The Shame of Kiss-and-Tell : Our Love of Gossip Cheapens Political Discourse

Did Larry M. Speakes, former presidential press spokesman, twice fabricate Ronald Reagan’s words? Did Dan Rather conspire to oust his boss, CBS news president Ed Joyce, while professing his loyalty? Who cares?

These discoveries, revealed in recent kiss-and-tell memoirs, are trumpeted in newspapers and television as hot news stories. They’re completely plausible, and completely irrelevant, since they illuminate no issues or problems. Is this what political discourse has become--gossip and confessions?

To be sure, gossip columns, fan magazines, visit-the-homes-of-the-stars maps are hardly new. They allow those fatigued by routine, work and washing dishes to join the rich and not-so-rich, to dream of opulence and romance, catered parties and black-tie events. They also feed the resentment of the outsiders. Gossip cuts everyone down to the same size. Did Star X insult Star Y? Did last year’s celebrity couple divorce? Were they or their children busted for drugs? Good! Their lives are not all silver and crystal; they have their woes and griefs--just like us.

When the soaps migrate to Washington, however, gossip and confessions do not supplement political discussion. They replace it. The Speakes book is the fifth expose of the Reagan presidency--and more are to come. Books by Donald Regan, former White House chief of staff, and Martin Anderson, the first presidential domestic adviser, are in the offing. Presumably, we will learn from Regan how he was forced out of the White House; what Nancy Reagan said to him; what he said to her. David Stockman’s memoir was subtitled “The Inside Story of the Reagan Revolution.” Stockman, the wunderkind who ran the budget, learned that the world of big government was “not a realm of pure reason, analysis and the clash of ideologies. It really did involve the brute force of personalities, the effrontery of bloated egos, the raw will to power.”

Insiders often discover this and the outside public happily agrees; it confirms the familiar--national politics as office politics. Unemployment, homelessness, pollution, racism, crises of health and education; these are hardly mentioned. The only issues are individual loves, sensitivities and rejections. Stockman’s memoir began: “The President’s eyes were moist.” The less palpable and the more real social and economic realities are lost; these cannot be readily reduced to personal drama and reddened eyes.

The translation of political concepts into gossip and concession cripples understanding. Again, this is not exactly a new development; indeed, it is grounded in a venerable American penchant for psychology and psychological tales. We prefer to see the world as personal drama; like the current President, we prize anecdotes while resisting theories, history, reflections. The talk of trends and tendencies causes audiences to grow restless. Where is the punch line?

It is historically just that the presidency of a former actor has accelerated the degradation of political discourse. No one has ever accused President Reagan of working too hard, reading too much, thinking too deeply. The Great Communicator specializes in image and style, not substance. The press has long ignored his blunders and plain ignorance; they matter as much as honest TV advertising.

The comparison is exact. Only the completely naive would denounce a shampoo ad for promising both clean hair and a more exciting life with sexy and happy friends. Advertising has increasingly exchanged communicating real information for a “life-style” pitch. In many TV ads it is initially difficult to know what is being hawked: Jeans? Cola? Beer? Shampoo? We are presented simply with white teeth, smiling faces, sleek and athletic bodies. Politics is rushing to catch up. Washington insiders offer us the surface as the depths, the style for the contents.

Reagan and his past staff are hardly the root cause or the only guilty parties. Throughout our culture the difference between advertising and politics, soaps and Washington is blurred. Tip O’Neill made ads for panty hose and American Express; other politicians popped into TV series episodes. And why not? The money is good. But the effect is bad. The jump from politics to TV ads or shows is easy, plus the distance is slight; but to make the move also diminishes public life. That is the problem. The language of the small screen--its jokes, talk shows, soaps--becomes the idiom of national politics.

In his book on politics as show business, “Amusing Ourselves to Death,” Neil Postman reminds us that past Presidents, like Harry Truman, did not pander or entertain. “Whenever the public saw him or heard him, Truman was talking politics. It takes a very rich imagination to envision Harry Truman or, for that matter his wife, making a guest appearance on ‘The Goldbergs’ or ‘I Remember Mama’.” No longer. We are witnessing the homogenization of cultural life. As Washington and Hollywood, politics and gossip, thinking and advertising become one, we are surrendering a distinct political language. We will be the poorer without it.