Libby trial -- when memory doesn't serve
It's so hard to keep up with the news. There is the devastating war in Iraq, the sad passing of former Playmate/Supreme Court litigant Anna Nicole Smith, those kooky Koreans and their on-again off-again nuclear plans, to say nothing of the police-blotter disportments of America's sex-crazed astronaut corps.
And then there is the pointless show trial of vice-presidential aide Lewis "Scooter" Libby . Here is my handy field guide to the proceedings, which you can safely ignore after reading this column.
One thing is certain: It is a terrible crime, with mortal consequences, to unmask the covert agents of the CIA. Field agents have been assassinated as a result of such disclosures. So kudos to the tireless, crusading young prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald for rooting out the perpetrators of these heinous leaks and holding them accountable for their actions. No man is above the law!
Oh. Wait. Robert Novak , the man who published agent Valerie Plame 's name in his newspaper column, isn't on trial? And Richard Armitage , the crusty State Department operative who told Novak about Plame's CIA connection, isn't on trial either? So you wonder: Two million plus of taxpayers' money is being spent on what, exactly?
Good question! Scooter Libby must be guilty of something. After all, he spent years at the right hand of Vice President Dick "Shooter" Cheney , who is guilty of all sort of things, like not answering Wolf Blitzer 's smarmy questions about Cheney's lesbian daughter. Scooter is guilty of having written a gamy novel -- literally; it's got bestiality -- that no one read. He is guilty of sticking with a ridiculous, juvenile nickname well into adulthood.
Libby may even be guilty of the crime he's charged with: making false statements about the Plame leak to FBI investigators and to Fitzgerald's grand jury. Or maybe his stories weren't true because he just didn't remember. What were you talking about on June 4, 2003? Oh, you don't remember? Guilty, guilty, guilty!
The main purpose of Fitzgerald's investigation, as writer Nora Ephron gamely conceded this week, was to nail either Karl Rove or Cheney. "We all had some hope that in the end Karl Rove would end up on the hook," Ephron wrote, apparently speaking for her Huffington Post constituency. "We even dared to dream of bringing down the big Kahuna, Dick Cheney. But the smoking gun never really materialized," she admitted. But the trial must go on.
So what do we get for our cool $ 2 million? A parade of journalistic demi-celebrities, who, like Libby, all seem to be suffering from judicially induced memory loss. Here is The
The Times' own Anna Wintour look-alike, former reporter Judy Miller , likewise suffered brain freeze on the stand: "Ms. Miller acknowledged a weak memory and seemed not entirely certain of the notes she made after meeting with Mr. Libby. Ms. Miller admitted that she heard about Ms. Wilson from sources other than Mr. Libby but she could not remember who those people were," the paper reported.
So in the end, Fitzgerald has served up an Anna-Nicole-Smith-before-the-Supreme-Court moment: molto flashbulbs, little jurisprudence. Gossip reigns supreme. Who knew Bob Woodward's interview subjects allow him to tape-record? Brave fellows, or unwise. We learn that
More gossip: Armitage, the son of a Newton policeman, and a Naval Academy grad who served several tours in Vietnam, isn't afraid to let the F-bombs fly, Woodward's tape recorder be darned.
Here is an excerpt from a trial transcript published in the New York Sun:
WOODWARD: What's [Brent] Scowcroft up to?
ARMITAGE: [expletive deleted] Scowcroft is looking into the yellowcake thing.
So Fitzgerald geared up for a deep-sea fishing expedition, hoping to land some big ones. Now we see a few minnows flopping around in the bottom of the boat. How did we end up here? Golly, I can't remember.
Alex Beam is a Globe columnist. His e-dress is beam@globe.com 