Buchanan Inc. | The Nation


Buchanan Inc.

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When Patrick Buchanan swooped into a suburban Virginia hotel on October 25 to formally shred his ties to the Republican Party, a shiny new issue emerged awkwardly from his clutch of conservative concerns: electoral reform. Strongly felt tenets of the Reform Party such as ballot access and campaign finance reform suddenly became Buchanan's causes, too. "Our vaunted two-party system is a snare and a delusion, a fraud upon the nation," he told the cheering crowd of 350 supporters. "Our two parties have become nothing but two wings of the same bird of prey."

Research assistance for this article was provided by the Investigative Fund of The Nation Institute.

About the Author

Monte Paulsen
Monte Paulsen is a co-author of The Buying of the President 2000 (Avon Books), an investigation by the Center for...

Buchanan is a late arrival to reform--both the party and the concept of clean elections. Together with his sister Angela "Bay" Buchanan, who perched at the edge of the flag-lined stage as he made his announcement, Buchanan has built one of the most rapacious political machines in the country. Pat is the peacock. Every four years he takes a break from his work as a television pundit to strut the campaign trail, throwing out sharp-tongued barbs as quickly as he can think them up. Bay tends the nest. As compulsively organized as her brother is freewheeling, she keeps the campaign running with an attention to detail that aides describe as obsessive. She "runs it like a general," Pat's wife, Shelley, told the Christian Science Monitor. "There wouldn't be a campaign if it weren't for Bay."

Pat and Bay have built a semipermanent organization that has promoted conservative causes while at the same time making them rich. They've become experts at the lucrative game of direct-mail fundraising and masters at qualifying for federal matching funds. In between presidential elections, they continue their issue-advocacy and fundraising operations through a tightly controlled nonprofit organization. In this fashion, Buchanan Inc. has been promoting Pat's television and publishing careers--and employing Bay full time--since 1992.

Having already embarrassed President George Bush in 1992 and briefly sidelined Senator Bob Dole in 1996, this predatory pair have now fixed their sights on the Reform Party. The hunt will not be easy: Bay must land Pat's name on ballots in twenty-nine states where Reform is not recognized and snag the largest number of mail-in votes in a chaotic open primary. They'll have to fend off attacks from Minnesota Governor Jesse Ventura and New York real estate tycoon Donald Trump. And they'll have to scrape together a minimum of $4 million more in campaign cash. But the prize they aim to snatch is meaty indeed: an extended campaign, a shot at presidential debates and an extra $12.6 million in party matching funds.

Clan Buchanan

Patrick Buchanan moved into his first White House office three decades ago, as a speechwriter and senior adviser for President Richard Nixon. There he coined the phrase "silent majority" and helped shape the middlebrow strategy that drew millions of hard-hat Democrats to Nixon. "We should move to re-capture the anti-Establishment tradition or theme in American politics," Buchanan wrote in a typical 1972 memo. The candidate who now calls for clean elections also popularized the phrase "political hardball"--proposing, for example, that the Internal Revenue Service be ordered to investigate liberal think tanks.

Watergate devastated Buchanan, who considered Nixon a second father. He unleashed his fury at traitorous "liberal elites" through a barrage of pugilistic punditry that subsequently transformed him into the nation's best-known Angry White Guy. Today he is a multimillionaire defined as much by his contradictions as his convictions. He paints himself as an outsider running against Washington, yet he's lived inside the Beltway for all but four of his 61 years. A devout Catholic, he appeals to evangelical Christians whose lives revolve around their families, though he himself has never had children.

Angela Buchanan is ten years younger than Pat. She earned a master's in mathematics at McGill University in Montreal and joined Nixon's 1972 re-election campaign as a bookkeeper. There she grew close to the big brother who called her Bay--toddler talk for "baby"--and a remarkable political partnership was hatched. After a post-Watergate sojourn in Australia, Bay went to work for Ronald Reagan's 1976 presidential campaign. The former actor lost the GOP primary, but Bay won the role that launched her career: For the next four years, she served as understudy to political mechanic Lyn Nofziger. Bay became controller of a nonprofit organization called Citizens for the Republic, created with money and mailing lists left over from Reagan's '76 campaign. Though aspects of CFTR were later determined to be illegal, the notion of using nonprofits between election cycles to pave the way for presidential campaigns has since become commonplace. Bay went on to become national treasurer of Reagan's victorious 1980 campaign.

President Reagan rewarded Bay by appointing her Treasurer of the United States. At 32, she was the youngest person ever to hold the post. (Her signature can still be found on older greenbacks.) Brother Pat followed his younger sister into the Reagan Administration during its second term--he served two years as White House communications director--before returning to his career as a pundit.

It was Bay who transformed her brother into what columnist Jack Anderson called "the Energizer bunny of the Republican presidential primary." Pat had toyed with the idea of running against then-Vice President George Bush in 1988, but he stayed out of the race in deference to Jack Kemp. No sooner had Bush moved into the White House than Pat the pundit began attacking him for "betraying Reagan's legacy." The accusations grew sharper as the years wore on. After reading a particularly critical column in December 1991, Bay phoned her older brother and offered to manage his campaign. Bay's career as a political consultant had stalled after she managed a losing Senate campaign in 1986 and lost her own bid for California Treasurer in 1990. Her primary source of income was her salary at the nearly moribund Citizens for the Republic, which was staggering along by renting its aging contributor lists to marketers of everything from magazine subscriptions to cheese. And so it was that after decades of chasing each other around the White House lawn, brother and sister finally joined forces.

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