Five Years On, Four Decades Later: Blood On Our Hands
[Image from masternewmedia.org]
[Continues "The Surge"]
As the war effort was going on abroad, another war was being waged at home: the war of information, with the news media at the forefront. Frontline chronicles how the mainstream media was used by the White House to help build its case for war in Iraq. The media, as it were, was spun by the White House to sell the case for war to (and obtain license from) the American people.
An interesting case in point is that of Judith Miller of the New York Times, the nation’s most influential paper, hardly the cheerleader of the Bush administration. Miller reported about the existence of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq—one of the most urgent reasons for going to war. Basing her report on a leaked intelligence memo that was placed on the President’s desk, Miller reasons that she trusted the source because (to paraphrase her) if the President was being given the same information, then the information must be true.
The said report of the New York Times (based as it was on administration claims) was then cited (echoed) by administration officials (not least Dick Cheney) on television news to lend credibility to—provide “hard evidence” for—the case for war. The same roundabout transport of information (from administration sources to the media (back) to the administration (citing them as “independent” “evidence”))—the same mechanism, the same tactic—can be seen at work at, as the New York Times lately revealed, the administration sending its retired-military-officials-now-turned-military-analysts-(paid-by-the-Pentagon!) on TV to provide “objective” analysis of the war. More alarmingly, it is also operative at the different national intelligence agencies, which is (partly) what led to the Niger-Saddam Yellowcake “sixteen words” State of the Union fiasco by George W. Bush.
I say partly because even as the faulty intelligence was received from Berlusconi’s Italian administration and supposedly confirmed by Blair’s Labor government, British intelligence did repudiate it later on, not to mention outright rejected by the French. The administration, however—faced with contrary evidence for its case for war—made no change—no correction—with its public allegations to the American people. The same undaunted, unflinching, principled—no reluctance, no apologies—official mendacity continues operative—and even effective—in the government (regarding the same thing: the Iraq war!), as Bill Moyers—in the person of Condoleeza Rice—illustrates. Rice’s half-truths and outright lies are then corrected by historian Marilyn Young (because, what do you know, they wouldn’t do it themselves).
Part I of the Frontline documentary surveys controversies like this that the media had been embroiled in since the Iraq war. Irony is, not only did the news media help the administration build its phony case for war, like a small-time accomplice its reputation and power was dragged down along with it—by the administration no less!—most importantly when (there having no formal law to protect it) the reporter’s right to confidential sources was undermined. In other words, not only was the media spun, it was also weakened—by one and the same entity!
(There is another documentary by Bill Moyers on the mainstream media’s complicity with the Bush administration on the Iraq war (given the background of 911) that is even more sickening.)
In Part II of the documentary, the media then takes its revenge. The newspapers try to reassert their independence, critical position, and authority against the government. (The egos of both parties are apparent in the interviews.) The most striking case is perhaps the decision both by the New York Times and the Washington Post to publish information on CIA secret prisons and NSA wiretapping, secret programs the administration claimed were essential parts of the war on terror. The outrage that then ensued was caused not so much by the fact that this information was made public (since, apparently, everyone knows about them) but by the amount of detail that the papers had provided—starkly undermining, the administration claims, government efforts against Al Qaeda.
Difficult questions are involved here. First, questions on (democratic) government transparency: How much exactly should the public know? In an open society (from which, moreover, information spreads outwards, i.e. outside, possibly to the “enemy”), how much should the government be made transparent and accountable? Should the government have a legal monopoly on the flow of government information or can the media subvert it, and on what grounds (and who decides)?
In the case at hand, the pertinent question (for the government) seems to be: Where (i.e. from whom) exactly did the media get the information? Is not the basic problem the leak rather than their publication (the publication, after all, was dependent on the leak)? Are not the leaks—getting out of it from inside, i.e. from itself—the government’s main problem (and not the media, which, after all (as it becomes more obvious), is dependent on it)? Are not government leaks the primary concern? In the first place, why were there leaks? What does it say that there were senior officials in the administration that leaked these secrets? What does it say about the attitude of these officials toward the programs? What does it say about the nature of the programs?
