Poll: Democrat up 7 points in Georgia House race

Democrat Jon Ossoff is 7 points ahead of Republican Karen Handel in the race for Georgia’s 6th Congressional District seat, according to a SurveyUSA survey released Monday

Fifty-one percent of likely and actual voters in Georgia say they would vote for Ossoff if the election were held today. Forty-four percent say they would vote for Handel, while 6 percent are undecided.

The runoff will be held June 20 and is being closely watched by both parties as a potential bellwether for how President Trump could affect the 2018 midterm elections. 

Trump won Georgia’s 6th District by 1.5 percent in November despite the district typically voting for the GOP. 

The Georgia seat was formerly held by Republican Tom Price, who is now Trump’s secretary of Health and Human Services.


The SurveyUSA poll found that one issue Republicans have sought to make an issue in the race — Ossoff’s current residency outside the district — is not catching on with voters. 

Fifty-one percent say the location is “not an issue,” while 21 percent call it a “minor issue” and 27 percent call it a “major issue.” Another 2 percent are unsure.

Ossoff’s race with Handel is the most expensive House battle in history, with outside groups having poured more than $18 million into the race so far.

Democrats are casting the race as a referendum on Trump’s presidency, aiming to pick up a House seat once thought safely Republican.

Trump nominated Price in November, with the Senate ultimately confirming the pick in February.

SurveyUSA conducted its latest survey of 549 likely and actual voters in Georgia via cellphone and landline telephone interviews from May 16 to 22. It has a 4.3 percentage point margin of error.


Trump eyeing Lewandowski, Bossie as crisis managers

The White House is looking to wall off the scandals threatening to overtake the president’s agenda by building a separate crisis management operation.

President Donald Trump personally reached out to two of his former campaign aides – his first campaign manager, Corey Lewandowski, and his deputy campaign manager, David Bossie – to sound them out about working with the administration as crisis managers, according to two people familiar with the situation. POLITICO previously reported that both men were spotted in the West Wing last week, before Trump departed on his overseas trip.

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The response tracks with the steps taken by previous presidential administrations when confronted with independent inquiries like the one now being conducted by former FBI director Robert Mueller, who was appointed by the Justice Department last week to investigate the Kremlin’s efforts to meddle in the 2016 campaign, including contacts between Trump campaign aides and Russian officials.

No formal announcement is expected before Trump returns to the U.S. this weekend. A White House spokesman said there were no immediate plans to hire Lewandowski and Bossie inside the White House, and it is unclear that the rapid response operation would be housed in the West Wing. It is likely, one person familiar with the operation said that the work would be done outside of the White House.

Lewandowski didn’t answer several phone calls seeking comment but said in a text message he was not in “talks with anyone” to join the administration. He didn’t respond to further questions. Bossie declined to comment for this article.

As the velocity of events – beginning with the president’s admission that he dismissed FBI director James Comey because he felt besieged by the bureau’s investigation into Russia’s involvement in the campaign – seemed to spin out of control, the president has pointed the finger at his communications staff, undermining their message and looking elsewhere for guidance.

The Trump campaign’s communications director, Jason Miller, who did not join the administration in January, was also in the West Wing last week.

Previous presidents have resorted to – and benefited from – developing a rapid response operation that relegates press inquiries to an office distinct from the White House’s official press shop. As the Whitewater scandal threatened to consume Bill Clinton’s presidency, his deputy chief of staff, Harold Ickes, tapped spin doctors Mark Fabiani and Chris Lehane, who came to be known as the “masters of disaster,” to handle the affair.

The scope and complexity of independent investigations has typically proved a challenge for regular White House staffers, who have struggled to juggle them with their day-to-day duties, and veterans of previous administrations say creating an independent operation can relieve some of the pressure on the press office. “In my experience it’s exactly the right thing to do because it allows you to the greatest extent possible to contain the investigation, to keep the investigation away from White House business and to keep it out of the daily press briefings,” said Fabiani, whose staff totaled approximately 20 people, including lawyers and a team that worked with lawmakers on Capitol Hill.

Housing a rapid response effort outside the administration would be an unorthodox way to manage the ballooning scandals and mark a break with tradition. The Clinton administration housed its crisis management office on the top floor of the Old Executive Office Building across from the National Security Council’s Africa bureau.

The president on Monday stirred up some of the controversy he had hoped to leave stateside. As he met with Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu in Jerusalem, Trump was asked about the Oval Office meeting in which he reportedly shared classified Israeli intelligence with Russian officials. “I never mentioned the word or the name Israel. Never mentioned during that conversation,” he said. “They’re all saying I did, so you have another story wrong. Never mentioned the word Israel.”

