Politics

Worms or butterflies By CHARLES N. WHEELER III

Throughout the legislature's spring session, House Speaker Michael J. Madigan has described Gov. Jim Edgar as a man living in "an intellectual cocoon," a disparaging image intended to portray the Republican chief executive as out of touch with Illinois. Strong evidence exists, however, to suggest that large numbers of average citizens believe that most political leaders, even the Democratic speaker, are insulated from the real-world cares facing their constituents. The gulf separating those who govern from those whose consent permits it seems as vast heading toward the fall election as it's been in memory.

Perhaps the best indication of the depth of voter alienation with traditional leaders is the meteoric rise of Texas billionaire Ross Perot as a viable presidential contender. Not a few polls show Perot outdistancing both President George Bush and Arkansas Gov. Bill Clinton, the Democratic nominee, with Perot's strength seeming to lie chiefly in the simple fact that he is neither Bush nor Clinton, but rather an "outsider" who would make something, anything, happen in a gridlocked Washington.

As the two major parties prepare for their national conventions, the question of whether Perot will be on the November ballot largely has been replaced by speculation about what impact the maverick candidate might have.

The most frightening scenario envisions a presidential election in which there is no winner in November as Perot carries enough states to deny both Bush and Clinton the 270 electoral votes needed for victory. In that case, the U.S. House of Representatives would pick the next president from among the top three finishers, an unsettling prospect.

More sanguine commentators predict that the Perot bubble will burst as voters begin to scrutinize the candidates and their positions, so that by November 3 he will be little more than a historical footnote. Indeed, a recent Newsweek magazine poll found two-thirds of the Texan's supporters wanting to know more about his policies.

But neither party can afford to just hope for the best, particularly in Illinois where the possibility of a strong Perot vote creates added uncertainty for Republican hopes for gains in Congress and the General Assembly thanks to GOP-devised redistricting plans.

Heading into summer's dog days, there's already plenty of reason for Republican candidates to be concerned about the top of their ticket. Polls suggest much of Perot's support comes from Republicans disenchanted with Bush, whose campaign seems dead in the water. At the same time, Republican senatorial candidate Richard S. Williamson has been a disaster so far, alienating the party's right-wing by reneging on a right-to-life pledge and offending more moderate Republicans with racisttinged attack ads against his Democratic opponent, Cook County Recorder of Deeds Carol Moseley Braun.

Should those lackluster performances persist, might not many nominal GOP voters mark for Perot and say a pox on the rest of the party's candidates? And if their zeal for a perceived new face carries over into legislative races, would they disdain GOP incumbents for Democratic newcomers?

Of course, Democrats can't afford to be smug about Perot, for the third-party challenger also appears to have struck a resonant chord among blue-collar and ethnic voters whose support is critical to Democratic candidates in Illinois. In fact, some party chieftains in Chicago already are talking ticket-splitting in their wards, encouraging voters to cast their ballots for Perot, if they so wish, but to mark for Democrats for other offices.

Whatever its impact in November, the Perot phenomenon poses a more fundamental challenge to public officials at all levels: restoring the people's faith in their government. While the task will not be easy, a good first step might be to consider how the current political climate evolved. Today's poisoned atmosphere, one might argue, is a legacy of past political expediency, encouraged by every candidate who offered simplistic, sound-bite answers to

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complex public policy questions and abetted by every voter who was willing to settle for the promise of a free lunch.

Given that background, the road to recovery must begin with a large dose of reality, difficult though it may be. Our leaders must be brave enough to admit, and we citizens must be mature enough to accept, that determining public policy sometimes requires painful choices.

Here in Illinois, for example, it should be obvious that the state can no longer provide the same array and level of services people have come to expect without significant new revenues. No rhetoric about government bloat, no bashing of state workers, no appeal to economic recovery can change that fact of life. Put simply, the costs of providing services — especially health care for the poor and for state employees — continue to rise at a rate that can't be matched by natural revenue growth or by hacking the budgets for agency operations.

Moreover, while downsizing became a Statehouse buzzword this spring, the scope of government can't be diminished by firing state workers, banning out-of-state travel or cutting printing, computing and telephone allocations. Such measures only make it more difficult for agencies to carry out duties which the law still mandates. True downsizing requires harder choices — specific programs must be eliminated, some departments must be relieved of certain responsibilities, some special interests must be told state government will no longer involve itself in their activities. And those advocating cuts must be prepared to see their own oxen gored, too, not just the other guy's.

If we the people want to keep all those programs and all those services, however, then we must be willing to pay the price in the form of higher taxes.

Similarly difficult choices face us on education, the environment, health care, crime and a host of other major issues. All involve messages few politicians are eager to deliver and most citizens don't want to hear, but only candor on both our parts can ease our mutual disenchantment.

Charles N. Wheeler III is a correspondent in the Springfield Bureau of the Chicago Sun-Times.