Condit's behavior on par with rules of Washington

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By SARA FRITZ

© St. Petersburg Times,
published August 27, 2001

WASHINGTON -- The news media can easily be faulted for its obsession with the Gary Condit-Chandra Levy story. But the tragic disappearance of a beautiful, dark-haired intern also lays bare the worst elements of what has become the prevailing culture in the upper echelons of our government.

I don't mean to suggest that adultery is any more prevalent in Washington than elsewhere, or that most top government officials would have impeded a missing persons investigation simply to hide an indiscreet romance. Most of the people I know who serve in government share the honest values of the majority of Americans.

Nevertheless, Condit's behavior conforms to some of the more insidious and destructive tendencies that flourish in the minds of Washington's most powerful politicians as they grow comfortable in their elected or appointed jobs. These unspoken rules include:

Normal rules do not apply to us.

You would think that a person in public life these days would be extra careful to avoid scandal, considering how many of them have been humiliated by the disclosure of their sexual and financial misdeeds in recent years.

But after a few years in Washington, many politicians get arrogant and careless. They begin to believe the flattery they receive from aides, lobbyists and other favor-seekers.

Former Sen. Bob Packwood, for example, is not a handsome man. Nor were his admirers drawn to his personality. Instead, he derived his charm from being chairman of the Senate Finance Committee.

Over time, Packwood came to believe his popularity exempted him from the usual decorum of a middle-age man. So often when he found himself in the company of a beautiful woman, he would grab her, kiss her and force her to yield to his desires.

After Packwood's behavior was revealed, he was forced to resign from the Senate in 1995. But did other politicians learn a lesson from the Packwood saga? Perhaps some did, but the moral of the Packwood story obviously was lost on Bill Clinton, Newt Gingrich and Gary Condit, among others.

If you have a good sound bite, you don't need a real explanation.

Every time Condit was asked by ABC's Connie Chung last Thursday if he had an affair with intern Chandra Levy, he replied: "I have been married 34 years. I have not been . . . a perfect man." By offering a reply, but not an answer, he was following a time-honored Washington tradition peculiar to neither Democrats nor Republicans. Although Clinton took this tactic to new heights during the Monica Lewinsky scandal by parsing the meaning of the word "is," this game has become standard practice in Washington.

For example, when White House Press Secretary Ari Fleischer was asked not long ago whether the president was satisfied that Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat was trying to quell violence in the Middle East, he replied: "This is a reflection of the complexities and difficulties of Middle East negotiations and Middle East diplomacy." Huh?

Not only do such answers obscure the truth, they also have -- over time -- devalued the level of discourse in Washington. Words exchanged between reporters and public officials have lost their meaning.

Never admit wrongdoing, except in the most general way, and don't apologize.

Many scholars believe that President Richard M. Nixon would never have been forced from office in 1974 if he had just apologized for Watergate. But most public officials who get into a jam quickly become too combative to even consider offering an apology.

When it came time to own up to the Iran-Contra affair, President Ronald Reagan chose to use the passive voice: "Mistakes were made." Clinton, who had several opportunities to tell the truth about the Monica affair, never admitted more than an "inappropriate" relationship.

Following in this tradition, Condit admitted he had made mistakes in his life. Was he referring to his relationship with Levy? He refused to explain.

The only heart-felt words of regret I have ever heard in Washington were uttered by a public official who had done nothing wrong. After voting to impeach Clinton, Sen. Sam Brownback, R-Kan., said: "I have forgiven him, and I hope he forgives me."

I believe Americans would be willing to forgive their leaders' failings, if only they would apologize and tell the truth.

To avoid admitting the truth, invoke your right to privacy.

When they are running for office, most contemporary politicians portray themselves as men and women whose personal values are beyond reproach. To prove their devotion to family, they campaign with their perfectly turned-out spouses and children by their side.

But whenever one of these same politicians is accused of violating his marriage vows, they declare their personal life off limits. As Condit put it, "I am entitled to try to retain as much privacy as I can."

Of course, everyone has a right to protect the most intimate details of their lives. But public figures whose misbehavior puts them in the center of a criminal investigation have to expect their privacy -- like that of any citizen in similar circumstances -- will be invaded.

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