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Observation, Context, and Sequence in the Study of Politics

Author(s): Richard F. Fenno, Jr.Source: The American Political Science Review, Vol. 80, No. 1 (Mar., 1986), pp. 3-15Published by: American Political Science AssociationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1957081.

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OBSERVATION,CONTEXT,ANDSEQUENCEIN THESTUDYOFPOLITICS

RICHARDF. FENNO,JR.Universityof Rochester

Observation is at the heartof politicalanalysis.Observingthe behaviorof U.S. senators nvolveswatchingthem in two contexts-at home and inthe capitalcity. It also entailssensitivityto the sequencesof events or contextswhichimpinge upon senatorial behavior. Contexts and sequencesof legislative ife have notbeenobserved n therichdetailtheydeserve,becausenot enough politicalscientistsarepresentlyengaged n observation.

Al studentsofpolitics are, perforce,students of politi-cians. Whetherwe place them near thecenteror at theperiphery f ourwork,wecannotavoid thinkingaboutthose peoplewho, in any society, pursue publiccareers, make public decisions, andenmesh themselves in public values.Thereare,of course,many ways to studypoliticians.I wish to talk about one ofthem: observation. By observation, Imean following politicians around andtalkingwith themas they go about theirwork. Because I shall draw upon myexperience in observing some UnitedStatessenators,I shallspeakmost directlyto people with an interest in Americanlegislativepolitics. But I should like, inthe course of my remarks,to engageallthose who have an interest n what politi-ciansdo andwhy. Hencethe pretentious-nessof my title. Themain questionI wishto pose is, What, if any, value can theclose personal observationof politicians

bring to our studies of politics? Asecondary question is, Should we, as adiscipline,encouragemore of it?The observationof whichI shallspeakis, for lack of a better term, interactiveobservation.It is not like lookingthrougha one-wayglassat someone on the otherside. You watch, you accompany, andyou talk with the people you are study-ing. Much of what you see, therefore, sdictated by what they do and say. Ifsomething is important to them, itbecomesimportant o you. Theirview ofthe world is-asimportantas yourview ofthat world. You impose some researchquestions on them; they impose someresearchquestions on you. That inter-action has its costs-most notably in aconsiderable loss of control over theresearchprocess. It also has benefits. Itbrings you especiallyclose to your data.You watch it being generatedand youcollect it At the source. It is not receiveddata. Furthermore,hese data-the per-

AMERICANPOLITICAL CIENCEREVIEWVOL. 80 NO. i MARCH,1986

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ceptions, the interpretations, and thebehaviorof workingpoliticians-are datathat bring you close to serious politicalactivity. This immediate proximity todata about seriouspoliticalactivity pro-duces sensitivitiesandperspectiveswhich,I shall argue, do give observation somevalueadded -almost certainlyfor stu-dentsof Americanegislativepolitics,andquite possibly for all political scientistswho think aboutpoliticians.We arenot talkinghere about a theoryof politics. We are talking about a modeof research.But it is a mode of researchwhich can-potentially at least-inform,enrich, and guide theoriesof politics. Itspotential may be greater or some bodiesof theory than for others. The veryactivity of observing politicians carrieswith it a bias in favor of individual-leveltheorizing. It is individuals you arewatching and it is generalizationsaboutindividuals that become the buildingblocks of your analysis. My own viewbegins with the idea that politiciansare both goal-seeking and situation-interpretingndividuals. tproceeds o theidea that politiciansact on the basis ofwhat they want to accomplishin theirworld,andon thebasis of how they inter-pret what theysee in that world. It movesfrom there to the idea that we can gainvaluable knowledgeof their actions, per-ceptions,and interpretations y tryingtosee theirworld as they see it. And henceto observation.I shall make a minimumclaim for it-that it bringsvalueadded toindividual-levelanalysis.But I hope thatothers might explore its furtherreachesfor possiblecontributionso moremacro-level theorizing.There are, I shall argue, two largelessons to be drawn from observation.Each lows directly roma basicconditionof observationas a researchmode. First,in orderto observepoliticians, you mustleave the place where you live andwork,where routines and people are familiar,and go to some other place where you

intrude-more or less-upon the lives,the work, and the routinesof less familiarpeople. In order to observe politicians,you must operate in an unfamiliarcon-text. And that basicconditiondrivesyou,inevitably,to a sharpened ppreciation fcontext as a variable n your analysis.The relevance of context becomesincreasinglyevident as you move fromthe observationof one politicianto theobservationof another.You are driventoask, in each new encounter,Who is thispersonI'm with? Whatis he or she tryingto accomplish?What is the situation inwhich he finds himself?How do he andhis situation differ from that of otherpeople I have observed? The object ofyour attention s thisperson. But unlessyou areengaged n thestudyof individualpsyches-as most of us arenot-the unitof analysisis always thispersonin thissituation. You face an individualwho ispursuing certain goals, holding certainpersonalattitudes and values, carryingaresidue of personal experience.But youalso face an individualwho is perceiving,interpreting,and actingin a complexsetof circumstances.And you cannot knowwhat you want to know about that indi-vidual untilyou have knowledge of thesecircumstances, r this situation, or,this context. By knowledge,I mean toinclude what you learnby looking at thecontext yourself and what you learn byseeingthe contextthrough heeyes of theindividual politician. Observation in-volves interviewing;but it involves muchmore thaninterviewing.Thereare two mastercontexts n whichall legislativepoliticianswork-home andthe capitalcity. They can be observed nboth places. I began by observingsomeUnited States senators at home. Thatexperienceconveys, overwhelmingly, heimportanceof context.Duringmy firsttwo dayswitha senatorfrom a large state, he held consecutivemeetings with a conference of blackministers,a conservativecitizens'group,

