Spare us the orchestrated campaign to salvage Rep. Gary Condit's political career. He says he wants to clear the air about what he knows about the disappearance of Chandra Levy, but he's not about to talk about anything he doesn't want to talk about because after all, a man's entitled to his privacy. Huh?
If anything, the California Democrat's nationally televised interview with Connie Chung just made things worse. His evasive demeanor stirred more questions and most assuredly was hurtful to the Levy family. As for Condit's insistence that he has fully cooperated with law enforcement from the beginning, it sure doesn't jibe with Washington, D.C. police chief Charles Ramsey's account of the events. "We didn't have all of the details (from Condit) for several weeks," Ramsey said recently.
For me, Condit's credibility took an irreversible nosedive after his attorneys announced that Condit was undergoing a polygraph test. This test wasn't conducted by a member of law enforcement, mind you, but an operator chosen by Condit's attorneys. To no one's surprise, the test determined that Condit had been truthful.
Polygraphs aren't an end-all. There's a good reason that federal law has sharply limited the use of lie detector tests by private employers and that the Supreme Court has ruled that lie detector evidence can be banned from trials. There are legitimate concerns over their scientific soundness.
In the early 1980s, I underwent a polygraph exam while applying for a job. I was terrified, but the first words out of the operator's mouth helped to put me at ease: "If an operator ever tells you that polygraph is 100 percent reliable, get up and leave. It's not."
After running through the list of questions that he would ask me, the operator hooked me up to a tangle of wires that monitored changes in blood pressure, blood flow, respiration and perspiration. Then he repeated the questions, some of which were control questions such as "Is Ronald Reagan the president of the United States?" Others were more pointed, such as "Have you ever stolen from your employer?" or "Have you ever used illegal drugs?"
Although the operator conducted the test exactly as he said he would, it was intensely intimidating.
Several months later, I ran into the operator in a restaurant. "I got the job. I must have passed your test," I said.
"No one passes my tests," he said, with a wry smile.
I now know the test wasn't being used to ascertain if I was a truthful person. It was being used to predict performance in the workplace. For a job in a jeans store, it seemed much ado about nothing. I've been suspicious of polygraph exams ever since.
The problem with volunteering to take a pre-emptive polygraph is that most people tend to view polygraphs with skepticism. In Condit's case, his attorneys hand-picked the operator instead of consenting to an exam conducted by law enforcement.
It's been nearly four months since Chandra Levy disappeared. The trail is cold and, surely, the family's hopes of locating their daughter are dim. Yet I can't help but think if Condit had been forthright from the beginning, it would have helped police to better do their job. If Condit wasn't involved, clearing him early on would have enabled police to advance their investigation. But police had to investigate his possible involvement because statistically speaking, most women are killed by someone they know.
Can a spin job untangle the web of deceit and mystery surrounding Levy's disappearance? I don't think so. Nor will it bring a family any closer to finding their daughter.
It accomplishes little, really, except to provide a textbook example of the consequences of indiscretion, dishonesty and not disclosing information. To tell the truth, I've seen enough of those examples in recent years to last a lifetime.
Marjorie Cortez is a Deseret News editorial writer. E-mail: marjorie@desnews.com