On the menu: That Musk-y aroma; warning signs for GOP in Virginia; Dems clash over high-profile post; former Atlanta mayor eyes governorship; you're calling from where?
"Political capital" is one of the most abused ideas in Washington because it so often is thought of as a savings account rather than an investment fund.
The conventional wisdom every four years is that a newly elected (or reelected) president has "more political capital than he ever will." This is a part of the whole mandate malarkey in which every recent president (with maybe the exception of George W. Bush in 2001) has claimed a big mandate, even when none existed.
And when there have been clear mandates, they have often been misinterpreted, perhaps willfully so. Barack Obama was elected to rescue the economy after the panic of 2008 and spent his presidential piggy bank on a push for universal health insurance that came up short. Joe Biden was elected to ease the nation out of a pandemic and used his reserves on an ill-defined project of national transformation. Whether you like or dislike the objectives or results, both took the "never let a serious crisis go to waste" approach and tried to stretch their mandates to cover substantially unrelated issues.
If one looked at political capital as a fixed sum, it would make sense. You have a win in the bank, so you'd better start spending it on legacy projects while you have the most resources to throw at the job. But the truth is that by succeeding in addressing the core concerns of voters, a president can become more popular and have new capital to spend. The market of public opinion blesses success and capital grows.
Bill Clinton is a useful example. He won an election dominated by debates about a weak economy and the national debt. He spent his initial political reserves on transformational projects, particularly his wife's health insurance plan, and was repudiated by voters in midterms. He recalculated, easily won reelection and survived what was at that time the worst scandal since Watergate by juicing the economy and balancing the budget.
Ronald Reagan did it best. At the outset, he attacked inflation and economic stagnation like a man possessed. The results kicked in soon enough for him to win 49 states in 1984, giving him the political capital to spend on the project of winning the Cold War.
But there is some truth in the bank account conception of political capital, but only here in D.C. When a president is newly elected, he has the maximal leverage with the members of his own party in Congress and represents the most credible threat to members of the opposing side. Party unity is never stronger than before the hard work of governing begins. And starting at the point farthest away from a new election cycle gives allies courage to try big things and adversaries reasons to hedge their bets. Think of the anxious Republicans of 2009, who for a time believed they might be locked out of the Electoral College for good.
The original idea of the "100 days" to judge a new presidency was born out of Franklin Roosevelt's New Deal blitz of 1933. But it wasn't a yardstick to judge the popularity of the president or the well-being of the nation. It was 100 days for Congress to enact the president's ambitious agenda. Roosevelt had a hammer in hand from his landslide win and he meant to use it to drive his agenda into place.
That was, by accident, the approach that Donald Trump used in his first term in office. He had salvaged his 2016 campaign by discovering a modicum of message discipline after a recording of him bragging about groping women threatened to drive him out of the race. Trump built his closing argument around a slate of proposals his campaign called the "Contract with the American Voter," which aimed to highlight his attachment to traditional Republican policies.
No one was more surprised than Trump that he won, so there was no kind of proper transition plan in place. What Vice President-elect Mike Pence and Washington Republicans scrambled to put together drew heavily on the Contract's agenda. It included some executive actions on illegal immigration and canceling the actions of his predecessor, but the big-ticket items were a big tax cut and the repeal of ObamaCare.
For his first 100 days that time, Trump was, as he is now, a geyser of chaos and disruption. But after the members of his party finally wrestled him to the ground to address a looming government shutdown right around the end of his first 100 days, it teed up a big win on the confirmation of Justice Neil Gorsuch to the Supreme Court a week later.
After a bumpy start, Trump had a big win in Congress, and the focus mostly remained on the legislative branch. First came the missed-it-by-that-much ObamaCare repeal effort, which Republicans saw as a means to both keep a campaign promise and get budgetary slack to use for the most important project, the Trump tax cuts. The ObamaCare failure made the tax cut harder, but after months of jawboning and wheedling, the White House got the deal done at the end of 2017.
The two biggest achievements of Trump's first term were both legislative victories: three Supreme Court confirmations and a massive tax cut, both pushed through by seasoned congressional leaders working in partnership with Pence's team at the White House. There were lots of deportations (though not as many as in either Obama term), some big, targeted moves on trade and certainly lots of drama, but the heart of the Trump first-term agenda was in legislative accomplishments.
