Credibility of women,media questioned in Clinton sex scandals
In 1993, a woman named Gennifer Flowers shocked the country when she claimed to have had a long-term affair with President Bill Clinton. Now, merely five years later, the swarms of controversy surrounding two more women have put the President's alleged extramarital affairs back in the spotlight.
These women make stunning allegations, but as one experienced news anchor was quoted as saying, "Don't make a claim unless you have facts to back it up." In examining these cases closer, some may see a clear-cut case of an unfaithful husband attracted to young, independent, and beautiful women. Others may see a vicious media out to slander a President who holds great political power and influence.
Nevertheless, these women have lost a great deal of credibility in how they have presented their stories. Flowers claimed to have had a relationship with the President that lasted for a number of years, yet, with evidence to support her claim, she sold her story to a cheesy supermarket tabloid, ruining any credibility she may have had.
Next was Paula Jones, who claimed she was invited to a hotel with the President while he was Governor of Arkansas. She diminished any legitimacy by waiting so long to make her claim. Most women who are victims of sexual harassment who report it would seemingly seek immediate justice, rather than waiting years to tell their stories.
Lastly, we have the controversy surrounding former White House intern Monica Lewinsky. For unknown reasons, she boasted that she "had an affair with a top-ranking White House official" but made the deliberate mistake of telling this story to one too many people. Now, we are examining her life under a microscope, opening a "Pandora's box" of lies, deceit, greed, and previous affairs with married men.
Despite all of the scandals, controversies, and allegations, the President's approval rating has remained high. The people of the United States either simply do not care, or perhaps they have grown tired of a media circus every time a major story breaks. How far should the media go to uncover "the truth?"
Perhaps journalists today have a problem distinguishing the facts from gossip, causing many Americans to take what the media says "with a grain of salt." One journalist pointed out that the media is on one hand a legitimate profession, bringing people the facts as they have been presented, and on the other hand, a business, which responds to sales and to the demands of customers. The argument that "people have a right to know" can sometimes be confused with libel, legitimacy, and credibility. Just because someone makes a statement, it means nothing without taking into account who that person is, how we perceive them, and what evidence they have to back up that claim.
The "Crisis in the White House," as they have dubbed the Lewinsky case, first broke on the Internet. Some major problems most legitimate journalists have with the Internet journalism are the practices of anonymous sources and up-to-date, sometimes unverified information. A man by the name of Matt Drudge first made allegations that not only did the President have an affair with a young White House intern and ask her to lie about it, but a credible news magazine, Newsweek, chose not to run the story. Drudge and his Internet gossip site, the Drudge Report, then picked up the story on the basis that people have a right to know, despite editorial concerns. Although this story originated by Drudge has shaken the White House, wouldn't it have been more credible and more devastating to the Clinton Administration if it had been published in Newsweek first?
From the Lewinsky case and these other scandals, you, the readers and consumers of mass media, should learn a lesson. You should be your own editor, determining who can be trusted to bring you the accurate, unbiased facts, and who actually has vicious, political motives. It used to take months for news to reach others; now, it is no longer a case of which medium of information can deliver the news the fastest--it is a matter of which one can deliver the truth.
Recreating a slaves journey: black woman's spirit
(Editor’s Note: the following work was adapted from a history-class assignment, in which the writer recreated a slave’s journey as if she had lived it herself)
by Dorothy Thrash
The Sun God has awakened, and it is smiling down upon me. I dance to the Sun God that gives us the light of another day. As I join the other maidens of my village to get water for today’s use, I am thinking of Java, my betrothed. I will be of age when 20 moons pass over the darkened sky. That will mark the time of our union as one with all of existing life. This pot is heavy upon my head; I wish mama would let me take a smaller pot to get water. It is a narrow path to the spring. Tara, my sister, cannot go this morning because yesterday she fell and hurt her leg. I see Java, my betrothed, with the other hunters. I’m thinking of the hut we will soon share together.
Mara is beckoning to me—I wonder what she wants. There in the clearing beyond the pond are strange pale men wearing strange garments. I wondered where they could be coming from. Mara touched my shoulder and pointed toward home. She frightened me, so I stumbled on a rock and caught a bush. The strange men looked our way and began to run after us. Mara ran, but I couldn’t move—I was too frightened. They grabbed me and began to talk, but their language was strange, and I couldn’t understand it. Why are they tying my hands together? Where are they taking me? I pray Mara is safe.
They are putting me into a boat and taking me toward a monster on the sea. Are they going to feed me to this beast? God of the water please protect me from these monsters. They are chaining me to wood inside the belly of this monster on the sea.
“Java, my love!” I screamed. One of the strange men bruised me for screaming. There are others down here in the belly of this monster--men and women from other tribes that I don’t know.
Oh no! They caught Mara! Now no one will know where to find us! My Java is a Mandingo warrior—he will rescue me. The man chained Mara next to me.
She is crying and shaking, so frightened—what can I do to help her? I know, I will sing for her.
“Home is not gone, it is with us. We may never again see the land, the sky, the trees, or feel the wind blow. In our hearts, we shall never depart Africa.”
This seemed to comfort Mara. The gate to the belly of the monster opens again—it is Java they bring down the hole. How did they capture a Mandingo warrior? He is the strongest of our tribe. Our eyes fall upon each other; our dreams are gone, but we are still together. The monster begins to move and we are tossed about like the sand in the sea.
Where are they taking us? Mara is sick—she is dying, and I can’t help her. I look upon her for the last time, for her time is short. I scream for help, but the strange men will not help her. They just throw water on us and leave.
I hear Java’s voice—what is he saying? “Don’t be afraid little one, we shall escape this monster and return home.”
I hope Java is right. Mara has died and is stinking of death. The men continue to throw water on us. She has been dead four days now and they will not move her. We begin to howl the death chant of our people. Someone comes and removes Mara not too long after the chant. It’s getting hard to breathe in the belly of this monster. I am hungry, and many are dying around me. Shall I also die here in this death monster from the sea?
I begin to sing the song I chanted for Mara. I know in my heart the song will help not only me but the others who are sinking into despair. The monster has stopped and the men begin to take us out of its belly. The sun god burned my eyes as I looked upon him. What a strange sight I behold, people everywhere. I looked far out, all around me. Behind me is the sea and home, long gone. Ahead me are strange people, buildings, and the smell of pain that has settled in my heart.
Why is this man looking in my mouth? Why is he touching and looking at the honorable parts of my creation? This is the shame of this mandingo woman. I scream for Java to help me; he could not.
I hear the man say, “Sold!” As they put me into a wagon and begin to pull away, I can see Java standing where I had stood. I realize that this will be the last time I see my betrothed. I begin to sing to him the serenade that a maiden of our tribe sings on her wedding night. “I am yours, you are mine, we will ever be intertwined. Until death we both find, my love is yours, my life is thine.”
Then I called to him and said, “This day, I die, my love.”
He shouted at me, “No! Remember tomorrow, the children come.”