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When Agnew steps into the Baltimore County executive job, corruption in local government is par for the course. Agnew believes he is just doing what every other local official has done, and perhaps he is right; but Agnew takes the relatively small-scale operation to new heights. As governor, he broadens his extortion racket across the entire state. As vice president, he includes federal contractors in his scheme, even trying to wrestle control over all federal contracts away from the various agencies traditionally in charge of them. With each new bribe or white envelope of cash, Agnew becomes more emboldened to continue his crimes, and any thoughts of guilt or remorse slip into the dark recesses of his conscience. Even after prosecutors uncover plenty of incriminating evidence, Agnew refuses to admit any wrongdoing. He has gotten away with his crimes for so long, he becomes inured to any suggestion of guilt. His position and status, as far as he is concerned, entitle him to take what he wants, and quaint notions of law and order are merely irritations and obstacles to his self-enrichment.
While Agnew knows the investigation is closing in, he sees it as oppressive—as “dirty prosecutors who were corrupting the justice system” (109). Absolute power corrupts absolutely is a timeworn cliché that is true nonetheless. Part of that corruption is the assumption that powerful people are insulated from consequences. When he is on the verge of being indicted, Agnew never publicly admits his wrongdoing, nor does he try to atone for it. He lashes out, angrily claiming persecution by partisans who are trying to take him down simply because they do not like his politics. It has become a popular defense: attack the investigators and play the victim. In Agnew’s case, the strategy works for a time, although his charges of partisanship are so vague, they do not hold up under scrutiny. He never articulates who, specifically, is out to get him; he refers merely to a shadowy cabal of media tycoons and left-wing politicians. Agnew appeals to the worst instincts of his constituency—including racist, antisemitic assumptions about the media—with no basis in fact. His privilege has so skewed his perception of reality, he seems to believe his own lies. Agnew imagines himself as untouchable, and anyone who dares to encroach on his sacred bubble of protection must be met with the full force of his rage.
As the Baltimore prosecutors begin closing in on Agnew, he makes a deliberate choice to retaliate. He fancies himself a fighter—one of the qualities that compelled Nixon to choose him as his running mate—and he will “be damned” if he will go quietly. His strategy, however, takes the form of diversion, obstruction, and obfuscation, a political sleight-of-hand that relies on shifting attention away from himself and on to the imaginary crimes of his enemies. The perfect example is his attorneys’ focus on the leaks. Rather than offering any kind of defense of their client, London, Topkis, and Best angrily demand to know how details of the case were leaked to the press. They even request the court to order the DOJ to conduct an internal investigation, an allocation of time and resources that takes manpower away from the Agnew investigation. Furthermore, London convinces the judge to sign an order that will allow the defense to subpoena members of the press to track down these nefarious leaks.
As his attorneys file time-consuming legal briefs, Agnew continues his assault on the DOJ. Speaking to a group of Republican women, Agnew rages at Richardson and his department: “[I]ndividuals in the upper professional echelons of the Department of Justice have been severely stung by their ineptness in the prosecution of the Watergate case […] and they are trying to recoup their reputation at my expense’” (186). Between their diversions, their stalling tactics, and being assigned a judge sympathetic to their cause, Agnew’s lawyers manage to hold off an indictment until Beall and his team are forced, because of time pressures, to give Agnew what he wants. Agnew knows very well that he can garner support by appealing to his base and to its preexisting prejudice against the press and liberals. No evidence is required when a politician’s audience is primed to believe them right out of the gate.
This diversionary strategy is both effective and timeless. When former president Donald Trump was under investigation for collusion and, later, for trying to extort the Ukrainian president to dig up political dirt on his opponent’s son, his response was to attack the House committee conducting the investigation. While on the campaign trail, Trump referred to the media as “absolute scum.” CNN reporter Stephen Collison writes, “Trump’s incessant torrent of attacks—on Twitter and on camera, amplified by conservative media outlets—has helped to insulate him against the consequences of his actions” (Collinson, Stephen. “Trump assaults facts to avoid impeachment,” CNN. December 11, 2019). The lessons from the Agnew scandal are not lost on contemporary politicians: When cornered by a legitimate investigation, they vilify their opponent, cast doubt on the integrity of the press, and plead their case not in court but before throngs of devoted followers who desperately want to believe their favored politician’s version of truth.
When Donald Trump earned the Republican nomination for president in 2016, many of his supporters cited his outsider status and his unpolished straight talk as reasons for his success. Sure, he has flaws, they argued, and he is rough around the edges, but to them he is preferable to politicians who offer canned and vacuous responses. The appeal is understandable. Safe answers are frequently no answer at all, but rather an attempt to fill airtime without alienating anyone, which is of course not possible. Straight talk is perceived as honest—a rare quality in a politician—and so listeners are willing to forgive offense in exchange for that honesty. Agnew’s stock-in-trade is his forthrightness and willingness to “tell like it is,” traits which earn him a great deal of leverage despite the mounting evidence against him. His condescension toward civil rights leaders, profanity, vilification of the press, and bob-and-weave diversions are all forgivable to his fans because his “honesty” cuts through the morass of traditional political rhetoric. The irony is that Agnew’s honesty is only an illusion put forth to cloud his problematic relationship with the facts.
The appeal of straight talk is not new to Trump. John McCain’s presidential campaign was labeled the “Straight Talk Express.” George W. Bush’s perceived lack of intellectual curiosity and linguistic gaffes were forgiven by his supporters because he was a plain talker—one of them. The phenomenon is not limited to U.S. politics, either. Researcher Sam Browse writes, “The leader of the British Labour Party, Jeremy Corbyn, is known for his ‘straight talking, honest politics’…[however] [s]ome journalists (Toynbee, 2016) have suggested that the socialist politician’s leadership of the party is symptomatic of the ‘post-truth’ politics” (Browse, Sam. “Straight talking honest politics: Rhetorical style and ethos in the mediated politics of metamodernity.” Sheffield Hallam University Research Archive. 2020. shura.shu.ac.uk). Social media has allowed politicians like Trump unlimited freedom to say what they want, with digital platforms giving his words the imprimatur of truth. While the appeal of honesty is understandable and the desire for it laudable, political rhetoric has come a long way from John McCain’s public defense of his opponent, Barack Obama, at a now-famous town hall meeting. “Post-truth” is a tidy euphemism for lies masquerading as truth.
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