it's cut out to be. Having watched the spectacular flameout of the once-unstoppable Joe Kennedy, Harshbarger is now feeling the heat of a new backlash: Stop Scott.

You might think the Democratic machine would want to ensure that the Harshbarger trolley continues to morph into a freight train speeding toward the November election. But instead, Democratic insiders have spent the days since Kennedy's exit trying to find a new candidate to take on Harshbarger.

Why? Because over the course of an ambitious and iconoclastic career, Harshbarger has left a deep current of enmity in his wake. Moreover, Kennedy's exit from the field has reenergized old party divisions -- between dealmaking machine insiders and reformist outsiders, between urban-oriented populists like Kennedy and technocratic wonks like Michael Dukakis and Harshbarger himself. These decades-old rivalries were muted during the Bill Weld era. But now that Democrats have an excellent shot at reclaiming the governorship, the infighting has roared back to life. How the battle plays out will have important consequences not only for the political debate in next year's governor's race, but also for the direction of the Massachusetts Democratic Party.

There are several reasons for the resentment toward Harshbarger in the bowels of the state-party machine. On a personal level, Harshbarger's critics say his image as an ethical, crusading public servant masks his real identity as a headline-hungry self-promoter. Harshbarger has rarely given back to the party in which he made his name, they say. On the contrary, he has investigated some of its most popular leaders, from former Boston mayor Ray Flynn to former attorney general Edward McCormack Jr. -- inquiries that often produced more accusations than convictions.

But although antipathy toward Harshbarger may have some Democrats plotting to get him, other critics are more concerned about what his success would imply for the party's identity. To activists who fear a flashback to their bad Dukakis trip, his technocratic, bloodless manner suits a law-enforcement official better than it does a governor.

"There's a kind of coldness and calculatedness about Scott that I find troubling," says one veteran Democratic politician. "To be a well-trained lawyer by definition means you're very cautious, very deliberate. That can be the antithesis of political leadership."

As a result, in the two weeks since Kennedy dropped out, Harshbarger's Democratic critics have been vigorously courting new challengers to fill Joe's place in the primary field. US Representative Marty Meehan (D-Lowell) and former state senator Patricia McGovern were moving closer to running, but Meehan dropped out on Wednesday. Flynn, saddled with baggage and debt and seeking political revenge against Harshbarger, seems determined to launch a quixotic crusade. Steven Grossman, chairman of the Democratic National Committee and a former state-party chairman, was a favorite of liberal-party regulars until he backed out on Monday. Apparently, some diehards even hope to lure Kennedy back into the race if a strong successor hasn't emerged by spring.

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What's at stake is the shape of next year's election debate, when Massachusetts will chart a post-economic recovery, post-Bill Weld path to the year 2000. The question is, which of the party's voices will be heard at this crucial stage of the state's history?

Right now the party lacks a representative of its urban-populist wing. Whatever his personal warts, one element of Kennedy's political identity has always been unassailable: his commitment to economic and social justice.

Harshbarger, by contrast, has little reason to campaign on behalf of the disenfranchised. He's courting the independent voters who make up almost half the state's electorate. That independent, largely suburban bloc helped Bill Weld win 71 percent of the vote in 1994, and it enthusiastically supported a Weld administration that scapegoated labor, the poor, and minority constituencies.

Harshbarger may have smart ideas about campaign finance, environmental protection, and the evils of casino gambling. But he has yet to show the ability or the inclination to pound a podium about economic inequality, or to move an audience with an appeal for racial harmony.

Sadly, there simply aren't many Democrats who can fill that role. Harshbarger's strongest remaining rival, Patricia McGovern, is a substantive candidate who could raise big bucks from women's groups. But her candidacy doesn't appear motivated by any real ideological passion. And though she's credited with strong work in the depths of the recession as Senate Ways and Means Committee chair, the memory of those painful days could also leave her vulnerable. (One State House Democrat shivers as he imagines how the GOP would caricature a ticket of McGovern and former state human-services secretary Phil Johnston, a possible candidate for lieutenant governor. "They'd make it a referendum on the dark ages of '89 and '90," he says. " `The architect of the disastrous 1989-1990 budget and the chief economic bogeyman in the Dukakis Administration.' ")

Marty Meehan, though still a liberal by most standards, is the state congressional delegation's most moderate member. He would have brought to the race a Paul Tsongas-inspired pro-business fiscal conservatism with strong appeal to the suburban independent vote.

