Bad Lands: Why do the Dakotas vote for Dems?

'It's hard to explain, and I don't think there's an easy answer," says Rep. John Thune, Republican from South Dakota. It's late on a recent Friday afternoon, and Thune is discussing his state's politics as he begins the long drive from Rapid City to Sioux Falls, where he'll take part in a forum on energy prices the next day. Heading across the prairie, he's found a spot near the town of Wall-population 818, not counting tourists-where he can make a scratchy, fading cell-phone connection to Washington.

The question for which Thune has no easy answer is this: In the nation's capital, party loyalty is a fairly simple thing. Republicans support President Bush and Democrats support Tom Daschle, Thune's fellow South Dakotan, who is now Senate majority leader. While some are more loyal than others, nobody in Washington enthusiastically supports Bush and Daschle. And yet a majority of people in South Dakota do precisely that-60 percent voted for Bush and, two years earlier, 62 percent voted for Daschle. How can that be?

The question goes beyond the president and the majority leader. Not too long ago, Democrat Tim Johnson, South Dakota's other senator, ran up a near-perfect rating on the Americans for Democratic Action's annual measurement of Senate liberalism (although with a reelection bid approaching next year, he has recently begun to cast himself as more moderate). At the same time, South Dakotans love their conservative congressman; last year Thune, whose district covers the entire state, got a nearly flawless negative rating from the ADA-and was reelected with 74 percent of the vote.

And it's not just South Dakota. Bush won North Dakota with 61 percent of the vote, while liberal Democratic senator Kent Conrad was reelected with . . . 61 percent of the vote. North Dakota's other senator, Democrat Byron Dorgan, also regularly hovers near the top of the ADA's liberal scale (in 2000, he outranked California's Barbara Boxer and Dianne Feinstein). Yet Dorgan was reelected in 1998 with 63 percent of the vote. Add it all together, and it's as if the same group of people enthusiastically elected both Maxine Waters and Bob Barr. Other states have their political eccentricities, but none are stranger than the bipolar-disorder world of Dakotas politics.

"I think the explanation may be something as basic as people voting ideologically in presidential elections and on the basis of personal qualities in congressional elections," says Bob Burns, professor of political science at South Dakota State University. Burns attributes this in part to the states' tiny populations and geographical remoteness. South Dakota has a population of 755,000, which is a bit smaller than the Tulsa, Okla., metropolitan area, while North Dakota has a population of 642,000, a little less than that of Knoxville, Tenn. With so few people, elected officials have to practice intensive retail politics. "It's possible, through hard work and long hours, to meet a very, very large percentage of the voters," says Burns. "Once you achieve that level of personal introduction and get a first victory, if you maintain that frequent contact with the voters, you can win reelection."

Daschle is legendary for working his state hard, returning often and spending time in each of South Dakota's 66 counties every year. In April, after a crucial vote on the budget took place on a Friday, Daschle hurried home to emcee a Saturday-night variety show in Murdo, population 612. A month later, as he prepared to ascend to the pinnacle of power in the Senate, Daschle was again mixing with the local folks. "He was all over; everybody in the state knew Tom Daschle was home," says David Kranz, political reporter for the Sioux Falls Argus Leader. And every time Daschle meets a new person or renews an acquaintance, he makes sure to send a note. "There are handwritten Tom Daschle note cards all over South Dakota," says Kranz. "They're in living rooms, on buffets, in restaurants. He literally takes a pile of cards with him and writes everybody."

Contrast that to presidential campaigns, in which Dakotans rarely, if ever, see a major candidate. Both states cover huge amounts of territory, have small media markets, and offer three electoral votes. Why should a candidate take the trouble to visit? Last year, neither Bush nor Gore did. In the absence of personal handholding and thank-you notes, some theorize, Dakotans tend to display a natural preference for Republicans. "When we vote for president, I think it comes down more to ideological beliefs," says Bob Burns, "because you don't have an opportunity to meet the candidates."

But that still leaves the question: Even if Daschle and his Democratic colleagues are wizards of hands-on politics, if Dakotans naturally gravitate toward the GOP, why isn't there a Republican out there who can go door-to-door, emcee variety shows, and use all the personal touches to get himself elected senator?

Maybe Republican candidates have just had bad luck. But the Dakotas' hard-line Democratic Senate foursome also suggests that the states' dedication to tax-cutting, government-limiting presidential conservatism is at least partly symbolic. When it comes down to the role of the federal government, Dakotans like things the way they are. Both states are net consumers of tax dollars, receiving more in federal spending than they send to Washington in taxes. There are Air Force bases, B-52s, missile silos, and other Pentagon spending. There is Bureau of Land Management spending. There is Bureau of Indian Affairs spending. There is heavy highway spending for the widely dispersed population. And there is lots and lots of agricultural spending. "In some ways, you might call us hypocritical when we talk about limiting the cost of government," says Burns. "We like to pretend it isn't true, but we get more back than we pay in." For Dakotas voters, Daschle, Johnson, Conrad, and Dorgan are safe bets to keep it that way.

Whatever the explanation, the states present a significant obstacle to the Bush White House as it deals with the newly Democratic Senate. Bush has scored some successes with his effort to lure red-state Democrats- senators from states that Bush won decisively-to support his agenda. Ben Nelson of Nebraska, John Breaux and Mary Landrieu of Louisiana, Zell Miller of Georgia-all are potentially crucial parts of new, ad hoc Bush coalitions for future administration initiatives.

By that logic, the Dakotas should represent four potential votes. Instead, White House officials can hope for only one-they persuaded Tim Johnson to vote for the tax cut-and even that will be chancy much of the time. "It really is fascinating with these guys," says one frustrated White House aide. "They're in states where tax relief is popular, education reform is popular, ballistic-missile defense is popular. There's a reason we got 60-plus [percent of the presidential vote] there." The same official finds it "astounding" that Conrad and Dorgan were able to vote against the tax cut. "The thing that kills me is that they can talk conservative back home and go to Washington and vote the other way."

But that's the reality facing Bush, and in the end the only solution will be to elect a Republican senator. Johnson will face voters next year and could be vulnerable, provided the GOP comes up with a suitably popular opponent. And everybody agrees the best-maybe the only-person for that job is John Thune. Polls indicate that Thune could win, but there has been speculation he isn't particularly interested in the Senate and would rather go home and run for governor.

Which is why Bush invited Thune to dinner a few weeks ago, just an intimate affair with the two men and their wives in the White House residence. First the president gave Thune the we-really-need-you-in- the-Senate pitch. "He clearly made his interest known in having me take a look at the Senate race," Thune says diplomatically. Then Bush approached from the other side, giving Thune the being-a-governor-is- no-piece-of-cake-believe-me-I've-been-there pitch. "He talked to me a lot about what it's like to be governor," Thune says, which ultimately led the conversation back to Bush's Senate pitch.

It was all very amiable-"he was very cordial, there wasn't any strong- arming," Thune says-and the congressman came away as undecided as he had been when he walked in. For the record, Thune says he hasn't ruled out any option, and doesn't expect to make an official announcement until the fall. Meanwhile, the president, unable to find any support in two states that voted for him overwhelmingly, will keep trying to round up votes elsewhere. "He's got to have people who will be willing to work with him in a cooperative way," says Thune, "and I don't think he'll be looking to the Dakotas for a lot of help."