When George W. Bush first entered the national political scene, everyone knew he was the son of a former president. And that led many to assume that the younger Bush was out to avenge his father’s 1992 defeat, or to prove that he was his father’s equal. Fewer people know that Mitt Romney is also the heir to a political legacy that has shaped his campaign in a number of ways.
At the height of the political career of Mitt’s father, George Romney, he seemed to have a lock on the 1968 Republican presidential nomination. Unlike Richard Nixon, the other leading contender, Romney had a reputation as a straight shooter and a man of conviction. His rise to prominence was an unlikely one. While some of Barack Obama’s detractors falsely claim that the president wasn’t born on U.S. soil, there was never any doubt that Romney was born in Mexico, in a small colony of American Mormons who rejected their church’s prohibition against polygamous marriage. Throughout his childhood, in Mexico and later in various settlements across the American West, Romney experienced extreme hardship and deprivation, quite unlike the life of privilege enjoyed by his son Mitt.
Yet the elder Romney managed to work his way up to become CEO of American Motors Corporation. Under his leadership, the nimble upstart threatened the dominance of the Big Three U.S. automakers by focusing on the kind of small, fuel-efficient vehicles they all but ignored. Having made a fortune at AMC, Romney ran for governor of Michigan as a centrist reformer, a race he won by a comfortable margin.
In hindsight, there is much to criticize in Romney’s record as governor. He dramatically expanded the size of Michigan’s state government, with a special focus on public education and welfare. The U.S. economy and the automobile industry were booming, which explains but shouldn’t forgive this lack of fiscal restraint. To pay for the increase in spending, Romney successfully fought for passage of a state income tax, which was been increasing ever since.
But Romney’s enthusiasm for growing government was motivated, at least in part, by the sense that the public sector should do everything in its power to better the life prospects of Michigan’s poorest citizens, many of whom were the children and grandchildren of African-Americans from the Deep South. After the devastating 1967 Detroit riots, Romney looked to the social and economic causes of inner-city despair. He launched a tour of America’s most poverty-stricken cities, and in many stops along the way, he respectfully debated black nationalists and other political radicals who aimed to bring down The System.
There was something more than a little strange about this decidedly square business executive breaking bread with anti-capitalist agitators, but no one questioned his sincerity. Romney was taking on Lyndon Johnson by making the case that the president wasn’t doing enough to fight poverty. Romney promised to spark an economic revival in the inner cities and Indian reservations and rural communities that had been left behind by the postwar boom.
To do that, however, Romney came to believe that the United States had to limit its increasingly expensive commitment to defend South Vietnam. Though Romney didn’t explicitly call for withdrawal, he did argue that LBJ’s Vietnam strategy was a dead end and that South Vietnam ultimately had to defend itself. This was a departure from his strong support for the war effort in 1965. When asked about his about-face on a local television news program, Romney said he had received “the greatest brainwashing” from military and diplomatic personnel during a visit to Vietnam. As he later explained, almost every American official he had spoken to in South Vietnam in 1965 insisted that the U.S. was only there to support local forces. In the years after that, he drew his own conclusions.
After the “brainwashing” interview, support for Romney collapsed. In a sense, all Romney did was acknowledge that he had made a mistake — that he had been too trusting, and that he had since changed his mind. This was par for the course for a man who prided himself on his honesty and forthrightness. It ultimately proved too much for voters.
One slip of the tongue came to outweigh a lifetime of public service.
It’s interesting to speculate on what might have happened had George Romney run as the Republican presidential nominee in 1968. The GOP might have emerged as the antiwar party, for one thing, and Wall Street and the business class might have spearheaded a very different war on poverty, focused on jump-starting economic growth. Or perhaps Romney would have proved a miserable failure, undone by his refusal to play politics as usual.
So when critics of Mitt Romney wonder why he’s so slippery — how he managed to flip from pro-choice to pro-life, from moderate to conservative, and on and on — it’s worth remembering how his father’s political career was destroyed. George Romney’s demise may have served as an early lesson to Mitt that to survive in politics, you have to roll with the punches.
