Betrayal of Bush should be wake-up call

25 February 2005

 

It's a safe bet that no one will ever again have a heart-to- heart with Doug Wead.

 

Wead is - or was - a good friend of George W. Bush's. They met in 1988, when both were working on George H.W.'s presidential campaign. After serving a stint in Bush the Elder's White House, he went on to write a few books. He also remained in touch with the younger Bush, serving as a sounding board as the then-governor of Texas talked about running for president.

 

Unbeknownst to Bush, he recorded those talks.

 

Wead went about it quite deliberately. He never informed Bush, knowing that he would almost certainly object. And because of that, he made the recordings only in states where it's legal to do so. The 12 states - including Massachusetts - that require "two-party consent" were off limits. Luckily for Wead, most of those 12 were blue states. Bush, as we know, spent his time elsewhere.

 

Now Wead has made some of the tapes public. After playing them privately for his publisher, Wead let The New York Times listen. "The historical point I was making trumped a personal relationship," Wead said. His treachery turned up on Page 1.

 

Bush-haters, of course, are thrilled at any opportunity to humiliate. The president likely has that sinking, stomach-knotted feeling of betrayal.

 

Of course, Bush is hardly the first. I imagine Paris Hilton felt much the same way when film of her bedroom antics appeared on the Internet. Monica Lewinsky doubtless was shocked as well when she learned Linda Tripp had been recording her anguished thoughts.

 

So what? Why should we care about the travails of politicians and celebrities? Because we're next.

 

Since Franklin Roosevelt, presidents have been secretly recording their conversations. Back then, the technology was so clumsy and expensive that recording was not widespread. No more. Recording devices, both sound and video, are vastly improved, cheaper and threatening to become ubiquitous (checked out your cell phone lately?). It is no stretch to imagine that entire offices or households could be secretly monitored. Everything we do or say, in theory, could be recorded.

 

We can't undo these improvements in technology. We can, however, change the law. Massachusetts has the right idea: Require everyone's consent and back it up with fines and jail time ($10,000 and up to five years). Even further, we should prohibit release of private conversations in all but the rarest of circumstances.

 

Many won't want to see privacy laws stiffened. Law enforcement uses secret recordings as a tool to prosecute. Journalists - such as those on "Primetime" - use them to investigate. And the rest of us, frankly, are clandestine voyeurs who too easily dispense with others' privacy in the interests of titillation and scandal.

 

However, there's an important right - admittedly, not one contained in the Constitution - that should matter more than the wants of prosecutors, reporters and voyeurs: the right to be stupid.

 

People think out loud. They grapple with issues about themselves and others by talking with friends, lovers and spouses. Much of what they say is dumb, silly, deeply personal and not well thought out. Few of us so censor our thoughts that they could all appear in public without proving an embarrassment.

 

Yet that could easily happen. And the knowledge that our words could be used against us, that our personal lives are no longer private, would have a chilling effect on almost all of the relationships we have.

 

Doug Wead now says he regrets releasing the tapes, promising to turn the remainder over to the president. I hope he does. Yet Wead's deceits should be a wake-up call. Technology has created a brave new world. We need to put in place safeguards to ensure it's a world in which we want to live.