Call me crazy, but I love the impeachment-trial rules that make senators sit in their seats ““on pain of imprisonment.’’ Imagine if they gave all legislation the care and attention lavished on the tawdry and often trivial issues of this case. Former senator Dale Bumpers has long been known as a fine orator, but last week was the first time he ever addressed an entirely full chamber. Senators would get more respect if they held more old-style debates instead of yakking with lobbyists. Make them hold a Social Security trial.
In the meantime the president’s lawyers introduced reasonable doubt–not about Clinton’s sleaziness, but about the evidence of his technical guilt and the fairness of the prosecution. Bumpers’s task was to introduce plain old reason. His speech was a small masterpiece of proportionality–a folksy reminder that Clinton’s conduct constituted a sordid sex scandal, not a grave danger to the state. Then it was back to fierce sound-bite sniping and mind-bending legal wrangling over Monica Lewinsky, Ken Starr and the rest of the tiresome cast. In Washington, the rule of lawyers is always upheld.
As soon as he’s acquitted, of course, Clinton has nowhere to go but down. All of the Democrats unified by their opposition to impeachment will quickly remember why they resented him in the first place. Even Clinton Democrats favor a censure resolution, and most Republicans who say they oppose it have left enough wiggle room to change their minds after acquittal. Because it would be bipartisan, censure would sting Clinton, perhaps even more than impeachment. Think of it as the equivalent of a dishonorable discharge for the commander in chief, effective January 2001.
Still, it’s hard not to marvel at the Clinton act. While his reputation for political shrewdness was destroyed in 1998 (a truly savvy politician would never have let it get this far), his mastery of presidential stagecraft is complete. Six years ago Clinton looked too small for the job. Today he enlarges the role, even as his behavior diminishes the office. When historians finish comparing Clinton to Nixon, they’ll start sizing him up against another recent president–a comparison that will drive conservatives around the bend.
On one level, Clinton has consciously taken a leaf from Ronald Reagan. Where he once flubbed prepared speeches, Clinton has developed a relaxed Reagan-style mastery over political set pieces. (It was Reagan who originated the use of human props sitting in the balcony with the First Lady.) Perhaps because both presidents are children of alcoholics, they share a sunny and advantageous obliviousness, which drove their enemies to distraction. It always helps in politics to be a little detached from reality.
In another sense, Clinton is an inverted Reagan. ““The Gipper’’ was loved as a man but never fully respected as president; ““The Big He’’ is respected as a hands-on leader but disparaged as a human being. Reagan flatly lied to the American people when he said he never traded arms for hostages, even though notes later showed he was fully awake and in command when he decided to do so. However, Reagan never seemed manipulative or inspected an intern’s thong.
Reagan’s critics always thought he was a phony, just as Clinton’s do. In fact, each president learned to succeed by projecting his essential self. Both off-camera and on-camera, the real Reagan was a genial storyteller with little idea of how to govern beyond the broadest brush strokes. His speeches–indeed, his entire workday–were scripted and thematic and therefore consistent with who he really was. Similarly, both off-camera and on-camera, Clinton–when he’s not misbehaving–is deeply engaged in the substance of governing. So what would be a laundry list of dry policy ideas for another politician becomes boffo box office for Clinton. It’s not just that he’s telling the audience what it wants to hear–every president does that. It’s that you know he’s genuinely in charge. That’s authentic and therefore compelling.
But great authenticity is also the paradoxical product of great mystery. Unlike, say, Jimmy Carter or George Bush, both Reagan and Clinton seem fundamentally unknowable–personally and politically. Reagan appeared to be a man of principle but was in fact endlessly malleable: despite all the promises, he repeatedly raised taxes and did little to reduce the size of government. Clinton seems endlessly malleable–cutting left, cutting right, trimming, co-opting, maneuvering. But if you reread his 1992 campaign speeches, you’ll find astonishing thematic consistency and, yes, fidelity to his original reasons for running. A surprisingly high percentage of his original campaign promises have been fulfilled. As Vernon Jordan might say: Mission accomplished.
Obviously Reagan will fare better in history. The stain of Clinton’s impeachment can never be removed. But when the history of the latter part of this century is written, these two authentic actors will be the only ones living large in the theater of our public imagination.
