Innate-gate

If politics is the world’s second oldest profession (and one that—as Ronald Reagan said—bears a “striking resemblance to the first”), the charge of hypocrisy has got to be its oldest characteristic.

Ever since a masked actor in ancient Greece was called “hypokrites” for his ability to make audiences believe he was somebody else—kings, czars, congressional candidates, and even that well-known anti-Pharisee spokesman Jesus Christ have carried the word like a sword, eager to slice an opponent for the ultimate political sin: disingenuousness. After all, once people are convinced that their leader is a phony—that the right words are followed by the wrong actions—what can he possibly say to redeem himself?

Which brings us to Larry Summers. Have you noticed that his problem is the reverse? While we can all name a hundred public figures defined by skillful rhetoric but bungled action, it is much harder to name even one person regularly capable of bungled words but skillful deeds. Well, it used to be hard.

Obviously venturing into territory where no twenty-first century man should ever find himself, Summers got entangled in a verbal thorn-patch of “differences in the standard deviation” and “different socialization” and, most notorious of all, “issues of intrinsic aptitude.” The effect—and not just to grandstanders like MIT’s Nancy Hopkins—was to suggest that women are not as prevalent in math and science because they don’t deserve to be.

The problem here is not simply, as the Washington Post editorialized last week, that Larry Summers is being condemned for offering an “unpopular hypothesis.” The problem is that while Summers has racked up extraordinary accomplishments in his three years as president—including investments in technology and infrastructure that will do more for Harvard’s female scientists than most of his predecessors combined—he hasn’t always matched presidential action with presidential rhetoric.

Evidence-free conjecture about women’s natural abilities may seem charmingly insouciant to labor economists in a faculty lounge, but Summers should have long ago understood that—as leader of the world’s most famous university—his words bear an authority, and a resonance, that demand planning and research and sensitivity.

Tough-minded interrogations of faculty are a welcome departure from the culture of irresponsibility that existed before his presidency, but rudeness and arrogance should be beneath Summers—and only limit his effectiveness.

But the reason 32 percent of the faculty, according to a Crimson poll, want their president to resign has little to do with Innate-gate (referring, of course, to the word for which Summers was loudly condemned, but that he never said). They dislike him because he challenged their work ethic at a meeting, or refused to include all of them on Allston planning, or declined to offer their spouse tenure, or took a courageous stand against Israeli divestment. All of which should be reason to praise Summers, not condemn him.

Larry Summers’ mission from now on needn’t include more apologies. He obviously recognizes his mistake—the question is: What lesson will he learn?

The dirty little secret of the Larry-should-leave faction is that they don’t really want him to go. The retro-Rudenstine agenda—a hands-off, status quo administration raising money with one hand and throwing it at professors with the other—is actually best served by an impotent Larry Summers. After all, a new president wouldn’t labor against the endless mea culpas and nonstop pandering that the faculty’s warriors want Larry to learn.

Innate-gate’s real lesson is much less sweeping: Recognize that words matter, so choose them carefully. Continue standing strong for your beliefs—Harvard is well-served by a public intellectual for a president—but communicate them with respect. While aggressive goal-setting is a vital part of leadership, so is earning the trust of those with whom you disagree.

Brian M. Goldsmith ’05 is a government concentrator in Lowell House. His column appears on alternate Thursdays.