for deliverance. Then he would save the country—Speaker—President—Leader (Possibly)
of the civilizing forces.
And Gingrich did most of it.
He saw all the available weapons on the battlefield, some never used before. Two months
after his arrival, C-SPAN switched on its cameras in the House of Representatives,
broadcasting Congress to the public for the first time. Gingrich immediately knew
what to do—take the floor after regular order was over and give incendiary speeches
to an empty chamber that would bring media attention and slowly build a devoted TV
following. (Regardless of the rock labeled “elite liberal media,” he knew they loved
a fight more than anything else.) In 1984, a speech calling the Democrats appeasers
brought down the wrath of Tip O’Neill—“It’s the lowest thing that I’ve ever seen in
my thirty-two years here!” But the Speaker’s remarks, being personal, were stricken
from the record, and the incident landed Gingrich on the nightly news. “I am now a
famous person,” he crowed, understanding the new rules of celebrity—that it would
not be a bad thing to say, for example, “I have an enormous personal ambition. I want
to shift the entire planet. And I’m doing it.”
The old party system had become obsolete, snuffed out by high-minded reformers who
wanted to end patronage and political bosses in smoke-filled rooms. Gingrich saw this
happening, too—how politicians were turning into entrepreneurs who depended on special-interest
PACs, think tanks, media, and lobbyists more than on the party hierarchy. So he gave
speeches around Washington, wrote a book (financed by supporters), and created his
own power base, with a fundraising apparatus and a political action committee. He
recruited Republican candidates around the country and trained them with his own words
and ideas on videotapes and cassettes, like a motivational speaker, understanding
that language was the key to power. His memos included vocabulary lessons: if you
discussed your opponent with words like betray bizarre bosses bureaucracy cheat corrupt crisis cynicism decay destroy disgrace
impose incompetent liberal lie limit(s) obsolete pathetic radical shame sick stagnation
status quo steal taxes they/them threaten traitors unionized waste welfare , you had him on the defensive, and if you described your side with change children choice/choose common sense courage crusade dream duty empower(ment)
family freedom hard work lead liberty light moral opportunity pro-(issue) proud/pride
reform strength success tough truth vision we/us/our , you had already won the argument. The Gingrich lexicon could be arranged into potent
sentences regardless of context, or even meaning: “We can empower our children and families to dream by leading a moral crusade for
liberty and truth if only we are tough and have common sense.” “Corrupt liberal bosses
cheat, lie, and steal to impose their sick pathetic cynicism and bizarre radical stagnation
in order to destroy America.” Thus a whole generation of politicians learned to sound like Newt Gingrich.
And he saw that the voters no longer felt much connection to the local parties or
national institutions. They got their politics on TV, and they were not persuaded
by policy descriptions or rational arguments. They responded to symbols and emotions.
They were growing more partisan, too, living in districts that were increasingly Democratic
or Republican, liberal or conservative. Donors were more likely to send money if they
could be frightened or angered, if the issues were framed as simple choices between
good and evil—which was easy for a man whose America stood forever at a historic crossroads,
its civilization in perpetual peril.
By the end of the eighties, Gingrich was radically changing Washington and the Republican
Party. Maybe more than Reagan—maybe more than anyone else. Then history went into
high