The Capitol Hill Playbook

A Machiavellian Guide for Young Political Professionals

Nicholas Balthazar

• Publisher: Skyhorse
• Year: 2013
• Print ISBN: 9781620877395
• eBook ISBN: 9781626363229
• Topic: Politics & International Relations
• Subtopic: Political History & Theory
• Index: Politics & International Relations

In presenting the ideal skills, abilities, and qualities of a successful politico, The Capitol Hill Playbook speaks to today’s generation of staffers like no other book before it. Weaving together Renaissance-era political philosophies and contemporary illustrations, Nicholas Balthazar enlists the help of Niccolò Machiavelli, author of the venerable political treatise The Prince, and Baldassare Castiglione, author of The Book of the Courtier —the authoritative account of Renaissance court life—to demonstrate two models of political life and their applicability today.Balthazar offers readers a path between these two methods, exploring the mechanics of working for elected officials but also discussing the philosophies behind contemporary political work. The Capitol Hill Playbook answers all the questions a newly hired staffer might want to ask: • Why do politicians run for office?
• Why is devotion so important in politics?
• Why must a staffer be a good communicator?
• Why are friendships such an essential and elusive part of political life?
• How do you win a political knife fight?
• Why should a political staffer never wear a bow tie to the office?
• And more!A provocative and informative read, The Capitol Hill Playbook will be indispensible to any political aspirant and, with an intriguing look back to the Renaissance, reveals how politics today has both changed and remained the same through the centuries.

PART ONE

THE AMERICAN

PRINCE

1. ON THE FOUR TYPES OF PRINCES

Because men are bad, and will not keep faith with you, you too are not bound to observe it with them.

—Machiavelli

Politicians Are Not Like Us

If American dictionaries in the 1970s had a photo next to the definition of corrupt politician, chances are the picture would have been of Richard M. Nixon, the thirtyseventh president of the United States. Nixon was involved in one of the most embarrassing and damaging scandals in US political history. His role in the plot to break into the headquarters of the Democratic National Committee at the Watergate Hotel led to his being the first American president to resign from office.

On the afternoon of August 9th in 1974, Nixon must have felt like an observer on his own life as he stepped up onto the small stage that had been constructed in the East Room of the White House, flanked by the first lady, Patricia, his two daughters, and their husbands. He might have noticed that Pat Nixon’s expressionless eyes conveyed no sign of the weight of the occasion until they met the tear-filled eyes of her youngest daughter, Tricia, standing next to her. The president and his family had arrived to address a gathering of White House aides and staff. The room was silent except for the sound of someone crying softly.

As the president started to speak, his eyes welled up and he began to sweat. He cleared his throat and over the next twenty minutes, haltingly and sometimes ramblingly, delivered what would become one of his last speeches as President of the United States. Just the day before, Richard Nixon, a man who had recently won reelection by one of the largest electoral margins in American history, who had triumphantly brought to an end the stubborn and deeply unpopular Vietnam War, and who had achieved the extraordinary by becoming the first American president to visit Communist China, became the first president to resign.

At the end of his speech, he left the audience with advice that must have been confusing at the time, but in retrospect might have helped to explain to some of those gathered the reason for his downfall: “Those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them—and then, you destroy yourself.”

Nixon’s handling of the Watergate scandal revealed a president that few Americans of the day recognized. Reports from congressional hearings and the release of tapes recorded in the Oval Office showed Nixon to be a paranoid, bitter, and deeply corrupted man willing to hurt anyone and destroy any career to conceal his role in the illegal cover-up. It is reported that when the White House Counsel informed him that a key participant in the Watergate scandal was threatening to discuss Nixon’s role with the press if the president did not agree to pay a bribe (that could be as high as $1 million dollars), Nixon replied:“I know where I can find a million dollars!” Nixon left office disgraced and hated by millions of Americans. His administration forever changed Americans’ perception of the presidency and of the people who run for office.

“Because Men Are Bad and Will Not Keep Faith with You, You too Are Not Bound to Observe It with Them.”

As a person who has worked in politics for almost twenty years, when I think about this story, I can’t help but think about those people who worked for Nixon watching as he imploded before their eyes. Of course those who worked closely with him knew what he was really like, but those farther down the food chain must have been deeply disappointed. Anyone who has worked in politics as long as I have isn’t surprised by Nixon’s story. At this point in my career, I have reached the conclusion that the world of politics is filled with deeply flawed politicians.

In The Prince, much is said about the characteristics of princes, but little is said about their personalities. If Machiavelli were writing his book today, when modern-day princes win their kingdoms in the polling booth instead of on the battlefield, he would undoubtedly have had to delve into the question of why people even want to be princes in the first place. Machiavelli might look at Nixon and speculate about the source of his corruption and he might wonder if Nixon’s harsh judgment of himself and his feelings of alienation fueled his political drive.

Machiavelli might have told the story of how Nixon’s father was a failed lemon farmer and how his mother was briefly ostracized by her own family for marrying beneath her station. He might have showed how, as a child, Nixon was described as not being the kind of kid you hugged, how he had few friends, and how even his closest friends confessed that they did not really know him.

