The Price of Loyalty

Surrounding oneself with diehard loyalists breeds insularity. Over time, the fixation with loyalty devolves toward a Mafia view of politics that lends itself to abuse of power. The circle tightens, enemies are listed, paranoia blossoms. This happened in one way in LBJ's White House, where the president's mistrust of people tied to the Kennedys prevented him from hearing sound advice about Vietnam. It happened in another way in the Nixon White House, where an obsession with national-security leaks led to the reign of H. R. Haldeman and John Ehrlichman. It happened in another way still in George W. Bush's White House, where so little internal dissent was allowed that truth became combustible. While the elder George Bush could live with a continual ooze of self-serving leaks from his friend Baker, who was a highly effective diplomat, his son gave full "you are dead to me" treatment to any official who allowed a hint of daylight between himself and the official White House line.

Conversely, the most successful presidents generate loyalty without sweating it. Franklin Roosevelt brought nonsupporters, including Herbert Hoover's secretary of state, Henry Stimson, into his cabinet. Even after Brain Truster Raymond Moley broke publicly with him and became a Republican, FDR had Moley back to help write his 1936 convention speech. It's hard to think of a bigger turncoat than David Stockman, who gave a series of interviews about why Ronald Reagan's economic policies made no sense. But Reagan didn't fire his budget director. He merely asked him to pretend he'd been given a tongue-lashing.

Or recall Bill Clinton, who was untrue to many, including friends like Lani Guinier, Joycelyn Elders, George Stephanopoulos and Harold Ickes. Though his many political betrayals hardly cover him in glory, they point to an adaptability that was one of Clinton's strongest suits as a politician. Interestingly, Clinton's unfaithfulness to staff and friends was seldom reciprocated.

One of the most developed loyalty-based political systems was the old Daley machine, which gave us such terminology as "rabbi" for political sponsor and "clout" for unofficial authority. Both Obama and his designated chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel, who was once demoted by Clinton for what the president believed to be an act of disloyalty, saw the tail end of this system in Chicago. Though Emanuel sometimes plays the enforcer, neither of them aspires to revive that older style of politics. Team Obama understands that political devotion can no longer be cultivated principally through threats and rewards. Instead, it depends on aides feeling that they're advancing a shared set of goals. To put it a different way, a modern president can't command loyalty. He has to earn it.

Weisberg is editor in chief of The Slate Group and the author of “The Bush Tragedy.” A version of this column also appears on Slate.com.

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