THE CLINTON WE'LL SEE ON TAPE COULD MAKE US ALL SQUIRM
Chicago Tribune
September 17, 1998
". . . On the witness stand, Queeg slowly
disintegrates, becomes incoherent and
paranoid, and discredits himself under tough
cross-examination. . . . Queeg foolishly
defends his actions in the strawberries
incident, babbling on and on, rolling two
steel balls in his hand, cracking under
questioning."
--A review by Tom Dirks.
Americans are completely unprepared for
the spectacle this weekend of watching the
wings being pulled off the presidential fly on
network television.
They believe he's a liar. But if the Congress
releases that videotape of President
Clinton's grand jury testimony, his credibility
will evaporate.
Democratic politicians--the ones not
hiding-- are saying it would be unfair to
release the video record of Clinton's
squirming as he plays semantic games about
the former White House cigar aficionado.
Republicans, pretending to be non-partisan,
are saying it's only fair for the American
people to judge for themselves. Republicans
have the votes in the Judiciary Committee,
which will consider the matter on Thursday.
"That's not for me to say . . . I knew that the
rules were against it, but that it would
happen," Clinton said about the release of
the tapes at a Wednesday news conference.
Clinton looked almost honest, standing
there with Czech President Vaclav Havel
and talking in measured tones.
Meanwhile, Clinton's agents were
continuing their strategy to smear anyone
who gets in the way.
Salon magazine, the Internet public relations
arm of the Clinton White House, published
a story that House Judiciary Committee
Chairman Henry Hyde (R-Ill.) had an affair
with a hairdresser 30 years ago.
Hyde said he would not be intimidated. But
the story served its purpose, calling into
question the motives behind Thursday's
Judiciary Committee vote. And it served to
humiliate him.
It feeds into the Clinton spin, that
everybody does it. If the White House can
define deviancy down for all Americans,
then the president's problems become as
unremarkable as a piece of cheese. At least,
that's the theory.
It also proves out the threats of blackmail
that seeped from the White House months
ago, that the private lives of Republicans
would be put on display if they corner him.
The cases are different, obviously. The
hairdresser wasn't a White House intern
performing in the Oval Office. Asked about
it, Hyde confessed, and said it ended when
his wife found out.
Hyde didn't perjure himself. He didn't spend
public money to smear the reporters. He
didn't obstruct justice, or tamper with
government witnesses, or have his secretary
hide the hairdresser's gifts, if any, under her
bed.
Hyde didn't demean the presidency of the
United States by what he did 30 years ago.
But the Hyde story reaffirms a political
cliche.
Never corner a rat.
Republicans want Americans to see the
president dodging, obfuscating, trimming the
truth and blowing his top, using coarse
language, running away from questions.
They want people to see a public lie in the
making.
He won't look like the lip-biting penitent,
but like a guy squealing in a perjury trap,
which is where he found himself Aug. 17.
His actions on that tape, his body language,
facial expressions, all of it, will be used to
counter the weak claim by the president's
lawyers that oral sex is not sexual relations,
as long as your name is Bill Clinton.
The president will continue his
transformation from a man of promise into
an object of pity and ridicule. Ultimately,
he'll be President Queeg.
Consider the classic movie, "The Caine
Mutiny," which you should rent this
weekend before viewing the president's
own highlights.
In the movie, Captain Queeg is played by
Humphrey Bogart, a stickler of a man who
has a nasty habit of clicking steel balls in his
hand. He's had a long career, but he makes
a stupid mistake in judgment over an issue
so small and petty that it borders on the
ridiculous.
But it ruins his career.
Someone on the crew steals a quart of
strawberries from the wardroom
refrigerator. Queeg orders a complete
investigation. His officers tell him the
stewards scarfed up the berries, Queeg
doesn't believe them and obsesses.
During a storm, and unhinged by the
strawberry fiasco, he loses his mind, panics
and puts the ship in danger. Van Johnson
forcibly takes command. Once in port,
there's a formal inquiry with the Navy brass.
In his chair before the panel, Queeg can't
stop clicking those little steel balls he plays
with in his hand, adding to the aggravating
tension. He keeps trying to deny, deny,
deny. He obfuscates. He tries to rely on
narrow definitions, technicalities.
At the court martial, Van Johnson's defense
lawyer, the tricky Jose Ferrer, finally
crumbles Queeg like a sugar cookie.
"Ah, but the strawberries! That's where I
had them. They laughed at me and made
jokes, but I proved beyond the shadow of a
doubt, and with geometric logic, that a
duplicate key to the wardroom icebox did
exist!" Queeg says.
The presiding officers look away, shake
their heads.
Queeg sits there. Disgraced, clicking the
steel balls, desperate. |
