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Mississippi Politics: . . . And the Dog You Came in With
So it was hardly out of character when Mr Fordice used his final state-of-the-state address last month to berate legislators as a bunch of liberal spendthrifts bent on serving special interests. It was the reaction that was surprising. The legislators, most of whom have at least feigned respect in the face of these outbursts in the past, were obviously fed up with the game. The speech ended with silence - not even a smattering of applause from Republicans or Democrats. Three weeks later, almost every proposal in the governor's agenda was dead. As the second term of Mississippi's only Republican governor this century comes to a close, Mr Fordice's story offers a lesson in how not to get things done in southern politics. The conservative agenda on which he was elected remains virtually nonexistent in law, defeated over and over again by lawmakers he antagonised. Democrats are sick and tired of being publicly abused by the state's leader. Republicans, who have in the past tried to gather support for his ideas, are frustrated. As a whole, they routinely override Fordice vetoes. "You can't bad-mouth people nine months of the year and then expect to get what you want in the other three," says Ken Stribling, a Republican from Jackson. In fact, Republican legislators say that their relationship with the governor is no better than his relationship with Democrats. Only rarely since 1991 have party leaders met Mr Fordice to discuss their agenda, so Fordice vetoes in some cases are just as surprising to them. "He simply does not see us as a resource . . . or as simply other elected officials who deserve courtesy," says Jim Simpson, a Republican from Gulfport. Even when Mr Fordice invited Republican legislators to an opening-session reception this year, he could not resist furiously reciting the names of every legislator who had voted to override his vetoes that day. It wasn't expected to end this way. Mississippi Republicans could hardly believe their luck when Mr Fordice, an unknown businessman, won the governor's race in 1991. Mississippi was a Democratic stronghold that had not elected a Republican governor since Reconstruction. If the governor could build bridges with non-Republicans, they reckoned, the party's rebirth would be certain. Shortly after the election, Republican legislators sent him memos suggesting visits to black churches and other simple means of connecting with the masses. Alas, the governor seemed not to have the art of polite conversation. Hopes of building bridges to the masses were dampened early on when he jokingly threatened to call out the National Guard in a dispute over state funding for black colleges. (Mississippi, whose population is 23% black, still has a number of colleges specifically catering to black students.) Black leaders took offence on other issues, too, including Mr Fordice's refusal to name a black to the college board, his support of Confederate symbols and his defence of a white supremacist organisation, the Council of Conservative Citizens, as containing "some very good people with some very good ideas." His conservative platform of tax rebates, school choice and opposition to abortion has played well with most Mississippi voters. Having twice voted him into office, they seem to like his blunt, no-nonsense way of describing Christian-based ideals. The general population appears quite unconcerned about whom he offends. But his caustic style has left ill-will across the political scene, and has given him little chance of turning these conservative ideas into legislation. Take the issue of voter identification, for example. For several years, Mr Fordice has pushed for a provision to require voters to show identification when voting. The same bill would also allow voters to register when they get their driving licences. As part of the push, he accused legislators of having benefited from voter fraud. His refusal to apologise for the remark has not been forgotten, and neither have voter-identification requirements passed. Outside the legislature, he picked an unnecessary fight by leading the opposition to a state-led lawsuit against tobacco companies. Even after Mississippi has accepted a nearly $4 billion settlement-more than twice the amount of the state budget in any given year-Mr Fordice still harangues the state attorney-general for the way the money is being spent. Mr Fordice's strength as governor has been his ability to bring business into the state. As an engineer and former chief executive of a construction company, he is not shy about calling up fellow CEOs and discussing Mississippi's business-friendly tax structure. Critics contend that he takes too much credit for the state's strong economy; they cite the legalisation of gambling in 1994, which Mr Fordice opposed, along with the national boom, for the economic revival in this notoriously poor state. But even opponents concede that he has been a grand recruiter of business. That success has not made Mr Fordice more popular in the legislature. Last month, a couple of weeks after his state-of-the-state speech, a state senator introduced a referendum to ban pets in the capitol. It was an obvious slap at Mr Fordice, the only person who routinely comes to work with a dog. Lance, a lovable black Labrador, sits by the governor's desk and has on occasion played "Fetch" with him in the hallways. The resolution will probably die without action, but it was the pure meanness of it that made it memorable. Mr Fordice calls Lance his best friend. "You know what they say in Washington," he told a reporter when the resolution was introduced. "If you want a friend, get a dog." |