At the height of the political career of Mitt’s father, George Romney, he seemed to have a lock on the 1968 Republican presidential nomination. Unlike Richard Nixon, the other leading contender, Romney had a reputation as a straight shooter and a man of conviction. His rise to prominence was an unlikely one. While some of Barack Obama’s detractors falsely claim that the president wasn’t born on U.S. soil, there was never any doubt that Romney was born in Mexico, in a small colony of American Mormons who rejected their church’s prohibition against polygamous marriage. Throughout his childhood, in Mexico and later in various settlements across the American West, Romney experienced extreme hardship and deprivation, quite unlike the life of privilege enjoyed by his son Mitt.
Yet the elder Romney managed to work his way up to become CEO of American Motors Corporation. Under his leadership, the nimble upstart threatened the dominance of the Big Three U.S. automakers by focusing on the kind of small, fuel-efficient vehicles they all but ignored. Having made a fortune at AMC, Romney ran for governor of Michigan as a centrist reformer, a race he won by a comfortable margin.
In hindsight, there is much to criticize in Romney’s record as governor. He dramatically expanded the size of Michigan’s state government, with a special focus on public education and welfare. The U.S. economy and the automobile industry were booming, which explains but shouldn’t forgive this lack of fiscal restraint. To pay for the increase in spending, Romney successfully fought for passage of a state income tax, which was been increasing ever since.
But Romney’s enthusiasm for growing government was motivated, at least in part, by the sense that the public sector should do everything in its power to better the life prospects of Michigan’s poorest citizens, many of whom were the children and grandchildren of African-Americans from the Deep South. After the devastating 1967 Detroit riots, Romney looked to the social and economic causes of inner-city despair. He launched a tour of America’s most poverty-stricken cities, and in many stops along the way, he respectfully debated black nationalists and other political radicals who aimed to bring down The System.
There was something more than a little strange about this decidedly square business executive breaking bread with anti-capitalist agitators, but no one questioned his sincerity. Romney was taking on Lyndon Johnson by making the case that the president wasn’t doing enough to fight poverty. Romney promised to spark an economic revival in the inner cities and Indian reservations and rural communities that had been left behind by the postwar boom.
To do that, however, Romney came to believe that the United States had to limit its increasingly expensive commitment to defend South Vietnam. Though Romney didn’t explicitly call for withdrawal, he did argue that LBJ’s Vietnam strategy was a dead end and that South Vietnam ultimately had to defend itself. This was a departure from his strong support for the war effort in 1965. When asked about his about-face on a local television news program, Romney said he had received “the greatest brainwashing” from military and diplomatic personnel during a visit to Vietnam. As he later explained, almost every American official he had spoken to in South Vietnam in 1965 insisted that the U.S. was only there to support local forces. In the years after that, he drew his own conclusions.
After the “brainwashing” interview, support for Romney collapsed. In a sense, all Romney did was acknowledge that he had made a mistake — that he had been too trusting, and that he had since changed his mind. This was par for the course for a man who prided himself on his honesty and forthrightness. It ultimately proved too much for voters.
One slip of the tongue came to outweigh a lifetime of public service.
It’s interesting to speculate on what might have happened had George Romney run as the Republican presidential nominee in 1968. The GOP might have emerged as the antiwar party, for one thing, and Wall Street and the business class might have spearheaded a very different war on poverty, focused on jump-starting economic growth. Or perhaps Romney would have proved a miserable failure, undone by his refusal to play politics as usual.
So when critics of Mitt Romney wonder why he’s so slippery — how he managed to flip from pro-choice to pro-life, from moderate to conservative, and on and on — it’s worth remembering how his father’s political career was destroyed. George Romney’s demise may have served as an early lesson to Mitt that to survive in politics, you have to roll with the punches.
