It was like winning the Super Bowl. No, better. It was like winning the Super Bowl by beating the Dallas Cowboys, crushing the guys that everyone loves to hate, crushing them so badly no one could believe they'd ever recover. What an endorphin high it was for the Republicans, who snatched the U.S. House of Representatives from the Democrats on Nov. 8, 1994, issued a 100-day manifesto, passed new laws and convinced the media to call the whole business a "revolution." Funny thing was (and who could have guessed?), the entire episode, the pure joy of power, the thrill of hearing once-arrogant Democrats squeal as they lost prestige and pork, didn't last much longer than the NFL off-season.
But in those impassioned first months of Republican control, the future for three Southern California legislators--David Dreier, Chris Cox and Dana Rohrabacher--looked as exhilarating as a long-legged jaunt up the U.S. Capitol steps. After 14 years of toiling in back-bench obscurity, Dreier practically became a Washington celebrity. It was his job to recast the House's all-important committee system, killing some panels and renaming others in the image of Gingrich Republicanism. (Who wants a committee on "government operations" when you can have a committee on "government reform"?) Cox was right in the center of action, too. He was elected chair of the Republican Policy Committee, charged with drawing up that vision thing for GOP House members. And his pal Dana Rohrabacher, a friend from their Reagan White House days, stood on the front lines of his party's war on the Democrats, giddily throwing grenades at all that "liberal claptrap," such as environmental rules to prevent global warming.
All three were emblematic of the new generation of conservatives taking over Washington--unabashedly ideological and far more intent on shaking things up than their more senior colleagues. All three hailed from safe Republican districts. Dreier's spanned the base of the San Gabriel Mountains, taking in Claremont, Azusa and Arcadia; Cox's Orange County district was anchored by such conservative bases as Irvine and Newport Beach; Rohrabacher's chunk of voters stretched from Huntington Beach and Costa Mesa inland to Westminster and Fountain Valley. These were places where the Contract With America sang to voters. All each man had to do was carry the tune, which they effortlessly did during those first spirited months of Republican control.
Then the game got harder--a prolonged and costly budget war with the White House in the winter of 1995, followed by the loss of eight Republican seats in the 1996 election. Six months later, in the spring of 1997, House Republican leaders had shifted course again; suddenly they were cutting deals with the newly reelected president they once thought crushed. This outburst of bipartisanship culminated last August in a budget deal with Clinton that handed the GOP some tax cuts, but at the price of spending increases so generous they were hailed by the dreaded Washington liberal establishment--hardly a revolutionary moment for House Republicans. Last fall, House conservatives failed in bids to repeal affirmative action and enact a school-voucher program.
Now, as the 1998 election season opens and visions of White House 2000 dance in their heads, Republican conservatives are eager to jump-start their once promising revolution. Even if scandal consumes their Democratic opponents, the onetime revolutionaries--like the ranks of the party as a whole--are divided over what the Gop's future should be. The leadership style
of House Speaker Newt Gingrich, whose fitful dances with the Democrats helped inspire a conspiracy to oust him last summer, remains a lightning rod for the debate.
Our three lawmakers represent the divisions among GOP conservatives. The gregarious Dreier, now an intimate of Gingrich, gushing with bipartisan grace and goodwill; the cool and cerebral Cox, supporting the budget deal but more skeptical about giveaways to Democrats, more resistant to the speaker's newfound spirit of conciliation; and Dana Rohrabacher, like a leftover found tucked in the refrigerator after the revolutionaries had feasted and gone home, his lonely voice decrying this new love fest between Republicans and Democrats.
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