In London, Bill Clinton entices men to frolic with young ladies. Back at home in the British capital over the holidays, I clicked on the radio and heard a commercial open to the unmistakable beat of America's "Hail to the Chief," the tune that precedes our President on so many solemn occasions. At regular intervals, the equally unmistakable bump and grind of strip tease music, punctuated with high-pitched feminine giggles and deep male grunts, interrupted the song's stately rhythm, intimating what lay in store in a dubious London establishment. Then came another unmistakable sound--a hoarse, male voice with a thick Arkansas drawl reluctantly confessing to kissing those giggling young ladies and pressing their flesh. The message from America's chief? At this friendly pub, you, too, can play while you work.

I hope Clinton hears this advertisement, and I hope it shocks him into feeling a long-overdue sense of shame for disgracing himself and the country he swore to protect. When the president's actions, regardless of whether they were illegal, have reduced him and one of the nation's anthems of dignity to hawking for bars of doubtful repute overseas, it is time for the American people to send him packing without so much as a good-bye.

For Europeans, the events of Monicagate not only unraveled a loosely-knit presidency but also tarnished a dream that has inspired the continent since the First World War. The United States, under the dubious leadership of President Clinton, has fallen from the high ground that earned it the respect and sometimes the envy of much of the world. The nation no longer stands alone as the stronghold of democracy and ideals that Europeans could rely on as unwavering in the pursuit of the good and the just. America, it seems, doesn't know what is good or just anymore.

Thanks to Bill Clinton's thinking with his--how can I say this politely--body instead of his head, America is becoming the laughing stock of Europe. People there see a government too divided to govern and too obsessed with its image to tell the truth. They see a people too fascinated by the prurient sexual details to focus on the world's economic crisis or the new era of European unification marked by the debut of the euro. In the face of such disarray, many Europeans are beginning to turn away from the country they once respected as a defender of democratic ideals and protector of peoples too weak to protect themselves.

How do I know this? It's in the scornful looks I received on the street when people recognized my American accent--looks I don't usually get. It's in the shame British newspaper columnists evoke when they write of Britain teaming up with the United States to bomb Iraq. Most poignantly and most painfully, it's in Prime Minister Tony Blair's hint of reticence where there was none before when he speaks to his people about joining the United States in bombing Iraq, as if he cannot be as certain of his ally in world affairs as he once was.

Europe hasn't reached this point quickly. Last January, when the Lewinsky story broke, I was at home in London for semester break. The European media amused itself then with voyeuristic people-watching. It devoted more ink and more air time to ridiculing the naive and puritanical fascination of Americans with the President's dalliance than with the details of what he did. After all, European leaders have been doing much the same thing for centuries.

Over the spring and summer, however, the European perspective slowly shifted to a peculiar mixture of sympathy for a people betrayed by their president and disrespect for those same citizens who not only failed to remove an ineffective presidency but gave him ever-increasing approval ratings. For the British I talked with, the solution is clear: the President betrayed his people and must leave office.

Two weeks ago, Peter Mandelson, Britain's trade secretary and the architect of Blair's successful New Labour policies, was found to have borrowed L375,000 (more than $600,000) to buy a new home in central London. He borrowed the money from Geoffrey Robinson, the government's politically appointed paymaster general, but more pertinently a former entrepreneur whose business dealing Mandelson's agency was investigating.

There was no hint of foul play, but the appearance of borrowing from a man under investigation was bad enough. Within two days, Mandelson did the honorable thing. He did not go on national television and wag his finger at the British people. He did not craft a cover-up, if indeed he needed one. He did not ask his friends and political allies to lie for him. Instead he appeared red-eyed to tell the nation he had worked for years "to demonstrate that the standards of government and behavior in public life were going to be restored permanently." He admitted he had "fallen below those high standards" and had "to do something radical to restore people's faith in this Government."

So he resigned. And so did Robinson. Through his resignation, Mandelson gained the last measure of respect he could command and left Britain's government stable, precisely what President Clinton could have done last year.

The United States is the most powerful nation in the world, but power is not enough. It takes respect to make our nation a credible force. When Europeans and citizens of other parts of the world think of the United States, they think of President Clinton, a man who by his own admission "misled" his people. And they think of a nation where more than 70 percent of the citizens approve of a leader who has lied to them and a chief lawmaker who has broken the law. Could Franklin D. Roosevelt, Class of 1904, have credibly challenged Adolf Hitler under these circumstances? Could Harry S Truman have dropped an atomic bomb and persuaded Americans he did it to save Allied lives if he had lied to his people even one time? Could John F. Kennedy '40 have forced Nikita S. Khrushchev to back down in the Cuban Missile Crisis if he were the subject of ridicule abroad?

Although I've lived in Europe for a long time, I've always been proud to be an American. But this vacation, for the first time, I found myself trying to hide the accent. I began to feel shame. Shame for our president. Shame for how he has weakened our country among nations. And shame because I felt ashamed. America is too great a nation for its citizens to live in shame.

Jenny E. Heller '01, a Crimson editor, is a Romance languages and literatures concentrator in Lowell House.