There is, however, a more general question here (which emerged in the documentary itself). That is: What is the role of the media in the government? One of the commentators in the documentary dismissed the idea that the media is the fourth branch of government (adding a further layer to the system of checks and balances). This is a difficult question (that should not be too quickly brushed aside). On the one hand, while the three branches—the executive, the legislative, and the judiciary—do hold each other in check (except, that is, for Cheney’s attempt to make Bush a “unitary executive”), they still compose one coherent institution: the State, the (in this case, federal) government. In the end they are still on each other’s side and their critique of each other is limited (by the fact that they form one and the same body, the State). This can have grave consequences especially when the government is out of touch with the common man, when the populace is powerless to demand of the government.
To counter that, the media has in history given the common man his/her voice, if only to sound bells on the government’s ears or to present him/her with a viewpoint other than the State’s. Yet, on the other hand, the media is unelected. It is a group beholden to its own (business) organization’s rules rather than to the “will of the people.” It is thereby potentially dangerous, especially considering that it is the very body that provides information to the people it is supposed to be empowering. (I’m not sure, however, about the claim that the media is an “elite group.” While that is in fact true, cannot the same be said of the government, especially when we look at voter turnout in the US?)
We should be careful, however, not to be distracted by the “war” between these two institutions. There is truth, I think, in the statement made by Conservative pundit (and one-time presidential nominee) Patrick Buchanan (from the same documentary) when he says:
These newspapers cheer us into war, and then Americans go into battle, and they get killed in great numbers. And then these [media] folks tend to undermine the war effort.
The question to be asked here is: Why is that? What, these papers show no compunction in (along with the State) making the case for war and then—seeing the death toll, seeing what they have done—out of guilt—they withdraw and try to wash their hands off of it, redeem themselves, leaving the State in the lurch?
There is, however, a more basic mechanism at work here. We have to ask: How was a newspaper of the caliber of the New York Times and (supposedly) at odds with the Conservative establishment made to sound (support, sell) the Neoconservative agenda? Now, of course it is the duty (supposedly) of any news outlet (if it is objective) to report what it considers to be true—even if it happened to be at odds with its own ideological leanings (if any). However, as we know now (and as the New York Times itself admitted), the information that it reported (coming from the administration) is not true. This begs the question: How was the New York Times made to be convinced that it was? What made it think that the information that the administration gave it was true? What made it believe the administration that was supposedly at odds with it ideologically? How was it possible for the government to (all too easily?) co-opt the media, one that was supposedly to be its critic, one supposedly coming from the opposite political camp?
“These newspapers cheer us into war.” Why is that? What could be their motivation? Could it be that, after all, the media shares some of the same interests as the government? Could it be that, after all, the media and the government have something in common?
“American” “national” “interests”: Is there a better phrase to encapsulate what the two institutions share? Now, this phrase is loaded with ambiguities not easy to discern and dangerous in its power to (by misrepresenting) sway. (Therefore caution must be taken in dealing with it.) (As pointed out in a previous post, thanks to Chomsky,) American really means the top tier of the population, them first-class Americans to whom the benefits of whatever “American” venture must first accrue (then, if there’s anything left, well, give them to the rest of the population so that they don’t revolt) (except, that is, if the venture turns out to be a misadventure, in which case federal institutions funded by taxpayer money must take responsibility; suddenly federal government should have a role!). National is that lethal empty placeholder (which in history has been filled up by different things: race, the monarchy, the rule of law, democratic institutions, citizenship) (libidinally!) (unquestionably!) potent in its posture as the axis of similarity and belonging—thus enabling one to differentiate oneself and at the same time exclude others, constrain one’s concern to oneself (after all, we can’t think about everyone’s problems) and not bother about or ignore or outright excuse the travail of the other sometimes caused by one’s own actions (We belong together. We are one. You better not criticize or undermine . . .). Interest is that economic word used to legitimize the pursuit of one’s own and (by virtue of saying that what is good for one is good for all—so just think about your own!) the dismissal of concern for the other (who does not belong to the “nation”)—whether the consequences of the pursuit of one’s own be exploitation, starvation, atrocity, a lifetime of injustice and warfare (of course, for the other). But of course if we put them together, it sounds good (for US): American national interest. It can easily convince us that (like the government and the media) it is our purpose, our cause.
It should not surprise us, then, if the media is all too easily put into the employ of the State (in the pursuit of “American” “national” “interests”). After all, as Marxist Louis Althusser points out, the media is an apparatus of the State, what he calls an Ideological State Apparatus, an ISA. While it is true that in a democratic society the media is not formally a part of the State (i.e. of the government), by virtue of it occupying the same web of power—in a very real sense (it is owned by the upper classes!)—it still disseminates the ideology of the ruling class, preserves the established order, the current situation: the state of things. And, in some cases, as demonstrated by New York Times‘s experience en route to the Iraq war, it may even be directly employed by the State in making it echo its sound bytes.
