Operation Dig

By Dan Goodgame/Washington, with reporting by Nancy Traver/Washington

No one relished the cut and thrust of negative campaigning more than the late Lee Atwater, who applied to politics the ancient military maxim: Know yourself, and know your enemy. As manager of George Bush's 1988 campaign, Atwater emphasized the role of what he called the "35 excellent nerds" in his Opposition Research, or "Oppo," unit. They pored through the political record of Michael Dukakis and dug up the emotional issues -- the Pledge of Allegiance, Willie Horton -- with which Bush battered his rival.

Ever since, the term Oppo has conjured to many Democrats sinister images of muckraking and distortion. In fact, Oppo was a vital component of major local and national campaigns long before 1988. And practitioners in both major parties distinguish between "political pornography" and legitimate inquiry into public statements and actions that might bear on an opponent's fitness to hold office. Fred Malek, manager of the Bush campaign, says his campaign's research efforts are aimed at scanning old and current news stories and other public records and coding them into computers by topic, "so that we can pull it up quickly whenever we need it."

The Oppo shop at the Bush campaign employs six paid staffers and about a dozen young volunteers under the direction of David Tell, a slender, red- bearded 32-year-old who, friends wryly note, flicks his Camel butts into an "Elvis Lives" ashtray. This team is helped by a staff of 20 to 40 people at the Republican National Committee who work shifts through the night, when time is available on the RNC mainframe computer. Comparable staffs at the Democratic National Committee and Clinton campaign number about 30. The Perot campaign says it employs only two researchers. All the campaigns eagerly provide tips to reporters seeking information about their rivals. But most journalists seek independent confirmation of the stories before publishing them.

The Perot and Clinton camps have accused Bush operatives of going beyond legitimate research to what Perot calls spreading "false allegations" to reporters, and what Paul Begala, a senior adviser to Clinton, calls "rummaging through all the garbage cans in Little Rock." Neither campaign, however, has documented a specific example of any Bush operative's violating the President's public order to "stay out of the sleaze business."

In any case, political skulduggery can be difficult to prove. For example, a Republican source bragged that the Bush campaign and RNC have sought information on Clinton's alleged extramarital affairs and stalled G.O.P. approval of the New York state budget, thus helping keep Governor Mario Cuomo from challenging Bush, but have insulated themselves by having the dirty work performed by trusted G.O.P. political consultants. Bush campaign chairman Robert Teeter and five of his colleagues independently denied the allegations.

The flap over opposition research reflects a fierce disagreement over what issues are legitimate. As in 1988, the Democrats want the race to be decided on the basis of who has the best 12-point plans for public works and such. Bush, however, is determined to distract attention from his dismal domestic record by dredging up evidence that his opponents lack the character, temperament and "values" that voters seek in a President. As for Perot, Clinton strategist James Carville put it best: "He's new to this league, and he doesn't understand the intensity of the scrutiny of everything you ever did or said." He is, however, learning fast.