In all the speculation about why Sarah Palin quit the Alaska governorship, no one — right or left, supportive or critical, rational or conspiratorial — has credited her stated reason that she had to do it for the sake of Alaska. It’s just too absurd. Palin mentioned Alaska or Alaskans 34 times in a 17-minute statement that must be a new record in the history of protesting too much. Palin says she hates politics as usual, and true to her word, on July 3 she staged a spectacle in politics as unusual. But she still proved adept at the traditional political art of extreme disingenuousness.
She didn’t want to put Alaska through the hell of a lame-duck governor who would “hit the road, draw the paycheck, and ‘milk it.’” Never mind that if she feared becoming a lame duck, she could run for re-election — especially if “serving [Alaska’s] people is the greatest honor I could imagine.” Or that she could endeavor to work her hardest at her job until her last day in office. That may sound outlandish, but it’s been done before. Sarah Palin’s words served only to throw a tissue of rationalization over a calculated choice made in her personal self-interest. In all likelihood, Palin is going to embrace her political celebrity with gusto, freed from the burdens of the geographic isolation of the Alaska governorship and its (relative to national politics) petty distractions. Her decision wasn’t particularly public-spirited, but neither was it crazy. She has seen her opportunities, and she’s going to take them.
Juneau had become to Palin almost what the Tower was to Anne Boleyn. It pinned her down so opponents could ding her with picayune complaints under the state’s ethics law, forcing her to pile up $500,000 worth of legal bills. She had to deal with restive state lawmakers and an increasingly skeptical Alaskan public. Who needs that? After her frenzied turn as a vice-presidential candidate, returning to the Alaska governorship must have felt like descending all the way back to mayor of Wasilla.
Now she can travel the country headlining Republican events and campaigning for candidates, unencumbered by other professional responsibilities. Wherever she goes, she’ll draw crowds and attention. If she can command $60,000 per paid speech, as an aide speculates, she’ll match her annual gubernatorial salary with a mere two gigs. That’s welcome income for a woman who isn’t rich and who has five children and one grandkid. This is why she quit the Alaska governorship while inveighing against quitting — her personal odyssey as a national figure is only beginning.
Whether this makes sense politically is another question. It’s fashionable to opine that the culture wars are over. Palin proves that they still burn hot. Her very existence is a cultural provocation. Before she had been on the national stage five minutes — before the Katie Couric interview, before the Tina Fey parodies — she had earned the eternal enmity of the liberal elite for the affront of who she was: a working-class, pro-life woman with decidedly red-state mores. Conservatives loved her for the same reason. She had a true magnetism. The more she repelled one side, the more she attracted the other.
This push-pull dynamic will hold Palin up for a long time, but it can’t propel her into the presidency. For that she needs substance, not the hackneyed sound bites she clings to for dear life. For that she needs a positive program, not just the hatred of conservatism’s favorite enemies. On this score, her premature exit from the governorship makes her task all the more arduous. As the soon-to-be-former half-term governor of a small state, she makes that other prominent populist social conservative, former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee, look formidably credentialed in comparison.
Whether she becomes more seasoned and more policy-oriented is the key to whether she cashes in her charisma for something more meaningful. As for Alaska, it will be a beloved afterthought.