Freedom Writer - March 1996

Texas precinct politics heats up

By Liz Gore

Reacting to a reactionary movement can be tricky business. 
I study the Christian right to understand the nature 
of the political power the movement has harnessed — 
its appeal, its ability to mobilize resources, that 
uncanny capacity to agenda-set. 

Engaging with the movement has become part of my daily 
routine. I find it difficult to pass Christian bookstores 
without stopping in. I look forward to mass mailings 
from Gary Bauer and family. I have real conversations 
with people from Regent University who call to ask 
if I'm still interested in attending. 

The uneasy truth is that I am addicted to the spectacle 
of activist conservative Christian subcultures. God 
knows I'm not alone. The "infiltrator" ratio at Religious 
Right gatherings is impressive and climbing. Anti-feminist 
musings, pedophilic fears, bizarre co-optations of 
the word empowerment — let's face it — the substance 
of regressive momentum is often riveting. 

In search of a new ideological adventure, I recently 
attended a training workshop for grass roots Christian 
Coalition activists in Texas. Compared to the grandstanding 
grandeur of the national "Road to Victory" extravaganzas, 
the event was full of tactic and devoid of frills. 
There were no show-stopping movement celebs, only local 
heroes and potential local heroes. Ralph Reed was not 
around to energize the grass roots by recollecting 
the glory of past political triumphs. As forty of this 
country's most committed Christian Coalitioners gathered 
to prepare for battle, the atmosphere was righteous 
but guarded. Every minute of the four-hour session 
was devoted to the fine points of enacting a national 
strategy by assuring local victory. 

It was Saturday night. Feeling conspicuously humanist, 
I roamed the vast empty corridors of the Austin Capitol 
building annex in search of my well-groomed, middle-aged 
cohorts. (The Capitol building is a lot like the Vatican 
in scope, and meant to inspire at least as much humility.) 


I walked into "Why Are We Here?," a unity-driven pep-talk 
by a man named Jeff Fisher. I could tell the woman 
seated next to me was a trusted insider by the inventory 
of materials she coddled in her lap: Greater Austin 
Right to Life precinct lists, video training tapes, 
the official 1996 Texas Christian Coalition Operation 
Precinct Workbook. (Incidentally, the workbook contains 
a vast amount of well-organized information, impressively 
presented.) 

Jeff presented hard evidence that Planned Parenthood 
is the factionary evil behind Republicans for Choice. 
He shared his theory that the Democrats have been subjected 
to a "hostile takeover by radical feminists and homosexuals." 
The Christian Coalition, he predicted, is six to ten 
years away from seeing real political reform.

We viewed a 1994 ABC news clip of Ralph "what we are 
looking for is a pluralist democracy that welcomes 
faith" Reed. In the clip, another Christian Coalition 
strategist was quoted as saying the Coalition aims 
to train ten activists per precinct by the year 2000. 
(If the Coalition had as many members as it routinely 
claims, it would already have the numerical equivalent 
of ten activists per precinct, but hey, who's counting?) 


An engaging, somewhat effete speaker named Paul Powell 
arose to rile the troops with a pre-strategy motivational 
message. It is easy to see the appeal his mantra carries 
for self-appointed victims of secular oppression. "Power," 
he chortled, "is not a bad thing." Simply put, power 
is good; bad people in power are bad. Paul quoted the 
Bible five different times to drive home the idea that 
Jesus bestowed the gift of power on his disciples and 
encouraged them to make use of it. He made it sound 
like the word power actually appears in the New Testament 
repeatedly. He led us in a fill-in-the-blank exercise 
with the P-word: "And Jesus said, God hath bestowed 
upon you the gift of what? P-O-W-E-R." 

Paul is one of a handful of men rapidly touring Texas 
touting a Biblical rendition of Tip O'Neill's "All 
politics is local." The "From Pew to Precinct" team 
is slated to offer twenty training sessions around 
the state in six weekends. An Iowan, Paul was once 
a philosophy student on the verge of completing a Ph.D. 
when he was "called to politics." His mission is to 
convince fellow foot soldiers that, in the electoral 
scheme of things, precinct captains are guardians of 
the "most powerful office in the world." 

A time-tested expert at local victory-making, Paul 
boasted of his own "battle scars." He urged us to know 
the rules that guide the process but to avoid being 
"tied by convention." The man was full of information 
and strategic advice. Parties use ballots and conventions; 
they elect delegates and draft platforms; nomination 
committees and platform committees are the most important; 
get copies of your party's rules, know the numbers; 
rent precinct lists from Greater Austin Right to Life 
or the Christian Coalition; precincts without precinct 
chairs present a window of opportunity; only one quarter 
of the Democratic Party precinct chairs in Texas are 
filled... "Now there's a party ripe for takeover!"

The less dynamic Scott Fisher instructed us on the 
precinct convention preparation process. Network! Crowd 
the convention with people to nominate; make lists 
of delegates and alternates; bring typed resolutions 
in triplicate; tape the precinct conventions. "It's 
a spiritual war, it really is," he said. "Cover the 
job with prayer." (For precinct prayer etiquette, see 
page nine of the workbook.) 

