Secrets of the Clinton Spectacle

A five-step program for surviving endless scandal.

Charles Paul Freund from the April 2000 issue

(Page 3 of 4)

Twice in 1998, Bill Clinton deployed the military force of the United States at moments when the scandal stories threatening him were reaching their most dangerous stages. The evening before Monica Lewinsky was to appear before the grand jury, Clinton struck at targets in Sudan and Afghanistan in purported revenge for the bombing of American embassies earlier that summer. In December, on the evening before the House vote on impeachment, Clinton suddenly launched an attack on Iraq, claiming the necessity of acting in advance of a fast-approaching Ramadan.

Only Clinton’s core cultists still believe that either of these acts were anything but distractions from the scandals then dominating the news. It quickly became apparent that the target in Sudan was nothing more than a pharmaceuticals factory. Indeed, the administration has made no credible effort to persuade anyone of its original claims that the factory was secretly engaged in the production of terrorist weaponry. As for the claims that Clinton’s hand was forced in Iraq by his tender concerns for Muslim religious sensibilities, it is doubtful that anyone ever bought into such a transparently nonsensical story. Clinton’s bombing raids actually continued into Ramadan.

In any case, Clinton got what he seems to have wanted from launching these strikes: the interruption of a bad story at a crucial moment, a change of subject, even, in the case of the Iraq strike, throwing the House Republicans on the defensive. House Democrats, suddenly suffused with jingoistic fervor, were able to pummel them for pursuing a political agenda while American soldiers were in harm’s way.

The use of the military for personal reasons would appear to be an extremely dangerous gambit. Richard Nixon flirted with it during Watergate, and it only made matters worse for him. When Nixon suddenly placed the military on alert in 1974, his action was immediately recognized for what it was: an attempt to distract attention from the riveting televised hearings by cooking up a military crisis. The alert was soon cancelled, but Nixon’s willingness to employ the military as a political dodge was perceived as a sign of the depths to which he was willing to sink in his desperation.

The lesson of the Clinton example is that Nixon should have bombed somebody. While it probably wouldn’t have saved his presidency, it would have bought him some time. Military actions have such a powerful dynamic of their own that they can overwhelm their political context. Coverage of ongoing military action has tended to be highly sympathetic to the Pentagon, and thus to the White House, especially since the military learned its Vietnam lesson and started shaping coverage (most spectacularly in the case of the Gulf War).

Anyway, Clinton had nothing to lose by attacking pariah targets like Sudan, Afghanistan, and Iraq. Domestic criticism was hardly an issue, since Clinton’s presidency itself was already at stake. And as for a full investigation of the circumstances of the attacks, that wasn’t going to happen no matter how things turned out. If Clinton was forced from office, Congress would give President Gore a honeymoon. If Clinton beat the rap, Congress would slink away. Of course, what happened is that battered Republicans emerged from the impeachment struggle anxious to talk about their "positive agenda," not about Sudan.

That was not the end of Clinton’s war narratives. After enacting a public spectacle of contrition for his "one mistake" of lying about Lewinsky, Clinton went on to lead a NATO war over Kosovo, a war justified by suggestions of Serbian genocide against Muslim Kosovars. In its wake, Clinton enunciated a "Clinton Doctrine": the use of the military to save innocent persons from slaughter. Yet, when winter came to the Balkans last year, the search for the victims of genocide in Kosovo had turned up far fewer victims than have died as a result of the administration’s sanctions policy against Iraq. Defenders of the Clinton Doctrine claim that many more Kosovar bodies await discovery. We’re waiting for the Balkan thaw.

Step 5. The Presidency Is a Counter-story

Presidents command so much attention that they can make news anytime they want. A scandal-savvy president can employ this power to affect the context in which negative stories are taking shape. He can create counter-stories virtually at will, including major stories that can drive negative scandal coverage below the front-page fold, at least temporarily. He can also use the news-making power of his office to reposition himself advantageously in relation to threatening scandal stories.

Bill Clinton has chosen to make news of some sort almost every day. If he is not announcing initiatives on children’s car seats or teenage smoking or some similar subject that other presidents have left to their under-assistant undersecretaries, then he is announcing the sudden deployment of the military. The little daily feel-good initiatives have served him well during his ceaseless hours of scandal, since they have provided him at least some positive coverage even on many of his worst days. As we have seen, the occasional and timely assumption of the mighty role of commander-in-chief has been his ace in the hole.

Bill Clinton’s presidency is actually the sum of these counter-stories. It has been a success, in the public-relations terms that are vital to him, when it has been a reactive presidency. That is, to enjoy popularity and the impression of success, Clinton has required a foil, which is a more direct way of characterizing the notorious strategy of "triangulation" (or multiple foils) that his one-time adviser Dick Morris devised.

In his early years in the White House, Clinton lacked such a foil, and his administration floundered. He was widely mocked in the pundit press as not "grown up," and capital satirists joked about a minor-league presidency that needed to be sent down to Albuquerque for seasoning. His policy initiatives failed, his double-dealing on legislation alienated even Hill Democrats, his attempts at "nation-building" in Somalia were a complete disaster, his White House was characterized as a frat house in chaos, he was seen as having neither knowledge of nor interest in foreign affairs. In his second State of the Union message, his staff managed to load the wrong speech on the TelePrompTer. Nothing went right. Indeed, he bored people. When he appeared on TV for some presidential purpose, people in public places–airports, for example–were reported to ignore him entirely.

In the wake of the 1994 midterm elections, in which Republicans gained full control of Congress, Clinton was described not as a politician of splendid natural talents but as "irrelevant." In fact, it was the beginning of Clinton’s golden age. He had gotten his foil: Newt Gingrich and the Republican majority. The presidential character he was to assemble from that point forward was both opportunistic and, to a degree unique among the nation’s chief executives, oppositional.

Clinton’s assumed public role as the enemy of the Republican Congress was to give him access to a well of moral authority that he did not previously enjoy. Before 1994, it is doubtful that any of Clinton’s constituencies trusted him, and for good reason: He had, at various times, ambushed most of them. He quickly caved on his original position regarding gays in the military, instead opting for a "don’t ask, don’t tell" policy. He had abruptly dropped his nomination of Lani Guinier to handle civil rights in the Justice Department. He had invited himself to a Jesse Jackson rally for the sole purpose of attacking rap singer Sister Souljah and ingratiating himself with white voters. He had dismissed the organized women’s lobby as "bean counters."

After 1994, Clinton repositioned himself as the ultimate protector of the interests of these groups. (He has always been the president of the Republic of Children.) The result was that the leaders of such groups, especially the women’s lobby, were to risk–if not squander–their moral authority by lending it to Clinton (and his wife). Feminist groups have been far more interested in whether the Vienna Philharmonic has enough female violinists than in whether Bill Clinton may have systematically intimidated women, much less raped anyone.