As soon as Manchin made his announcement, there was instant Monday-morning quarterbacking about how the president should have been tougher on Manchin.
And if there was a model for Biden to get Manchin on board, it would be President Lyndon B. Johnson, whose legislative record was built on his famous “Johnson Treatment,” his ability to seduce, threaten, and persuade members of Congress to vote the way he wanted. It’s clear Biden needs to leverage his power and use all the tools at his disposal to achieve his agenda, but it’s also imperative to grasp the limits of what a president can do and look to LBJ’s presidency to draw a feasible roadmap forward for Biden and the Democrats.
The quintessential image of LBJ is that of “The Treatment.” Johnson, who was about 6’4″, would invade the physical space of lawmakers and stand over them, with his face just inches away from theirs, until they gave him the answer he sought. “The Treatment” was also captured in audio recordings of White House telephone conversations, with Johnson doing everything from trying to cajole politicians into voting his way to berating and threatening those who dared to defy him.
But Johnson was not a superhero. More than anyone, he understood Congress was an awesome force. If a president didn’t have the votes to spare, there was sometimes nothing he could do to change things. Before 1965, Johnson was extraordinarily frustrated he was unable to convince Congress to pass a bill that would provide health care to the elderly—Medicare.
This changed after November 1964 — not because of Johnson but because of the new landscape created by the landslide election. Democrats had a 295-seat majority in the House and 68 seats in the Senate. Many of the new Democrats had run on campaigns promising to pass Medicare and Johnson’s decisive defeat of Republican presidential candidate Barry Goldwater—who staunchly opposed Medicare—was seen as a clear mandate that voters wanted the bill.
It was because of the election, not Johnson’s cajoling, that Mills finally changed his stance and accepted the inevitability of Medicare. Rather than standing in the way of history, he worked with the administration to push for legislation that was bigger and bolder than anything the president had imagined. The final bill, with Mills playing the architect rather than obstructionist, included hospital care, coverage for doctor’s visits, and a health care program for the poor called Medicaid.
The President can also bite the bullet and accept a much smaller legislative package in January — one that doesn’t include many of the climate change provisions Manchin opposes, to see if it makes a difference. The risk, of course, is that Biden gives up too much and ends up with nothing if other, more progressive Democrats refuse to accept this deal.
Perhaps the most effective strategy would be to appeal to Manchin’s own ego. Johnson loved to do this to lawmakers, realizing there was no better means of persuasion than to let them wield their power and lap up the credit and adulation. With Manchin, Biden can remind the Senator a shift from decisive opposition to key architect—the same role Mills had played with Medicare or Senate Republican Leader Everett Dirksen with the Civil Rights Act of 1964—would ensure his place in the history books.
In the end, however, there are limits to what the President can achieve. If Manchin refuses to respond to any of these entreaties, there isn’t much Biden can do. The legislation might very well be dead — unless Democrats can grow their majority in 2022 or 2024 and render Manchin’s vote inconsequential. But regardless of how it all unfolds, Manchin’s months-long opposition to the Build Back Better bill should be a reminder to Democrats the future of this presidency hinges on the composition of Congress. Given that partisanship is much stronger today than in 1964, Democrats now need to be strategic about growing their collective power if it comes down to outflanking Manchin, rather than changing him.