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 he
morning paper (the Wall Street Journal) tells us that Bob
Tyrrell promises to go to jail rather than honor a
congressional
subpoena to turn over American Spectator records in the Theodore
Olson controversy. Of course, Bob should go to jail rather than
grab his ankles for that gang of thugs. He wouldn't be in long,
one suspects, and by now has no doubt learned to sleep with one
eye open, which should help him repel any unsolicited romantic overtures
and also keep up with his reading. Besides that, Bob could no doubt
knock off a first-rate prison memoir, so out here in the sticks
we are prepared to take his incarceration not only in stride, but
also with some degree of positive anticipation.
But if Bob
does go to jail, where should we send the journalists — especially
those whose voices are heard on Capitol Hill — who raise not a peep
in his defense? There is, after all, no mystery about what is going
on here. Senate Democrats, in their attempt to sack Olson, want
to squeeze the magazine for information on how it has conducted
its journalistic business. It all has an East German stink about
it, as does the mainstream press's decision to whistle while the
goons do their dirty work, as they did during an earlier investigation
of the magazine.
One recognizes,
of course, that The American Spectator is widely reviled
among journalists, who may have convinced themselves that the magazine
is getting its due. Why the bad karma? It would be easy to say the
Spectator is despised because it is conservative, yet there
are several conservative publications, including this one, that
are held in high enough esteem. In fact, the Spectator has
been, for the most part, a libertarian magazine on social issues
such as abortion, and while Bob makes the occasional crack about
"poofters," it can't be argued that the Spectator
has been a vehicle for the religious right or allied villains.
Where the Spectator
has distinguished itself is in its determined efforts to convince
the world that William Jefferson Clinton was, is, and perhaps evermore
will be a lying, conniving, manipulating, preening, palm-pumping,
power-abusing skunk, and quite possibly a rapist to boot. As it
happens, this is increasingly the mainstream view of Bill, so the
Spectator's sin, at least is part, was getting to the story
early on. In any event, it is safe to say the hatred directed at
the magazine — denounced by columnist Mark Shields this weekend
as "toxic" — is because of its pursuit of the former president.
At this point,
it should be mentioned that I have written for the Spectator
for many years, and continue to write regularly for its website.
So far as I know, Bob has never edited one of my pieces. I assume
he may have scanned a few, but wouldn't bet much on even that. Now
that the Spectator has become a techno-business magazine,
I'm assuming his role is not what it once was.
In addition,
the Arkansas Project — which apparently spent a whole lot of money
for a very small amount of dirt — never put a peso in my pocket.
That is not to brag. The fact that Richard M. Scaife, the right-wing
billionaire who underwrote the debacle, was taken for a major ride
is hardly a cause for mourning. Quite the contrary. Like most hustlers,
my intention is to soak the rich whenever possible. But along with
several Spectator contributors I passed along the view that
the coverage of Clinton, taken all together, was a bit excessive,
including the gross-out piece by David Brock on Bill's sex life
while governor of Arkansas. I recall wondering what kind of guy
could stomach such close and extended reporting on Bill's fondness
for the sexual technique now known as the Monica. Then again, I
lived in Colorado at the time and had never met the author.
Despite all
that, even the most politically motivated journalist should be willing
to spew at least a mouthful of warm spit on the government for its
harassment campaign. The magazine, after all, has done absolutely
nothing wrong by trying to dig up dirt on a public figure. That
is what magazines should do. Larry Flynt spent plenty of money investigating
Republicans during the impeachment war, and was able to pull a couple
of highly stuffed togas to Earth because of his efforts. While Flynt
is a grimy slug, he did a public service in this case.
Instead, however,
there is either silence or, even worse, the argument that the Spectator's
journalistic activities are not protected by the First Amendment.
This is an interesting line of argument in a country where stripping
is defended on 1A grounds, and where Flynt is hailed as a First
Amendment hero. And forget not that the impeachment of W.J. Clinton
was the culmination to a series of events unleashed by the Spectator's
disclosure, accidental it appears, that a woman who turned out to
be Paula Jones had been solicited as a potential sex spittoon. Whether
or not you approve of such a story, the fact that it played a central
role in such a major event should not be taken lightly by a profession
that gives its Pulitzer Prizes to people who write excruciatingly
dull articles on subjects of significantly less importance. To name
one of many examples, Anna Quindlen has been so rewarded and all
she writes about is herself.
Despite the
potential for authentic literary gain, it is to be hoped that Bob
Tyrrell is allowed to remain at large. As for those who fail to
criticize his tormentors, their names should be sent to the Hall
of Journalistic Shame. For many, if not most, this will be a return
engagement.
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