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1986 Observation,Context, and Sequencerepresentativesof two dozen nationalPACs, officials of the statewide CatholicConference,agroupof Jewishcommunityleaders, the political operatives of theState EducationAssociation,and officersof the Teamsters Union. Three weekslater, I spent my first full day with asmall-statesenator, driving across vastfarmlandsfor a series of leisurelyvisitswith groups of citizens in three small-town cafes.I saw themeetings n the largestate as impassioned mportunings,withvarious groups nterviewinga prospectiveadvocatefor their cause. I saw the meet-ings in the small state as easygoingexchanges,,with each group reassuringitself that the visitor was one of us.The contextualcontrast I saw fit witheachsenator'sown perceptionsand inter-pretations. The large-state senator seeshimselfworking n a contentiouscontext,characterizedby a great diversity oforganizedand insistentgroups. He callshis state a microcosm of the UnitedStates. Cultivating t, he says, presentsthe same problemthat a lawyer with ageneral practice has, of handling manyclients without a specialty. It's theproblem of dealing with hundreds, eventhousandsof interests. The small-statesenator sees himself as working in acontext dominated by rural-agriculturalinterests.He cannot escape a specialty.In[my state], he says, we either farmor we farmthe farmers. And he sees nomicrocosm.He speaks, nstead,about theuniqueness of his state, historically,culturally, and environmentally.As forcultivating t, he says, When hey acceptyou as family, it's easy. To observesenators at home is to become acutelyaware that the observationof politiciansdoes indeed, involve thispersonin thiscontext. The constituencycontext, is ofcourse, only an example.The secondlarge lesson of observationalso derivesfroma basic conditionof theresearchmode. Becauseyou are an out-siderin every encounter,and becauseof

the accompanying problems of access,observations always episodic,nevercon-tinuous. Your research is, by nature,drop-in-drop-out-drop-in gainresearch.Your observationsget made at irregularintervalsand at numerouspointsin time.You are drivenby that condition to anextra appreciationof time. You see notonly this person in this context, butthis person at this time. Attention totimeleads, in turn, to an emphasison thechangesthat take place over time. Con-textschange.And observationsmade atthis time will likely differ from thosemade last time or nexttime. Finally,any set of serialobservationsproducesaspecialsensitivity o thesequentialaspectsof change. Yourobservation this ime sembeddedn a sequenceof other imes.Much of what is importantabout timeand changecan be captured n the studyof sequences. Some observed sequencesexhibitregularities; hey seem to have acausal logic to them. They are the mosteasily and advantageouslystudied. Butrandomsequencescan be observedandstudied, too. In sum, the observationofpoliticians brings with it a sharpenedsensitivity to sequence as a variable inpolitical analysis.Observationin the constituencyalsodriveshome the importanceof sequence.My first encounterwitheach senator ookplace in the middle of an election cam-paign. To observe a campaign is toobserve constantchange. Contributions,poll results,organizational rrangements,staff, schedules, opposition activities,expectations,mediatreatment, he candi-date'smind-all theseingredients hange.The campaignyou see in January s notthe same campaign you see in the sum-mer,or afterLaborDay, or on November1. Indeed, the campaign you see on theday you arrive is oftennot the campaignyou see on theday you leave. And that isexactly the way the campaigners hem-selvesperceive t. They talk to you aboutthecampaignn thelanguageof time, and

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of changeandof sequence.Theyspeakofstagesandphases,of rhythmsandflows,of plansand turningpoints, of gains andlosses, of momentumand pace, of begin-ning games and end games. Campaigns,for all their mprovisation,exhibita gooddeal of sequential regularity. At theinternal planning levels, there is asequenceinvolving anticipation,organi-zation, and implementation. At theexternal,public reactionlevel there is asequence involving credibility, expecta-tions, and momentum. These sequencescan be studied;and so can the randomshocks that often alter them. Again, thecampaignsequenceis only a convenientexample.If, then, the activityof observingpoli-ticianshas any valueadded, it beginswith the special sensitivity observationbringsto contextand to sequence.Politicsis a contextualactivity and a sequentialactivity. Studentsof politicsmustbe stu-dents of context and of sequence. Stu-dentsof Americanegislativepoliticsneedno reminders f theimportance f contextor sequence-much less of theimportanceof constituencies ndcampaigns.To somedegree,then,the large essonsto be drawnfrom observationwill simply reenforceongoing research,and my remarkswilladd to the chorus.That is fine. ForI donot wish to add to the numberof vari-ableswe treat;I onlywish to argue or therichestpossibleunderstandingf somewealreadyrecognizeascentral.HereIwouldlike to pusha little. For t doesnot followfrom the recognition that context andsequenceare important hat they will begivendueweight n our research.Andit isprecisely n the matterof dueweightthatthe observationalperspective an be mosthelpful.Considerthe constituencyas context.Its importancefor legislativepolitics istaken to be fundamentaland indisput-able. One would be hard-putto find astudy in the entire field that does notincludesome mentionof theconstituency.

