The US election of November 2000 attracted more international interest than any Presidential race on record. In part, this was a reflection of the unprecedented peak reached by American power in the last decade of the century, felt in all areas of the world; in part, of the unusual character of the outcome. The significance of the result, however, should be considered in a wider historical context. The past twenty years have seen two political cycles in the Euro-American core of advanced capitalism, each under the sign of neo-liberalism. The long downturn of the world economy that set in from the early seventies broke on a chequered regime field, without consistent partisan alignment: Ford, Wilson, Giscard, Schmidt. A few years later, the turn towards monetarist solutions to the crisis was initiated by administrations on the left of the established spectrum—Carter and Callaghan. But at the turn of the decade there was a break, as this mongrel scene gave way to a clear-cut political pattern. By 1982, governments of the radical or moderate Right had taken power across the whole of the North Atlantic world: in the United States, Canada, Britain, West Germany, the Low Countries and Scandinavia. Their overall mission was to change the relation of forces between capital and labour, where necessary—principally in Britain and America—after tough class struggles to crush resistance to a new order. Deregulation, tax reduction, de-unionization and privatization became the main engines of a sustained drive to install a neo-liberal economic framework. The pioneering regimes of this wave were Thatcher’s government in Britain and Reagan’s administration in the United States, which set the terms of the decade—followed with lesser degrees of zeal by governments of the Right across Northern Europe, including traditional zones of social-democratic dominance in Scandinavia. In the Southern Europe of the same period, historically less advanced as a social environment, governments of the Centre-Left predominated, often for the first time. But in policy terms, Paris, Rome or Madrid were obliged to operate within the parameters set in Washington, London and Bonn. In the Antipodes, the Labour governments of Hawke and Lange went yet further than Mitterrand or González in pursuing the common objectives of the time. The Right dominated the international landscape, and set the standard for variant administrations everywhere. To adapt a phrase of Gramsci’s, the ‘organic formula’ of neo-liberalism—that is, the most powerful and coherent version of its hegemony—was embodied in the Reagan and Thatcher regimes.

As the Cold War came to an end, this pattern changed. Over the next decade, Centre-Left regimes came to power in the US, UK, and throughout most of Western Europe. Once again, Washington and London led the way, as the Clinton and Blair regimes set the tone and direction of the new period. With their arrival, the ‘organic formula’ of neo-liberalism was significantly modified. A continuing dynamic of deregulation—of financial and labour markets alike—was now surrounded with gestures of social conciliation: homeopathic drops of fiscal redistribution, job creation or school reform. Globally, the geographical spread of this wave has been wider than its predecessor. By the latter part of the decade, Centre-Left parties held office in the USA, Canada, and nearly all—twelve out of fifteen—countries of the European Union.footnote1 Once again, exceptions could be found in the South: regimes of the Centre-Right in Spain, Australia and (till recently) New Zealand, obliged in their turn to respect imperatives defined further North. Structurally, neo-liberal hegemony was further strengthened in this period, not merely by ongoing policy measures—welfare reform and repeal of Glass-Steagall under Clinton, independence of the central bank and introduction of private finance initiatives in the health service under Blair, corporate tax bonanzas and pension reform under Schroeder, accelerated privatizations under Jospin—but more generally by the disappearance of any programmatic alternatives from the scene.

The first form of neo-liberal dominance lasted just over a decade. The second type is now nearing a similar span, posing the question: is it going to prove more durable? Institutionally and ideologically, the original regimes of the radical Right in America and Britain were more creative than those which followed them. Aggressive and innovative, they reshaped the whole landscape of fin-de-siècle capitalism. The Centre-Left governments are, by contrast, regimes of consolidation: they have accepted and extended the legacy of their predecessors, without substantially modifying it. In implementing their programmes, however, both forms have faced the same political problem. The pure doctrine of the free market that is the animating spirit of neo-liberalism is, by itself, too arid and abstract a creed to offer satisfying fare for any mass electorate. Success at the polls always requires an ideological supplement. The Reagan and Thatcher regimes had this ready to hand, since both came to power in the wake of international setbacks for their respective societies—Vietnam and Iran for the US; prolonged economic decline in the UK—and promised their redress. National reassertion was a more powerful mobilizing force than straightforward laissez faire in rallying voters to their cause—however much the first, as they never tired of explaining, depended on the second. Successes in the battle against Soviet Communism or Argentine militarism clinched their authority. These were consensual victories. More divisive were other ingredients in the ideological supplement of each. In America, fundamentalist religion became an increasingly strident note in the patriotic concert of the Republican Party. In Britain, chauvinist fervour was eventually turned against allied states in Europe. Each of these strains in the make-up of the Right antagonized otherwise well-disposed sectors of opinion—suburban women or well-heeled professionals; multinationals and City bankers—more than they attracted grass-roots support. Thatcher split her party over Europe and fell. Bush was victim of a recession, but by then much of his party had forfeited secular trust.

