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<text id=92TT2214>
<title>
Oct. 05, 1992: Diplomacy:Imperfect Hindsight
</title>
<title>
Oct. 05, 1992: How to Tell When a Politician is Lying
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1992
Oct. 05, 1992 LYING:Everybody's Doin' It (Honest)
</history>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1992
Oct. 05, 1992 LYING:Everybody's Doin' It (Honest)
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
COVER STORIES, Page 38
LIES, LIES, LIES
Voters' Guide: How to Tell if a Politician is Lying
</hdr><body>
<p> Never has there been a politician so candid about his own
mendacity as Earl Long, the fabled drinking, carousing and
hog-hunting 1950s Governor of Louisiana (hint: Paul Newman
played him in Blaze). After one election, Long went back on a
campaign promise in a big way. When a delegation of betrayed
supporters showed up in Baton Rouge to protest, the Governor
refused to see them. "What will I tell them?" asked a desperate
aide. Long's immortal response: "Tell them I lied!"
</p>
<p> In a similar fix, Long's modern-day counterparts would
convene focus groups to test various excuses. (The likely
winner: "When I made that campaign promise, I had a serious
substance-abuse problem, but now I'm leading my class at a
nationally ranked recovery clinic.") Then a top speechwriter
would embellish the confession, and a media consultant would
orchestrate the requisite appearance on Geraldo. But all this
high-priced talent could not alter reality -- a broken campaign
promise is still a breach of trust. Lies are still lies. The
trick is knowing how to recognize them.
</p>
<p> All candidates lie -- in a technical sense -- every time
they read a speech they paid someone else to write, every time
they gush over how thrilled they are to be among the real
people outside the Beltway, and every time they feign modesty
after a particularly effusive introduction. But the voters have
become inured to such petty fabrications. The big fibs are the
problem -- the read-my-lips whoppers. So here, as a public
service, are some rhetorical tricks that signal DANGER -- SHARP
CURVES AHEAD.
</p>
<p> Suspicious Stats. Maybe it's related to declining math
scores, but these days the favored ploy is to taint by numbers.
If a politician rattles off more than three statistics about
his opponent's record, assume that at least one of those
figures is a flat-out falsehood, yanked completely out of
context and massaged by friendly computers. The more precise the
number, the higher the likelihood of prevarication. Senator Joe
McCarthy would never have set off the 1950s witch-hunts if he
had merely claimed, "There are, I don't know, maybe 100, maybe
200 communists in the State Department."
</p>
<p> Dubious Denials. Cornered by the press, the
scandal-scarred politician finally deigns to answer the charges
against him. Listen to his language carefully, especially for
signs of the overly specific denial. "On my word of honor, I
never accepted cash or other favors in office" is not a blanket
refutation of bribery. Maybe he was handed the money in a hotel
room or while he was still a candidate. Denying a "five-year
affair" is different from claiming a lifetime of marital
fidelity. An advanced gambit is angrily rebutting a charge that
was never made. When Richard Nixon claimed in the midst of
Watergate, "I am not a crook," he was telling a literal truth.
He was charged with the abuse of power -- not larceny.
</p>
<p> The Tricky Two-Step. Complex sentences are a duplicitous
politician's delight. Suppose a candidate plans to oppose
kumquat subsidies. Saying so outright to a group of farmers
would reap no votes -- just permanent enmity. Instead, the
aspirant might try to finesse it like this: "No one in the
Senate is more keenly aware of the courage and the grit of
kumquat growers than myself, but we should never lose sight of
how the federal deficit is robbing our children." It is an
example of that classic two-step -- a sonorous lie followed by
a fleeting glimpse of unpleasant reality. For if Diogenes were
parsing a political speech in his quest for an honest man, he
would strip away all the dependent clauses; the truth is usually
found in simple declarative sentences.
</p>
<p> The Candor Pander. Never trust anyone who begins a
sentence, "My dear friends, let me speak frankly to you . . ."
Veracity these days is rare enough that its presence need not
be advertised with self-congratulatory words like "candor" and
"honesty." For while the truth may still set you free, it
remains a treacherous path for those who would rather be elected
than liberated.
</p>
<p> By Walter Shapiro
</p>
</body></article>
</text>