Yet onewouldbe equallyhard-put o finda single constituency anywhere in theUnitedStateswhose complexityin termsof thispolitician n thiscontext and atthis time hasbeen analyzedby a politicalscientist.We love our constituencies,butwe do not study them-not up close, indetail,and over time. Can we be satisfiedthat we know enoughabout the processby which politicians get recruitedandthen accumulate (or dissipate) namerecognition,reputation,and trust,bit bybit, in multiple ntraconstituencyontextsover time,when we have yet to studythatprocessfor any legislator?The samecan be said forcampaignsassequence. We generalize about themoften. But one would be hard-put o findany legislator'scampaignfor which itsyearly, monthly, weekly, even dailysequenceshavebeenanalyzedupclose, indetail,andover time. Canwe be satisfiedthat we know enoughabout the ways inwhichstrategicoptionsopen up and closedown over the courseof thecampaign,orabout the kinds of choices that lead acampaign down one path rather thananother, or about the choice points atwhichsuch branchingdecisionsgetmade,when we haveyet to follow a singlecam-paign from start to finish?With so littleclosely detailedinvestigationof so com-mon a contextas the constituencyandsocommon a sequence as a campaign, itseems unlikely that we have yet giventhesevariables he close, hard study theydeserve.From an observational perspective,then, there remainsplenty of room forsome finely grained, finely calibratedstudiesof context and of sequence.Theobservationalmode is well suitedto suchstudies.And, indeed,that is the directioninwhichthe closepersonalobservationofpoliticianswill inevitablytake us. It is adirection n which we could usefullygo.In generalizingabout the actions andinterpretationsf ourpoliticians,we mustspecify,with thegreatestcare, the condi-

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1986 Observation,Context, and Sequencetions under which each generalizationholds. Contextandsequenceare two suchconditions.Perhapswe can drawprecisespecificationsof these conditionswithoutundertakingfairly microscopicanalysesof them. ButI doubtit.I would extend the argumentto theother mastercontext in which all legis-lative politicianswork. Thatis thecapitalcity, wherethe centralactivityis govern-ing. Studentsof legislative politics havegiven a great deal of attention to theactivityof governingand to its sequentialpatterns, fixed as they are by the formalrules of the legislativeprocess. Here, inour casestudies of howa bill becomes alaw, can be found the most numerousexamplesof scholarly observation. Andthey have been of enormousvalue to us.But I should ike to push a littlehere,too.A careful detailing of the perceptions,interpretations, nd actions of legislativepoliticians, developed from the closestpossible vantage point, and undertakenwith a special sensitivityto context andsequence, can yet improve our under-standing of what politicians do in thelegislatureandwhy. I shall try to supportthis argument or valueadded with anextendedexample.RonaldReagan'sirstforeignpolicydis-pute with the Senatearose over his pro-posed sale of AWACS planes to SaudiArabiain the fall of 1981. As governingsequencesgo, the AWACS controversywas well bounded.By law, the arms saleproposal-the largest in U.S. history-had to be submitted o Congress,whereitbecamesubjectto a congressionalveto ifmajoritiesof bothhousesvoted, within 30days, to disapprove it. The presidentformally submitted it on October1 andit was voted on-up or down-by theSenate on October 28. As governingsequencesgo, also, the AWACS contro-versy was well publicized.Mediainterestgrew exponentiallyas the sequencecameto its end in the Senate. The House hadalready voted overwhelmingly to dis-

approve the sale; the president'sprestigeandpowerwerethoughtto be hanging nthe balance; the outcome was unpre-dictablealmost until the vote itself.Whenthe vote occurred, every senatorwas inhisorherseat,andevery senatorvoted. Itwas, thus, a sequence that was easy tofollow; and it was a vote about whichevery senator would have something tosay.Sinceeach of my senatorswas involved-if only to cast a vote-I talked withthem and their staffs about what theysaw, what they did, andwhy. Ifwe thinkabout them in terms of context andsequence,they cluster n threegroupings,eachgroup deciding n a differentcontextand at a differentpointintime. I call themthe early deciders,theactiveplayers,andthe late deciders. I shall discuss twosenators from each grouping.And, withdeep apologies (to you not them) I shalldesignatethemby letter.

