Despite the new revelations that are hitting the Twitterverse daily about Anthony Weiner, every new detail essentially relates to the last name of the man in question. The next photo, Tweet and detail are all about the same part of the human anatomy. Let's not keep acting so surprised.
It plays out like most stories that have emerged in the last ten to fifteen years in the United States of a politician and their indiscretions. The story involves three things: 1) a penis, 2) a politician and 3) a lie. The interconnectedness of these three things is not remotely shocking, though it is sad that it is an expected state of affairs. Essentially, while a public claims surprise, there really should be none. But whether in the particular case of Weiner this behavior was startling or not, due to his record or circumstances, an important question we must ask as a society of supposedly reasonable people is "Why do we care?" But the essential question, especially when it comes to another issue that is now the subject of public debate, privacy, is the effect of caring about this kind of indiscretion at all.
A few weeks ago, an article in the New York Times, "Questions Raised About a Code of Silence," addressed another very public scandal, that of the head of the International Monetary Fund, Dominique Strauss-Kahn, and the indiscretions of French politicians.The first four lines summed up the history of treatment of public figures in France and their private life faux pas:
The ritual follows a clear script: a scandal threatens to destroy the reputation of a powerful figure in France. Politicians say they are shocked. Friends say they are incredulous. Journalists debate whether they should have investigated rumors and revealed secrets. The dust settles. The status quo returns. Private life is protected.
The article proceeds to debate whether the practice of French journalists allowing such secrets to be kept should now be subject to scrutiny, especially when the private activities they engage in could affect their ability to serve in public office.
The French conception of privacy, though, brings up an interesting contrast to what has happened here in the United States, where the fascination with the private lives of public officials has continued to become an obsession, often times more than the actual job performance of the politician.
In civil privacy actions in the United States, one of the turning points is whether something is a matter of public concern: this standard has always been more lax when it comes to the lives of public officials, due to the fact they are elected to serve the public interest. But our national obsession with public officials' private lives, most notably during the second term of the Clinton administration, demonstrates the political, as well as social, implications of being so wrapped up in details that we would consider the average citizen's private business and likely not endorse public recourse: an affair, a sultry tryst, a not-so-appropriate moment.
This is not the forum to discuss the morality of any of this, rather to point out that the more we air the dirty laundry of others and make it a public event, the more we must realize that we are impacting our society, and perhaps by subjecting such events to such public attention, adversely affecting ourselves. Privacy law is about balance; it is about balancing the public interest with private rights. It is about recognizing what we want as a society to keep private and what we want to be public knowledge. We are quickly arriving at a privacy crossroads that requires some introspection.
Is it right for us to ignore these scandals all together? Most likely not. But by sensationalizing each and every indiscretion, by shining our bright light, we must understand that the light may be shined back on ourselves, likely in ways that we never expected.