ROME — If anyone doubts that self-interest, not the national interest, is the coin of the realm in Washington, Whitewater is ample confirmation. It is the inevitable culmination of a quarter-century of hypocrisy, lying and posturing by Presidents, press and partisan hacks alike. This time, the result may be tragic: to take a seemingly insignificant series of questions that should have been settled in the 1992 campaign–and turn them into the diminution and possible ruin of the first presidency in a generation to deal seriously with the nation’s problems.
On Whitewater, I have read far too much and learned far too little from the effort. But failing a whole new conspiracy unearthed by the special prosecutor or Congress or the press, Whitewater is not Watergate–or anything like it.
Bill Clinton hasn’t abused his presiden- tial authority, as Richard M. Nixon–or even Ronald Reagan–did. He has not promulgated illegal, unconstitutional schemes to bring about desired political goals, judging from the facts thus far revealed. But the distinction may be meaningless in today’s atmosphere of rabid partisanship and media stampede.
The most significant fact known about Whitewater to date is that it occurred 15 years ago. Clinton, as President, is being prosecuted for his ethical standards as governor. Moreover, he is being judged wanting by members of a congressional political class who, in many cases, fed at the same statehouse troughs that he apparently fattened at and who, according to PAC reports, have continued their bottom-feeding on the Potomac.
But it is Bill and Hillary Rodham Clinton’s own lack of candor that has ensured this sordid story is going to go on, and on. Congressional hearings begin on July 26; the special prosecutor will be at work for at least another year. The Clintons’ truth trimming has guaranteed that the press and Congress will continue down predictable paths–reducing the whole sorry business to a high-stakes game of liar’s poker, where only the Clintons can lose. They are heading toward a credibility problem that, in today’s talk-show nation, could achieve Nixonian and Johnsonian proportions. Worse, unlike Reagan, who had his own troubles with the truth, Clinton is now perceived as a less-than-strong leader.
This is something quite apart from obstruction of justice, as practiced by Nixon and documented on his tapes, or the Iran-Contra cover-up. George Stephanopoulus sounding off at the Treasury Department about the appointment of an official investigator who is an acknowledged political opponent of the President would seem, under the circumstances, reasonable. And, indeed, the special prosecutor reported June 30 that White House aides had not acted illegally in their contacts with investigators.
If Clinton has conspired with his aides to lie to grand juries or pay off colleagues for their silence (“I don’t give a shit what you do. Lie, stonewall, whatever you have to do to get past the grand jury,” Nixon said into his microphones), the press has uncovered no shred of evidence.
But the Clintons and this presidency have a special burden. Unlike Nixon, the Clintons came to Washington riding the engine of political reform and change. Indeed, they have brought substantive change to the swamp of inertia and indifference that is Washington.
But it is impossible to accomplish genuine political reform while practicing the same old tricks without bringing new values–some might say spiritual or moral values–to Washington. That was the promise of this Administration, that the breeze of truth–about our politics, our national condition, ourselves–would blow through the denial and pathology about America’s difficulties. The “new politics” would be reality-based.
For that to happen, our President could not be a part-time truth teller. He had to break the pattern of deception that for a generation has informed what passes for political debate in Washington: a pattern in which posture passes for principle, process is valued more highly than policy and the most urgent national business goes untended.
Thus, for the Clinton presidency to succeed on the terms it aspired to office–honesty about our problems and the means available for their solution, beginning with the country’s economic health–a new pattern of presidential candor had to be established, especially after Lyndon B. Johnson’s falsehoods on Vietnam, Nixon’s on Watergate, Reagan and George Bush’s disingenuousness on Iran-Contra and the arming of Iraq.
