W hen Rhett Butler told Scarlett O’Hara, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” he meant it. But in political melodramas the meaning of “frankly” is gone with the wind.

Politicians seem to know that much of what they say isn’t believed, but you have to admire the audacity of their solution: by simply injecting “frankly” in front of the most predictable point, they can be appear to engaging in powerful moments of candor.

In the real world, “frankly” is usually a signal that the speaker is tossing aside self-interest and taking you into his confidence to convey an uncomfortable truth. Not in the world of politics.

Here’s an unnamed senior State Department official briefing the media on Iraq this week: “There are some parts of the Sunni Triangle where the security right now, frankly, is not that bad.”

Gosh, what a startling disclosure from a government official charged with securing the country. And the reporters didn’t even have to drag it out of him.

The political use of “frankly” is designed to soften the nakedly partisan message that is to follow. Washington state gubernatorial candidate Dino Rossi deployed it recently in calling for a new election: “Quite frankly, folks, this election has been a total mess.”

That’s must’ve been a tough admission for the trailing candidate to make, but he isn’t alone in using the self-serving confessional.

Jessie Robertson, a U.S. Energy Department official who used to be assigned to the Hanford Nuclear Reservation clean-up, said this in response to complaints by then-Attorney General Christine Gregoire: “Frankly, I thought we were working pretty hard with the state.”

Not to be outdone, Gregoire said this about the feds’ attempt to send more nuclear waste to Washington state: “Frankly, we are hopping mad.”

One of the great attributes of this type of frankness is that it can make the speaker seem forceful while uttering banalities. When Gov. Gary Locke announced the formation of the Washington Competitiveness Council to make the state more business friendly, he issued this stern warning to nobody in particular: “Failure, frankly, is not an option.”

“Frankly” can be a handy escape hatch when caught in an outright lie. After all, being frank is the opposite of lying – at least to most people. Ballot initiative entrepreneur Tim Eyman demonstrated a deft use of the term back when he was pondering what he would do with campaign money he said he didn’t give to himself: “I’m frankly torn about what to do,” he said in explaining that he would send a letter to contributors asking them for an answer. Only the most cynical observers could guess what Eyman hoped the response would be.

Of course, there are times when politicians may rue their frank comments. For instance, U.S. Sen. Orrin Hatch, R-Utah, said the following in 1999 about opponent George W. Bush during the presidential primaries: “Frankly, I really believe that you need more experience before you become president of the United States.”

Then again, Hatch is a politician, so it wouldn’t be fair to hold him to the dictionary definitions of “frankly” or “really believe.”

Vice President Dick Cheney is perhaps the master of delivering frank assessments. His board-room bearing and matter-of-fact delivery just oozes honesty and certitude, like when he told U.S. Sen. John Edwards during the debates: “Senator, frankly you have a record in the Senate that’s not very distinguished.”

Ouch. If Donald Trump ever tires of “The Apprentice,” Cheney is the logical replacement. That doesn’t mean Cheney is right when he’s being frank. Who can forget this moment of candor from him after head of the International Atomic Energy Agency announced that Iraq had not resumed its nuclear-weapons activities: “I think Mr. (Mohamed) ElBaradei, frankly, is wrong.”

Cheney’s rebuke demonstrates the wonderful utility of this perverse form of frankness. You don’t have to be right as long as you invoke your intention to be candid. Besides, accuracy is such a petty concern. Who cares if politicians are right as long as they sound right?

Frankly, it pains me to say this, but I think this usage is here to stay.