Trump’s remarks dragged the back-to-back-to-back scandals that dominated the week and a half before his departure into his first major foreign trip. White House aides have struggled to contain the fallout from a series of events that reached a climax on Friday when the New York Times reported – 30 minutes after Air Force One took off for Riyadh – that the president had derided Comey as a “nut job” in the same meeting with his Russian counterparts where he had disclosed high-level Israeli intelligence.

Trump fired Lewandowski, who oversaw his improbable primary victory, in June of 2016, just a month before he officially accepted the Republican nomination. As the steward of Trump’s campaign, Lewandowski made headlines as a fierce defender of his candidate, most notoriously when he was charged with battery after physically moving a reporter out of Trump’s path. Authorities ultimately dropped the charges.

The president’s turn to former campaign aides is a reflection of a broader tendency to rely on trusted allies during times of crisis. Unlike Lewandowski and Bossie, White House chief of staff Reince Priebus, press secretary Sean Spicer, and communications director Michael Dubke did not serve on the campaign. “At times of crisis obviously it’s important that you surround yourself with people you can trust, and Corey certainly has proven his loyalty,” said Alex Conant, a partner at the public affairs firm Firehouse Strategies, who served as Marco Rubio’s communications director during the 2016 campaign.

That said, there are limits to what aides can accomplish if the principal is unwilling to change. “The challenges Trump faces are not his staff’s fault. Staff changes won’t matter unless they come with systematic changes to how the president is running his White House,” said Conant.

Bossie’s addition to the White House in a crisis management role would mark an ironic turning point for a man who spent much of the 1990s as a top investigator for the Oversight and Government Reform Committee working to stoke the many scandals that swirled around the Clinton administration.

“He certainly knows how to set fires, whether he’s good at putting them out or not, I have no idea,” Fabiani said.


How Watergate Helped Republicans—And Gave Us Trump

Democrats and liberals have become intoxicated by the idea of impeaching President Donald Trump in the two weeks since he fired the FBI Director James Comey. “The House must begin the impeachment process before Donald Trump puts us at risk again,” prominent Democratic donor J.B. Pritzker told the New York Times last week. “The case for impeaching Trump—and fast,” read a Vox headline on Monday. These optimists probably aren’t just excited to get Trump out of office; they are also undoubtedly excited about what such a scandal would mean for the long-term prospects of the Republican Party, already torn apart by internal squabbles, an unruly base and constant games of legislative chicken. Once the relatively straightforward matter of impeachment is disposed of, they imagine, a new progressive age will dawn and the Democrats will lead a grateful populace into the broad, sunlit uplands of enlightenment.

Flashbacks to November 7, 2016, anyone?

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Leave aside, for the moment, inconvenient considerations such as the fact that the special counsel’s investigation may take years, that it may not come up with any unambiguously impeachable offense committed by Trump, and that a Republican-controlled Congress is highly unlikely to oust the leader of their party. Assume instead that through some improbable concatenation of circumstances, Trump actually could be impeached. Would the results be to the Democrats’ liking?

We have only two real examples of this last resort of last resorts in American politics. One was Bill Clinton, whose impeachment became such a transparently partisan charade that when he was acquitted of those charges by the Senate in February 1999, he saw his popularity soar. The other example is Richard Nixon, which is undoubtedly what some Democrats are hoping to recreate as they plan “Impeachment Marches” in early July. And they might be remembering how poorly the GOP fared after Watergate as the national scandal pushed Republicans out of office, boosted a new crop of liberal Democrats and resulted in a raft of reform legislation. Here’s what they’re forgetting, though: Ultimately, the aftereffects of the biggest scandal in American politics ended up helping the Republican Party—giving us unprecedented levels of polarization, distrust in government institutions and, leading, ultimately, to a President Donald Trump.

In the short term, of course, Republicans took a beating. After Nixon resigned in August 1974, the stench of Watergate continued to hang over the Republican Party, which dropped 49 seats in the House and five in the Senate during the 1974 midterm elections. The biggest losers in 1974 were conservative Republicans, whom the public identified with Nixon and his crimes.

All of this was good news for Democrats. Many of the 71 new House Democrats, known collectively as the “Watergate babies,” were strongly liberal and iconoclastic, and they brought a new reform spirit to Congress. They overturned the seniority system in Congress and overthrew several of the long-serving Southern Democratic committee chairmen who had acted as a brake on liberal legislation. Nixon’s successor as president, Gerald Ford, lost the 1976 election to Jimmy Carter. More broadly, Watergate energized the forces of dissent and contributed to the breakdown of the Cold War consensus that had made muscular anti-Communism the unquestioned foreign policy of both parties. The post-Watergate period, from 1975 to 1980, was the last in which the left had a determinative impact on American politics.