Two early deciders,both Democrats,wereopposedto thesale.Theysaw them-selves, quite simply, as supportersofIsrael and of its position. Accordingly,both committed themselves to that posi-tion months before the vote took place.Basically, aid the foreignpolicystafferfor SenatorA, weweregoingalongwiththe Israeliposition from the beginning.... We signed everything that camealong.... Whateverthe argumentwas,we signedon. Becausehe was a memberof the committeeof jurisdiction,SenatorA was attentive o theissuefrom ts incep-tion. As soon as the administrationfloated the idea in February,he joinedseven committeecolleaguesin signing aletterto thepresident xpressing seriousand deep concernabout the idea andaskingthe administration o consultwiththe committee before taking action. InJune he signed a letter circulated bySenator Robert Packwood asking thepresident not to submit the sale toCongress. And in Septemberhe signedSenatorPackwood'sofficialresolutionof

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disapproval,on which the eventualvotewould be taken.Viewed from a distance and in theabstract,SenatorA expressedan early,strongpolicy preferenceand he voted it.Nothing about his behaviorseems prob-lematical. But up close and in contextthere are complexitiesof choice to beobserved.Despitehis normalactivismonforeignpolicy issues,he madea deliberatedecision not to extend his influencebeyond the acts of signingand voting inthis case. It was not something wefocused on, said his foreignpolicy aide,Weweren't nvolved.... We nevertookan active part in it. The most active weever got was the senator'sstatementincommitteewhen the vote cameup there.... I wouldn'trankit as one of the big-gies we've handled. SenatorA did notfocus on AWACS because he was pre-occupiedwith other mattersat that time.And we are reminded hata strongpolicy

preferencedoesnot translateautomatical-ly into an equalmeasureof attentionor ofinvolvement.The timingof SenatorA's signatureonthe formal resolution of disapprovalnecessitatedyet another decision. Wewereundecidedaboutsigning, xplainedhis staffer, tilllate in the summer.Pack-wood was looking for sponsors evenbeforethe hearingswere held in commit-tee. [The committee chairman]wantedthe membersto hold off until they heardtheargumentsn thecommittee.Wedid-until Packwood had gotten into the 40ssomewhere, ookingfor themagic50 sig-natures.We didn'twantto get in too late,since we had no doubtwe'd get in even-tually. I rememberwe discussed t ridingin the car. The Senatorsaid 'Idon't wantto be a Johnny-come-lately.'So wejumped in. And Senator A becamenumber47 out of the eventual50 cospon-sors. The content of his decision wasneverin doubt.Butthe timingof his deci-sion was calculatedso as to makecertainhe would receivefull creditfor that deci-

sion. He believed he would have lostcreditwith othersupportersof Israel f a50-carpro-Israel rain had left the stationwithout him. Whateverthe strengthorthe content of his policy preferences,therefore,he still had to decidehow andwhen those preferenceshouldbe publiclyexpressed.Decisions about how to voteare separable romdecisionsabout atten-tiveness, decisions about involvement,and decisions about timing. We havedevoted far more energyresearching hefirst kind of decisionthan the other three.Observation could stimulate a usefulcorrective.SenatorBalsocommittedearlyand didnot change. Like Senator A, he con-tributedno more to the processortheout-come than to sign and to vote. SenatorBbecameattentiveto the AWACS ssue notbecauseof his committee,but becauseofan early spring trip to the Middle East.Notlong aftermy trip, he said, some-one at home asked me what I thoughtabout AWACS. I said I was against it.LikeSenatorA, he interpretedheissue asone of support or Israel;andhemadehisdecision in those terms. In his post-tripinterviewin Aprilwith his state'slargestpaper he said, This vote could be themost importantvote this session, next totheeconomy.It'sa symbolicvote. Wheredo you stand, with the Arabs or theJews?He was quick to sign both the JunePackwood etterandtheSeptemberPack-wood resolutionof disapproval. I wasone of the earlysignersof the Packwoodletter, he explained. Ithoughtthat sinceI had declareda position on the issue, Iwould become very conspicuous f I didnot become a part of the Packwoodgroup. It was the fact of his earlycom-mitment more than his policy preferencethatmotivatedtheseactions.And it con-tinuedto do so. I can'tsay I didn'thavesecondthoughtsabout it.... I neverhadthat anti-Saudi feeling that Packwoodhad. I'm not sure why I committed so

