by John M. Curtis
(310) 204-8700

Copyright December 20, 2002
All Rights Reserved.

aying a painful price, incoming Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott (R-Miss.) completed his belly flop, resigning his leadership position in the U.S. Senate. "In the interest of pursuing the best possible agenda for our country, I will not seek to remain as majority leader of the United States Senate for the 108th Congress," said Lott, finally giving up his uphill battle to save his job. Lott's stunning—and unprecedented—fall from grace began Dec. 5 while extolling Sen. Strom Thurmond (R-S.C.) at his 100th birthday party, telling a gasping audience he would have made a great president on the Dixiecrat's segregationist ticket. Embarrassing the White House and his colleagues on the Hill, Lott's faux pas remains utterly inexplicable for one of Washington's most savvy politicians. But even more puzzling was his helter-skelter damage control, apologizing profusely for his self-defeating remarks.

      Once Lott blurted out his thoughts, condemnations came fast and furious, culminating in a stinging White House denunciation. While Lott's supporters tried to close ranks, they ultimately had to get out the way for their own survival. Engulfed in controversy, Lott still thought he could survive, seeking help of his GOP friends, yet watching his career helplessly unravel. Like earthquakes and tornados, there was no turning back. With the controversy spiraling out of control, Lott had no other choice but to call it quits. "We've never had a Senate Republican leader or Senate Democratic leader step down like this before," said Senate historian Don Richie, surprised by the inexorable progression toward Lott's ouster. Lott was, by anyone's account, a popular GOP leader, capable of moving the White House agenda. Consumed by the crisis, the otherwise journeyman senator was reduced to a clumsy amateur.

      After a disappointing national press conference, Lott appeared on Black Entertainment Television, making his case to the African American community. "I am for affirmative action and I practice it," Lott told an incredulous BET audience, despite voting against establishing a Martin Luther King holiday in 1984, an extension of Voting Rights Act in 1986, and, more recently, affirmative action in 1998. Lott's appearance on BET sealed his fate, watching an otherwise principled conservative flip-flop to keep his job. While Lott's crisis may have legitimately changed his life, his "death bed" conversion appeared self-serving and transparent. "Senator Lott's words don't match his voting record," said Sen. Ted Kennedy (D-Mass.), reminding viewers that Lott's change of heart was long overdue. But Lott's problem wasn't his conservative voting record—it was, quite simply, his ill-advised public remarks.

      Waiting in the wings, Sen. Bill Frist (R-Tenn.) offered his services, realizing Lott's days were numbered. Frist is best known recently for his expertise on health care and supervising the GOP's midterm senate campaign, netting Republicans two additional seats. "Now is the time to move forward. It is my belief that Sen. Bill Frist is the right man at the right time to help our party do so and I will support him as majority leader," said Sen. Mitch McConnell (R-Ky.), lending what amounts to unstoppable momentum to takeover Lott's job. Though reluctant to change, other key senators, including, Pete Domenici (R-N.M.) and Kit Bond (R-Mo.), endorsed Frist's candidacy. With close ties to the White House, Frist is the ideal candidate for Bush's agenda. Though not a done deal, Frist is the odds on favorite to take over as senate majority leader.

      Lott's agony can't be overstated, though brought about by his own doing.
Watching his career unravel—without any way of stopping it—must be excruciating. While repudiating his own remarks, Lott never really explained why he lauded Thurmond's segregationist bid back in 1948. He suggested it was all in jest, yet he made similar statements when stumping for Ronald Reagan in 1980. Whether Lott harbors racist views is anyone's guess. But uncorking career-ending public remarks showed, at the very least, that Lott was out of control. Savvy politicians know the rules of political correctness, requiring them to avoid classless public displays. Unfortunately for Lott, there are no second chances. No apology or public relations stunt reverses wounds caused by unforgivable insensitivity or crudeness. Lott's comments were not befitting a national role model and the nation's second ranking Republican.

      Growing up in the deep South, Lott was no doubt exposed to conflicted undercurrents, yet largely unconscious, still smoldering in the hearts and minds of white Dixie. While much progress has been made, Lott revealed in his hurtful words painfully unfinished business, not yet fully resolved. "A lot of, I think, what is wrong here is not enough communication, not enough of how people feel," said Lott, struggling to come to grips with his own behavior, yet acknowledging that he has undertaken some serious soul searching. A little therapy—and self-awareness—might have saved Lott's career, after making what most people see as an irreparable blunder. Lott's apologies didn't fall on deaf ears. Even Rev. Jesse Jackson accepted Lott's apology. But apologies are no substitute for real consequences. For the GOP—and for the next phase of his career—Lott has to suck it up and pay the price.

About the Author

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He's a consultant and expert in strategic communication. He's author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.

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