Out of the West: Screen scene set for White House battle

WASHINGTON - When eminent American talk show hosts expatiate about putting the national interest above their own personal celebrity, a mite of scepticism is usually in order. Perhaps not, however, as we approach this season of presidential debates.

There in the Washington Post this weekend was that silver-haired master of the trade, Phil Donahue, foregoing the chance of glory at one of the forthcoming bouts of unarmed combat between Bill Clinton and George Bush. How much better, Mr Donahue argued, if they took place without panelists, moderators or audience - two candidates 'mano a mano, alone with one another in an otherwise silent and empty room'.

The possibilities are tantalising. Would the President collapse under the weight of his own tangled syntax? Would the challenger drown in a flood of uncheckable, incomprehensible statistics? Would one or both walk out in fury? Or might a confused electorate finally be offered 90 minutes of illumination, cutting through the verbiage of the campaign rhetoric? Alas, such speculation is futile. Whatever does happen, the Donahue variant will not. Presidential debates are far too important to be left to the candidates alone.

Right now the Bush and Clinton camps are enacting a quadrennial ritual dance, the debate about the debates. About one month ago, after much deliberation, the bipartisan commission in charge of such matters came up with its proposals. There would be three presidential debates and a vice-presidential one, each moderated by a single journalist with no live audience.

At once the jockeying began. No, said the White House, their man would accept at most two, not three debates, conducted by not one but a group of journalists. Mr Clinton speedily agreed, however. He would be in East Lansing, Michigan, where the first debate is due next Tuesday evening, at the appointed hour; if his opponent chose not to appear, then so be it. The public could draw its own conclusions.

At first glance, this might seem mere posturing. But consider two facts. First the US constitution provides no forum like the House of Commons where the prime minister and leader of the opposition go head to head, twice a week. Indeed, except for the brief period between its nominating convention and the election, the opposition party here has no leader. Second, of the five sets of televised debates that have been held since 1960, at least three have been decisive for the election outcome.

In the first, John Kennedy's besting of Richard Nixon - watched by 70 million viewers - is generally held to have tilted a cliff-hanger his way. Not surprisingly, when his turn came again in 1968 and 1972, Mr Nixon refused to debate with either Hubert Humphrey or George McGovern. Four years later, President Gerald Ford's slip in denying Soviet domination of Eastern Europe helped convince his countrymen that a little known governor of Georgia was the better man for the job.

Most conclusive of all, however, was 1980. Jimmy Carter, the then president, agreed after much hesitation to face his challenger Ronald Reagan, just a week before polling day. Brilliantly, Mr Reagan both laid to rest his 'Mad Bomber' reputation, and managed to portray his opponent as mean-spirited, sanctimonious and vindictive. Seven days later a race too close to call had become a landslide.

That is precisely what this year's incumbent seeks to avoid. Mr Bush could follow Mr Nixon's example and pass on the whole thing. But it would be a desperately risky gamble: debates are now the traditional centrepiece of an election year autumn. More to the point, this president is an underdog: probably, demolition by debate of Mr Clinton represents his only chance to win. If so, then Mr Bush requires the perfect setting - in his case a rolling fire of diverse questions from a clutch of star journalists vying with each other as much as with the candidates, minimising the risk of entering a detailed economic argument, which he is doomed to lose.

The model is 1988; now as then, the Republicans seek to project the debates in terms of general impressions, of trust, likeability and 'character'. Four years ago, this formula worked. Michael Dukakis, opponent of capital punishment, was asked if he favoured the death penalty for a man who raped and killed his wife. His impersonal and technocratic answer before tens of millions on television was fatal. At a stroke, the Bush propaganda had been confirmed: his rival came across as a soulless automaton, adrift from the emotions of ordinary Americans.

And thus, they hope, it will be in 1992: 'Slick Willie' will betray himself, in front of an entire nation. That may be expecting too much. But very soon we will finally have the chance to see.