He might have shown how Nixon’s father was a harddriving disciplinarian and his mother cold and detached and how all these factors combined to make Nixon deeply self-conscious, awkward, and insecure. How, even after decades in politics, human contact on the campaign trail would make Nixon sweat; how he remained awkward in front of audiences; and even as president, how he avoided eye contact and disliked shaking hands.²

Machiavelli might have painted this painfully revealing portrait of Richard Nixon in order to show his reader what politicians can be like. But in painting this portrait of the modern politician, Machiavelli would also be showing why it can be such a challenge to work for some of them. Since I’m writing a book that concerns them, I have no choice but to do the same.

I began this chapter with a story about Richard Nixon not only to remind readers, some of whom know little about the man or what a corrupt and damaged politician looks like, but also to introduce a question that is fundamental to understanding success in politics—why do people run for office? As you progress through this book you will see how the answer to that question influences a politician’s relationship to everything and everyone around him—including his staff.

It can impact the policies he promotes, the decisions he makes, and even the kind of people he surrounds himself with. To a degree, the authentic answer to that question says more about who he is than any policy or program he promotes. Many politicians run purely for personal gain. If possible, they are the ones you should avoid, though they oftentimes are the ones who are the most successful.

I remember the day I first realized that the people who run for office were more flawed than others. I had joined the reelection campaign of my state’s governor after a friend, who had grown tired of listening to me tell him how much I wanted to be a congressman, challenged me to do something about it. What I learned on that campaign, and in the two years that followed, squashed forever any desire I might have had of becoming a politician.

First, let me say that despite what you might see on the Sunday morning talk shows, most politicians are not movers and shakers. The majority of the country’s politicians are low-level officials who serve on councils or as small town mayors and who often have other jobs. They take time away from their families and careers to devote themselves to the task of ensuring that your town’s sewage system operates properly and that a traffic light is where it needs to be. They sit on school boards and zoning boards and work for very little money—in some cases no money—for the privilege of playing a role in helping to make their communities better.

In the really early days of my career, I naively thought that all politicians chose their occupation out of an altruistic desire to serve the public. But, after working closely with a few, I discovered that wasn’t entirely true. In fact, in some cases, it wasn’t true at all. The more politicians and aspiring politicians I met and worked with, the more I encountered people who were too selfish to be motivated purely by a desire to serve anyone but themselves. Narcissism was such a common trait among them that I began to wonder why.

I learned the hard way that the people who choose to run for office fit into one of four basic categories: they are damaged, desperate, disenfranchised, or duty-bound. In private, I refer to them as “The Four Ds.” What many of them share is a need for external validation so intense that it pushes them to do things that you and I wouldn’t.

When you get to know them, what you discover is, they don’t just want power and the chance to serve others. What they want more than anything else is to be adored.

On one level, who can blame them? It feels good to be a politician. People lower their voices when you speak. They stand up when you enter a room. Strangers want to shake your hand and seek out your advice. Children tell their parents they want to grow up to be just like you. In short, you are adored. But all this adulation comes at a steep price. That price is the reason that many politicians are not like you and me and why only the really neediest of people, or conversely the most honorable, make politics their chosen profession.

OK, now you’re probably thinking, “Why is the life of being a politician so tough?” Well, for one thing, the work is grueling. Early in my career, even from my modest vantage point among the party cannon fodder, I could see how demanding and taxing the daily lives of elected officials were. Spending a day following them around can easily discourage any sane person from running for office.

For many politicians, the day begins early, because there’s always a breakfast fund-raiser to attend somewhere. Of course, they don’t actually get to eat at the fund-raiser because they’re often the featured speaker. But if they’re lucky, someone on their staff will grab a bagel and coffee for them to eat on the ride to the office afterwards.

Then, as we mere mortals are trying to build up the courage to get out of bed, they are already at the office and have begun a string of back-to-back meetings that will last most of the morning. After meetings, there’s barely enough time to grab another cup of coffee, and maybe hit the bathroom, before heading off to a committee hearing. Sometime between meetings and hearings, they find time to quickly force down a sandwich for lunch, after which, the meetings start up all over again. Then, around dinner time, they’ll leave the office for a string of fund-raisers or some other such political event before finally arriving home in time to tuck in the kids. They might get a break from this routine on weekends, but even that’s rare. During campaign season, the days start even earlier and last even longer—and there are no weekends off. And, let’s say they are successful enough to have accumulated a little power over the years—the life doesn’t get any easier.

American politics is perhaps the only profession where the higher you rise and the more power you accumulate, the harder you work. Think about it: lawyers, doctors, teachers—when they reach the senior ranks of their professions, they work less. They can sit back and delegate. In politics, it’s the opposite. If you are lucky enough to become speaker of the House or a Senate committee chairman, your days are longer than the days of the people serving below you. This is because you must not only satisfy the daily commitments of your leadership position, you still have to attend to all the other responsibilities related to being an elected official. This means attending cheesy community events and supermarket openings and all the other quaint, but necessary, activities that elected officials suffer through to stay visible and relevant in the eyes of their constituents.

