Beginning with the leadership succession after Brezhnev, first Andropov's spurt of new policy initiatives, then an interregnum of drift under Chernenko, and finally the emergence of the vigorous and relatively youthful leadership of Mikhail Gorbachev, the future of the Soviet political system has been thrust once again into wide public attention. It promises to remain there for some time, maybe several years, as the new General Secretary tries to push through major reforms and to engage the West to support him in his undertaking.

To keep our bearings in the flood of Gorbachev's novel rhetoric and its amplification through the Western media, it would be useful to put the issue into a context more historically grounded than the turmoil of current events and fashions. To do that, we need to ask at least two questions. First, what features of the Soviet historical legacy constrain and direct change in the USSR? Second, against this legacy, can we recognize the practical dilemmas any would-be reformer must face? In light of the answers, it is possible to reduce our surprise about the way the present reform efforts eventually turn out.

The Historical Legacy

It is commonplace to speak of continuities in Russian history, to observe that authoritarianism has deep roots in Russia and that much of the present Soviet system is a historical legacy. It is also commonplace to observe that autocratic systems in other parts of the world have evolved into liberal systems and that one should not rule out liberalization in the Soviet Union a priori simply because of its long tradition of authoritarianism.

The character of the U.S. Senate has changed markedly over the last 30 years. The Senate can no longer be characterized as a well-bounded entity ruled by an “inner club” of insular grandees. Increasingly, rather, the Senate is a great forum, an echo chamber, a theater, where dramas—comedies and tragedies, soap operas and horse operas—are staged to enhance the careers of its members and to influence public policy by means of debate and public investigation.

Its special role today in the contemporary American political system is as an incubator of policy ideas and political innovations (Polsby 1984). This stands in dramatic contrast with the Senate as late as the 1950s, which was far more a body that had positioned itself as a critic and a respondent—frequently an inhospitable one—to the political innovations hatched in the executive branch and by activist presidents and forwarded to it by the House of Representatives. Thus over the last three decades the Senate has evolved from a rather negative repository of states-rights thinking, dominated by a mostly southern-led “inner club,” and hence an explicit agent of the devolved aspect of the federal system, into a predominantly nationally-oriented body.

The principal agent of this transformation has been the very great change in the life chances and therefore in the political ambitions of a large number of U.S. senators. Earlier, not so many of them entertained presidential ambitions. Today, the Senate is the main institutional source of presidential hopefuls, and for a large fraction of senators such hopes play a significant part in guiding their behavior in the Senate.

The United States faces a monumental challenge to the practice of democratic governance. This challenge stems, in part, from significant changes in the conceptualization and practice of political campaigning and from the revolutionary effects of the technology deployed in contemporary campaigns (see Abramson, Arterton, and Orren, 1988). Two of the main forces behind this transformation are the rise of professional political consultants and the technology that they deploy in pursuit of electoral success (see Sabato, 1981 and Luntz, 1988). Even before the new president has a chance to settle into the office attention is being focused on the 1990 congressional mid-term elections and on the presidential election in 1992. Indeed, the “permanent campaign” now characterizes the essence of American electoral politics in the final quarter of the 20th century (Blumenthal, 1982).

Despite the meteoric rise to prominence ot political consultants in American political campaigns, political scientists have devoted surprisingly little attention to their analysis. This oversight is difficult to comprehend given the extraordinary penetration of consultants into the primary fabric of the American electoral system, the vast sums of money spent on consultant services by candidates, and the assumptions that we have about the considerable influence they wield. This analytic silence may be attributable to a number of factors. First, compared to voters, PACs, or interest groups, consultants are far more difficult to study. There are no readily available data sources to either identify consultants or document their activities.

Economists and political observers in recent years have bemoaned the decline of American competitiveness in traditional industries such as steel, automobiles, and textiles. Some of these observers worry that the U.S. economy will increasingly be dominated by service industries. At least one service industry in the United States does appear to be growing and thriving, despite some very adverse economic circumstances. That industry is the non-profit public policy research industry, more commonly known as “think tanks.” The think tank universe has become much more diverse over the past decade, reflecting both new entrants into the marketplace of ideas and changes in these organizations' environment. There are, moreover, inherent tensions in any of the three main models (“university without students,” contract researcher, and advocacy tank) that think tanks may pursue. Attempting to mix the models can be difficult too.

These tensions and environmental changes have created tremendous uncertainty, but also some entrepreneurial opportunities, for think tank managers. Increasingly, these managers must be concerned with finding a viable niche in a crowded, fragmented market. And they must do so while dealing with staffs who may be resistant not only to specific courses of change, but also to external direction of any sort.