But in the long view of hindsight, the principal beneficiary of Watergate and Nixon’s resignation was the conservative wing of the Republican Party.

Nixon was, despite the popular conception of him today, a centrist Republican—and because of Watergate, he may have been the last one. Nixon’s sensibilities were populist-conservative, but operationally he acted as a moderate and even occasionally as a progressive, as for example when he created the Environmental Protection Agency and proposed national health insurance that would have covered more people than Obamacare. In 1997, I interviewed Elliot Richardson, who as attorney general played a key role in bringing down Nixon but felt history had wrongly remembered the 37th president. “Most people don’t really get the fact that the Nixon administration was to the left of the Clinton administration,” Richardson told me. “Even the Eisenhower administration was to the left of the Clinton administration.”

From the time he entered the executive branch as Dwight Eisenhower’s vice president, Nixon aimed to modernize the Republican Party and make it representative of the broad middle swathe of American political opinion. In doing so, though, he sided with Republican moderates far too often for conservatives. Prominent leaders of the conservative movement publicly suspended their support of Nixon in 1971, angered by his welfare reform proposals, his advocacy of Keynesian economic policies, his opening to Communist China and his pursuit of détente with the Soviet Union. Conservatives even backed Ohio Rep. John Ashbrook’s quixotic campaign against Nixon in the 1972 Republican presidential primary. Right-wing journalist M. Stanton Evans judged that “Nixon has made impressive strides toward the political liquidation of American conservatism. … Nixon has taken the country further left than [1968 Democratic presidential nominee Hubert] Humphrey, given the realities of American party politics, could ever have managed to do.”

And ironically, it was Watergate that redeemed Nixon in the eyes of these disapproving hardline conservatives. Here’s the recollection of a participant in the 1973 annual convention of Young Americans for Freedom (YAF), the leading right-wing organization on college campuses in the 1960s and ‘70s:

No matter how much movement conservatives disapproved of Nixon on other grounds… Watergate was one thing they liked. M. Stanton Evans, a long-time advisor to YAF and a mainstay at their conventions, put it this way: “If I’d known he’d been up to all that stuff, I’d have been for Nixon all along.”

The more liberals demonized Nixon and called for his ouster as the Watergate evidence piled up, especially after the October 1973 “Saturday Night Massacre,” the more conservatives belatedly came to his defense. This last-second shift allowed conservatives to pose as Nixon loyalists just as the president was on his way out, and to condemn the Republican moderates who contributed to the impeachment effort as traitors.

Rep. Thomas Railsback, who in 1974 was a Republican moderate from Illinois and is now one of the last surviving members of the House Judiciary Committee who voted to impeach Nixon, recently recalled, “I personally liked Richard Nixon. He campaigned for me.” However, faced with the evidence of Nixon’s crimes, “I reached a point—a number of us did—where we all felt that [voting to impeach] was the most important decision of our lives.” But after Nixon had resigned, he told me, “Some people left the room or turned their backs on me when I went back to Illinois. I got picketed by a Republican precinct committeeman. There were some Nixon people who didn’t like what I had done, voting to impeach a Republican president.”

Railsback’s willingness to follow his conscience in the Watergate crisis was a critical factor in the right-wing primary challenge that ended his political career in 1982. Conservatives charged that moderates’ independent judgment made them “Republicans in Name Only” and launched a wave of primaries against them in the post-Watergate years. That period marked what the New York Times’ Thomas Edsall recently termed “the onset of a purge of moderate Republicans from Congress.” Nixon had thrown the organizational weight of the Republican Party against primary challenges, knowing that the conservative who could topple a moderate was usually too far to the right to win a general election. With Nixon gone, the conservative id was no longer checked by the GOP super-ego.

But it wasn’t just a surge of conservatives in the immediate wake of the scandal: Watergate and Nixon’s resignation advantaged conservatives and disadvantaged Republican moderates in broader, more structural ways that bent the arc of political history for decades to come. Disgusted moderate Republicans withdrew from political activity after Watergate while conservatives built up their infrastructure of think tanks, pressure groups, and fundraising organizations. The liberal-driven 1974 Campaign Reform Act allowed conservatives, with the extensive lists of contacts they had developed since Barry Goldwater’s 1964 presidential run, to make extensive use of direct mail solicitations and create the first political action committees, or PACs. Conservatives’ resources soon dwarfed moderates’. Not long after Watergate, Oregon’s moderate Senator Robert Packwood was lamenting the rise of “narrowly targeted massive spending organizations dedicated to the defeat of a candidate whose sole sin was to vote his conscience.”

