bill clinton scandal

IF THERE'S A RECURRING THEME in the scandal involving Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky, it is betrayal. More than a theme, betrayal becomes an unstoppable force -- one that begins with the president's betrayal of his wife and unwitting accomplices like Betty Currie; proceeds to Linda Tripp's betrayal of her dear friend Monica; returns with his betrayal of "that woman," Lewinsky, in his first public comment; naturally leads to Monica's betrayal of that man, Bill Clinton, to the prosecutors; and subsides, most ignobly, with David Kendall's betrayal of that great thing, the English language, in his lawyerly defenses on TV. But there's one more betrayal as well, one less obvious but no less profound: Monica Lewinsky's betrayal of Hillary Clinton. The younger woman's betrayal of the older woman. A generation's betrayal of the one that came before. It's not a betrayal you'd notice right away, seeing as how Hillary Clinton hardly appears in the Starr report, and when she does, she's conspicuous for her absence. (As in: "Mrs. Clinton was in Athens, Greece.") In a sense this is appropriate; when we are confronted with the spectacle of romance between an older man and younger woman -- so common to our culture but at the same time so problematic -- we rarely stop to consider the related spectacle of the wife or ex-wife or ex-girlfriend, who by that time has usually fled, in despair, to the spa. Small wonder that when commentators have struggled with what to make of Monica -- victim? predator? standard-bearer for sexual empowerment? world's greatest source of Letterman jokes? -- they have thought only in terms of her relationship with the First Husband. But she also had a relationship, by default, with the First Lady, and one searches in vain for any indication that Monica Lewinsky realized this -- any indication that the president's mistress ever, in any way, worried about how her dalliance might injure the president's wife. Every tape recording, every tarty little note is about her and her awful problems. "I know that what is going on in the world takes precedence," she whines, "but I don't think what I have asked you for is unreasonable." In part, this is the time-honored solipsism of the other woman. But there's a uniquely '90s quality to it as well: In almost every way, Hillary Clinton is an avatar of her baby boomer demographic, and in almost laughably superficial ways, Lewinsky is an avatar of hers. Altoids-chewing, Gap-dress-wearing, thong-thwacking, pizza-ordering, therapist-going Monica -- there's hardly a twentysomething signifier she doesn't possess. She's an old-fashioned gold digger with a spritz of styling gel: If furs and jewels were signs of female status, she would have asked for furs and jewels.

 But since female status is conferred, these days, by a job, the not "unreasonable" thing she wanted from the president was a job. There's a terrible irony at work: Monica's demands are themselves a sign of how women like Hillary have expanded the opportunities for women like Monica. Her behavior reminds one of the truism among '60s-era feminists, that women of the '90s fail to appreciate their struggle. Usually this argument strikes me as ungenerous -- isn't this what Friedan-era feminists wanted, young women so busy parsing their options they forget to say thanks? But if '60s feminists want proof of their complaint, and if you want to talk about real ungenerosity, it would be tough to find a more effective poster girl than Lewinsky. Her betrayal highlights what seems, in dispiriting moments, a persistent antipathy between younger women and older ones, another of the schisms -- in addition to those of race and class and whether you work or stay at home with your kids -- that hamper the women's movement and blur its message. Older men, it has always seemed to me, are rarely alarmed by younger men; to the contrary, mentoring is a powerful force in male success. Women don't mentor other women so much, in part because women often regard their juniors with suspicion. For good reason. It's easy to say, Resist the culture. Don't fixate on the legendary appeal of sweet young things like Lewinsky. Don't pay attention to Washington, where politicians regularly take younger wives, or New York, where executives regularly trade in their lifetime partners for what Tom Wolfe called "frisky young animals," or to Hollywood, where liver-spotted lovers like Jack Nicholson and Warren Beatty are regularly paired with women young enough to be their granddaughters and people slap down $7 to watch the sparks fly. But how easy is it, in fact, to resist? And whom do we blame? Men, okay, that's easy. But what about the younger woman? What about Lewinsky? "What does this say about sisterhood?" wonders Sharlene Hesse-Biber, a sociologist at Boston College. "What are the rules that women have with each other about who's fair game and who isn't?" Apparently there are no rules, except the fact that when you betray your own kind, you betray, at the same time, your future self.