Amid the Drama, a Theater of the Absurd

The American body politic has been suffering from a split personality lately, and it lapsed into critical condition Tuesday.

It was a remarkable day that whipsawed politicians and the public between two bizarre views of their president: Bill Clinton the defendant in the second presidential impeachment trial in 131 years, and Bill Clinton the world leader, delivering his sixth State of the Union address.

The “Twilight Zone” quality was so often noted that one news anchor banned the use of the word “surreal” in his network’s broadcasts. The theater of celebrity was introduced when actress Whoopi Goldberg showed up for impeachment and athlete Sammy Sosa for the president’s speech. The dissonance was too much for some to bear. A handful of Republicans decided to boycott the president’s ceremonial speech rather than dignify the address of a man they disdain.

An Awkward Day for Members of Congress

But for most members of Congress, the transition from presidential trial to presidential triumph was a tribute to how much Clinton has taught the political community about compartmentalization: his now-famous psychological strategy for staying on an even keel while shooting the rapids of scandal.

“In the morning it’s legislative business, in the afternoon it’s impeachment,” said Sen. Ted Stevens (R-Alaska). “You really do have to clear your head and say: ‘What is the Senate doing? What is my role?’ ”

“It’s very awkward,” said Sen. Susan Collins (R-Maine). “But all of us have learned from the president how to compartmentalize.”

Despite the awkwardness, Clinton entered the House on Tuesday night from the big double doors in the back of the chamber like a politician unblemished by scandal: Smiling and shaking hands--mostly with Democrats--as he worked his way down the center aisle.

The text of his speech made no direct mention of his impeachment or the Monica S. Lewinsky scandal. But he alluded indirectly to the bitter partisanship surrounding the scandal when he called on lawmakers to work together “in the spirit of civility and the spirit of bipartisanship.”

There was still plenty of partisan body language in the hall: Republicans responded tepidly, some clapping grudgingly and a few not at all as Clinton entered the chamber; as the speech continued well beyond an hour, several left the chamber early.

Democrats, by contrast, repeatedly leapt to their feet to applaud his initiatives. Clinton gleefully greeted one of his few bipartisan ovations: “There was more balance in the seesaw!”

But as the president spoke, it was hard to ignore how much the political landscape had been transformed since the 1998 State of the Union address, delivered in the infancy of the Lewinsky scandal. Two House speakers had fallen; Republicans had taken a beating in the November elections; and Clinton had come closer to political disaster than anyone ever dreamed possible.

“January 1998 seems so long ago,” said Sen. Olympia J. Snowe (R-Maine). “Who would have thought this saga would have reached this historical and constitutional point?”

Few felt the broad sweep of the day more than Chief Justice William H. Rehnquist, who had his honorable toe in momentous events of all three branches of government. He sat on the Supreme Court bench to hear arguments in two cases in the morning. He presided over the unveiling of the president’s case in the afternoon.

And Rehnquist was invited to take a ringside seat for the State of the Union address in the evening, but did not join the other justices in the House chamber.

The day began with Senate Republican leaders struggling mightily to pull their legislative agenda out from under the shadow of impeachment, with an unusually elaborate news conference to showcase GOP proposals on tax cuts, Social Security and other priority issues.

“We are here to announce that the people’s business is going forward in the United States Senate,” declared Majority Leader Trent Lott (R-Miss.), just in case anyone was beginning to doubt.

But just how little the media cared about the GOP wish list became evident when Lott left the news conference early.

About half the reporters in attendance dashed off to chase after him and ask a question on the inevitable topic: “How tough is it going to be today for the president’s lawyers in the Senate?”

Back on the Senate floor, before the impeachment trial began, a lonely Sen. Mike DeWine (R-Ohio) spoke to a deserted chamber about anti-drug legislation. Behind the swinging double doors into the press gallery, a GOP aide stole the show, explaining to rapt reporters the latest scuttlebutt on impeachment procedures.

To minimize the abrupt transition from impeachment protocol to ceremonial pomp, Clinton’s lawyers cut the day’s arguments unusually short, leaving a full 5 1/2 hours between the end of their presentation and the start of Clinton’s.

And as if to avoid upstaging the president, his lawyer, Charles F.C. Ruff, gave a decidedly low-key performance. Experiencing difficulties with the microphones, Ruff spoke so quietly that senators scooted forward in their chairs to hear him. Some said they resorted to lip-reading.

The theater was less than riveting for three women from Wisconsin who dropped in to catch the show. It drew them like the Hale Bopp comet--a phenomenon you know happens once in a lifetime, so you have to stop and watch. But after about two minutes of listening to Ruff’s case, they found themselves pondering the architecture of the Senate ceiling.

“Obviously the process is interesting. It’s historic,” said Judy Le Masters. “But I don’t know if what I heard presented was interesting. It sounded like a rehash of Monica’s phone records to me.”

Another spectator appeared more impressed. Goldberg, the guest of Sen. Tom Harkin (D-Iowa) and a loyal Friend of Bill, sat in the front row of the gallery overlooking the Republican side of the Senate, leaning forward intently even during some of the dullest parts of the presentation.

After the trial ended, she was the most sought-after commentator for reaction-hungry reporters who gathered in a salivating pack outside the gallery exit, prepared to pounce. Capitol police officers hitched up their belts.

The door opened. No Whoopi. Just Sen. Patrick J. Leahy (D-Vt.). The press was frozen. Do they wait for Whoopi or chase Leahy? Whoopi-Leahy. Whoopi-Leahy, their heads ping-ponged between the door and the senator.

Finally one of them solved the problem, sort of, and stuck a tape recorder in Leahy’s face: “Did you invite Whoopi to come?”

The comedian finally emerged, cloaked in a big black coat as though getting recognized was the bane of her celebrated existence. She said nothing, leaving everybody quoteless, and it was still the most exciting thing to happen all day.

A Normal Day at the House

Over on the other side of the Capitol, the House was an oasis of normalcy, the picture of an institution dressing up for a fancy soiree. The House chamber stood empty, awaiting the influx of politicians and dignitaries that would later strain its capacity. Democratic loyalists, utterly undaunted by the contagion of scandal, stole into the hall early to reserve seats for themselves on the middle aisle where the television cameras would catch them shaking hands with Clinton as he entered the chamber. The House convened briefly in mid-afternoon for a dozen or so members to give speeches on topics of their own choosing--and no one chose impeachment.

When the joint session of Congress convened at the appointed hour of 9 p.m., some Republicans stayed away in protest.

Among the boldest was freshman Republican Tom Tancredo of Colorado, who missed his first State of the Union of his career because he thought it would undermine the credibility of future addresses.

“The only way I can help preserve a shred of future dignity for the office of the presidency is by abstaining from the pomp and circumstance of tonight’s speech,” he intoned.

Some of the biggest ovations were delivered not for Clinton’s ideas but for the guests sitting in the House gallery: Sosa, the Chicago Cubs home-run slugger; Rosa Parks, the civil rights heroine; and First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Clinton allies, of course, were relieved just to watch the president get a chance to change the subject. Said Sen. Barbara Boxer (D-Calif.): “The contrast to the who-touched-who-where puts things in perspective.”