NOT READY FOR PRIME TIME

By NANCY GIBBS

This is how it went last week for Senator Fred Thompson and anyone hoping that his hearings into campaign-finance abuses would play a role in reducing them: on the first day, Thompson waved a big red flag in front of the TV cameras, charging he had information that the Chinese government was trying to subvert American democracy. The problem was, it was mostly classified, and he couldn't give any details. On the second day, the Republicans' lead witness was so docile and unresponsive that staff members began faxing reporters his deposition, as if to say, "This is what we were hoping he would say if he hadn't wimped out in front of the cameras." By the third day, so much time had been spent learning so little that CNN and MSNBC packed their cameras away, and there were plenty of empty seats in the spectators' gallery.

It was such a false start, it almost looked as if it had been planned that way. And in a way it was. Thompson may yet dream of using the hearings to drive reform, but there aren't many elected officials in either party who want him to tear apart the system that has fed them so well. In fact, the Democrats made their strategy clear: unless we all play nice with one another, everyone is going to get hurt. When Thompson warned of Chinese influence peddling, his counterpart, ranking Democrat John Glenn, raked over former Republican Party chief Haley Barbour for funneling foreign money through his National Policy Forum. Majority whip Don Nickles hammered away about White House coffees as fund raisers; Dick Durbin, junior Democrat from Illinois, read a Nickles letter from 1990, inviting potential Republican donors who pledged $1,000 to a reception on the lawn at Vice President Dan Quayle's house.

Having worked for weeks to lower expectations, Thompson surprised everyone with his full-throated opening statement, referring to "the existence of a Chinese plan to subvert our election process." And indeed the most intriguing revelation of the week was a letter showing that as far back as 1994, the Riady family, proprietors of the giant Lippo Group, was talking to a Chinese-American activist about introducing Asian businessmen to the Clinton Administration and using them to funnel money to the Democratic National Committee. There were also new revelations of wire transfers from banks in Asia to two of the D.N.C.'s most generous donors, Johnny Chung and Yogesh Gandhi. But the evidence meant to show that foreign money had worked its way into Democratic coffers was circumstantial at best, and without further proof could be explained away as routine investment and consulting fees.

Even as he raised his gavel to open the hearings, Thompson knew that the committee's Democrats had found a way to steal the show. For weeks the man at the center of the scandal, former D.N.C. fund raiser John Huang, had refused to testify; so when Glenn disclosed in his opening statement that Huang might be willing to talk if he were granted some partial immunity, Republicans growled that it was "nothing more than an opening-day stunt." White House aides, who had been nervous that the retiring former astronaut might try to depart the Senate with a statesmanlike flourish, were delighted at his combativeness.

Still, it quickly became clear that cutting an immunity deal probably served Huang's interests more than anyone else's. Congress has been wary of giving witnesses immunity ever since an appellate court in 1990 threw out the conviction of Oliver North in the Iran-contra scandal. The court set an astronomically high bar for prosecutors to clear in bringing a case against anyone who has given immunized testimony, which is why Attorney General Janet Reno politely dismissed the immunity idea just as soon as Glenn suggested it. She was followed by Connecticut Democrat Joe Lieberman, who was reluctant to be tagged with jeopardizing any future prosecution of Huang. And though they weren't admitting it openly, Republicans too are cool to the idea: they need a strong, silent bad guy to take the Fifth and thicken the plot.

On the other hand, after last week Thompson could use a compelling witness, although, even if the ongoing immunity discussions bear fruit, Huang would be unlikely to appear this month. The Republicans led their assault by calling former D.N.C. finance director Richard Sullivan. Sullivan, 33, an aspiring lawyer with an Eagle Scout's manners, had given such a promising account of Democratic fund-raising practices in his deposition that Republicans were rubbing their hands and calling him "our John Dean." They were so sure he would implicate White House heavyweights that G.O.P. Senators were advised to go easy on him. He was destroying his party in public, after all.

But once in front of the panel on Wednesday, Sullivan seemed the soul of discretion. Every fact was drawn out of him in slow drips. He admitted he wasn't impressed with Huang's fund-raising credentials but had no evidence to offer of foreign manipulation. New Jersey's Bob Torricelli, who quickly emerged as one of the Democrats' lead attack dogs, summed up Sullivan's testimony with biting sarcasm. "If Mr. Sullivan is the lead witness...having absolutely no knowledge or experience with the raising of foreign contributions, the compromising of security or the sharing of classified information, one can only conclude that the final witness after we have exhausted this process is unlikely to find China on a map."

By this time, CNN had turned its cameras to the Mike Tyson-sanction hearing. Republican Committee lawyers would whisper future lines of questioning into the ears of Republican Senators, but when those Senators got their turn, they kept falling down rabbit holes. Whatever coherent narrative Thompson had hoped for was lost. Frustrated Republican members wondered where the hearings were headed next: "We've got to start all over," said one.

Clinton and his helpers have got so good at damage control that it's driving even august Republicans to distraction. At one point on Tuesday, New Mexico Republican Pete Domenici was talking to reporters outside the hearing room when he wheeled around on a bearded man who was hovering over his shoulder. "Here's another one who's been spinning all day," Domenici snapped. "Do you mind if I have this conversation by myself?

"Not at all," the startled man said as he backed away. It was none other than Paul Clark, a Thompson aide and the committee's Republican spokesman.

--Reported by James Carney, John F. Dickerson, Viveca Novak and Michael Weisskopf/Washington

With reporting by JAMES CARNEY, JOHN F. DICKERSON, VIVECA NOVAK AND MICHAEL WEISSKOPF/WASHINGTON