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1986 Observation,Context, and Sequenceearly. But onceIdid, I feltI should stay tothe end. Near the end, the presidentinvited SenatorB to the White House fora chat. He went. They must havethought they saw a soft underbelly, hesaid, that they would say, 'Senator,you've just got to support the president.'Oneof thedeficitsa politiciancangetis tobe known as a flip-flopper.So I said tomyself, You'll just have to ride this oneout. Whichhe did. I told the presidentthat I would shedno tearsif he won, butthat I could not change.Once again, at a distance and in theabstract, Senator B's behavior is quitestraightforward.He expresseda policypreference early and strongly, and hevoted it. Butobservationup close and insequence reveals something more com-plex. The strength of his commitmentbore little relationship o the strengthofhis policy preference.And his vote can beexplainedmoreby the timingof his com-mitmentthan by the substanceof it. Hecommittedearly;andthat actconstrainedevery subsequent interpretation andaction. He deemedconstancyof commit-ment to be crucial to his success as apolitician. And he interpreted the twoPackwood initiativesand the presidentialchat as situations in which that connec-tion was being tested. The cases ofSenators A and B suggestthat the morecarefully we study sequence, the morecarefullywe shallhave to study timing.Ifwe are to explain outcomes,who decideswhen may be as importantto know aswho decideswhat. We have devoted moreenergy to studying policy positioninginspace than to studying policy sequencingin time.To our richcomprehension f thepolitics of left, right, and center, we canusefully add an equally rich comprehen-sion of the politics of early, later, andlate. Here, too, observationcanstimulatea usefulcorrective.The casesof A and Bsuggest, also, thatwe must thinkof any politician'sgoalsasmixed,andsubject o change.As contexts

changeand as sequencesunfold, the rela-tive importance of goals may change.Senator A's policy goal came to be tem-pered by that of political success. AndSenator B's policy goal gradually gaveway to one of political success. Bothsenators were cultivating professionalreputationsat home and in Washington.Eachactedso as to protectthatreputation-A so as not to be known as a Johnny-come-lately, B so as not to be known asa flip-flopper. heseinterpretationsndactions suggest the supreme importancepoliticians attach to their reputations.They suggest, too, that the cultivationand protection of favorable reputationsinvolve favorablebalances of credit andblame. They suggest, finally, thattiming,within a sequenceof activity,canbe a keydeterminant f creditandblame. Thepur-suit of favorablereputationsand favor-ablecredit/blamebalancescan usuallybestudiedby observation.

SenatorsC and D, two active players,interpreted and acted very differentlyfrom Senators A and B. First, theydeliberatelydecided to exert an influenceon the outcome beyond their signaturesand votes. Second,while both thoughtofthemselves, as staunch supporters ofIsrael,neither nterpretedheissuein sim-ple for or against Israel terms. Third,becausethey wanted to maintainnegoti-ating flexibility, they did not committhemselvesuntil much later than A or B.Fourth, by postponing their commit-ments, they became active in an alteredcontext. In the spring there was muchposition taking,as with A and B, but nonegotiating.In the late summerand earlyfall, Washingtonwisdom held that theSenate would disapprovethe sale; andthat expectation created a context inwhich the administrationhad incentivesto negotiate-which they did, first withSenatorC, laterwith SenatorD.Senator C, a Democrat, focused onAWACS because, as a member of thecommittee of jurisdiction,he had long

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been involved in the problem of armssales. He possessed a widely acknowl-edged expertiseand commanded muchcollegial respect in that field. He haddevelopedstrongpolicypreferences.Dur-ing most of his involvement,thesepolicygoals guidedhis actions.His pivotalcon-cernwas thattheAWACStechnologynotfall into unfriendlyhands. His solutionwas to have the planes flown by jointU.S.-Saudi Arabian crews, and heworkedto negotiatea changealongtheselines priorto the administration'sormalsubmittal. His proposals attracted thesupportof other senators.He described his influence in thelanguageof sequence:

I was involved n it all theway through,butmymaximum nvolvementcameearly. I was lightyears ahead of anyone in the Senate whenAWACScame up.... Fromthe beginning,Iunderstoodwhat the problemwas and I hadstrongviews about it. I believedthat whereverthatplanewent-that verysophisticated ieceoftechnology-our peopleshouldgo too. I'dsay25to 28 senators ameto meearlyon to askformyviews. I sat downwith eachof themfor halfanhourand talked o them n detail.At thistime,IthinkI had quite a bit of influenceon a lot ofpeople's hinking.

His influence came from his ability toredefine he issue and, for a time, to per-suadeothersto focus on his definitionofthe issue-in this case, the willingnessofthe Saudis to accept joint Saudi-U.S.crews on the planes. In mid-SeptemberSenatorC participated,ora few days, inintensive conversations with Senateleaders,with administration fficialsandSaudi representatives.At one point hethoughthe had brokered,at a meeting nhis office, an agreementon jointcrewing.But the Saudi governmentsaid it wouldnot accept any such arrangement; headministrationdecided not to push theSaudis, and two days laterthe proposedsalewas formallysubmitted o the Senateunchanged. We had an agreementwethought would save the world, saidSenator C, but t turned o wormsover-

night. And the context of negotiationchangedaccordingly.SenatorC quicklybrokeoff his negoti-atingrelationshipwith theWhiteHouse-largelyon thegrounds hattheSaudi-U.S.actions had rendered his policy goalsunattainable.The administrationaskedhim to continuenegotiating.Butwith thedemise of his most preferred policy,anotherpersonalgoal enteredhis calcula-tion. SenatorC wantedto be presidentofthe United States. He feared that anyfuture negotiationswould be conducted

