He does, of course. But Buchanan has reason to be laughing. When he bolted the Republican Party for Reform six months ago, he was gambling that he could get the party’s nomination over Ventura’s objection. It looks as if he was right. Buchanan knows he has a better chance of pinning Ventura on a mat than he does of winning the White House, but that’s not the point. With $12.5 million in federal matching funds set to come his way, assuming he’s the nominee, Buchanan will have a serious platform for his “America First” movement. And he’s determined to broaden his appeal beyond the black-helicopter set, forging a coalition with union workers and leftists who share his disgust for free trade.
Even so, Buchanan remains a fringe candidate, and Reform now seems destined to remain a fringe party. Rarely in the annals of third-party politics has so much been lost so quickly. Just a year ago, the centrists in Reform had money, organization and Ventura, a wildly popular figurehead. All they needed was a credible candidate. But Ross Perot’s loyalists refused to cede control of the party he founded, igniting a petty internal war. Perot himself remained a silent, brooding presence over the party, unwilling to lead publicly but reluctant to let Ventura take over. Instead, he tacitly encouraged Buchanan to jump in. Then John McCain and Bill Bradley co-opted issues like campaign-finance reform, leaving the Reform Party without much of a purpose. Ventura’s own controversies and his flirtation with Donald Trump made the movement look frivolous. In the end, as one insider puts it, “none of the serious players wanted to be involved in this Star Wars cantina.”
Ventura’s break with Reform was probably inevitable; last October, he told NEWSWEEK he was considering it. At one time or another, Ventura, searching for an alternative to Buchanan, toyed publicly with five possible names: Colin Powell, McCain, Trump, Lowell Weicker and John Anderson. Only Trump and Anderson retained any interest, but neither would commit.
The political circus hurt Ventura’s standing in Minnesota. He was wounded when former congressman Tim Penny, who had flirted with running for Senate as a Reformer, decided to remain a Democrat instead. Ventura’s exasperation reached its limit three weeks ago, when he heard that his handpicked party chairman, Jack Gargan, was going to be ousted by Perot’s executive committee. At about the same time, Ventura learned that the former Klansman David Duke, whose endorsement is about as highly coveted as the Ebola virus, was threatening to join Reform as a Buchanan backer. Ventura called Trump last Wednesday to tell him he was getting out; Trump still demurred on his own decision. Ventura was now sure, as he later put it, that Reform was “hopelessly dysfunctional.” He was proved right the day after his announcement, when the Perot-istas finally deposed Gargan and police had to separate the two sides before they killed each other.
Buchanan’s reaction to all this was uncharacteristically measured. “Governor Ventura did not indicate great enthusiasm for my candidacy,” he deadpanned. But then, Buchanan has some sympathy for anyone who leaves a party. A fixture in Republican Washington for 30 years, he’s still getting used to life as an outsider. “It’s like a divorce,” Buchanan says. “I told my wife, Shelley, ‘If we do this, we won’t be invited to a lot of parties in this town.’ She said, ‘You don’t get invited anyway’.” The “Buchanan Brigades,” while perhaps dwindling in number, are still worshipful. “I’d crawl across broken glass to vote for the guy,” says a typical Buchanan loyalist.
Like any good general, Buchanan has a plan. First comes the arduous process of getting either Reform or Buchanan on the ballot in 28 more states. Once that’s done, he’ll do some heavy campaigning in disaffected industrial states where his isolationist message may resonate. His new platform downplays social issues like abortion in favor of more populist themes like restricting immigration and protecting jobs. Next, he’ll mount a legal challenge to get into the televised debates. Despite McCain’s recent surge, Buchanan is sure he’ll be on stage with “Al Gore, a man who doesn’t know who he is, and W, a man who doesn’t know much of anything.” Then the all-powerful liberal media will rediscover him, he says, and “it’ll get more interesting than I can stand.”
Interesting, all right–in a Wonderland kind of way. For one thing, recent polls show that as many as 60 percent of voters have an unfavorable view of Buchanan. (The bad news for Republicans is that while Buchanan draws only 5 percent of the vote, that’s enough to put Bush and Gore, should they be the nominees, in a dead heat.) And that’s assuming Buchanan won’t have to fight Perot for the presidential nomination; the quirky billionaire still hasn’t ruled out another run for the top. Buchanan also knows that more state Reform chapters could follow Minnesota’s lead and break away, especially if McCain gets the Republican nod. “Where would I be then?” Buchanan shrugs. There’s no need to dwell on it. Pat Buchanan may not get a lot of invitations in the capital these days, but for the moment, at least, he’s the life of the party.
