Obama Impaled on the Daschle Dilemma

Not so many years ago, a young congressman spent much of each August driving himself to all of South Dakota's counties, dropping in here and there to introduce himself to his constituents.

"Hi," he'd say. "I'm Tom Daschle."

As Daschle rose from his election to the House (1978) to his first successful Senate run (1986), his appearance in even the most rural reaches of his state was no longer a surprise but a familiar ritual. He carried it on well into his third decade in Congress.

Now and again he took a reporter along, but there was no staff entourage. The lonely rambles were the ambitious young man's way of staying in touch, and making sure people knew he was working at it. He said it was a relief to get away from Washington, to spend long hours alone behind the wheel.

In the early going, he even featured his beat-up old Pontiac in his re-election ads, contrasting it with the limousines others used to navigate the nation's capital.

What a travesty to see these images now, juxtaposed with headlines about Daschle's downfall.

For 10 years (1995-2005), Daschle served as the Senate's Democratic leader, all but 18 months of that time in the minority. He became as adept as anyone in that job, alternating between enabling and frustrating the majority party. He made and kept plenty of friends in both parties. And through it all he kept the trust of the farmers in his state east of the Missouri River, the ranchers to the west and the town folk as well.

But along the way, he also settled in among the elite of the nation's capital. In 1990, he married his second wife, Linda Hall, a lobbyist. They became what is known as a Washington power couple. They bought a $2.25 million home in one of the city's most exclusive enclaves. When the duality of Washington and South Dakota finally caught up with Daschle in November 2004 and he lost a re-election bid, that house had become an issue -- and a symbol.

Daschle's life had indeed changed. Planes waited for him. He was driven through the nation's capital in security vehicles.

At a farewell testimonial to Daschle not long after his defeat, his wife joked about his adjustment to life as an ordinary civilian. She said that the first time he went out to wait for her in their car, she found him sitting in the back seat.

As it turned out, Citizen Daschle did not have to wait long for his next ride. His new gigs included an advisory role with a politically connected investment group called InterMedia Partners. As he was being paid about $1 million a year in this role, Daschle assumed the chauffeur-driven Cadillac showing up for him at his house was just another travel expense for the company -- like airfare to meetings in another city.

Of course, the former senator wound up using the car for personal purposes four-fifths of the time, according to his own accounting. So it turns out it counted as compensation. And in the top tax bracket, that meant three years of that service was equivalent to more than $250,000 in undeclared income.

Daschle says he caught this error himself and was stunned at what he owed. President Obama seemed prepared to overlook the error (or transgression), perhaps in part because Daschle befriended him four years ago, upon the Illinois freshman's arrival in Washington. Daschle had taken Obama under his wing, and several of the exiting leader's senior staff transferred to the rising leader's team.

Similar sentiments were at work this week among Daschle's former colleagues on the Senate Finance Committee. Even as the controversy burgeoned, they were loath to deny him confirmation. That said, their enthusiasm was ebbing by the hour. What had been an easy vote in favor was becoming a painful test of loyalty.

What mattered most here was neither the specific tax dodge nor the question of what Daschle would have done about it if he were not in line for a Cabinet post. The problem arises more from Daschle's fabulous haul as a counselor and speechmaker ($5 million in less than three years), and from his own explanation for his tax flub.

If we can believe he thought his car and driver were his to use for any reason, free of charge, it is because he was accustomed to such perquisites as party leader in the Senate. And that is a political reality that rankles people being taxed to pay for it, just as they are taxed to pay for bailouts for bankrupt banks that then lavish Christmas bonuses on their own executives.

This is precisely the sense of entitlement and privilege that the new administration has pledged to eradicate, both in Washington and on Wall Street. The new administration simply cannot maintain this posture and award its top jobs to people steeped in the culture of Washington and Wall Street (or both).

Yes, Tom Daschle may have been the one man best prepared and equipped to take on the redesigning of the health care world. He would have been even better able to perform the makeover miracle his new boss is demanding by dint of his work in the private sector since leaving office four years ago.

But what he cannot do is represent the change Obama has said he is bringing to the system. Tom Daschle may not have ever been a registered lobbyist -- a definitional distinction few Americans may grasp -- but he has been very much a part of the inner world of money, power and influence in Washington. That's what the home, the car and the driver and, yes, the delayed tax payments all represent to most Americans.

The Obama administration seems to think it can be selfless and transparent even as it relies on ultra-savvy inside power operators. To paraphrase an old political expression, that unicorn won't hunt.