As American Idol excitement levels drop back down to mere hysteria, people are starting to buzz over President Bush's latest bold venture into uncharted territory: admitting he might have made a mistake.
Sometimes wisdom comes from unexpected places. This morning I was listening to an old Carly Simon disc, and there was a song about a man who cheats on his wife - a lot - and gradually begins to suspect she may be returning the favor. It's one of those throwaway tracks every album has, but there were four little lines that sum up perfectly something I see over and over again:
"The first year I was faithful," he says to the girl
Admitting to the least of his sins
His candor, so disarming in this wicked city world
She falls for it, and once again he wins
We Americans like to put on a big show of displaying our cynicism, particularly with regard to the political process. How many times have you heard "they're all crooks" or "you can't trust any of them?" Heck, you may have even said it yourself a few times. But deep down we still want to have faith in our politicians, to trust them, to believe. We want to be that adoring girl sitting across the table.
And that's where this apology comes from. It's President Bush pitching woo to us at a nice restaurant, saying our eyes look pretty in the candlelight, admitting to the least of his sins and counting on his charm to win us back. Baby, I've changed!
The irony is that for all his supposed folksy charm, Bush can't even connect with us for the ten seconds it would take to make this play work. Instead of candor and humility, we get petulance and a refusal to accept responsibility. Again.
He might have gotten away with it back in his days of approval ratings in the 60s or 70s, but not today. Too many people are on to the charade, and his words simply don't ring true anymore. His credibility, especially on Iraq, has all but evaporated. And then there are the words themselves. Apology? Uh, not quite. It's just another ham-handed manipulation, a parsing of words, a tactical move disguised as self-deprecation, like the job applicant who claims his biggest weakness is that he works too hard.
Americans love a redemption story. Republicans and more than a few Independents would have been receptive to an honest, sincere apology from the President. There's no weakness in saying "I made a mistake, and I'm sorry." It's not flip-flopping or waffling or pandering or any of those other ridiculous right-wing catchphrases. In that context, I suppose Mr. Bush's admission, though essentially meaningless, is still noteworthy for its mere existence. I suggest we do our best to enjoy the effort because it's probably the closest thing to an apology we're ever going to get.