Mel's PC Plea
Imagine the Mel Gibson apology tour: A sad and oh-so-teary conversation with Barbara Walters; a please-forgive-me moment with Larry King. Maybe he'll decide to tell us that Seinfeld was one of his all-time favorite shows. Or perhaps he will announce he's sending a big campaign check to Sen. Joe Lieberman. And he could finally admit that his father was misinformed when he called the Holocaust "fiction." By the time Gibson is mobbed by the eager red-carpet journalists panting to hear his latest I'm-sorry iteration, he will no doubt speak Yiddish. He will wear a yarmulke. He will emerge from rehab with payess that curl beneath his ears. He will, finally, volunteer for circumcision as the ultimate proof of true remorse.
Not that he hasn't been good at remorse. Of course, groveling was the only available option, given the incident: During a drunken altercation with a cop in the middle of the night, Gibson went into a tirade (was it the tequila talking?) about the "f-----g Jews. The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world." Gibson then asked the cop: "Are you a Jew?" Oops. (He was, and, by the way, so am I.) Somehow, the arresting officer's report magically became public--and Gibson hasn't stopped genuflecting ever since.
Indeed, the Gibson Book of Apologies is a model of contrition: The first version is brief but pointed. He acknowledges his tirade, saying that he made statements "I do not believe to be true and which are despicable." The second apology is more, shall we say, politically evolved. Gibson passionately begs forgiveness from the Jewish community: "I am not an anti-Semite," he says. "I am not a bigot. Hatred of any kind goes against my faith. I would like to take it one step further and meet with the leaders in the Jewish community, with whom I can have a one-on-one discussion to discern the appropriate path for healing."
Healing? From a pre-existing anti-Semitic condition? Please. Gibson is just lucky he's in Hollywood and not Washington. While his second apology may display the craftsmanship of the Capitol's best spinmeisters, there's no way it would work in D.C. Truth is, if any elected official were a) caught driving drunk while b) spewing anti-Semitic bile, he would be gone. This is not to say that crooks do not exist in Congress. (Rep. William Jefferson, caught on tape putting a suitcase full of money in his car, is still in office.) Or that members do not misbehave. (Remember that chairman of a powerful House committee who was cavorting with an exotic dancer who jumped into the Potomac?) But here's the difference: Power in Washington is derived through elections, which usually require some sensitivity--particularly to those who might vote. That includes minorities, Jewish or otherwise.
The gross. Alas, power in Hollywood flows from money. Gibson will hit the skids only if he can't deliver at the box office--and remember that his controversial Passion of the Christ grossed $600 million. He was accused of anti-Semitism at the time, and he didn't help himself when he refused to take on his father's denial of the Holocaust. Yet last week, there was at least some hope: ABC canceled his planned miniseries on the Holocaust (why they ever undertook the project remains the mystery). And some in Hollywood publicly urged colleagues to refuse to work with Gibson. "There are times in history when standing up against bigotry and racism is more important than money," wrote top agent Ari Emanuel. Now that's historic.
Of course, in politically correct Hollywood, all will no doubt eventually be excused. Gibson, in his second apologia, pleads for help "in the process of understanding where those vicious words came from during that drunken display." In response, one Beverly Hills (where else?) rabbi invited Gibson to his synagogue to atone at Yom Kippur services. That sounds magnanimous, but what's the point beyond the obvious PR? Should African-American worshipers invite the white supremacist David Duke to their churches? Why the need to exhibit moral superiority over someone who lacks a moral compass? Gibson's incentives for contrition could not be more obvious: They're financial and social. So why should anyone provide a platform for any alleged recovery?
Don't get me wrong: Apologizing is always better than not apologizing. It reinforces the validity of certain important societal norms. In this saga, it's that bigotry of any kind is unacceptable. Mel Gibson will no doubt make that case on his inevitable tour of contrition. His peers will nod knowingly. But will anyone really believe he means it?
This story appears in the August 14, 2006 print edition of U.S. News & World Report.