The move toward binding state presidential primaries also disadvantaged moderates, since the right wing was able to dominate those elections (which historically have been low-turnout contests) through superior organizational muscle and the ideological zeal of its followers. Wonder why an oddball extremist like Christine O’Donnell was able to win the 2010 GOP senatorial primary in Delaware? Because less than a third of the state’s registered Republicans bothered to vote in the primary and O’Donnell won by just over 3,000 votes—before going down to dismal defeat in the fall, protesting “I’m not a witch” in response to ads that revealed her earlier dabbling in sorcery. If electoral participation rates were still at pre-Watergate levels, extreme candidates rarely would prevail in primaries outside of the most partisan states.

Ford made a dramatic comeback in the two months before the 1976 election and only lost narrowly to Carter. In all likelihood he would have won reelection if he had not sparked public outrage by pardoning Nixon—an action that historians have defended but which at the time looked like collusion or corruption. With the defeat of Ford, a moderate Republican, the way was clear for these newly empowered conservative Republicans to have their own man in the White House and consolidate control over the party. That man, of course, was Ronald Reagan, whose candidacy and election reinforced the conservative argument that, as he put it in his first inaugural address, “Government is not the solution to our problem; government is the problem.”

It was fashionable to say, after Nixon was forced from office, that the system had worked. But the impeachment crisis and its aftermath produced a corrosive public cynicism about politics and government, reflected in sinking voter turnout rates and a decline of citizen confidence in American institutions that still has not recovered.

Donald Trump is the ultimate product of our enduring post-Watergate cynicism. Throughout his campaign, he painted a picture of a country suffering disaster at home and humiliation abroad, in which nothing worked and no one could be trusted aside from Trump himself. Would this dark view of America have had any real traction prior to the national collapse in confidence that followed Watergate?

Reactionary politics flourish in times when Americans believe their institutions are broken. And is there any reason to doubt that an even deeper wave of cynicism would follow from a Trump impeachment?


Chaffetz postpones Wednesday hearing after speaking with Comey

Rep. Jason Chaffetz is pictured.

Rep. Jason Chaffetz speaks during the Utah GOP Convention on May 20 in Sandy, Utah. | AP Photo

House Oversight Chairman Jason Chaffetz on Monday said he will postpone a hearing scheduled for Wednesday after speaking with former FBI Director James Comey, who had been invited to testify.

“Spoke with Comey. He wants to speak with Special Counsel prior to public testimony. Hearing Wed postponed. @GOPoversight,” Chaffetz tweeted.


Sessions issues narrow definition of sanctuary city

Attorney General Jeff Sessions is pictured.


President Donald Trump’s administration issued a notice Monday making clear officials will narrowly interpret a January executive order stemming the flow of federal funds to so-called sanctuary cities, after some mayors feared the White House might apply it broadly to cut off money from local governments with which it disagrees on immigration policy.

Attorney General Jeff Sessions issued a memo saying that Trump’s order will only apply to grants from the Departments of Justice and Homeland Security “and not to other sources of federal funding.”

In addition, Sessions said the only localities whose current funding will be in jeopardy will be those that “willfully refuse to comply” with a specific provision in federal law. The provision prohibits cities from barring local employees such as police officers from communicating with federal officials about suspects who may be in violation of immigration laws.

The memo seems consistent with what Sessions and other officials told a visiting delegation of mayors last month. They were concerned that the administration might use a broader definition of “sanctuary jurisdiction” that could impact many cities and counties that do not routinely honor federal detainers, which are requests to hold suspects believed to be in the country illegally but who are being released from jail or prison.

Some of the issues Sessions addressed in his memo may be moot for now because a federal judge in San Francisco recently issued an injunction banning the administration from using the executive order to impose any restrictions that go beyond the federal law section Sessions cited, 8 U.S.C. 1373. It is unclear under the U.S. Constitution whether grants that are unrelated to immigration can be withheld because cities or counties don’t abide by federal immigration policy.

Sessions did appear to leave open the possibility that future grants could be tied to localities’ willingness to enforce immigration law in other ways, whether through honoring detainers or participating in joint local-federal efforts to target undocumented immigrants.

The attorney general also emphasized that while the impact of the executive order may be limited, he may continue to hector local governments that don’t cooperate with federal authorities.

“While the Executive Order’s definition of ‘sanctuary jurisdictions’ is narrow, nothing in the Executive Order limits the Department’s ability to point out ways that state and local jurisdictions are undermining our lawful system of immigration or to take enforcement action where state or local practices violated federal laws, regulations or grant conditions,” Sessions wrote.

Josh Gerstein is a senior reporter for POLITICO.