Editor's Note: The following comments are excerpted from Sabato's remarks at the Roundtable on Political Consultancy and, Governance during the 1988 APSA Annual Meeting.

The 1988 election points out a number of important facts about and principles of consultancy. In early September, for example, we learned that Michael Dukakis couldn't live without John Sasso. Dukakis brought Sasso back into the campaign, and it was heralded as Dukakis' resurrection. In doing this, Sasso became as important to Dukakis as Jim Baker was to George Bush. This raises certain questions. One wonders, for instance, whether the press reaction would have been quite the same had this been Bush bringing back a disgraced political consultant. It was interesting to see the press spin on it, which I was that Sasso's rehiring was a very good thing, overdue, and necessary. Given what Sasso did and how he did it in the Biden incident, I think you could have put another spin I on that story.

On the other hand, if you ever doubt the power of some political consultants, then simply cite Dan Quayle as an example. I'm convinced that Roger Ailes, and to a lesser extent, Bob Teeter, were primarily responsible for putting Dan Quayle's name on the potential selection list. It's pretty well known that George Bush did not have a close and continuing relationship with Dan Quayle; they didn't know each other very well. So, how did the Quayle pick happen? Well, Bob Teeter, Bush's pollster, and Roger Ailes, his media consultant, had both handled Dan Quayle's previous congressional campaigns in Indiana. And they knew just how attractive and malleable Dan Quayle was.

In the seven weeks from later April to early June China has displayed to the world—and to itself—politics at its best and worst. It is in the comparison of the two that the true horror of what has occurred can be seen. The worst is easy to specify. It is the massacre of unarmed civilians by soldiers who have been called on to defend those reluctant to give up power, and to aid them in a struggle with other leaders who would displace them.

Politics at its best can perhaps be suggested by describing some scenes that I witnessed during my stay in Beijing throughout the month of May. In one of the many peaceful demonstrations, journalists marched under a banner saying “We don't believe what we write.” In a different demonstration, school teachers proudly marched at the head of a column of their junior high school students, all of whom were dressed up in school uniforms. Perhaps most suggestive and poignant of all were the parents holding up their babies to the marchers as if to say, you are the future and I show you my allegiance by displaying those who have the most to gain from your courage.

All of these moments were embedded in an outpouring of good will, good humour, discipline and inventiveness the likes of which the world has rarely if ever seen. It was as if the students wished to prod the political leadership by the sheer force of their example of restraint and courage.

Mikhail Gorbachev's program for the renovation of the Soviet political system is a reform of considerable magnitude. The sequencing of policies provides important information about the nature of the Soviet system and the dynamics of change, and in that sequence, communications policies shifted earliest and most radically. Virtually from the beginning of Gorbachev's tenure in power, an observer of Soviet politics could detect in the use of the media the operation of a key mechanism in effecting major change. Glasnost, the new openness and public discussion, is a media phenomenon. The new role accorded the media is in many ways a revolutionary one. The expanded functions of the media in the Gorbachev administration require them to precipitate institutional change in the Soviet political system. Mobilization will be temporary if there is insufficient structural change to support it, and the media system itself has become a principal factor in breaking down dysfunctional institutions inherited from previous regimes, strengthening weak institutions (such as the Soviets) and developing new types of institutions. As a consequence of this dynamic, systemic change in the media system precedes other large-scale change, and, in fact, before any major economic and political reforms of the Gorbachev administration were launched, extensive changes in the system of political communication had been made.

The Reagan-Bush Administration vigorously pursued a “Reagan Doctrine” of aiding anti-communist freedom fighters worldwide, in no place with more controversy than toward the anti-US Sandinista Government of Nicaragua. Why, then, would the new presidency of George Bush quickly have agreed to defer asking Congress for military aid to the Contras, have agreed to send only humanitarian aid instead, and have agreed to permit four separate congressional committees each to determine whether any aid at all should be continued? Unravelling this odd turn of events can help us better to understand the under-rated influence of public opinion on American foreign policy.

Most of us assume the public usually to follow presidential leadership when it comes to foreign affairs. Indeed, though very few truths are undisputed when political scientists discuss Americans' opinions on questions of public importance, one accepted inference—borne out by much scientifically-verified evidence—is the “rally ‘round the flag” syndrome. The syndrome is simple: presidential popularity in public opinion polls rises when a president acts decisively toward an international crisis. These changes in Americans' stated opinions have been measured in international crises for several decades.

“Rallies” occur only when special “crisis” conditions are met. These crisis situations usually involve threats to America which are (1) remote from the everyday experience of Americans, and (2) involve threats about which the president personally informs the public, usually over the dramatically effective medium of television, and (3) involve decisive—and usually military—response at the president's direction.