Return of The Invisible Man

By Richard Stengel

The limo had hardly pulled to a stop at Tulane University when Jesse Jackson emerged and approached the waiting microphones. "I've registered more Democrats than any other Democrat," he said quickly, without being asked. "Last week -- let me give you a typical Jackson schedule -- I was in New York on Saturday morning, speaking at 10 to a university, Teamsters at 12, Chicago that night. Los Angeles that Sunday; Berkeley, Calif., that Monday; and Georgia for three speeches that Tuesday."

On and on in nearly every public appearance last week, Jackson recited his itinerary like an overzealous flight attendant. "The media is asking, 'Where's Jesse?' " he declared. "I'll tell you where I've been. I've been out there. I've worked hard in this campaign."

This high-visibility Jackson was distinct contrast to the post-Atlanta Jesse, who nearly disappeared from the political radar screen. Despite the love feast between Jackson and Michael Dukakis at the Democratic Convention, the telegenic preacher quickly became the invisible man of the campaign as the network cameras turned their eyes elsewhere and Jackson retreated after a string of slights from Dukakis aides. His withdrawal provoked former Congresswoman Barbara Jordan, a member of the Dukakis campaign steering committee, to charge that Jackson was supporting the ticket "grudgingly and reluctantly." In fact, since September, Jesse has been at full steam. He even flew into Washington to urge members of the Democratic Caucus to pull out the stops for Dukakis. He is determined not to be pinned as the fall guy for a loss on Nov. 8.

But Jackson is in a bit of a bind: as the Democratic campaign has foundered, he has been blamed for doing too little and too much. When the original Dukakis game plan was to lure white Reagan Democrats and Southerners back into the fold, Jackson was kept at arm's length. Dukakis planners drew up a list of places they wanted him to visit, pointedly excluding the states Jackson had won during the primaries. Only when George Bush sprinted ahead in the polls did Dukakis' reinstated campaign chief John Sasso ostentatiously seek Jackson out.

In the past two weeks, Dukakis and Jackson have made two joint appearances. Later, Dukakis even ventured into a Harlem church for a rare appearance on his own before a black audience. But the Dukakis-Jackson chill has affected Jackson's core constituency. A recent poll by the nonprofit Joint Center for Political Studies indicates that black turnout will drop substantially from 1984, and that black support for Bush appears to be almost 16%, nearly twice the percentage that Ronald Reagan received. In closely contested states like Illinois and Michigan, Dukakis needs nearly every black vote to win.

Jackson, for his part, has never shown much enthusiasm as a Dukakis cheerleader. Many of his meandering 16-page speeches do not mention Dukakis until page 12. When Jackson does get around to the candidate, he sometimes damns him with faint praise. Dukakis may not be inspirational, Jackson has said, but "we the people can provide the passion. He can provide the priorities."

When Jackson saw that some were pointing to him as the villain in a Dukakis debacle, he struck back. Jackson believes he is the victim of a double standard. Why, he asks, should he be blamed for not delivering the Democratic left, when no one is pointing fingers at Sam Nunn, Charles Robb and others for not garnering the center? The real purpose of the criticism, Jackson allies suggest, is to undercut Jesse's status as the front runner for 1992. "Some of this is prelude to the battle for control of the party," says a Jackson adviser.

Some Democrats have resorted to using scare tactics to further their own ends. New York Congressman Robert Mrazek recently told wavering Jewish constituents that "Jesse Jackson's influence in the Democratic Party would be far greater in the event of a Dukakis loss than in a Dukakis Administration."

The latest Jackson controversy reflects the larger Democratic dilemma: how to appeal to alienated white conservatives and increasingly outspoken black voters simultaneously? Dukakis' awkward attempt to straddle the two groups has apparently hurt him with both. The Joint Center for Politics survey that measured the dropoff in black support also found that 39% of Reagan Democrats were less likely to vote for Dukakis because of Jackson's endorsement of him. "The Reagan Democrats are gone," says one top party figure. "They've been gone for years, and there's no getting them back."

Despite their differences, Jackson says privately that he understands Dukakis' need to play it cool with him on occasion. And despite the Democrats' increasing gloom, Jackson seems content. Why not? He knows he will be around no matter what happens on Nov. 8. If Dukakis departs in de-feat, Jackson will be the largest figure on the Democratic horizon.

With reporting by Michael Duffy with Jackson