The stalemated debt-limit negotiations now underway are not without historical analogue. We've been in a similar situation before, and not, in fact, so very long ago. And it's a precedent that strikes fear in the hearts of knowledgeable Republican veterans.
During the budget negotiations of 1995, the new Speaker of the House, Newt Gingrich, misinterpreted his recent victory as an ideological mandate, and with his new troops in full-throated support, played a reckless game of Texas Hold 'Em with the president of the United States. His all-in bet was a willingness to bring the federal government to a standstill if his demands were not met.
And for a while, it appeared to be working. Bill Clinton came pretty close to folding his hand and cashing in his chips. As the negotiations proceeded, he went along with a shorter and shorter time-table for achieving a balanced budget and to deeper and deeper spending cuts. Many of his allies, including many of his allies seated around him at the negotiating table in the Roosevelt Room, were appalled at his readiness to make concessions. But Clinton had been spooked by the recent off-year elections, which seemed to have delivered a stunning repudiation of his presidency, and was worried about his own re-election campaign, only months away, and he felt sufficiently unsure of his ground, and of the mood of the country, that he appeared to be inclined to give away the store.
But the Republicans under Gingrich smelled blood in the water and wouldn't take yes for an answer. As they savored the president's perceived weakness, they kept pushing for greater and greater concessions, and they finally pushed too far, and came up against some hitherto unglimpsed presidential spine. Clinton would not budge on Medicaid. That was the program on which he was finally prepared to stake his presidency. Gingrich and his minions, cockily convinced that the country was behind them, thereupon closed the government down.
The result was a political debacle. Americans may have been bitching about government in the abstract -- that's always been a popular pastime -- and cheering when politicians called for its shrinkage, but once it suddenly wasn't there, they began to realize it wasn't quite so expendable as all that. And blame for the shut-down fell squarely on the Republicans' shoulders. In this type of crisis, it always does, partly because it usually is the Republicans' fault, and also because, since that party has defined itself as the opponent of government, it's only logical to blame them when they make good on their promises.
Now, despite some similarities, there are many significant differences between 1995 and the present, and one of them is this: Congressional intransigence back then was a tactic initiated at the top, by Newt Gingrich and Dick Armey, and therefore subject to adjustment by the leadership as facts on the ground changed. Their political instincts had unquestionably served them ill in this case, and Gingrich in particular was habitually erratic, even unstable, with a marked propensity for screwing up; but still, both men were politicians, they had instincts. And among those instincts, as with all politicians, the survival instinct was the strongest. At some point, as the country recoiled and their poll numbers tumbled, it became apparent to them that they had miscalculated, and they immediately tried to find a face-saving way out of the maze into which they had stumbled.