Setting aside his rather jaundiced and lopsided view of the World Wide Web (and one wonders if this isn’t a bit of the fox and the grapes–can’t use it, therefore don’t want it), his claim to not use email may seem a small point to niggle at, but a habit of truthfulness (or lack thereof) permeates every level of our being and informs everything we do. Once you know someone is capable of casually lying, then nothing they say can be considered completely credible. And for those of us who study these things, a statement preceded by “I have to be honest” sets off all kinds of alarms about the speaker’s veracity. For one thing, the speaker is stating that he or she is being forced to be honest; otherwise, that statement says, dishonesty is their preferred mode, at least on that topic.

I am not saying that nobody lies, because to one extent or another, most of us lie, some with dismaying ease. But many of us ordinary folk strive to be as truthful as possible, even when it is painful and possibly disavantageous to be so. (Though ultimately, it always bears good fruit.)

But for a journalist, who is expected to be rigorously and unflinchingly accurate, even (and especially) about him- or herself, this isn’t such a little thing. Yes, I recognize that journalists are human beings with all the frailties and failings that come with the package, but isn’t their first obligation supposed to be to the truth?

In the end, it just seems a bit puzzling for Mr. Fisk to claim that he says things American journalists can’t (i.e., he is telling the truth while the American journalists are just serving up what the government told them to say; I’m not arguing with the latter part of that statement, by the way), thereby implying that he is a hard-hitting journalist who pulls no punches and veers not from the truth, and then to turn around and make egregious statements about how the Internet has “become a hate machine,” so that he doesn’t even use email, when in fact it appears by his own admission that he must be doing so.

The lesson to draw from this is that, as always, truth is slippery for some people, but that the more you walk a truthful path, the more clearly you will be able to discern when things don’t add up. You will also find that people who used to lie to you easily will find it harder to slip those lies past you. (You probably have a hunch most of the time anyway that the truth isn’t being honored.) On the other hand, if you aren’t walking the path of honesty, people around you almost certainly know when you are lying at least some of the time, and probably doubt your word most of the time. They may be too polite to say anything, or they may figure you can’t handle the truth–the evidence is right there, with every lie you make, that you can’t.

There is a young woman in my life right now whose company I enjoy very much. Unfortunately, she has lied to me a number of times without knowing that I knew she is lying. These were checkable things (which I checked, and the fact that I was suspicious enough to even check them indicates how greatly she has diminished her credibility), or things I already knew about, such as how things work at an animal shelter, or “facts” told at different times that, when put together, just didn’t hold water.

For a period of many months, I spent a lot of time talking with her about honesty without coming right out and telling her that I know she was constantly lying. I did this because I held hope for her. And I made some progress. She went from saying, “I never lie” (another big indicator of a habitual liar) to finally admitting that there was one person in her life whom she lied to on a regular basis (because that person “deserved it” by having lied first and frequently to her). (Of course, that is a lie, too. She isn’t lying to that person because that person lies to her. She would then have to say that she is lying to everyone else for the same reason, and that just isn’t so.) When I responded by saying that it isn’t about what others do but is instead an internal, ethical decision, she had nothing more to say.

But that is all the progress I made. Either she felt secure enough in thinking that I didn’t see that she was lying to me, or I was too subtle or diplomatic in my discussions, or (a remote possibility) she genuinely doesn’t know she is lying (which I doubt, since in one case, at least, the entire story was a lie, and she had to know it was), and so she didn’t seem to get it. In short, the lying continues.

I also have noticed the reactions others have toward her and me when I am with her. It is subtle, but it is there–my credibility is automatically greatly diminished just by being in the presence of this young woman. I don’t think she notices this at all–how others around her keep her at a distance and don’t give her credibility. Or perhaps she notices it but blames it on something else.

So I have chosen to greatly curtail the amount of time I spend with her, with some regret. I am sorry to do so because she is funny and smart and clever and talented and unique, and a treasure to be around for all those reasons. And we are compatible in a number of ways. But she is disrespecting me every time she lies, and not only do I not like that, I also don’t like being around someone where I feel I must automatically assume that everything she says is a lie.

I am so sorry to have had to make this decision, but it would be against my own ethical standards to do anything else.

Update, 2008: I eventually decided to tell this young person that I did not wish to be friends with her. I also told her why. It upset her, of course. Although I’d like to think otherwise, I doubt that I made any positive difference in her life.

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