The Right's Fight
He's not one to take trouble lying down. Inside Tom DeLay's defense strategy—and what it means for Team Bush.
By Howard Fineman and Michael Isikoff
NewsweekMay 2 issue - La Colline ("the hill") is the perfect place to hold a fund-raising dinner for a Republican congressman: it's two blocks from the Capitol, in the same building as the studios of Fox News. Rep. Tom DeLay of Texas, the embattled House majority leader, is to be feted there this week by lobbyist Glenn LeMunyon, one of an army of former DeLay aides who make a living peddling access to the GOP machinery they helped to build. LeMunyon's clients include Lockheed Martin and Verizon. Last year, at the Republican convention, he threw a series of bashes for Texas's members of Congress, featuring big-time rock acts and offering the opportunity (if you paid enough money) to have your picture taken with the politicians. "Republicans have much more fun than Democrats," LeMunyon said. This week's event is more low key: a quiet dinner, $2,000 for individuals, $5,000 for political action committees, with the proceeds going to DeLay's 2006 House race in Houston. "It's just a fund-raiser," said LeMunyon. "He probably does these things, like, eight times a week."
Yes, in Tom DeLay's world, when the going gets tough, the tough raise money. Most politicians react to stress and controversy by employing the duck and cover—clamming up and lying low until the storm blows over. Not DeLay. Far from avoiding fights, he picks them. Far from avoiding emotional issues, he seeks them. If there is a conservative flag to wave, especially a religious one, he wraps himself in it. The embodiment of the Republican's cash-and-carry, hardball approach to governance, DeLay is embracing the stereotype, aiming to raise twice as much money as he did for his 2004 campaign. In the old days—before the remorseless camps of Red and Blue—a politician in DeLay's predicament would have done one of two things: called a press conference to declare his innocence and answer all questions—or gone silent and called his lawyer. But now everything is a campaign, an ideological war in which the combatants, or at least some of them, believe that nothing less than the sanctity of life is at stake—and every moment is perfect for a funder at a French restaurant.
The fate of Tom (The Hammer) DeLay is important on its own; he is, after all, a key leader of the conservative movement. But something larger is at stake: the agenda of George Bush and the Republican Party, especially their shared goal of remaking the federal judiciary in the image of conservatism. Will DeLay's in-your-face approach to his own salvation help reach that goal—or sabotage the effort by turning every news cycle into a Daily Drama of DeLay? That's clearly how the Democrats want to play it. And, indeed, some Republican polltakers are seeing evidence that public support for Bush's judicial agenda is being hampered by the visibility of DeLay and his religious allies. "He helps us gets things done in the House, no question of that," said a White House insider. "But I'm not sure his strategy now is helping us—or him, for that matter."
DeLay's defense is a response to a real legal threat—not so much to him, at least for now, as to the people he was once close to. As usual, a huge pile of cash is involved—in this case, $80 million—shoveled into Washington by Indian tribes who were involved in, or who wanted to get involved in, the gaming industry. Much of that money went to enterprises run by Jack Abramoff, a lobbyist whom DeLay once called "one of my closest and dearest friends." Abramoff's activities—and those of a brace of former DeLay Hill aides—are now under scrutiny by the Justice Department and the Senate's Indian Affairs Committee, headed by Sen. John McCain.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7615248/site/newsweek/Liberals aim to turn every news cycle into daily DeLay drama