Moments of half-truth

The nation deserves -- and needs -- better

America was hoping for an act of complete contrition this week. President Clinton has lied before, and it seemed clear that he was lying about whether he had an affair with "that woman," Monica Lewinsky, then a 22-year-old White House intern. For seven months, the country was distracted by a tawdry debate over exactly how low the president had stooped -- a debate that was fueled by Clinton's unconvincing denial and, then, his insistent silence.

But instead of an up-front apology -- an admission that he'd had a sexual affair with Lewinsky, and that, in the end, he is to blame for the entire circus -- Clinton delivered Clintonisms. "I did have a relationship with Miss Lewinsky that was not appropriate," he said, carefully avoiding saying that it was "sexual." He said he had "misled" -- a term with different legal implications under federal law -- rather than admitting he lied. He did not truly apologize. Instead he was defiant. His words were undergirded with an almost Nixonian rage: a seething, resentful conviction that others are to blame for his predicament (partially true but, in this context, irrelevant). It was a sad, pointedly arrogant, and wholly unsatisfying performance.

The scene was strangely reminiscent of another "apology." Last Tuesday, Boston Globe columnist Mike Barnicle, accused of plagiarism, stood at a press conference and declared that he was guilty of being "sloppy" and "lazy" -- but no worse. Yet he, too, refused to tell the whole truth: Who gave him the Carlin jokes? How many, if any, of the 17 books he recommended on Chronicle did he read? When will he answer publicly to the charges -- involving, say, characters in past columns who don't seem to exist -- that still stand against him? (This week, Phoenix reporters Dan Kennedy and Jason Gay outline new examples of Barnicle's journalistic malpractice. See "Striking Similarities," page 18.) And his demeanor, like Clinton's, has largely been one of resentment -- how dare the Globe, for example, seek to verify that Barnicle's recent columns don't contain fictional characters?

The link is more than atmospheric. The Watergate era marked a signal breakdown in public trust. But now, the moral compass seems to be spinning faster and faster. We've seen a number of journalists caught making up characters or entire stories. Some corporate executives consider it standard operating procedure to cook the books. And public figures are re-creating their own histories -- a murdered brother they never had, a war they never fought. Commentators have long worried about the numbing effects of seeing violence on television or at the movies -- but what of the gathering flood of lies we are subjected to every day?

The truth, granted, is not always a simple thing. But there is still such a thing as plain language -- and Clinton has been leading the nation away from it as quickly as his pathological mind can manage. Smoking, but not "inhaling." Repeated sexual trysts, but not a "sexual relationship." Sorry -- truly? -- but no "apology."

What Clinton, for all his calculating, did not grasp is how raw the public's nerves have become. It is, to paraphrase his speech, long past time to put this matter to rest. He could have done so if he had been honest from the outset. Instead, his defiance has put the country on a perilous course that few Americans of either party wanted: impeachment, unimaginable last week, is now a possibility.

The irony is that the people were willing to forgive. If he had seemed truly sorry, then they could have put the lying behind. This is itself a sad comment on how far we've strayed: everyone now assumes that presidents lie.

It has been a sobering week. Even Clinton loyalists feel betrayed. They are coming to realize that Clinton's performance on Monday night -- orchestrated, strained, barely believable -- could be the defining moment of his presidency. Clinton has given the public a glimpse of a dark future -- a world where the truth is wholly relative. As this sinks in, the country will only get angrier.

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