Jackson's sweet dream

SCOT LEHIGH — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 18:14:11 GMT

Jesse Jackson's 1988 presidential campaign
This article originally appeared in the March 4, 1988 issue of the Boston Phoenix.

This article originally appeared in the March 4, 1988 issue of the Boston Phoenix.

Hazard, KY—This town of 6000 clings to the side of the lode-rich Appalachian hills that have made coal king in Eastern Kentucky. Those hills remind Jesse Jackson of hills beyond, of the hills of South Africa. “There are the same economic forces at work,” he says. Mainly, it’s the force of poverty, for King Coal rules here with the ruthlessness of absolute monarchy. Just outside of town, the landscape is pockmarked with the ugly scars of stripmining. In town, the scars are of economic blight. Hazard traps you, oppresses you, presses down on you from its terraced rows of dingy dwellings, squat, grimy houses with cinderblock chimneys and roll roofing, or rows of nondescript triple-deckers bleeding paint.

Jesse Jackson has come here to “whiten the face of poverty.” That way, he says, America can no longer dismiss the privation. Inside the dimly lit high-school gymnasium, a capacity crowd of 1000, dotted with only an occasional black face, erupts into cheers as Jackson enters. “Jesse, Jesse, Jesse,” comes the familiar chant. “Jesse, Jesse, Jesse.” Jackson strides to a small restraining wall that separates the basketball court from the bleachers, and the crowd surges forward. Kids vault the wall, and surround him, and soon the grownups, too, are spilling out onto the musty canvas that covers the basketball floor. Jackson moves along the wall, pressing the flesh, hoisting and hugging kids, a presidential pied piper leading a mesmerized line of children. But this crowd is not content to follow; they want to touch. As he moves by, the group behind him splits like a drop of quicksilver and rolls around him to reach out again. “Jesse, Jesse, Jesse.”

“I am always distressed when I see such poverty in a nation so wealthy,” Jackson says quietly, when he has taken the podium. “But because I grew up in poverty, I am not traumatized. I am determined that we, the people, can come together. If we, the people, maintain our self-respect, maintain our dignity, no mountains are too high. We, the people, can have jobs, health care, and justice—right here in these mountains. But we, the people, must lead. We must turn to each other, and we, the people, can win. You have struggled against great odds, and your struggle shall not be in vain…We, the people, are going to outlast Reagan. Just hold on.” The crowd responds with a deafening, overwhelming roll. “Jesse, Jesse, Jesse.”

The high hurdles

SCOT LEHIGH — Mon, 09 Apr 2007 17:54:24 GMT

Obstacles for Dukakis in the long run
This article originally appeared in the March 24, 1987 issue of the Boston Phoenix.

This article originally appeared in the March 24, 1987 issue of the Boston Phoenix.

Stepping to the microphone Monday afternoon, Governor Michael Dukakis ended months of speculation and began a year of uncertainty. “I have the energy to run this marathon,” the governor declared. “The strength to run this country; the experience to manage our government; and the values to lead our people. With your help and with your prayers, a son of Greek immigrants named Mike Dukakis can be the next president of the United States.”

In the space of a few short sentences Dukakis offered the proposition he will try to sell to the country as he competes, over the long months ahead, with half a dozen Democratic candidates test-marketing presidential propositions of their own.

For the governor, the decision to run for president is more than a calculated gamble: it is an existential leap. The differences between the carefully orchestrated one-acts he has produced on the state stage he’s dominated for the better part of a decade and the rollicking, improvisational theater-in-the-round of a national campaign are vast. In Massachusetts today Michael Dukakis can boast, with more accuracy than Louis XIV did in 17^th-century France, “L’état c’est moi.” But nationally, like all the other candidates save frontrunners Gary Hart and Jesse Jackson, he is virtually unknown. “Another Democrat says he’ll run” is how the New York Times summed it up Tuesday beneath a front-page photo of the governor and his wife Kitty.

Dukakis himself acknowledged that the odds against his success are “very, very long.” If the governor could turn to Chief Secretary Sasso, the way Captain Kirk does to First Officer Spock, for a more precise estimate of his chances, the 19-month mission might appear hopelessly daunting.

If Dukakis is to beat those odds, if he is to make the transition from just another Democrat to the Democratic nominee, or even to serious contender, he will have to clear the combined hurdles of message, schedule and field.

To win, Dukakis must make of his Massachusetts experience and his personal character a past history and future vision that catches the interest of the Democratic electorate. Much of his history is a plus. If Ronald Reagan is a father-knows-best figure straight out of the ‘50s, Dukakis is the archetypal ‘80s family man. His commitment to his wife and kids and his determination not to let his public career eclipse his private responsibilities as husband and father are legendary. Though professional misogynists and chauvinists may snicker that the governor is henpecked, those of modern sensibility will appreciate the mutual respect and support he and Kitty show each other.