on the administration'serms,andthat hemightbe setup by themto get none ofthe creditand much of the blame if thesalewent through-blame fromAmericanJews that no Democratichopeful couldwithstand.As in the earliercases, chang-ingcontextschanged hemix of goals;andstrategic calculations were heavilyweighted with expectations concerningcreditand blame.When Senator C broke off negotia-tions, other negotiatorsenteredthe pic-ture.SenatorD was one of them.And hesaw the world very differently fromSenator C. SenatorD was a Republican.He was a first-yearsenator. He had norecognized xpertise.He hadnevervisitedthe MiddleEast.He was not a memberofthe committeeof jurisdiction.He did nothave strong policy preferences.But hehad a high prioritygoal. Iwant to beknown as an effectivesenator, he said.To thatend, he wantedto start,as he putit, getting nvolved in the issues, takingsome initiatives,doingthe work and get-ting thingsaccomplished. And he had alot of energy.AWACSbecamehis prov-ing ground. [It] took more time thananything else I did this year, he saidlater. He focused on AWACS partlybecause I'vealways been interestedin

foreignpolicy, butmostlybecause I ikethe presidentand I want him to succeed.This is the president's irstforeignpolicyvote. We don't want him to lose it. AReagan loyalist, with no presidential10


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1986 Observation, Context, and Sequenceambitionsof his own, he was not con-strained to negotiateat arm'slengthlikeSenator C. And he plungedin.When first read aboutAWACS, hesaid, Iwas lukewarm oward t.... But Isat here thinking. There must be someway to get this through.... I even wentso far as to call my friendGeorge Will,and I askedhim, 'George,how do we getthe president out of this mess?' Thequestionat issue was being reinterpretedfor yet a thirdtime-from Areyou for oragainst Israel7 o How can we get theSaudisto make concessions? o Howdowe get thepresidentout of thismess? Formy senators, at least, this sequence ofinterpretations an parallelto a sequenceof action.Senator D went to majority leaderHoward Baker and offered to sound outthe uncommitted freshmanRepublicanson SenatorC's jointcrewing dea.SenatorD himselffavored some varianton thatidea, and he becameBaker's iaison withhalf a dozen freshmen.When the jointcrewing notion turned to worms,Senator D and his first-year colleaguesput forwardthe ideaof an informal etterfrom the president promising adequatesafeguards for the technology-a so-called letterof certification. Senator Ddrafted hatletter,andothers n hisgroupworked it over. Fivedays after the presi-dent sent up his proposal, the freshmangroup met with James Baker in SenatorD's office. We oldBaker, he said, thatthiswas whatwe needed f we wereto goalong, that otherwise we would voteagainst the sale. The negotiation pro-duced 95% agreement on the letter.And the letter, said SenatorD, becamethe mechanism or winningover doubtingsenators. Each one would read it, changeit a little bit, and put his Hancock on itsomewhere. The letter, as signed by thepresident,enabledSenator D to make afirmcommitmentandgo hometo explainit in mid-October.He thinks the letterprovided a necessary rationale for three

others in his group. So, Senator D gotinvolved and had an impacton the out-come. It was not large,but it was timelyand tangible-and it moved him ameasurabledistancetoward his personalreputationalgoal.Legislativeoutcomes, we know, areinvariably negotiated outcomes. Thisbrief and episodic observation of anegotiating equencesuggests hatnegoti-ations are, like campaigns,a constantlymoving stream. The context in whichSenatorC'searlynegotiatingeffortstookplace was not the same contextin whichSenatorD's laternegotiatingeffortstookplace. With the passage of time comescontextualchange. And with contextualchange come new negotiatorspursuingdifferent goals, redefining the issue athand, altering the decision context forothers, and, altogether, shaping newcoalitional possibilities.For purposes ofcoalition building, the United StatesSenateof late Septemberwas simplynotthesameUnitedStatesSenatethat existedin mid-October.That sense of constantmotion ought to superintend all ourstudiesof governing.It is a sensethatcanbe sharpenedandshapedby observation.Also the goals of Senators C and Dremind us that for every politician, allgoverning sequences, like all campaignsequences, are embeddedwithin a yetmoreencompassing equence.That is theindividual's career sequence. Wheneveryou observea politician, he or she is atsome stagein a career hatstretchesbackin timeand reachesforward in time. Hisbehaviorcan be interpretedromtheper-spective of the careerpath that broughthim to where he is, and of the careerpathhe expectswill take him where he wantsto go. In the caseof C andD, theirlong-run aspirationshelp us understand heirshort-runinterpretations nd actions onAWACS: SenatorC's desireto be presi-dent;SenatorD's desireto be an effectivesenator.Careeraspirations,careerbuild-ing, and careersequencesare highlighted

