For Bush, the necessity is mother's intervention
WASHINGTON -- Like a giant cannon rolled out under the cover of darkness, one of the most potent weapons in American politics just fired its first shots. The entire Democratic presidential field is a "sorry bunch," declared Barbara Bush, with her bracing air of dispatch. Note the shrewd choice of the word "sorry," which communicates the idea that the Democrats are both weak and a disappointment to anyone who had hopes for them.
Then, taking on one of the president's more withering critics, New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd, the senior Mrs. Bush declared, "Maureen is a brilliant writer, no doubt. I really do not read her anymore as she sounds so bitter, so unhappy, so negative, so clever, and straining to be different. Sometimes I don't even get what she's talking about! I'm sure this won't bother her, but it makes me sad."
Again, the sweetest turn of the knife: Mrs. Bush puts out that she likes Dowd, and even conveys a feeling of maternal concern. But like a mother who secretly wishes that her careerist daughter would get back in touch with the softer side of life, Mrs. Bush is saddened to taste such tartness in her columns. And Dowd is so far gone that Mrs. Bush's disappointment probably won't even matter to her -- while she, Mother Bush, is fretting on Dowd's behalf.
How can Democrats hope to beat back the salvos of W.'s mom? Barbara Bush clothes her barbs in so much old New England common sense that she could be the protagonist of her own small-town-in-Maine detective series. Pointing out the hidden meanness in her words, not to mention the veiled sexism, would only make the accuser seem cruel or, worse, dumb.
Mothers, after all, can say or do almost anything in defense of their families. Every political attack that comes out of Barbara Bush's mouth is backlash-proof.
That's why Republicans are so excited by the well-timed publication of another volume of her memoirs, "Reflections," which not only will remind voters what a close, loving clan the Bushes are, but will give Barbara a reason to barnstorm the country spreading love for her son.
It couldn't come at a better time. The troubles in Iraq appear to have brought out the self-regard in Bush, who has taken to pointing to his own chest while congratulating himself on his toughness.
Far better to have the praise come from Mom, who apparently gave him her steel spine, but not her self-deprecating good humor.
To all appearances tougher than her husband and wiser than her son, Barbara Bush is an unusual figure. She has a nearly unique position in history, twinned with Abigail Adams as the only wife and mother of presidents.
She is also a symbol of womanly self-restraint in a country that still values such a thing. She has spoken of having endured the criticism of a perfectionist mother and the snickers of some thinner, younger-looking in-laws. She once declared, "I chose to like my life," as if there were times when she debated the choice. But, true to character, she has never explained how much discipline may be required to maintain that sunny, grandma-in-tennis-shoes persona.
She jokes about how much she hates campaigning, which, of course, only gives more force to her exhortations on the campaign trail. She draws huge crowds and routinely shows up on lists of the nation's most respected women. At a vigorous 78, she's likely to log significant time on the road in 2004.
There are qualities to admire and qualities merely to contemplate in Barbara Bush, but as she herself points out, all her exertions are solely in the service of the George Bushes and other family members. This both distills her motives and purifies them. She's like the woman in the middle of the crosswalk, glaring at motorists while proudly pushing her stroller to the other side of the street.
Who, after all, would deny her right of way? And who would have the bad manners to see in that stroller anything but the most handsome kid on the block?
