Taking the heat

I’m just delighted that Tom Daschle was forced to commit ritual seppuku over his back taxes and perhaps—as some have suggested—to avoid a grilling on his and his wife’s lobbying activities. A pity that Obama has to take it on the chin along with him, but as he himself pointed out, he goofed.

At least Obama’s arrival at the top hasn’t yet destroyed his capacity for reflective self-criticism, something sorely lacking in that alpine environment. He showed unusual humility days after his election by phoning Nancy Reagan and apologizing immediately for making a wisecrack at her expense.

That said, O doesn’t get a pass for this screw-up because it was part of a disturbing pattern he initiated with the slightly-less-dubious Geithner who sailed through his confirmation hearings for the Treasury post despite sounding like Scooter Libby at the grand jury.

It’s great to thump the podium about ethics and accountability but a lot harder to actually carry it out especially if your instincts are to avoid conflict. I should know—I faced the same dilemma the one time I had executive authority in this life (and if God is great, the only time). When you say NO to colleagues based on fiscal ethics, you do not cement eternal friendships.

By contrast, when you pass out the loot or turn a deaf ear to the sound of its soothing flow, they build monuments to you.

The seamy details of how Daschle cashed in after his re-election defeat also throw new light on his chronic wimpitude in allowing W to carry on the disaster in Iraq in the face of massive disgust with it, which Daschle as Senate minority leader had some responsibility to express.

But if he was really thinking about how to set himself up in the cushiest possible fashion after leaving ‘public service’, he’d have no burning desire to seriously rock any of the many boats coasting through the treasure-filled waters of Washington, D.C.

That’s the more important reason for tossing this udder-suctioning suit back to the beet fields of South Dakota, more than just distaste at his crude money-grubbing. When you’re that far up the sigmoid of the state and eyeing the public purse so intently with your pockets agape, you really can’t concentrate on what’s important.