Well, it’s a lovely day here on Cape Cod, a Norman Rockwell July 4th–which we celebrated last night, in true American fashion, with a feast prepared by some Bengali friends. It’s a good day to end a vacation, to get back to work remembering what it is about this country that we should truly cherish. Which is to say: just about everything. Especially now, as the darkest stain in our collective history, the stain of slavery is gradually being expunged, though not forgotten, by new generations of Americans who simply don’t see color and ethnicity the same way as their elders did–they see it as a Great American Advantage, the mongrelized diversity that makes us strong and creative, exciting and free…a place that strivers from everywhere still want t0 come.
After several days of creative vegetation–and on this day of celebration–it seems particularly clear to me that the Realest of Real Americans are those who celebrate the multifarious nature of our populace. The least American, in the sense that they simply don’t understand what this country is about, are those who are threatened by it. That seems particularly true this summer, as the country seems to be regaining some balance after the Tea Party effusions of the past year–while also trying to figure out what the best way forward might be. There is understandable fear and confusion about the economy–concern about the wrong things, like short term deficits; an unwillingness to deal with long-term problems like education and the cost of paying for the retirement of my fellow Baby Boomers. (John Boehner, whose public statements are a cornucopia of bile and ignorance, did say something smart the other day–the retirement age should be gradually raised to 70; he was trounced for this untoward bit of honesty.)
Similarly, the most alarming thing I read while swinging in the hammock was a New York Times story–not sure which day, sorry for no link–detailing the difficulties that companies with good jobs to offer were having in finding workers with the necessary skills. One company couldn’t find workers for jobs with these qualifications: literacy and ninth grade math skills. If there ever was a time for a revolution in education, this would seem to be it.
Finally, the McChrystal firing and the Rolling Stone piece have lingered over the past weeks, especially at barbecues populated by journalists and public policy sorts–at least, the couple of such events that I’ve attended. Several friends have pointed out, accurately, that I would have written that same story 30 years ago when I worked for Rolling Stone. The unstated assumption, also partly accurate, is that I wouldn’t do so now. The best account of what reporters in similar situations should and should not do appeared this morning, by the veteran war correspondent David Wood on Politics Daily.
Here’s what I wouldn’t do now: simply report that one of McChrystal’s aides had called Jim Jones a “clown.” I would have asked, “Why do you think that?” And if the aide had said, “I don’t want to talk about it,” I would have let it drop. If he did want to talk, I would have reminded him of the ground rules…and used the material. My general feeling, after many years of doing this, is that we have to cut some slack, to allow some humanity, to those in the public arena. That’s why I have a “no gotcha” rule for politicians: if they say something stupid, but not crucial to the fate of the Republic, I let them retract it. The more I can put these people at ease, the better the chance that I’ll be able to get them talking honestly and creatively about the policy issues we’re discussing. To me, that’s more important than sandbagging some general for calling another general a clown. This rule pertains especially to soldiers in the field, who are risking their lives for us and are under great tension. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have printed the Biden-Bite Me japery.
On the other hand, if I’d been present when McChrystal and his aides were cracking wise about having dinner with the French Defense Minister–and if the established ground rules allowed me to do so–I would have printed that scene. The act of being so foolish in the presence of a journalist, especially with regard to a valued ally, is probably what got the general sacked. It was a reckless act, and a feckless one. Not all of our allies in Afghanistan have been willing to shed blood for the cause; the French have. They deserve our utmost respect. And, with Bastille Day looming, I’d like to wish our French comrades a happy one–with gratitude for the help they gave us in achieving our independence, and for the help they are giving us now.