The Centre-Left regimes, by contrast, have avoided any sharp ideological edges. The dietary supplement on which they depend is a soothing emulsion whose themes are the interdependence of responsibility and community, the compatibility of economic competition with social cohesion. This is an ideology that corresponds to generic longings to square the circle of contemporary life, combining market efficiency and civic solidarity, high consumption and affordable charity, individual success and social security. As a discourse without enemies, its popular appeal is virtually guaranteed. By the same token, its capacity for independent initiative is very limited. Its triumph as the organic formula of the period has relied on an underlying policy momentum inherited from its predecessor, and the economic upturn of the later nineties. The Third Way is a fair-weather formation, whose performance in more turbulent conditions has yet to be tested. But it is not an artificial one. It corresponds to objective needs of the system, which it has so far served well, neutralizing any dissent or opposition to it more effectively than regimes of the classical Right ever could.

The Presidential elections of 2000 offered the first serious test of the stamina of this order. What conclusions can be drawn from the result? The structure of American politics differs significantly from European counterparts. Half the population never votes. Since these are overwhelmingly the least well-off, the result is the virtual equivalent of a property franchise. The whole political spectrum is ranged further to the right, excluding any force of even nominally social-democratic complexion. Thus Reagan could gain a much wider consensus for his brand of conservatism than Thatcher for hers. If in policy terms the British variant was always more incisive, electorally it was far weaker: Thatcher never won more than 44 per cent of the electorate, where Reagan at his height commanded close to 60 per cent. Behind Republican dominance in the eighties, in turn, lay a historical development without equivalent in Europe—the detachment of Southern Bourbons from their century-long allegiance to the Democratic Party, putting an end to a sociological anomaly dating back to the Civil War. This was an inter-generational change thirty years in the making, whose dynamic persisted after Reagan was gone and which, eventually, gave the Republicans control of Congress in the nineties—still beyond reach while he was in the White House. The centre of political gravity has shifted steadily away from the markers of the sixties.

In these conditions, the Democratic victory of 1992 was more adventitious than its counterparts in Europe—due largely to Perot’s candidacy, which split off enough disaffected popular votes to give Clinton the White House with only 43 per cent of the poll. Four years later, however, Clinton held it easily, in the lowest turnout since 1924, with a decisive victory over his Republican opponent. He then presided over the fastest—productive and speculative—boom in postwar history. By early 2000, opinion surveys were reporting record satisfaction with the performance of the administration. Against this background, the Democratic and Republican candidates for the White House waged their campaigns in the autumn. In the event, Gore won a narrow popular majority—a margin of less than 0.51 per cent, on a turnout of 50.7 per cent of the electorate. About a quarter of American adults voted for him. It is possible that he would have won a majority of the Electoral College as well, had a manual recount of all counties in Florida occurred. He was not, however, confident enough of the outcome of such a recount to demand one, preferring instead to mine only his own strongholds for extra votes, a decision that may have cost him the Presidency. The courts at all levels followed partisan preferences without compunction, but a request for a full manual recount after the second mechanical recount on November 8 could not have been blocked. What is clear, however, is that Nader’s substantial Green vote in Florida—a hundred times the margin of difference between Democratic and Republican tallies—denied Gore the Presidency.footnote2 Rarely has a third party in a first-past-the-post system been so decisive in settling the result of a national election.

Of much greater significance than the legal disputes between Democrats and Republicans in Florida was the pattern of the vote nationwide. While the ideological divide between the two sides was muted during the campaign, the sociological polarization in their support widened. Gender, race and class all show the same disparities. Gore took an 11-point lead over Bush among women—Bush an 11-point lead over Gore among men. Gore increased the Democrat share of the black vote to a record 90 per cent, held the Hispanic vote at over two-thirds, and improved its Asian vote substantially (up 11 points) to over half, while Bush scored a 12-point lead among whites. Family income correlated with voting preference at every level through the social scale, the Republican vote falling and the Democrat increasing at each step from top to bottom. Starkest of all as a gross division, Gore got over 70 per cent of voters in metropolitan areas of over 500,000, while Bush took 60 per cent of the rural vote. Such figures make it clear where the underlying political advantage in US politics lies. The organic formula of neo-liberal hegemony still leans to the Centre-Left, as in Europe. Not only does virtually every demographic trend favour the Democratic bloc, but if half Nader’s vote were added to Gore’s, a national majority 7 points larger than Clinton’s in 1992, and a point above his comfortable victory in 1996, already exists. Viewing the American scene in international context, the Presidential race offers little statistical sign of a break in the dominance of Third Way politics.