So now comes Whitewater. By Washington standards, it ain't Watergate. And as far as the S&L crisis is concerned, James McDougal's Madison Guaranty holds no candle to Charles Keating's Lincoln Savings & Loan. In fact, the most sinister allegations could eventually amount to doing 60 in a 55-mph zone. Yet for some unknown reason -- using privacy as an excuse -- the Clintons spent weeks trying to keep the whole mess under wraps. They were saved from themselves by some Senate Democrats who joined Republicans in calling for a special counsel. The White House stonewallers caved in on that matter, but the key documents remain sealed.
It is counterintuitive for a public official to insist on privacy if there is nothing to hide. But that's not the way the Clintons -- or their loyalists -- have ever viewed such things. In many ways, the Whitewater situation looks suspiciously like the Clinton campaign when it was on the ropes in 1992: often self-righteous, sometimes hypocritical, always governed by a sense that the barbarians (the press, the Republicans, unseemly Democrats, take your pick) are at the gate, ready to do the Clintons in. To dwell among the anointed Clinton confidants, one insider says, is to survive a daily loyalty check. The loyalists' Whitewater scenario: First, it was an old land deal, for heaven's sake. Next, the Clintons lost money. Finally, how dare you suggest they did anything wrong? All pushes for full disclosure are tantamount to treachery. It is a fervor that goes beyond expected loyalty, always a first virtue in politics. In this White House, loyalty is an obsession.
Whitewater, we are told, is none of our business because it is private. This from a president who told us in great detail about his abusive stepfather and from a first couple who spoke in prime time of their marital difficulties. Those emotional disclosures, of course, were in their political interest. So, too, was the eventual release of Clinton's medical file -- which came only after the press raised a stink. Make no mistake about it: The Clintons may hate the idea of disclosure, but they will do it when it is in their own self-interest or when their backs are to the wall. That's what makes this secrecy such a puzzle. It says the White House is worried -- and we can only guess what it has to worry about.
War room mode. In the campaign, their defenses were similar when the air grew close. As Jerry Brown began attacking Mrs. Clinton on Whitewater, her husband jumped. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said, later adding what by now has become the vintage Clinton response to all criticism: "Every time I have ever run for office, because I have been a change agent ... the people who have run against me attack me personally." Echoed Hillary: "Every time Bill Clinton gets ahead, the people who are running against him attack him." Vice President Al Gore is now similarly full of righteous indignation, charging that political opponents are just worried Clinton is doing too well. But in 1992, he was an outspoken senator calling for a special counsel to look into the Bush administration's dealings with Saddam Hussein just before Iraq invaded Kuwait. His rationale for the release of key documents: "The only reason Bush refuses to release them is because he knows they will be politically damaging."
Gore the loyalist could not keep it up forever. Even Democrats were calling for the special counsel's appointment, so the White House could no longer claim that the pressure was coming just from the White House's favorite evil GOP twins -- Newt Gingrich and Bob Dole. In fact, the lead critic was Jim Leach of Iowa, the ranking Republican on the House Banking Committee and an expert on the savings-and-loan debacle. Moderate and low key, even Leach grew angry at the Clintonites' attacks: "I've been called a liar, my motives have been impugned and Gore says, `How dare you?' This is a plotted indignation that is designed not to respond to the issue. I consider it a reflection of how the administration handles a serious issue, and I find it completely inappropriate."
Instead, Leach suggests that President Clinton reflect upon candidate Clinton, railing against the cronyism of the '80s. "We must abandon the terrible ethics of the '80s, which got so many people into the trap of thinking they could get something for nothing, take it now from their neighbors, forget about the future, live in the moment," said candidate Clinton, who also blamed Republicans for letting "S&L crooks and self-serving CEOs try to build an economy out of paper and perks. It's the Republican way: every man for himself and get it while you can." No one is accusing the Clintons of trying to become high rollers. But Governor Clinton's Arkansas was a cozy state in which the members of the elite were busy helping one another try to get rich, no matter what the web of professional conflicts. "A small, symbolic episode occurred in Arkansas," says Leach. "This S&L was a piggy bank for insiders in the Arkansas political establishment. It was also about implicit conflicts of interest. It was, in a microcosm, Milkenesque."
Such charges drive the loyalists crazy. "Bill Clinton missed the '80s," says defender-in-chief Paul Begala. "They've never been motivated by money." True enough. Now, explain the motive for keeping Whitewater secret.