The conundrum of the 1992 campaign was always that Clinton promised us the truth, and we bought the promise–because he told the truth about almost everything except himself. His judgment was right that, ultimately, people cared less about the assertions of Gennifer Flowers than about health care. But he was wrong to believe most people bought his self-serving answers to tough personal questions in the campaign; any more than most people are buying the Clintons’ tortured explanations about cattle futures and chicken lobbyists. Let’s face it: The Clintons sleazed some back in Arkansas. It is time to fess up: To acknowledge the glaring conflicts of interest–and whatever else untoward may have occurred.
Clinton ran for President under a new-age banner: The courage to change. The difficulty is that Clinton implicitly promised not only change for the country–but change in himself. Perhaps that is why he is politically vulnerable in Whitewater: He appears not to have changed. The truth shaving, the lack of candor, that came to be known as the “character” issue in the campaign are now attached to his presidency. Surprisingly, the issue of candor–and character–now extends to Hillary Clinton.
Worse, the Administration’s responses to its substantive failings and inconsistencies, to the differences between principle and practice from Bosnia to Haiti, are increasingly described in the same kind of defensive, half-truthful context as the Clintons’ answers on Whitewater.
The Clinton presidency is in danger of becoming marginalized by temporizing. Clinton no longer commands the political high ground–though, substantively, the facts and public opinion remain on his side of the issues. (“When Whitewater hearings are televised, it will be Clinton’s turn in the bucket,” Nixon told a trusted friend shortly before his death–remembering that his own polls remained relatively high until the Watergate hearings.) Today, Clinton is much less an inspiring presence in the thought life of the nation than in the days following his election or his masterful State of the Union–even as his eloquence and daring in confronting some of the true problems of our civil society have become more apparent.
His explanations of inconsistencies between his campaign rhetoric and policies–on gays in the military, the abandonment of nominees when they got into trouble, his waffling on campaign-finance reform–all fit the same pattern as the Clintons’ answers on Whitewater. These are the old patterns of presidential prevarication, not the new politics he promised. Clinton’s problems–with the press, the Congress and the people–are due to a growing perception that we are in danger of moving back to business-as-usual.
I write this as a believer in the potential of the Clinton presidency. Clinton shifted the terms of debate, just as Reagan moved the terms of debate and reference roughly 180 degrees early in his tenure. Clinton is the best-informed President of our lifetime. Today, imaginative ideas are being discussed–in Washington and the country–to address national problems.
Clinton is articulate, and clearly relishes the job and its opportunities. He has the political instincts to be a great leader. Moreover, like Reagan, he is prevailing: His basic economic program is being implemented. Some health-care reform will be accomplished, though in what form is still to be determined. As promised, he has undone 12 years of Reagan-Bush antipathy to abortion rights. He speaks sensibly and compassionately–not in code–about crime and family values and race. He was elected to change the country and the way things get done in Washington, and his agenda still reflects the promise.
But all this could disappear in the flotsam of Whitewater.
If Clinton succumbs to that part of himself that plays fast with the truth, that doesn’t inhale–he is finished. If he thinks the lesson of the campaign is that he was helped by his equivocations, that he got away with it–on the draft, on his personal life–he is courting disaster. The press will, inevitably, make this the central issue of his presidency–regardless of all the substance and programs.
Clinton has been besieged by partisan enemies and thoughtless journalism since his tenure began. With some justification, he disdains the press. The press would be more interested in the truth if it were easier to obtain and did not require attention to context. Hence, the wild and loopy coverage in Whitewater. But the underlying questions raised in a handful of legitimate stories deserve honest, expeditious answers. Those haven’t been forthcoming.
Lying and dissembling, once the press pack is on to it, is an easy story to cover–and contributes mightily to the devastation of presidencies. Witness the final chapters of Johnson in Vietnam, of Watergate, Iran-Contra. The GOP and the press are on the lookout for “Slick Willie,” and any time they sense his presence, the truthfulness of the President–not the worthiness of his programs–will become the issue.
In electing Clinton, the country summoned the courage to change that he called for. Now he must summon that same courage to change. The fate of his presidency may be at stake.*
