The horrors really are your America, Mr Bush
ANDREW SULLIVAN
'This is not America." Those words were President George W Bush's
attempt to explain the horrors of Abu Ghraib prison on the Arabic-
language network Alhurra in 2004. He spoke the words as if they
were an empirical matter, but a cognitive dissonance could be
sensed through them.
If the men and women who tortured and abused and murdered at Abu
Ghraib did not represent America, what did they represent? They
wore the uniforms of the United States military. They were under the
command of the American military. In the grotesque, grinning
photographs they clearly seemed to believe that what they were
doing was routine and approved.
And we now know from the official record that Donald Rumsfeld, the
defence secretary, had personally authorised the use of unmuzzled
dogs to terrify detainees long before Abu Ghraib occurred, exactly as
we saw in those photos. Does the secretary of defence not represent
America?
Almost two years after the torture story broke Congress finally
roused itself and passed an amendment to a defence appropriations
bill by John McCain that forbade the use of any "cruel, inhuman and
degrading treatment" of detainees by any American official anywhere
in the world. It was passed by veto-proof margins and Bush signed it.
But he appended a "signing statement" insisting that, as
commander-in-chief, he retained the right to order torture if he saw fit.
And so on May 18 the nominee for CIA director, Michael Hayden,
was asked directly by Senator Dianne Feinstein whether he regarded
"waterboarding" as a legitimate interrogation technique. Hayden
replied: "Let me defer that to closed session, and I would be happy
to discuss it in some detail."
Huh? Why a closed session? Isn't the law crystal clear? Isn't
strapping a person to a board, tilting him so that his head is below
his feet, and pouring water through a cloth into his mouth to simulate
drowning a form of "cruel, inhuman and degrading" treatment? And
isn't that illegal? In America? Or is that not America either?
I ask these questions because so few in power in Washington want
to go there. When I have brought up the question of these atrocities
in front of senators and senior administration officials in private, I
have noticed something. Their eyes flicker down or away. Some
refuse to discuss the matter, as if it is too much to contemplate that
the US has become a country that detains people without trial or due
process, and reserves the right to torture them.
Or they tell me that however grotesque the charges Bush would
never approve of them. It's always someone else's responsibility.
"This is not who American servicemen are," Richard Armitage, the
then deputy secretary of state, insisted after Abu Ghraib. Or in the
words of the secretary of state Condoleezza Rice, in an interview
with Al Arabiya: "Americans do not do this to other people."
I know what these people are saying or trying to say. The vast
majority of American soldiers are decent, brave, honourable
professionals. The America I love and the Americans I know are
among the most admirable and open-hearted people on the planet.
But this much must also be said: the words of Bush and Rice and
Armitage are still untruths. That much we know. And last week, we
had to absorb another dark truth: that in a town called Haditha, US
Marines appear to have murdered women and children in cold blood
and covered it up.
There is also a new claim of a similar kind of massacre at a place
called Ishaqi. Last week the American military issued fresh ethical
guidelines for soldiers in Iraq. One marine commander told Time
magazine: "If 24 innocent civilians were killed by marines, this will
put a hole in the heart of every single marine."
I believe him. But I do not believe that this president has ever
acknowledged his own responsibility for the atrocities committed by
Americans on his watch and under his command. He simply cannot
process the fact that his own hand provided the signature that
allowed torture to spread like a cancer through the military and CIA.
He cannot acknowledge that his own war policy — of just enough
troops to lose — has created a war of attrition in Iraq in which
soldiers are often overwhelmed and demoralised and stretched to the
limit, and so more than usually vulnerable to the psychic snaps that
sometimes lead to atrocities.
His obdurate refusal to change course, to provide sufficient troops, to
fire his defence secretary, to embrace, rather than evade, the
McCain amendment has robbed him of any excuse, any evasion of
responsibility.
And yet he still evades it. Last week he spoke of Abu Ghraib as
something that had somehow happened to him and to his country,
almost as if he were not the commander-in-chief or president of the
country that had committed such abuse. When the evidence is
presented to him, he displaces it. He puts it to one side. In his mind
America is a force for good. And so it cannot commit evil. And if he
says that often enough it will somehow become true. In this way his
powers of denial kick in like a forcefield against reality.
It is, I think, an integral part of his own world view, which is that of a
former addict whose life was transformed by a rigid form of
fundamentalist Christianity. "[My faith] frees me to enjoy life and not
worry what comes next," he told the reporter Fred Barnes. When you
know you have been saved, when you know your motives are pure,
when, as Bush so often puts it, your "heart" is a good one, then it
follows that you cannot commit evil. Or if you do, it doesn't attach to
you. Somehow, it isn't yours, even when it is.
In this sense fundamentalist Christianity can enable evil by
promoting the lie that some humans have been saved from it. It
misses the deeper Christian truth that even good people can do bad
things. It forgets that what is noble about America is not that
Americans are somehow morally better than anyone else. But that it
is a country with a democratic system that helps expose the
constancy of human evil, and minimise its power through the rule of
law, democratic accountability and constitutional checks.
That system was devised by men who assumed the worst of people,
not the best, who expected Americans not to be better than any
other people, but the same. It was the wisdom of the system that
would save America, not the moral superiority of its people.
What is so tragic about this presidency is that it has simultaneously
proclaimed American goodness while dismantling the constitutional
protections and laws that guard against American evil. The good
intention has overwhelmed the fact of human fallibility. But reality —
human reality — eventually intrudes. Denial breaks down. The
physical evidence of torture, of murder, of atrocity, slowly
overwhelms the will to disbelieve in it.
I am sorry, Mr President. This is America. And you have helped
make it so.