Abigail M. Schilling

We watched Shattered Glass the other night--the movie about Stephen Glass, reporter for The New Republic who made up most of his stories before finally getting caught. And when he got caught he still made up stories. Lie after lie after lie after lie. True story.

It's painful and yet fascinating to watch. What spurs that kind of crazy?

Glass gets caught in a lie and instead of admitting the lie, he makes up another. He gets caught in that lie and makes up another. The lies get more elaborate and more complex. And they sound like truth--he has details, names, phone numbers, facts about non-real things.

And he gets away with it. He charms his co-workers. He's always apologizing for nothing things. Everyone thinks he's the sweetest. And everything he does successfully draws positive attention to himself.

He doesn't get away with stuff by being unnoticeable. He gets away with stuff for being the favorite.

He eventually gets caught and fired. But I learned a little more about him in the DVD special features. Someone brilliantly tacked on the 60 Minutes interview with the real Stephen Glass.

And watching him give that "remorseful" interview was just at fascinating as watching the movie. Because he's the SAME PERSON.

This is a direct quote:

"And while I know I am not inventing the person I'm sharing with you now, I can't make you believe that. All I can do is continue to behave in a way that earns your trust."

WTF?!

That line about behaving and trust? That's exactly how he was in the newsroom with his co-workers.

60 Minutes poignantly closed with this quote from his editor at The New Republic: "If it was sunny outside and Steve and I were both standing outside in the sun and Steve came to me and said, 'It's a sunny day,' I would immediately go check with two other people to make sure it was a sunny day." (Article)

Damn. Lying is serious shit. Pretty much Glass had the power to tell people that what they say (the sun for example) was different than what their senses told them. And that is serious power.

It is terrifying power.

I learned a long time ago that it was just as easy for me to tell a lie than it was to tell the truth. I discovered that people just believed me. I discovered that I could say whatever I wanted. I discovered that things could come out of my mouth without my predetermining them. Not-true things.

I also learned a long time ago about right and wrong. I learned about deception and hurting other people. And because I love other people I resolved to not lie. I resolved to always tell the truth because it was the right thing to do and because I could love people better that way.

And then I chose journalism because journalism was about truth and I had instilled in myself truth and even though I felt like I was lacking some truth gene (how come everyone else just feels things are right?) I figured I could make up for it.

And I look at people like Stephen Glass (because he's not an anomaly--there are real people in our lives just like him) and I get so frustrated because those people don't have to be that way.

They don't have to live lie after lie after lie.

They don't have to resort to writing a novel about their failures when they get caught failing because then people will still love them.

They don't have to use that kind of power over people to get love.

They don't have to lie.

This disposition we have (us, the liars) can be curbed. It can be fixed. People CAN change. And ever since I watched that 60 Minutes I can't stop thinking about Stephen. Where he is now, how he is still fooling people, how is making up lies so people will love him.

It breaks my heart.