The Fight for Justice

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shcroft's signature legislative victory came during the 1996 welfare-reform effort, when he crafted the charitable-choice provision, which made it easier for religious groups to receive government money to provide social services like drug-treatment and job-training programs. Ashcroft defenders point to charitable choice as evidence of his ability to weave his private religious convictions into creative public policy. "You don't want government to turn religious groups into government agencies," says Joe Loconte, a specialist in church-state relations at the Heritage Foundation. "Figuring out how to get public money to religious groups--that was the lawyer part; doing it in a way that respects the integrity and spiritual mission of the groups--that was the Christian part."

Ashcroft spent much of 1998 pondering a run for the G.O.P. presidential nomination but dropped out before the year was over. Asked afterward if he was glad not to have people "poking and prodding" him to campaign everywhere, Ashcroft said, "The only person poking and prodding me, was me."

The strength of Ashcroft's personal beliefs is what scares so many people and thrills so many others. That issue was revived last week as the newscasts replayed his remarks at Bob Jones University, an ode to a country that has "no king but Jesus," which sent a shudder through the ranks of First Amendment watchdogs. Being Attorney General is not just about enforcing the law, it is also about changing it, deciding which laws to challenge, how aggressively to prosecute and where to throw your best lawyers. Women's groups question his willingness to enforce laws protecting access to abortion clinics; consumer groups wonder how aggressive he will be on antitrust matters. When religious as well as legal principles are at stake, which ones prevail? In a nationally known right-to-die case, Pete Busalacchi battled Ashcroft for years over the right of a parent to end the life of a comatose child with no hope of recovery. The long fight left Busalacchi bitter. "It was a matter of one person in a high position inflicting his religious beliefs onto a family," Busalacchi told TIME. "Is John Ashcroft's religion better than mine?"

But Ashcroft's defenders can point to the times when he enforced laws to which he was personally opposed, and vice versa. As state attorney general he once argued against the dissemination of religious material on public school grounds, even though he personally favored it. As Governor he was elected at the same time the state approved a lottery, and it was his job to create and administer it. Ashcroft calls gambling a "cancer" and thinks lotteries take money from poor people; but he duly named a commission, crafted the rules and worked to make sure that there was no corruption.

It may seem surprising that a deeply religious Pentecostal would choose to make his career in politics, a profession in which the deal very often buries the ideal under a pile of cheap excuses. But to someone like Ashcroft, if you believe it is your duty to serve others, then the ultimate service is politics. He believes it so deeply that when he lost his Senate race in November, he had a party for his staff and another for his fund raisers and personally served the coffee and the ice cream. There were no cameras there to record it; it was all very private and very symbolic of how he sees his role.

Friends say Ashcroft's defeat did not leave him bitter; his loss, after all, was nothing compared with his opponent's. He had been battling Mel Carnahan, the man who had succeeded him as Governor. It was a fierce and unfriendly contest right up until the day three weeks before the election when Carnahan and his son died in a plane crash. Ashcroft's graceful handling of the tragedy and his narrow defeat at the polls ensured that among other things, it would be Carnahan's widow Jean--who was sworn in to the Senate in her late husband's place--who will be introducing Ashcroft to the Judiciary Committee this week.

At Bush's transition headquarters in Washington last week, where everyone was distracted by the spectacular self-destruction of Labor nominee Linda Chavez, aides were slow to notice that the Ashcroft nomination was taking on water. Republican Senators began to grumble about sloppy Bush teamwork; some friendly Democrats had praised Ashcroft initially, but then Bush aides sat on their lead. Senators like New Jersey's Robert Torricelli went from lauding Ashcroft as "a good choice" to setting conditions for his support. "Now these Democrats have the opportunity to back away," gripes a senior G.O.P. Senate aide.

Bush's political advisers decided to keep Ashcroft under wraps, away from the press. "They hope that if they don't have John talk," says an Ashcroft partisan, "the conversation will cease." But it had already become clear that Ashcroft's vote count had fallen from 70 to around 60 as the interest groups on the left were able to concentrate their fire on him. G.O.P. leader Trent Lott announced last week that all 50 Senate Republicans were lined up to confirm--it takes only a simple majority--but that was as much a brave hope as a real prediction. Just one Republican defection could unify the opposition and sink Ashcroft's nomination.