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by observation and can usefully bestudiedby observation.Senators E and F, two late deciders,were among the very last members tomake a final decision.SenatorE decidedthe night before the vote. Senator Fdecided he afternoonof thevote. Like hetwo early deciders, they had no extrainvolvement n the process; ike the earlydeciders, they signed both Packwoodinitiatives.Butunliketheearly deciders,Eand F changedtheir position and votedfor the sale. They did so in yet another

decision context at yet anotherstage inthe decision-makingsequence. In lateOctober,PresidentReaganand the presi-dentially orientedmediaenteredthe pic-ture, and togetherthey reinterpretedheissue at hand. An issue revolving aboutthe various conditions of the sale gaveway to one concerning the president'sability to conduct foreign policy. AsSenatorB, reflectingon his presidentialchat, put it, The substantiveissue waslost sight of. The questionbecame, 'Areyou for or againstthe President?' In thislatestof interpretive ontexts,RepublicanSenatorsEand Freconsideredheirearlierdecision.ForSenatorE, it was the media-aidedby the president-which refocused hisattentionon AWACS. The whole issuechangedin the last week or 10 days, hesaid. Themediabeganto play it up as aquestioninvolving the president'sabilityto conduct foreign policy.... The mediahyped the deal way out of proportiontowhat it really deserved. But the mediahypemadeyou reevaluateyourvote. Hadit not been for the media hype, the issuewould have been strictlythe armssales.And I would have beenvery comfortablevotingagainstAWACS. His policy pref-erencenever changed;it simply becameirrelevantto a vote cast on institutionalgrounds. Itwas, he said, somethingfelt changing gradually. No one thingbroughtme to my conclusion. Not evena last minute chat with the president. I

had a very pleasantconversationwith thepresident. . . . At the end I said, 'Mr.President . . I wish I could say I'm withyou, but I can't.All I can say is, I'll keepthinkingabout it.' The nightbefore thevote he had a two-hour talk with thepoliticaladvisorin the family -his wife.We made a checklist-zip, zip, zip onone side, zip, zip, zip on the other side.She asked me 'Well,what do you think itadds up to?' And I said, 'It looks like Iought to supportthe president.' And hewent to the phone to tell Senator Pack-wood thathe could no longersupportthedisapprovalresolution.SenatorE'searlycommitmentwas notcontrolling or him, as it was for SenatorB, because, unlike SenatorB, he did notbelieve that his reputationwas at stake.With his Senate colleagues, Senator E'sreputationwas undamagedbecause hischangeof positionmovedhim back underthe protectivecover of his party'smajor-ity andof hisparty's eader.Withhis con-stituents,SenatorEsimplydidnot believethat his reputation depended on con-stancy of commitment. The state mediawere verygood to me, he saidafterward.Withthem I have establisheda reputa-tion as someonewho is independent,whodoes as he goddamnedpleases,who can'tbe pushed around. That helps. It givesyou room to casta vote like this withoutpeople saying you've been had. It's noteasy to climb down from your positionand take another one in the full glareofnational publicity. But the state mediatreatedme likeI knew what I was doing.Whileall politiciansact so as to cultivateandprotect heirprofessional eputations,how they go aboutit dependsnot only onthe reputationthey want, but on whatthey think their reputation already is.That crucial matter of perception andinterpretation can be studied byobservation.There arenearlyas many reasonswhysenatorspay attention to a problemasthere are senators. It was committee

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1986 Observation,Context, and Sequencemembershipor A, a tripfor B, expertisefor C, a desireto help thepresidentorD,the mediafor E. We need to know whatthese stimuli are if we are to understandthe subsequent involvement, interpreta-tion, and action of each individualpoli-tician. For SenatorF, conversationswithIsraelifriendstriggeredhis reevaluation.He thought ong and hardabout the prob-lem, and the immensepressureshe felt ontheday of the debatewere self-generated.He had a strongattachmentto Israel;but he graduallybecame convinced thatIsraelmight be just as well off with thesale as without it. Themore I looked atit, he said, the more I began to worryabout what the situationwould look likeif the deal did not go through-the Saudiswith their hurtpride, the British n thereselling the Saudis the same weapons,Israel asking us for arms to control theSaudis,Israelblamed or the defeat of thesale, and a presidentwho had his wingsclippedin his first foreign policy effort.As bad as the sale was for Israel,I beganto think the defeat of it mightbe worse.He found that most of his Israelifriendsagreedwith him. He did not reinterpretthe question in institutional, for oragainst the president terms as E haddone. Senator F's preferred policychanged because he took in more infor-mation relevant o his originalquestion-the effect on Israel. His preferencechanged because his information hadchanged.Eitherway, through he imposi-tion of a new issue or throughthe addi-tion of information on the old issue,preferencescan changeas the governingsequenceunfolds.Thus we are remindedthat the sequence itself has an autono-mous effect on thepoliticians nvolvedinit. And it mustbe studiedas such.Obser-vation at close range is well suited tostudying this impact of processes onoutcomes.On the eve of the vote, SenatorF wasleaning but undecided. I stayed up allnight before writing a pro-AWACS

