In the old days, he wouldn’t have made anyone’s Dirty Dozen list. Interior Secretary Bruce Babbitt was too sincere, too earnest–too nice. That’s the impression I came away with when, in the early 1980s, I interviewed then-Governor Babbitt in his office in Arizona. It was reconfirmed during a dinner in Washington just prior to his appointment to Interior in 1993. Nothing flashy, nothing profound. But not a man to tell lies, even little white ones.
Yet here he stands, the latest target of an independent counsel investigation. Last week a panel of three federal judges appointed white-collar-crime specialist Carol Elder Bruce to probe his relationship to the Democratic Party’s 1996 fundraising practices. The question: Did Babbitt intentionally mislead the Senate Governmental Affairs Committee last October when he denied trading an official decision for a political contribution?
At issue was a case in which three Wisconsin tribes had applied for a license to operate a new casino. Neighboring tribes already active in gambling lobbied to stop the newcomer. Babbitt eventually denied the new license. Shortly afterwards, the neighboring tribes contributed $230,000 to the Democrats.
Was there a connection? No, says Babbitt. And if this were all the case involved, we’d have to leave it there until Ms. Bruce found more to say. Yet whatever she finds, Babbitt gets hammered. Win or lose, he faces big legal bills, bigger hassles, and a smirched reputation. So it’s worth noting an almost overlooked detail: Innocent or guilty, Babbitt brought this on himself. How? Through prevarication. A lobbyist has testified that Babbitt told to him he’d been pressured by the White House to make the decision quickly. Babbitt admits he said that. But he told the Senate committee that he made up that explanation just to get the lobbyist off his back.
Okay, so he fibbed. Big deal, we might say–akin to the little white lies people tell all the time. Aunt Melba asks, “Don’t you like my dress?” Why upset her by saying it looks like window-drapes from a dumpster? A telemarketer interrupts dinner and asks, “Is your wife home?” Why spend more than three seconds fending off the invasive caller? Such fudging keeps the peace. It protects family time. Besides, there are no consequences.
Or so we’ve all been led to believe–Babbitt, too, it seems. To his credit, he was shamefaced when he admitted to the committee that he’d weaseled the lobbyist–as though he knew, deep down, that even small falsehoods aren’t right. But after all, little lies are inconsequential, right?
Wrong. To see why, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. Let’s assume he’s pure as the driven snow, unsullied by any sleaze oozing from the White House. Then ask why he is being reputationally and financially harrowed. Answer: because a lobbyist had something to say, based on what Babbitt now says was an untruth. Had that lie never occurred, it’s quite possible Babbitt would not now be under investigation.
The point? There really is such a thing as truth. Of course we sometimes fail to reach it. Of course, despite our best intentions, we sometimes stumble into compromise. But we’ll never even get close to truth if we adopt the principle that lies, even little ones, are okay in some circumstances. How will we know which circumstances are which? Which of our lies will pass harmlessly and whitely by, and which will publicly go gray-brown in our hands?
Babbitt, even if innocent, has given us a parable for our times. The lesson: Low-grade private deception can escalate into high-leverage personal disaster. Maybe, in other words, there’s no such thing as little white lies–in business, on campuses, to the tax-man, among friends, between lovers. Maybe they’re all dangerously beige. Maybe truth matters more than we thought.
(c)1998 by Rushworth M. Kidder