I recently watched the classic "All the President's Men," a film that centers around journalists Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein -- the two men who uncovered the scandal that would bring down the presidency of Richard Milhous Nixon. Reading
the following piece, by Dan Barry of the New York Times, reminded me that even in this day and age of fast-read summaries and millisecond sound bites, good journalism still has a place in the lexicon on American news.
June 17, 2010
WASHINGTON — On the 58th day, an outraged nation summoned the man it holds responsible for one of the worst environmental disasters in American history. He walked through the oversize wooden doors, shed the protective cocoon of his dark-suited entourage and took his place at a long table.
Sitting there, alone, with a microphone pointed at his face like a long finger of accusation, the oil titan looked so small — diminished, it seemed, by the immensity of the environmental, economic and social damage done.
“I am deeply sorry,” he said.
“Devastated,” he said.
“I’m not a cement engineer, I’m afraid,” he said.
“I was not part of that decision-making process,” he said.
This was Tony Hayward, the British chief executive for BP, called by Congress to answer for the explosion of a rig on April 20th that killed 11 workers and unleashed an as-yet-unstoppable sea of oil. The disaster has fundamentally altered many parts of American life.
And on Thursday, Mr. Hayward had to play his part in an American ritual that often follows catastrophe: a Congressional hearing, in which blustering politicians demand, stammering witnesses dodge, and the people living beyond those large wooden doors are given the sense that someone is being held accountable — even publicly shamed.
In that respect, Mr. Hayward performed his role well.
For much of the morning, the Capitol Hill dock awaited its guest. Then, shortly before 10, an unnerving hush announced Mr. Hayward’s arrival, a hush interrupted only by waves of repetitive camera clicks. All for a man of 53 who seems almost boyish, with his tousled dark hair, rosy cheeks and eyebrows forever arched, conveying a look somewhere between earnestness and amusement.
Mr. Hayward walked over to the one chair, reserved for him, then realized that he would have to wait. He turned his back on the shuttering cameras and stood with several aides in awkward silence, waiting. One aide whispered to another, “I told him not to come in so early.”
Here, then, was a moment to study the man. He has dedicated more than half his life to BP, working his way up as a geologist, exploration manager, and inner-circle executive. Though an American ear might hear aristocracy in his voice, his accent “reveals modest roots,” according to The Independent, a British newspaper. He is married, with children.
Yet when we see an oil-drenched gull, a docked shrimp boat, or the live-camera feed of oil spilling from the ocean floor, we think of Tony Hayward. Who wants his life back. Who thought this spill a drop in a vast ocean. Who is so tone deaf at times that it seems the oil-rig explosion affected his hearing.
The devastating spill, his spill, has sent clumps of oil washing onto shores from Louisiana to Capitol Hill. This week alone, several oil company chairmen stood in the Congressional dock; President Obama dedicated his first speech from the Oval Office to the disaster; and BP announced that it would create a $20 billion fund to cover claims arising from the spill, following a private meeting at the White House between a frustrated Mr. Obama and several BP officials, including Mr. Hayward.
Now Mr. Hayward was back, this time in a wide, red-carpeted room offering nowhere to hide. He took his seat, and, for several hours, sidestepped direct answers to pointed questions with a politeness that bordered on being impolite.
Representative Henry A. Waxman, the Democrat from California who is chairman of the House Committee on Energy and Commerce, set the mood. He first thanked Mr. Hayward for his appearance, then scored him for being an oblivious chief executive officer.
Mr. Waxman cited a subcommittee investigation that concluded that BP took shortcuts in constructing the fatal well “to save a million dollars here and a few hours or days there,” and added there was no evidence that Mr. Hayward “paid even the slightest attention to the dangers at this well.”
In other words, Mr. Hayward: Welcome. And there is a pitcher of ice water in front of you, should your throat feel dry.
For the next hour, a Greek chorus of Democrats and Republican used their opening statements to express the anger of a nation. The elected officials recalled that BP has a troubled safety record, responsible for other disasters: a deadly refinery explosion in 2005; an oil spill in Alaska in 2006. One representative questioned the depth of Mr. Hayward’s sorrow. Another told him he had violated the public trust. Yet another wondered whether it was time for him to resign.
After being sworn in, Mr. Hayward began to read a written statement, only to be interrupted by a woman — a shrimper, it was said — who raised her oil-stained hands and shouted, “You need to be charged with a crime!” As officers wrestled her out, she repeated her assessment of the witness.
Mr. Hayward, who did not turn to watch the eruption, continued with his apology, advised that “it was simply too early to say what caused the incident” — and spent the next five hours saying little beyond that.
No matter how hard Mr. Waxman pushed him, or how sharply the subcommittee chairman, Representative Bart Stupak, the Michigan Democrat, spoke to him, or how many documents were cited to suggest that BP put profit before safety at the Deepwater Horizon rig, Mr. Hayward essentially provided one answer:
“I was not part of that decision-making process.”
Throughout, Mr. Hayward maintained that look of amused earnestness. He moved his cup of water an inch. He jotted an occasional note. Sometimes his gaze seemed not directed at the speaker but somewhere in the wood-paneled distance — as though the repeated suggestions that he resign might not be such a bad idea.
Well after 5 p.m., the gavel came down with an angry: enough! Mr. Hayward’s dark-suited entourage ushered their small, boyish boss to an awaiting S.U.V. In the seven hours since the hearing began, as many as 735,000 gallons of oil leaked into the gulf.
And Friday is the 59th day.
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