Campaign Finance: Debating For Dollars

John McCain's crusade for campaign-finance reform has attracted plenty of well-wishers over the years, but his Republican colleagues in the Senate have not often been among them. His attempt to get the bill past a G.O.P. filibuster in 1999 set off one of the nastiest Senate confrontations in recent memory, as members of his own party ganged up to smother his reform. So it was both a good omen and a bit of a surprise that last week, as McCain launched yet another attempt, the bouquet of flowers he received came not just from a Republican but from one sponsoring a rival bill that could kill McCain's. "It was a big day for John," says Nebraska's Chuck Hagel, who sent the flowers. A fellow Vietnam veteran, Hagel addressed the card to Captain McCain and signed it Sergeant Hagel.

As the Senate began debating campaign-finance reform last week, the only safe bet was that things would soon get ugly. But by the second day, even that bet was off. And by Friday, astonishingly enough, the bill, which McCain co-authored with Democrat Russell Feingold, hadn't been killed--or even altered all that much--after a week in which an amendment was offered roughly every three hours. Just as unexpected was what did happen--something the Senate hasn't seen much of on any issue: a substantive, thoughtful and generally amicable debate. The kind the framers intended.

Even the fireworks turned out to be an inside joke. A shouting match between the starchy conservative Orrin Hatch and the overstuffed liberal Ted Kennedy seemed real at first, then devolved into an obvious put-on and finally ended in a hug as the gallery broke into applause. Similarly, after the Democrats' floor manager, Chris Dodd, gave an impassioned speech on Friday, Hagel dismissed him as a fine Irish actor--and they too smoothed their differences with a hug.

No wonder they were in a good mood. The debate was unscripted, a reminder of how the place operated in the freewheeling days when Senators actually used the brass spittoons under the antique desks. Such spontaneity is rare under majority leader Trent Lott, who does his best to precook and shrink-wrap bills before they reach the floor. But in this debate, neither side knew in advance what amendments the other was putting forward, and no one knew how most of the votes would come out. "I couldn't tell you today whether [an amendment] is going to get 20 votes or 60 votes," says Democratic leader Tom Daschle. That meant everyone had to pay attention.

A cynic would suggest the bonhomie was a sign that none thought the bill had a chance of passing. But a realist would give them credit for trying, while recognizing it as the protective warmth that envelops any effective mutual-aid society. Campaign-finance reform may be an arcane subject, but it is also a matter of survival for politicians, as familiar as their morning coffee. And the Senators were using their intimate knowledge of the subject to protect themselves and each other.