Moe, Larry & Curly Put the Screws to the Witness

So Scott McClellan, whose term of derision I shall no longer employ out of a newfound respect for his valiant crusade of self-rehabilitation through political penance, will testify to the House Judiciary Committee on June 20. Early word has it that McClellan's testimony will naturally focus on the Valerie Plame matter, which formed the thematic center of his book What Happened. Congressional hearings, like other forms of entertainment, need unifying motifs, and it was apparently the counter-propaganda conspiracy of White House operatives against Joe Wilson, after all, which sent Scott into a spasm of introspection. Or so I've heard; I haven't read the book, and I'm not going to. Maybe I have newfound respect but I'm not that big a sucker.

Still, it's difficult to see what new thing could possibly be disclosed in a Congressional hearing, which is unfortunate, since what is publicly available at this point is not enough to indict Bush and Cheney. There is a line of questioning, which I at one point attempted to sketch out on this very site, which could force the issue into the open once and for all. To wit, if we remember way back when, the summer of 2003, when the Plame disclosure first became news, Bush took the consistent position that he did not know who disclosed Valerie Plame's CIA connections to the press. He held this position from July, 2003 until at least the end of September, 2003, and it was during this period that he made his various pledges to "get to the bottom of the leak," "fire anyone involved," etc., which transmuted over time into a lame promise to fire anyone "convicted of a crime" in connection with the leak. Obviously, the shift in tone, the relocation of culpability from "involved in the leak" to actual "conviction" for something connected to Plame resulted from Bush getting the word. All the main players in this treasonous cabal were direct assistants to the President. So Bush "moved the goal posts," in the argot of our cliche-ridden day.

I suspect the White House was pretty certain this standard insulated them from the need to take any punitive action against one of their own. Their Ashcroft-picked prosecutor, Patrick Fitzgerald, was not going to indict anyone for a violation of the so-called "Identities Act," although the prima facie case for such a prosecution was always there. Fitzgerald, however, was a reliably obsessive fussbudget who wasn't going to take any chances. When he finally indicted Libby on five counts of "non-substantive" criminal activity (not direct violations of the Identities Act), he had mountains of corroborating evidence which he had obtained through a truly farcical overuse of the grand jury mechanism. He allowed Rove's attorney to "talk him out of" indicting Karl. Even with all that, Fitzgerald managed to lose on one of his five counts against Libby. So Scooter became the one thrown to the mob, all on the understanding that Bush would take care of him, come what may.

Still, even now a skilled questioner could find out from Scottie whether it ever occurred to anyone that it was pretty weird for the President to roam around the United States in an information blackout, talking about his "search" for the leakers, when in some instances they were standing right behind him while he railed about them. This point is so obvious that I thought even the brain-dead American press would figure it out. But I also thought that l'affaire Plame would prove Bush's undoing; it was when it did not so prove that I realized I and most of my fellow Americans had entered uncharted territory. The era of Watergate-style investigations, even of Iran-Contra hearings, were definitively over. A skilled news-cycle management team (and Rove & Cheney are definitely that) could spin and deceive their way out of even so perilous a predicament.

And, if you're old enough to recall, you might notice another major difference twixt now and 1973 concerning how such investigative hearings are held. The lessons of Watergate were not lost on Congressional committee members. You could become a star, like Sam Ervin and Howard Baker. And allowing skilled attorneys like Sam Dash (the majority counsel) to ask the questions of people like Howard Hunt, G. Gordon Liddy and John Dean might advance the case, but it did not advance the career of the incompetent popinjays elected to Congress. So they took over. We now have "rounds" of questioning by 12 or 15 Senators or Representatives, each with about six minutes, which they fill with grandiloquent testimonials to the majesty of, well, mainly themselves. Then they start asking "questions," which never get anywhere, because these people are not trained in interrogation, follow-up, trapping with a hidden premise, boxing in, or any of the other finely-honed tricks of the cross-examiner's art. There are a few exceptions, such as Arlen Specter, Sheldon Whitehouse and Carl Levin, who remember enough of their attorney skills to bore in when they need to. Most of these career poseurs, however, are hopeless.

John Conyers of Michigan heads up the House Judiciary Committee. Thus, I don't expect any miracles; his folksy, avuncular, imprecise style defines the approach that doesn't work when crucial matters are at stake. The hearing will turn into a morality play, where Conyers will muse, "How in the world could high-ranking members of the White House staff get themselves involved in outing a brave member of our intelligence community?" And that will be that. The air will go out of the proceeding as Scott, the prodigal son now on the side of all that's good and decent, will cluck along with John, shaking his head in sad agreement.

Bush will look at the TV replay later, the money shot where his fate hung in the balance, and laugh it off. Moe, Larry & Curly will take their turns fecklessly "grilling" the witness, Scott will sell some more books, and somewhere in the darkness of Dick Cheney's office we will hear that hollow report: yuk yuk yuk.