A mock precinct convention ensued. What next, I wondered 
— reactionary street theater? The mock chair asked 
his mock wife to be secretary. I knew we were having 
fun when we elected Rush Limbaugh to one of the coveted 
delegate spots. But alas! Even this unexpected electoral 
frivolity was laced with warning. 

"The key is maintaining control," Paul coached. "And 
don't leave a convention before you hear the word adjourned!" 
The moral of the story was that they will try to trick 
you, pull the secular rug right out from under your 
holy war marchin' boots. Beware the phrase "motion 
to reconsider!" Just get your delegates elected — other 
precincts will pass pro-life, anti-sodomy resolutions 
to be voted on later. Jan Galbraith is the County Chair 
and she is a friend of yours...

Our training trio imparted the electoral truism that, 
if you happen to be the only person to attend your 
local precinct convention, there's no shame in conducting 
the entire ritual alone and then electing yourself. 
When forced to deal with "pro-abort" others, you should 
"extend an olive branch" by, for example, "letting 
them be secretary." Don't dominate, don't piss people 
off so much that they'll mobilize against you. 

It was getting late and things were getting repetitive. 
We were subjected to a disappointing video on the finer 
points of conventioneering. The narrator looked us 
straight in the eye(s) as he signed off, unsmiling, 
with a reminder: "Not only do you want to win the victory, 
but you also want to be a witness for Jesus." His words 
had a familiar patriarchal ring, an evangelized version 
of "win one for the Gipper." I am surrounded by team 
players for the ultimate theocratic hopeful, I thought. 


Paul, Jeff and Scott planted an ominous proposition 
in the minds of attentive trainees. They inspired the 
rank and file to new levels of determination by spreading 
the prophecy that the Republican party may see fit 
to sacrifice the pro-life plank at the national convention. 
The fear is that Dole as the Republican nominee will 
choose "pro-abort" Pete Wilson as his running mate. 
Or worse, Christine Todd Whitman! The goal is to elect 
enough Christian Coalition delegates to make such an 
option unfeasible for the party. 

To inspire vigilance and determination, the trainers 
pit the upcoming battle as a struggle between old-line 
elitist Republican loyalists and themselves. They are 
explicit about intra-party antagonisms. Christian Coalition 
delegates must hold their own against insider Republicans 
who aren't wild about a strong religious right presence. 
(Apparently, moderates seated comfortably within the 
party have a habit of questioning the partisan credentials 
of their Christian Coalition cohorts, accusing them 
of doing little more than showing up at conventions.) 
Paul did his revivalist best to instill a sense of 
entitlement. "Does it matter that you haven't worked 
for the party for a long time? No!" In seamless reactionary 
fashion, he historicized with the mythical footwork 
that fortifies his movement: "We had the party before 
the moderates came in and took it over." 

This sense of righteous belonging will be crucial for 
the Texas delegation. Governor George Bush is expected 
to lead lone star GOP-ers at the national convention 
in San Diego. Despite his personal pro-life convictions, 
Christian Coalition leaders predict that George Jr. 
will face tremendous pressure to tow the (moderate) 
party line. So, delegates must be people who have the 
guts to stand up to Governor Bush. Or, if you prefer, 
people who lack the guts to oppose Governor Bush should 
not be delegates. "The intimidation will be intense. 
The pressure will be incredible." 

Paul ended the evening with a prayer. "We confess the 
sin of apathy," he intoned. As I strolled out, I scooped 
a stray packet of paper off the floor. I found myself 
holding a packet of typed resolutions, presumably to 
be hand carried into precinct conventions across town 
or across many towns. 

I have been trying to understand why this particular 
religious right experience has so affected me. Progressive 
people tend to view the Christian right as an offensive, 
reactionary force hell-bent on punitive legislation 
and the protection of privilege. I agree. But it is 
important to understand that much of the cohesion inside 
the movement stems from a defensive orientation — a 
sincere belief that, as Texas Supreme Court Justice 
Raul Gonzales is fond of saying, "Christians everywhere 
are persecuted because of their faith." My Christian 
Coalition neighbors truly believe they are in the business 
of challenging the subversion of Christian ideals. 
For them, strategy is foremost because consensus is 
unquestionable. There is no need for debate. 

Organizations like the Christian Coalition provide 
members with a sense of community and political opportunity. 
Operation Precinct '96 activists are a tight-knit group. 
While it would be difficult to describe the group dynamic 
as "warm," mutual respect shown among committed members 
is notable. Most members seem committed for the long 
haul. The workshop was a place to refine an intense 
familiarity with process that attendees already possessed. 
I was struck by the way the acronym SREC (State Republican 
Executive Committee) rolled out of their mouths with 
ease. 

Round One of the campaign to send Christian Coalition 
delegates to precinct, county, state and national Republican 
conventions begins on March 12 when precinct conventions 
are convened following the primary elections. The months 
between March and August will provide a telling timetable 
to gauge the effects of local efforts on national party 
platforms and nominations. Stay tuned. There is much 
to be learned. 

_Liz_Gore_is_a_research_assistant_for_the_Los_Angeles-based_
Institute_for_the_Study_of_the_Religious_Right._

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