Trump World tells us often that "this time is different," and on these matters, they are surely right.
The first 100 days of this Trump administration has had very little to do with Congress. Except for getting through a wild and wooly bunch of appointees, there has so far been basically no Trump agenda for Congress. Having learned his lesson from eight years ago, Trump sidestepped a fight on spending, kicking the can on a six-month funding deal. Eight years ago, Trump's grip on his party was weakened; he obviously feared being branded a deficit spender. This time, the Freedom Caucus is utterly defanged.
That's evidence of how much political capital Trump had at the outset with his party. If you can get people who vowed never to support a continuing resolution to get comfortable with red ink, you've got your people where you want them.
But the Trump reboot is not a show about Congress. It is all about the title character. So the first 100 days were dominated by the satisfying squeak of Sharpie on paper as Trump fired off executive action after executive action. Particularly on trade, but also on an increasingly bellicose stance with the courts, Trump has embraced the idea of "I alone can fix it" to the almost complete exclusion of Congress. He believed this was the right course of action since it is his default mode, but also because all of the patootie smoochers in his cabinet and in Congress kept telling him how massive, historic and amazing his 2024 win was. If Trump in 2017 was the dog who caught the car, in 2025 he is Toonces.
Trump believed the hype and rather than taking advantage of his modestly better approval rating at the start of his second term, proceeded to quickly exhaust it crashing into things. He concluded his first 100 days worse off than any of his predecessors, including himself. That's not a huge political problem in the sense that 100 days is an arbitrary and brief measurement. He has 1,359 days to get back on the good foot, and success would quickly rally the market for political capital.
Where the real trouble comes in for Trump is that he didn't make better use of his moment with Congress.
The honeymoon, little as it was, is wrapping up. The Senate is getting prickly on tariffs. Trump has just jettisoned one of the Senate GOP's favorites among his senior aides. Elon Musk has lost his charge. Trump's overall approval has declined nearly 7 points in just the past month, leaving him nearly 13 points underwater.
And now comes the hard part.
For four months, congressional Republicans have been delaying the major fights on the parts of Trump's agenda that will demand their assent. Trump's 2017 tax cuts are expiring this year, and without action, Americans will be hit with a massive tax increase in the midst of an already contracting economy. But the reconciliation package currently stalled in Congress is a lot more than just maintaining the status quo. It's the vehicle for border spending, a military buildup, and Trump hopes, new tax cuts aimed at his blue-collar and elderly supporters.
Problem is, Congress has only succeeded in agreeing to eventually hash it all out, but has done next to none of the actual hashing. Dozens of ideas are swirling around Capitol Hill, ranging from a car tax to a tax hike for the wealthy. Lawmakers from vulnerable blue-state districts want an increase to the state and local tax deduction. Lawmakers from poor states are freaking out about potential cuts to Medicaid. It's a real mess.
Speaker Mike Johnson (R-La.), who has impressed friends and foes alike with his ability to plow through these problems so far, says he wants it all done in the next three weeks, with the beginning of July as the possible fallback. Let's say Johnson succeeds — no sure thing — what happens next?
The House-passed bill heads over to the Senate and starts rotting like a jack-o'-lantern left out too long on the porch. As we saw in the can-kicking part of this exercise, the House and the Senate are miles apart on these questions. Whatever the House does, if it really can deliver, will not be passed by acclamation in the Senate. Instead, the House provisions slapped together to please narrow constituencies in the lower chamber will start to molder under Senate scrutiny.
And if they do move slowly, at some point along the way, Congress will probably have to vote to raise the federal borrowing limit, an issue sure to deepen enmity between members and between chambers.
That's all a long way of saying that while it doesn't seem possible that congressional Republicans would fail so completely that they wouldn't be able to extend current rates, it is very much an open question that they will be able to do much more than that. And if all Trump has to show for his much-ballyhooed mandate is keeping things the same, voters are not going to be feeling very golden about the golden age.
As Trump tries to unwind the knot of his big, unpopular moves on trade and deals with a series of setbacks in the courts, it's becoming increasingly clear that he didn't put his political capital where it could grow the most: Congress.
There's time left for the president to try to forge a deal on taxes and spending, but if his agenda founders we'll look back on the unwise investments of the first 100 days as the reason.
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