Quotes of the Day

I have a confession to make: I am a political junkie. not that I have a problem — it's under control. But yes, I admit it: I care deeply about the fate of Charles Kennedy, the affable party leader of Britain's Liberal Democrats, who resigned last week after the storm that followed his extraordinary admission that he has received help for what he termed "a drinking problem." So when I was cruising a Web news site late last week, I zeroed in on a headline reading I knew I had a problem, and I couldn't admit it, hoping to glean new insights. I mean, one more story isn't going to hurt me, right?

So I clicked on the piece, only to find that it was actually about Lindsay Lohan, the comely American teen star of Mean Girls. Lohan has told Vanity Fair that she had used drugs "a little," did a two-week hospital stint, and battled bulimia: "I was making myself sick." Lohan, who wrote a song in a Paris hotel room about her struggles, clearly believes in the power of confession, calling it "a therapy." Funny — Kennedy had said the same thing at his tell-all press conference: "[T]his admission today comes as something of a personal relief. I should have been willing to talk about it more openly beforehand and I wish I had."

Thanks for sharing, Charlie. I'm certain that getting this off his chest — as well as abstinence — will do wonders for Kennedy's mental and physical health. But the British papers immediately sealed Kennedy's career as party leader. The Sun said that Kennedy was not only an alcoholic but "a fool," and even the Independent, the paper politically closest to the Lib Dems, accused Kennedy of having "a trust problem" for having publicly lied for years about his drinking. Lohan, by contrast, is getting sympathetic press coverage for her forthright confessions — not to mention great publicity for her singing career.

A double standard? Let's hope so. There are perfectly good reasons to want a party leader not to be a party guy, whereas the public has no important stake in whether an actress's performances are marred — or, for that matter, enhanced — by what she puts in her body. Still, there's something conspicuous about the lack of sympathy that Kennedy's confession elicited. Granted, a press corps that's been lied to (Kennedy repeatedly denied in interviews any problem with alcohol) is likely to pounce hard in revenge. But denial is built in to alcoholism: there ought to be someone, somewhere in a British newsroom who can verify that. And as lies go, Kennedy's were fairly victimless.

No, there's definitely a dose of false sanctimony in the rush to trash Kennedy's mea culpa. It recalls the frenzy last autumn with which the British press jumped on model Kate Moss, after pictures seemed to show her snorting cocaine in a London studio. (Last week, a Metropolitan Police official invited Moss to return to Britain to make a confession of her own.) Perhaps confusing fashion models with role models, Britain's tabloids for days attacked Moss for setting a bad example. But even Moss seems to be making a comeback, with a cheeky Virgin ad satirizing her plight and hints that she may get some endorsement contracts back.

Moss's budding redemption is especially ironic because Kennedy's drinking didn't violate any laws. Maybe that's the point — being a heavy drinker in Britain isn't something you're supposed to fret about. The papers have made historic references to Westminster politicians who liked a drink — with the implied message "at least they didn't rub our faces in it." I certainly don't recall the tabloids savaging then Conservative Party leader William Hague in 2000 when he boasted that he used to down 14 pints of beer in a day.

Another difference may lie in the fact that Moss issued a vague apology "to all the people I've let down," and checked herself into rehab. Kennedy's press conference by comparison came off as emotionally gooey — without saying "sorry" — and that's not what Britain wants in its political leaders. In the U.S., the culture of confession is now a staple of political life. Bill Clinton's presidency, for example, was perfectly framed between a Sunday night, prime-time appearance with his wife to wiggle out of the Gennifer Flowers revelations, and the admission almost seven years later that he had indeed — contrary to previous utterances — had sex with "that woman, Miss Lewinsky." In between were plenty of lies, but America ultimately forgave him because he went on television and spoke sincerely. That strategy doesn't fly in Britain. And I don't think Kennedy will get very far if he writes a Lohan-like ditty about the demon rum. His best bet is to say he's sorry, disappear for a while, and come back with a new career; perhaps as a newspaper columnist, where he can throw his own stones. As for me, I'm going to stop reading stories about celebrity confessions — tomorrow, I swear.

• JIM LEDBETTER
• The confessions of a compulsive analyst of confessions