The Clintons at the dedication of the Clinton library in Little Rock. (Photo credit: Getty Images)

In the meantime, there are the other contenders. Everyone assumes John Kerry is making another stab. (And a brief exchange with him seemed to bear this out: When I asked him how Hillary had become such an attractive option for 2008, he gave me a look that’d tarnish silver, then told me he had a health-care bill to go work on—as if legislating had suddenly become a priority for him for the first time in twenty years.) Ditto for John Edwards. There are the dark-horse governors, like New Mexico’s Bill Richardson, Iowa’s Tom Vilsack, and Virginia’s Mark Warner. And then there’s Senator Evan Bayh, whom some regard as Bill Clinton’s true heir—telegenic, moderate, a former governor. And he comes from the bright-red state of Indiana, currently eleven electoral votes rich.

“Yeah, but I don’t know how you beat her for the Democratic nomination,” says Bob Kerrey, the former Democratic senator from Nebraska, now the head of the New School. “She’s a rock star.” She’s also way ahead in the most recent nationwide poll of Democrats, conducted by CNN, Gallup, and USA Today: 40 percent cite her as their first choice in 2008.

The whole subject makes Democratic Washington a bit jumpy. How can the party gamble on yet another liberal brainiac who lacks a tactile sense of politics and flair for speaking in the public square? Especially someone as polarizing as she is? Then again, she is Hillary. Think about how much money she could raise. How energized the base would be. And she’d have the world’s best campaign strategist by her side, free of charge.

At the core of this debate, of course, is explaining the success of Bill Clinton. Was it his supernatural political gifts? Or was it his centrist politics? Though most Washington Democrats are having this argument now, no one seems to get anywhere with it. It’s not like you can string the two apart.

Absent an answer, some very influential Democrats have found their default solution: Pick the other Clinton. And tell everyone she’s just like Bill.

“I think the philosophies of Bill and Hillary are close,” says Al From, head of the moderate Democratic Leadership Council, who talks fairly often with Hillary.

“She’s not your classic New York Upper West Side liberal by any means,” says Ickes.

“I’m sorry, but when push comes to fucking shove— not to turn a pun— my belief is that life begins at conception. And Hillary understands how hot-button this issue is for Democrats.”
—Harold Ickes, Clinton Confidant (D)

“I don’t sit home and worry about how Hillary will reinvent herself,” says Donna Brazile, who managed Al Gore’s 2000 campaign. “She understands she can’t be pigeonholed. She won’t be defined.”

If you spend any time around Hillary’s fans, supporters, or brain trust, this is more or less the refrain you come away with. And these people aren’t necessarily being disingenuous. Since serving in public office, Hillary has scrupulously positioned herself as a centrist: She sits on the Armed Services Committee; she has spoken out in favor of the death penalty; she voted for the war in Iraq, then voted unambiguously for the $87 billion extra to sustain the troops (and without Kerry’s grammatical sleight of hand—she voted for it before voting for it again). She has always spoken credibly about the role of religion and faith in her life. There are no love beads in sight: She wears the pantsuits, she’s got the coif. And she’s the human equivalent of a Thermos bottle—you have absolutely no clue what the temperature is of the contents roiling within.

But are we all supposed to believe this is the whole story? According to the National Journal, Hillary’s voting record has gotten increasingly liberal as her senatorial career has worn on: Though she started in the center of the Democratic pack, she was the twelfth most liberal voter by 2002, and by 2003, she wound up in a three-way tie for eighth. When Al Gore threw a clumsy sop to Miami Cubans (using, of all ghastly things, a child as currency), Hillary couldn’t bring herself to support legislation keeping Elián González in the country. There were the famous moments when the Wellesley feminist—“I’m no Tammy Wynette”—reared her head. And there’s always the health-care debacle. Most Republican senators called it “Hillarycare” before she became one of their colleagues.

So let’s say you were a Wellesley feminist. And let’s say you had spent your life committed to public service. What greater achievement could there possibly be than to become the first female president of the United States? Probably none. And you’d probably sacrifice quite a few of your ideals to achieve this goal. “Back when Hillary was trying to be Hillary Rodham,” recalls Joycelyn Elders, the former Clinton-administration surgeon general, “Arkansas almost destroyed her for speaking out. So if that meant shutting her mouth the next time, she was going to do that. It’s hard to get elected and be completely up front about what you really think. We create a hypocrisy in our politicians.”

Of course, many fine politicians contradict or reposition themselves. Bill Clinton did it all the time, and throughout Hillary’s career, one can see traces of Clintonian triangulation, her abortion speech being only the latest example. But what separates good politicians from bad ones isn’t their consistency. It’s whether the electorate notices their pivoting. Can Hillary give the electorate what John Kerry couldn’t—a coherent narrative about herself?

“I don’t have the slightest clue who Hillary really is,” says Charlie Rangel, the Harlem congressman who first encouraged Hillary to run for the Senate in 1999. “I don’t think you ever find out who the real person is. All I see is a gal who knew she was as good as anyone else, and she saw this guy she could make something of, so she forfeited Illinois and went to Arkansas. That’s a hell of a move to make for a redneck, which is all he was.”

He thinks. “I’ve found that the human mind is so fragile, you can believe what you’re doing is right if other people want you to do it,” he adds. “If I was going to confession, and I had to talk about what adjustments I’ve made in public life, I don’t know what I’d say. I don’t remember contradicting myself, though I assume hundreds of reporters would say otherwise. Life’s a changing thing.”