speech. But I still was not certain how Iwas going to vote. . . . Up until 10minutesbeforeIgavemy speechI honest-ly wasn'tcertainwhat I was goingto do.Hiscourseof actionwas finallyfixedby aconfluenceof contextandof sequence.Hefound himselfin a situationin which hecould cast the decidingvote for the sale,and he consciouslydid so. A little afternoon, he said, Iwent to HowardBakerand I asked him what his count was. Hesaid, 'Forty-nine.' asked, 'What aboutX?' He said, 'He won't talk to anyone.'Iasked, 'How aboutYT'He said, 'We can'tget to him.' I was the only one theycould count on, explained F. And headded, If hesale was goingthrough,andif I couldbe the fiftiethvote, thenI couldexert more leveragewith the administra-tion and be in a betterposition to helpIsrael.... Conversely,I didn'twant someoil state senator to be the fiftieth vote.The sale went through,52 to 48.

On his credit/blame balance sheet,SenatorF got the worst of both worlds.Supportersof Israel assumedhis was thedecisive vote; and they blamedhim fortheir oss. Igot moreflakfromthat voteby far than any I have ever cast in theSenate, he said later. And supportersofAWACSgave himno creditfor theirvic-tory. Three yearsafterwardhe said, Doyou know,- the administration neverthankedme forhelping hem on thatvote,nevergave me anything,neveracknowl-edged that I helpedthem. So much forour abstract generalizationsabout thespecial benefits accruing to the latestdeciding, pivotal voters. In the concrete,it seems, there are interpretivecontin-gencies to be reckoned with. You arepivotal only if the distributorsof creditand blamethinkyou are, and politiciansunderstand that condition. Thus, theallocation, as well as the creation, ofcredit and blame shouldbe studied-andthey canboth be studiedby observation.Itshouldnot bethought hatI have toldthestoryof AWACS.Far rom it. At best

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I have told six littlestoriesto feedintothelarger story of AWACS. But the sixstories suggesthow complexthe story ofany large egislativedecisionmust be, andhow manydifferentdecisioncontextsanddecision sequences are involved. Theyfurthersuggesthow much researchroomyet remains for the microscopic,observation-basednalysesof the govern-ing activity of legislativepoliticians. If,that is, such analyseshave value. I havetried to make the case, by example, thatthey do.The stories of decision making by sixsenators have been told to suggest thatobservationcan be an aid to discovery,description,and theorizing. They havebeen told to further suggest that thisvalue added flows from a heightenedsensitivityto context and to sequence.Inthese briefestof discussions-about suchanalytic foci as attentiveness, involve-ment, and timingin decision making;orabout changing nterpretive ontextsandchangingcontextualimpactson decisionmaking;or about calculationsconcerninggoals, reputations, and credit/blamebalances;oraboutinterpretiveequences,negotiatingsequences,voting sequences,and careersequences-there is, I wouldargue,sufficientwarrant or theclaims ofobservation. These claims have beenstated in incremental anguage,as befitsthe notion of valueadded, o wit: sen-sitize, emphasize, suggest, remind,correct, stimulate, aid, improve,highlight. But in research involvingpoliticians, these modest claims mayrepresentan indispensable ncrementofknowledgeand understanding.I shall close by raising two questionsabout observation.Do we need politicalscientists to do it? And if we do, areenough politicalscientistsdoing it?

As for thefirstquestion,there s a hugecorps of journalistswho observepoliticsevery day. They do it very well. And weare already heavily dependenton whatthey tell us aboutourpoliticians.If we do

not do it, theywill do it for us. Butit is inthe natureof their occupationthat theyhave neither the training, nor thepatience, nor the interest to conduct adialoguewith politicalscience theorizers.Journalistsare not conceptualizers orgeneralizers.They are more interested nepisodesthanregularities.Their observa-tions are not driven by the questionsofpolitical science. Put it this way, if myremarks his eveningare interchangeablewith the remarksa journalistwould havemadeto you, thenI shalldesist. If not, Ishallarguethat we cannotleave the fieldto the journalists,that we need politicalscientiststo go take a first-hand ook atourpoliticiansandreportbackto us. Andwe need politicalscientiststo keep doingit. For only we can persist in attachingobservationto theory. Surelywe cannotconstructtheories of politicson the basisof observation. But we might ask our-selves whetherit is possible to constructtheoriesof politicswithout observationalperspectives-if, that is, we wish ourtheories o encompass heserious activityof our politicians.As for the second question, I believethat not enough political scientists arepresentlyengaged n observation.UnlessImisread our journals, our graduatemethods courses, and our rewardstruc-ture in general, young political scien-tists have little incentive to expendtimeand energy observing politicians.Observation-basedesearch s a rarityinthe American Political Science Review.Therearemanyreasons or this;and eachof them may be valid in its own terms.But the question is a disciplinaryone.How much value do we placeon observa-tion as a research mode? How muchlegitimacy do we wish to bestow onobservation-based research? Have wetried our very best to teach observationand failed? Or have we made a standingdecisionagainstits claimsof addedvalueto us? Weshallnot answer hesequestionsuntil we examine them with care. Per-

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