THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1997, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, January 16, 1997 TAG: 9701160001
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A15 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Opinion
SOURCE: Patrick Lackey
LENGTH: 81 lines
Shortly after being re-elected speaker of the House this month, Newt Gingrich told his fellow congressmen, ``. . . To the degree that I was too brash, too self-confident or too pushy, I apologize.''
He also said, ``To whatever degree, in any way that I brought controversy or inappropriate attention to the House, I apologize.''
And so Gingrich, having apologized, should be forgiven.
But wait! What exactly has Gingrich admitted to? Really, nothing. He has apologized without admitting doing anything wrong.
Is that possible? Can he enjoy the advantages that derive from an apology without suffering the disadvantages that derive from an admission of wrongdoing?
Apparently.
You or I couldn't. Not in a million years.
Imagine that you are Catholic (unless you are Catholic). Imagine that at confession you tell a priest, ``To the degree that I have sinned, I confess.''
A quick-witted priest might assure, ``To the degree that you've confessed, you'll be forgiven.''
In other words, ``Nice try, Buster, but you won't be forgiven for sins you never confessed.''
Consider the story of Joe. The bad boy wrecked his steady girlfriend's new car - totaled it. The only passenger was another girl, a cheerleader. Driving inattentively, with but one hand on the wheel, Joe smacked his girlfriend's car into a tree along a narrow country road that led to the local lovers' lane.
The girlfriend, named Sally, told Joe, ``You have torn asunder a young heart that might never heal. You have trod upon my trust. You have totaled the best gift my dear daddy ever bestowed upon his young beloved.''
What Joe thought was that Sally had been reading too many romance novels. But seeking Sally's forgiveness, he said, ``To the degree that I have emotionally harmed you or to the degree that I damaged your car, I apologize.''
Between gulps of sorrow, Sally said, ``But you were taking that cheerleader to lovers' lane, after pledging to love only me. My car is wrecked beyond all hope of repair. My young life lies in crumpled ruins.''
Choosing his words carefully, Joe said, ``To the degree that I have emotionally harmed you or to the degree that I damaged your car, I apologize.''
To make a long story short, Sally shot Joe in the head, and a jury, upon hearing her testify to Joe's ``apology,'' acquitted her of all wrongdoing.
To the degree that the bullet slammed into Joe's brain, he was dead.
Although Gingrich might have raised the art of the confession-free apology to the highest level yet, wayward politicians have always sought ways to get the heat off their backs, while admitting to as little as possible.
The most popular such admission is, ``Mistakes were made.''
What mistakes?
Well, just some mistakes.
By whom?
Nobody really.
Somebody had to make them!
Well, yes, mistakes were made.
Who's to blame?
I accept full responsibility.
For what?
Mistakes were made.
One of the mistakes that husbands and wives occasionally make is to forget to pay the water bill. Dire warnings arrive in the mail. They're mislaid. One day, there's no running water.
``Why isn't there any water?'' the husband demands to know.
``Mistakes were made,'' says the wife, the person in the house charged with paying the bills.
``Well, what happened?''
``Mistakes were made.''
``By whom?''
``To the degree that mistakes were made, I apologize.''
``So you forgot to pay the bill?''
``I didn't say that. Mistakes were made.''
It's too bad we all can't be such wondrous creatures as politicians. They can apologize without admitting guilt. They can eat humble pie without being humble. They can swim without getting wet. MEMO: Mr. Lackey is an editorial writer for The Virginian-Pilot.