Monica Lewinsky: In Praise of Alternate Endings, 10 Years After My First VF Essay
Never lose hope.
“I love you. Goodbye, Felicia!” I texted my friend Katerina on October 27, 2016. This bold farewell has persisted in culture for two decades (a reference to the movie Friday), but it just passed through our car window that year. We used it affectionately and, therefore, ironically. Little did I know that it was our last text exchange. She passed away suddenly on November 1.
Our friendship was a saving grace during the latter half of what I now call My Dark Decade, roughly 2004 to 2014. While there were some moments of joy, they were few and far between. For the most part, I was drowning in a sea of misery, dealing with what it meant to be at the center of a political sex scandal that pitted me against the most powerful man in the world. Dealing with the trauma that grew around me like weeds from the public revelations of my private life, the media circus that followed, an impeachment trial. Dealing with what my future might look like. Answer: It looked bleak. I couldn’t get a job. And I was angry.
Katerina, an entrepreneur and activist, is smart about current events, world history, and spiritual matters. She has a booming, infectious laugh. She’s also incredibly kind. You’d hardly know that less than a decade ago, she broke her back in five places in a freak accident. After having it put back together with metal rods, she was told she might never walk again. “Forget it,” she said, pun intended. She didn’t lose hope, and instead insisted on a different ending, despite the prognosis. With perseverance (and a little luck), she recovered and actually walked again. And she walked with aplomb.
Our conversations ranged from the personal to the political. In 2013, as Edward Snowden leaked Secret NSA documents reveal a range of methods used by the government and its European allies to spy on citizens, Kat theorizes that 15 years ago, Starr Report has brought us all into what she calls the Age of Transparency. We’ve had shocking revelations in politics before: the Pentagon Papers, WatergateIran-Contra. But at their core they were military, political, professional; in 1998 it was personal. A boss having an affair with a young subordinate. A politician abusing his power. People lying under oath about sex. Rumors fueling the Beltway and beyond. All normal. Almost daily. But this time it was different. When the truth was out in the open, published in full on the internet, the personal actions of one citizen (me)—along with the actions of others, often hidden by power, gender, status, and wealth—were exposed. And this transparency led to historical and cultural changes.
Kat points out that after 1998, for better or worse, being transparent meant being seen—in new and sometimes uncomfortable ways. And year after year, we began to peek behind the curtain in every aspect of our lives and culture, thanks to the Patriot Act, reality TV, the truth about weapons of mass destruction, the rise of social media, Wikileaks, 23andMe, the British tabloid phone-hacking scandal, and more.
Kat’s argument is compelling. And a year after the Snowden leaks, in 2014, I found myself touched by this Age of Transparency again, this time gratefully.
Never lose hope.
Ten years ago, after a decade of self-imposed silence in which I withdrew from a world that still shamed me, after a decade of regression and integration (and a whole bunch of healing), I jumped back into the public conversation. No safety net. And I found my voice… by writing for this magazine.
