Guest Column

Secretary of State James Baker is probably the second most powerful person in the U.S. government. Watching him in his present role and when he was running George Bush’s presidential campaign, I’ve had the impression of an unusually competent, ambitious, pragmatic, smooth, close-to-the-vest politician.

This is why I was more than mildly interested in a recent New York Times report quoting Baker as saying that “power doesn’t really bring the fulfillment that many people think it does.”

The secretary declared that “inner security and true, real fulfillment” do not come “by wielding power in a town where power is king.” For himself, he said, they come from faith, which he strengthens through prayer and through meetings “for fellowship” that he attends every Wednesday with a small group of “normal guys who just happen to hold positions of power and influence in Washington.”

“Power,” he said, “can be intoxicating … addictive. Over these last nine years, I have had opportunities to participate in the exercise of more power than I ever … imagined. I have felt the weight of responsibility that that brings, and I have to admit to you as well that I have felt the temptations that are attendant upon it.”

He explained that until several years ago, when he encountered a serious “personal problem,” he believed that successful professionals did not speak of their emotional pain or their problems. He also told of seeing a one-time White House chief of staff walking by himself down a street: “no adoring public, no trappings of power — just one solitary man alone with his thoughts. That memory,” he said, “puts my own life in perspective.”

This was hardly your everyday ghost-written speech in a town that may surpass Hollywood in its seeming conviction that publicly being true to one’s self is perilously naive. What’s more, Mr. Baker was saying all this at the annual National Prayer Breakfast to an audience of more than 3,000 people, including President Bush and other federal officials, congressmen and foreign diplomats.

Yet, despite my initial delight, I considered that just possibly Baker was adopting a warmer, more likable persona for American voters of November 1996. I also recalled the secretary’s denial last year of a second secret U.S. trip to China, later acknowledged.

But those weekly meetings with the “guys” counted for a lot with me, turned the weight in his favor and made me suspend my cynicism.

I know something about men’s support groups (not to be confused with community service clubs). I belonged to one in New York State’s North Country before moving to Maine last year, and helped get one started soon after arriving in Dover-Foxcroft. Every two weeks, eight of us meet to share and examine our feelings. They are male feelings, but the core subjects are universal, ranging over love, hate, fear, sex, vanity, anger — nothing excepted. We speak and we listen, supporting each other’s efforts to be honest and to get a fix on what’s disturbing us, and why. It’s understood that, whatever problems we have, blaming others doesn’t wash; the answers lie within us. We gather together on the assumption that there’s a great gain in expressing what we feel; that we can learn from doing it, can make changes in ourselves, little and large; that when we deal with our pain responsibly, we strengthen our self-respect and wisdom. And there’s a bonus: a growing camaraderie.

Men’s groups come in various forms, including some highly structured and led by therapists or clergy, and some informal and nonsectarian, like ours. Exactly what James Baker’s group is like I’ve no idea, or whether it deals as directly as ours with personal questions. In any case, the secretary seems to be headed toward his heart, toward stuff more real than the song of applause and the gaze of envy and awe. If so, whether his brand of compass, I like his direction.

In the spirit of fellowship, I am moved to say to Mr. Baker: Congratulations on going public with something that was probably learned at considerable emotional cost, i.e. that Washington power does not bring fulfillment. Since, of course, you do possess such power, I hope you will temper it with the power of honesty that you displayed at the National Prayer Breakfast; it’s important not only for you and your sense of well-being, but for all the rest of us and ours. In this connection, then, more power to you. And if you’re ever in this area, the Dover-Foxcroft/Sangerville men’s group would welcome your spending an evening with us. Admission is both free and discomfiting, if you follow me, and we serve fresh popcorn and a choice of soft drinks — although the choice, to be absolutely honest, is somewhat limited.

Richard Gillman is a writer who lives in Dover-Foxcroft.