"There You Go Again"--25 years later

With all of the media chatter about high-level Bush administration indictments, the Harriet Miers withdrawal, and Hurricane Omega (or whatever Greek letter we're up to), an important anniversary in political communication history has slipped by unnoticed.

On the night of October 28, 1980, President Jimmy Carter and Republican nominee Ronald Reagan met for their one and only debate of the presidential campaign. We take presidential debates for granted these days, but the Carter-Reagan debate was the first televised debate in American history between an elected president and his challenger. Reagan won that debate and parlayed that momentum into an election night landslide. Many critical economic and national security issues were discussed that evening. However, what historians remember most from that debate, and what, I believe, has had a profound impact on political debates ever since was a simple but devastatingly effective four word phrase.

"There you go again."

At one point during the debate, after President Carter pressed his criticism of the California governor as an aggressive war-monger, Reagan turned to Carter, shook his head, and, with a slight sigh, replied, "There you go again." The line was probably planned. And it's probably no coincidence that the first great "gotcha" line in a presidential debate came from the lips of a former Hollywood actor. It's hard to say exactly why that simple comeback resonated so much with journalists and the public. At the time, it was certainly a bold attitude to take against the man sitting in the Oval Office; some might even call it disrespectful. But it did underscore both Carter's desperation at that point in the campaign and Reagan's confidence and comfort in his own skin--the latter two traits providing reassurance to a dispirited electorate. Although the now-classic line certainly helped Reagan, it hasn't done much for the rest of us since then.

Since that night 25 years ago, political debates have become a search for the rhetorical holy grail--the killer one-liner. This quest has provided us with debate moments both lethally brilliant (Lloyd Bentsen's perfectly delivered "Senator, you are no Jack Kennedy" line, following Dan Quayle's assertion that he possessed the same qualifications as candidate John F. Kennedy) and painfully forced (Michael Dukakis's 1988 accusation that George H.W. Bush was "the Joe Isuzu of American Politics," a lemon of a line so obviously planned that the Vice President responded "Oh, is this where we pull out our one-liners? That answer was about as clear as Boston Harbor." Point (and election) to Bush. Some lines have been unintentionally funny, such as James Stockdale channelling Rodney Dangerfield and musing "Who am I? What am I doing here?" at the start of his 1992 debate with Al Gore and Dan Quayle. And every once in a while, but too rarely, a candidate has fired off a zinger with malice for no one, except himself, i.e., Ross Perot responding to a question by declaring "I'm all ears." Perot had large ears.

For better or for worse--oh, who am I kidding, let's just say, for worse, that's the legacy of Ronald Reagan's "There you go again" line uttered 25 years ago tonight. One wonders how much time the candidates' communication consultants spent trying to come up with those clever comebacks. And whether that time could have been better spent articulating coherent and thoughtful policy statements about the many critical issues that our nation faces. So, as we approach the 2006 election cycle, pay no attention to the comedy writer behind the curtain. Say no to punchline politics. You deserve better. And when a candidate spouts off that "spontaneous" quip, just look at the television, shake your head, and, with a slight sigh, say "There you go again".....

Bill Bennett's Racial Comments - No Apology Needed?

It's been a bad week for apologies.

Last week, an innocent man was freed after 19 years of prison. It was discovered that a corrupt police officer bribed and intimidated a witness into falsely testifying that Barry Gibbs dumped a prostitute's body under a Brooklyn bridge. Gibbs's reaction sobers any feeling of joy at this delayed justice: "I was a legitimate guy, and now I have nothing." One hopes and expects that some judge, or perhaps the police commissioner, offered Gibbs a personal and heartfelt apology for such an eggregious mistake.

But I wouldn't bet on it.

Another story last week reported that the FBI, when conducting wiretaps for terrorism investigations, occasionally uses the wrong phone number and intercepts conversations of everyday people who have nothing to do with terrorism. One hopes and expects that some FBI public relations specialist would say "I'm sorry" for such a fundamental invasion of privacy. However, the agency could not reveal whether the spied-upon innocents are ever notified of the unwarranted spying.

So I'm guessing they're probably not getting an apology either.

Then came the corker. Last Wednesday, former Education Secretary William Bennett uttered the following remark on his syndicated radio talk show: "If you wanted to reduce crime, you could--if that were your sole purpose--you could abort every black baby in this country and your crime rate would go down." A horrible and racist idea, if ever there was one. A hypothetical argument grounded in genocide and genetics--African American infants arrive as criminals from the womb. And this from a former Education Secretary. One hopes and expects that...

Not a chance. When asked if he owed people an apology, Bennett responded: "I don't think I do." He trotted out some of the good old defenses--taken out of context, comment misrepresented, only a hypothetical, etc., etc. Specifically, Bennett defended his words by assuring us that he was not advocating a black genocide, because such a position would be "morally reprehensible." But, of course, the position isn't the only thing that's wrong with the hypothetical, the ideas supporting it are false as well. The notion that eliminating African Americans would reduce crime has no basis in fact and is anchored in racist beliefs about blacks and crime. Of course. Nevertheless, no apology needed. In fact, Bennett added, "I think people who misrepresented my view owe me an apology."

So, what's up with that? Why no apology, Bill? It's what one does when one messes up. We were taught this at a very young age. And it's not a bad thing. Apologies, although brought on by our faults, demonstrate some of our most admirable traits: responsibility, empathy, compassion, morality, even politeness. The apology has had a proud tradition.

But no longer. Some communication scholars use the term "mortification" to describe the process of taking responsibility, asking for forgiveness, and apologizing. In the dictionary, mortification means humiliation and loss of self-respect. This meaning seems to have spilled over to the meaning of apologies in our political world. In the quest to regain and maintain power, politicians believe that apologies show weakness and weakness can never be shown. Saying "I'm sorry" recognizes that you were wrong and your opponents were right. And in a polarized Washington D.C., that is simply unacceptable, even for a day, even for an hour. Apologies are off-message, hard to spin and, therefore, no longer a viable communication option. That's why Bill Bennett won't apologize when he knows he should. That's just politics in 2005. The problem, however, is this: If our current political climate, a climate of partisan bitterness and cynical power games, does away with apologies, it also does away with forgiveness. And where can we go from there?