And Steven Grossman's trial balloon was, more than anything, a sign of how desperate Harshbarger's antagonists are to find someone, anyone, to run against him. Their support for him was almost entirely inspired by his fundraising ability.

McGovern may have the best shot at toppling Harshbarger, but the slightly bizarre comeback bid of Ray Flynn now looks like the last ideological gasp of the urban populists. On the heels of a troubled stint as ambassador to the Vatican, Flynn would be hindered by sparse funds, lingering ethics questions, and a growing reputation for pure eccentricity. Almost no one gives him a real chance at winning the nomination.

And yet, if he can rehabilitate his image -- a big "if" -- Flynn would in many ways be a welcome addition to the campaign. More than any other contender, he could force Harshbarger into a real debate about the priorities of the Democratic Party and the state. Flynn is a champion both of struggling black communities and of the ethnic working class. A close ally of labor, he would provide a clear voice for that resurgent movement.

But if Harshbarger isn't as far to the left as a Ray Flynn on urban issues, he is an extremely liberal candidate by any measure, something that his backers say has been obscured by Kennedy's former supporters.

As one Harshbarger Democrat said, "It is curious that these same liberals, when Joe Kennedy voted with Newt Gingrich for a constitutional balanced-budget amendment and supported the death penalty, said nothing."

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Harsbarger hardly seems rattled by the new wave of discontent. Quoted last week in the Globe, senior Harshbarger aide Don Davenport angered some Kennedy supporters by saying that "the old tax-and-spend insiders should face the reality" of Harshbarger's strength -- "get on board or step aside and let it happen."

It's that attitude, say some Democrats, that could make this a rocky primary campaign for Harshbarger. But Harshbarger has never really given a damn about his party's insiders.

"Scott Harshbarger never went out and campaigned for the Democratic ticket in 1992," says Democratic consultant Mary Anne Marsh, who managed a statewide ticket of several candidates that year but is unaligned in this race. "Joe Kennedy did. I've never seen Harshbarger out there trying to help other Democrats get elected."

"Over the years some of us have supported Scott, and I didn't see him support us," says a long-time Democratic pol. "The capacity to build bridges and loyalty is part of leadership. What does that mean when he's governor?"

And Harshbarger certainly showed little allegiance to his party's customs when he ousted incumbent attorney general Jim Shannon in 1990, four years after he resisted the urging of Democratic Party leaders to run when the office was open.

But it's not clear Harshbarger really needs the Democratic establishment. The populist urbanites who had supported Kennedy still make up a solid chunk of the party. But as their disappointing search for a suitable successor to Joe illustrates, the state party has few public faces to fit that mold. Flynn has reached the end of the line. Kennedy is thinking about quitting politics altogether.

That's not to say Harshbarger can afford to alienate Democratic activists completely. They do, after all, control the party's nomination process. Sufficiently angered, they could conceivably block Harshbarger's nomination -- even if it meant offering up a weaker candidate against the Republican nominee.

"My fear," says consultant Jim Spencer, who had been working for Kennedy, "is we're going to have an election cycle with the Democrats eating each other up and not raising enough significant money -- and letting the Republicans walk right through."

But only the most obsessive anti-Harshbarger Democrat would prefer to see Paul Cellucci or Joe Malone win in '98. Which is why all this scheming and sniping among Democratic insiders might matter more to them than it does to Scott Harshbarger. For Harshbarger is no doubt well aware of the example set by one of the most successful politicians in the state's recent history: a former prosecutor who sold himself to the independents, paid little attention to party strictures, and routinely infuriated his party's rank-and-file. He even overcame a party endorsement of his first opponent before going on to win two terms as governor. His name is William Weld.

Michael Crowley can be reached at mcrowley[a]phx.com.