When I was young, my parents (like most parents) assumed the responsibility to teach me the morals and ethics I needed to know. I was taught early (like most children) the difference between “yes” and “no,” black and white, and right and wrong. I learned the difference between the truth and a lie.

Some of these lessons were clear-cut, while others were introduced in stark binary terms of black and white, with elements of gray introduced at some point. For example, “Yes” might later be, “Yes, but…” In between truths and falsehoods came the inevitable lessons about white lies, and what was socially acceptable or not. These examples were often accompanied by consequences, which illustrated the benefits, whether good or bad, of my actions.

When it came to telling the truth and lying, there was often little, if any, gray area. The truth was always recognized as the best path to follow, even if there were negative consequences as a result of doing something forbidden. A lie, whether found out or not, was always penalized, whether through handed-down punishments or self-inflicted guilt. More severe repercussions would definitely follow if I tried to cover up what I had done wrong, whether through lies or other deceitful means. In retrospect, it was also a huge waste of time: the amount of time and energy spent on preventing my parents from learning what I’d been doing could have been used doing something far more beneficial and meaningful in my life.

So I grew up (I suppose, like most other children) learning through trial and error that being truthful was not only morally and ethically right, but that it usually came with positive results (and even if the result didn’t seem positive at the time). In high school civics and in college, I learned that there were legal penalties for lying as well, and that the crime was known as perjury. I also learned that covering up perjury or a bad act had a fancier name as well: it was called obstruction of justice.

In those same classes, history and government, I learned that the United States was considered as a moral and ethical ideal– as a place where all men were considered equal. As I deepened my studies, I learned that this was truly an ideal– that in reality, inequality existed. But still, the promise was there: the United States was a land where any citizen, whether newly minted or descended from original inhabitants and settlers, could realize the promise of his or her potential. The Republican Party was founded on these principles: the notion that all (free, white) men were equal and that all (free, white) men could realize the promise of America through “free labor.” Honesty and integrity were implicit in the founder’s philosophical principles, and drew upon the Founding Fathers for inspiration. They chose the name “Republican” to reflect the public virtue of the American republic.

231 years to the day after the Continental Congress declared independence (they formally adopted the Declaration two days later, on July 4), and 153 years after the Republican Party was begun, it was publicly declared that “public virtue” was a mockery, and that my parents had done a dismal job of educating me. The President of the United States, in an act that contradicts a recent Supreme Court decision (Rita v. U.S.; see here for a comparison with Libby), decided that the sentence handed down by Bush appointee Judge Reggie Walton, in a case prosecuted by a Republican United States Attorney who was appointed by the Ashcroft-led Department of Justice, and heard by a jury of citizens, was a “harsh sentence” and “excessive.” He then issued a commutation which entirely removed any prison time for Libby. I’d call this a “pre-emption” rather than a “commutation,” because there is nothing to “commute” here. The entire portion of the sentence involving prison time was thrown out. The remaining $250,000 fine will most likely be paid by the defense fund established for Libby, and this week, Judge Walton is holding a hearing to determine what to do about the supervised release (similar to probation), because supervised release usually follows the determined prison time. In this case, there *is* no prison time. Libby has not served one single day in a jail or prison anywhere, federal, state, or local.

The lesson I’m learning here is that the President of the United States believes that lying and covering up wrongdoing is acceptable, and that there should be no consequences for these actions. Since the President has determined that, I am predicting defense attorneys everywhere will cite this “pre-emption” along with Rita v. U.S. to argue that their client should not have to serve a single day in jail for the crimes of perjury and obstruction of justice.

Our new American values of public virtue: lying and covering up. Welcome to the United States of America, 2007.

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