If these weren’t enough reasons to drive a sane person into another profession, there’s always the ever present threat of job loss hanging over your head to help focus your mind. A good politician is always looking over his shoulder watching out for challengers. Even those politicians who have achieved great power and influence know that their power will not fully protect them from a younger, and even more desperate or damaged, person seeking to unseat them.

In addition, unlike other professions, in politics, when you lose your job, you can’t just move to another town or state and run again—you’ll be labeled a carpetbagger. The local party system in the new town will surround you and attack you like white blood cells attack a virus. Every politician knows that if he loses a race, it could be the end of his career. That means no more people telling him how great he is and complimenting him on the weight he’s lost, no more free trips to Hawaii to play golf, and nothing to do on a Friday night. The phone just stops ringing. And forget about the pay—which, compared to the amount of work necessary to stay in office, is a daily insult.

In spite of all of this, politicians still think the adulation they receive is worth all the hardship because in many cases the adulation satisfies some deep longing they have within themselves that can only be fulfilled by having people constantly telling them how great they are. After struggling to understand why people would subject themselves to the demands of this kind of life, I came up with the idea of the Four Ds.

The Four Ds

Those driven by damage are motivated to run for office because they were the objects of abuse, neglect, or abandonment as children. Daddy left or mommy left or mommy drank or daddy drank or both mommy and daddy drank before leaving. They were beaten or abandoned or ignored. Whatever happened to them as children left them with a desperate need for love and approval so strong that they would do whatever it took to satisfy it. Politics is the perfect profession for these kinds of people because people who do not know them eagerly stroke their egos and give them love for free.

When I search for a historical example of a familiar politician that fits into this category, I immediately think of President Ronald Reagan, whose well-publicized habit of tuning out during arguments was a defense mechanism developed to cope with his alcoholic father. Or Speaker Newt Gingrich who, by his own admission, grew up lonely after his father abandoned him rather than pay child support. He was adopted by his mother’s new husband, but their relationship was strained and distant. Or President Bill Clinton whose real father died in a car crash three months before Clinton was born and whose stepfather was abusive and paid little attention to him.

Those driven by desperation are people who are searching for deliverance from mediocrity. These people live unexceptional lives, accomplishing unexceptional things and, one day, they look up just long enough to recognize that they have more days behind them than ahead. They start looking for ways to add meaning to their insignificant lives. They know that if they can raise the relatively small sum necessary to fund a minor campaign, and if they can stick with the campaign long enough to get elected, they get to live out the rest of their days with “Honorable” in front of their names.

When I think of this category of person, as much as I respect him, I think of Harry Truman. President Truman is the Ringo Starr of American presidential politics. He lived much of his life unremarkably. It was only after being given the once-in-a-lifetime chance, at the age of fifty, to run for the US Senate, that he was able to transform his life.

Those driven by disenfranchisement tend to be outsiders. They are motivated to choose a life of public service because they have grown tired of living on the margins of society. These people are often members of an ethnic minority group, they are gay, or they are women. Barack Obama’s ethnicity places him squarely in this category, but disgraced President Richard Nixon fits too. Nixon always saw himself as an outsider. He held onto this opinion even after he had achieved what most people would agree was the extraordinary by becoming a congressman, senator, and vice president of the United States. The perception that others viewed him as an outsider fueled his political drive throughout his career. He held on to this belief even in the dying days of his presidency. He even thought that his outsider status, not his breathtaking immorality, was the source for his ultimate downfall.

Those driven by duty are the children of public servants who, from an early age, are encouraged to pursue a life of service. Many times they are the sons and daughters of teachers, letter carriers, diplomats, law enforcement officers, government employees, or, in some cases, even elected officials. Lyndon Baines Johnson, the thirty-sixth president of the United States, was the son of Sam Johnson, a five-term member of the Texas House of Representatives; US Senator Carol Moseley Braun was the daughter of a police officer and a medical technician; and US Senator John McCain was the son of the one-time commander of US naval forces in the Pacific. But even in the case of the duty-bound, there is some invisible hand at work that draws them to politics as opposed to some other mode of service, like nursing or teaching or the law. That hidden hand guides them through the strains and pressures associated with the social demands and public scrutiny of politics and is what separates them from other service-minded people. To most people the pressures of politics are so intense that they are not worth the effort. But to the dutybound, who are oftentimes touched by one or some combination of the Four Ds, politics is the only truly satisfying profession.

If you choose to pursue a career as a political staffer, you will undoubtedly encounter one of these types of people and will need to understand the source of their motivation. In many ways, this is the most important thing about them.

The story of the Four Ds is a cautionary tale. This is information that you should reflect on if you want to be a part of the world of politics. I’ve been lucky, but you may not be. Odds are that some of the bosses you work for will turn out to have destructive dynamics driving them. But as I said above, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Working for a damaged prince, as for a boss in any other profession, has its pros and cons. What you need to do is ask yourself what you want most out of your career. Are you willing to work for anyone—anyone—to get where you want to go? Are you the type of person who wants to look up to your boss or are you willing to overlook the flaws to focus on the work, rega...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Epigraph
• contents
• Introduction
• Part One: The American Prince
• Part Two: The American Courtier
• Epilogue: On being a model courtier
• Notes