Making predictions in politics is never wise, and when it comes to the Reform Party, Nostradamus himself wouldn’t try. But it’s hard to imagine a scenario where Reform emerges from November as a major party, as it did with Ross Perot on the ticket twice before. Buchanan is the apparent nominee, but it may take weeks for the Federal Election Commission to rule on Hagelin’s charges that Buchanan won by fraud. Until then, no one gets the party’s coveted $12.5 million in federal matching funds. There’s a moral in there somewhere; after all, it’s the money that caused all this fighting to begin with. But there’s a worthwhile political lesson here, too. From Teddy Roosevelt to George Wallace to Perot, every successful third party of the last century has been about an individual, not an issue. The people who founded Reform were determined to control the party even after Perot left the scene. Instead, they tore it apart trying.
Like any good tragicomedy, the fall of Reform played in several acts. The abridged version goes like this: when Jesse Ventura made a bid to control the party last year, the Perotistas panicked and invited Buchanan in to fend him off. Eager for the money, Buchanan promised to set aside his social agenda in favor of trade issues. The alliance, however, didn’t last long. Realizing that the key to controlling Reform was to control its convention delegates–they have the power to overturn the party’s primary vote–Buchanan elected his own delegates by flooding state meetings with busloads of his Brigades. Skirmishes broke out in states where dueling delegations each claimed to be the real Reform. The Perot forces, facing yet another hostile takeover, turned to Hagelin, the only other candidate to qualify for the primary.
The Battle of Long Beach was over before it began. As Buchanan’s delegates were seated in the convention hall, Perot’s top aide, Russell Verney, was turned away at the door. “Rules? Who cares about rules?” Verney complained. “This is the jihad.” After the two sides assembled separate conventions, Buchanan’s delegates went briskly about their business: they voted to ignore the primary results–sight unseen–and nominate Buchanan directly. And they set about ejecting delegates who still weren’t with the program. Even some Buchananites thought that was a bit much. “I don’t feel comfortable with throwing out everyone who doesn’t agree with us!” a supporter pleaded to Bay Buchanan, the candidate’s sister. Big Brother wasn’t through. Exulting that he felt 20 again, Pat released a diatribe on all the social issues he had promised to avoid. Among his points: homosexuality is “ruinous to body and soul alike” and “a country that sends its women out to defend it is a country not worth defending.”
Meanwhile, in the theater next door, Hagelin’s convention also voted to set aside the primary results, charging fraud. (For the record, Buchanan won the runoff handily. Not that anyone cared.) Hagelin declared himself the nominee by default. In between the rival halls, Jehovah’s Witnesses, who were holding their own convention next door, mingled warily among the bickering delegates, while a Jesse Ventura impersonator wandered around, igniting rumors that the governor himself was in the house. Just when it seemed things couldn’t get any more surreal, Buchanan showed up in the blazing midday heat to introduce his running mate: Ezola Foster, a black inner-city educator who said she agrees with Pitchfork Pat on just about everything.
What happens next is hard to figure. Assuming Buchanan keeps the nomination, he’ll likely change the party’s name and mission after November. If Hagelin loses at the FEC, he’ll sue to tie up the matching funds for as long as possible. And where is Perot in all this? He’s staying silent while the party he founded–like all personality-driven third parties–sinks into history. “This was never Ross Perot’s party,” Verney told the troops last week. “This is our party.” The problem is, he really believed it.