The media is thus doubly complicit—caught up—in the State: both in the legal State and the current state of things. The war that we see between them is thus by no means a war between real opposites (to bring about change)—but (Alas!) mere infighting from the same camp (forwarding the same thing: “American” “national” “interests”). The struggle for control over information is thus a struggle by different institutions—of the State. The media by no means wants radical change. It does not radically departs from the government. Otherwise, if the current (capitalist) order is undermined, well, what’s going to happen to its business (which, after all, it is)?
From time to time this complicity becomes apparent to us (Weapons of mass destruction!)—to be covered up by later infighting (NSA wiretapping!). Essentially, however, the media reinforces the government. It is, after all, its State. This reinforcement by the media usually takes the form of distraction—from oh so radical(!) things such as the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, US entanglements abroad, poverty in America, the warming of the atmosphere, the costs despite the lack of healthcare, the cost and quality of education, crime on the streets . . . The media does this by fixating on what Chomsky contemptuously calls triviliaties and irrelevancies. Does not the latest Democratic Presidential Debate (ABC in Pennsylvania) drive this point painfully close to home?
Was it only the media, though, that was complicit in the war? If we have the administration and the mainstream media—that is to say, wherever we turn—beating the drums, echoing each other (“Al Qaeda and Saddam Hussein’s secret meetings!” “Weapons of mass destruction!” “They’re out to get us!” “Aghhh!”), does it necessarily follow—is it simply logical (that is to say, understandable)—that we believed? In other words, in all this were we but innocent dupes? Hence later on we believe and understand (and forgive) our politicians when, recounting, they say, “I have been misled by this President”? (Then like the media we turn against the war and pressure the administration to get out of Iraq.)
But why were we all too ready to believe? If there’s a new tax to be imposed, it gets a lot of scrutiny and resistance (talk about big government!). If there’s a proposed comprehensive social welfare program (as basic as universal healthcare), the red alarm goes off. Proposals like these almost never pass Congress. Why the Iraq war? Now, of course there were anti-war protests even before the war, but why was there majority support for it? Why do wars not get as much scrutiny and skepticism as, say, a healthcare program that covers all (especially considering that America is supposed to be suffering from a “Vietnam syndrome,” not to mention its long isolationist history until, that is, World War I)?
Could it be that the French philosophers Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari are right? That information/belief/ideology is inadequate—not enough—to explain a particular course of action (especially consequential ones such as the waging of a war, which amounts, after all, to killing other people)? Were we really opposed to the war to begin with? Did we really believe the evidence put forth to us on TV? Or did it matter? Were we all too ready to believe the administration? Just like how administration officials were all too ready to believe Ahmed Chalabi? If we had doubts about some of their claims, what they were saying, if the facts just didn’t seem to square with each other (OK, Al Qaeda wants to topple Saddam. But no matter. They’re both our enemies. They must be connected.), did we let it pass anyway, give the administration some truth license (like an author’s literary license) to twist the facts a little bit to make its case because, in the first place, we supported it? Were we libidinally invested in waging the war? That is to say, did we desire it? They have oil. We need oil. We have the power to get it. Let’s get it. Did we accept this basic line of thinking? Did we accept the basic structure of world—the basic working of power—in which we’re on top, we’re the superpower, we can do what we want: to hell with what the world thinks. We own the world, right? as Chomsky would say.
In other words, deep inside all of us, does there lurk a Neocon?
It is just unfair that such a chaotic, backward part of the world should have the resource in which the world economy runs—but no matter, God redressed that: He gave us such awesome, ultimate power to correct the state of things. God is on our side, right?
I don’t care about politics. All I know is that I have an SUV and I drive my kids to school and watch their soccer games and no, I wouldn’t want anything to change. Hey, I work hard. I deserve this oil.
Iraq is the site of some of the oldest civilizations in the world, with Mesopotamia for a long time (up to now?) thought to be the site of the world’s first civilizations. The origin of (Western) civilization to be occupied by the superpower that has triumphed in what Francis Fukuyama calls the “end of history.” That must have proved irresistible to some empire thinkers (a la Theodore Roosevelt) in America.
But, realistically now, there’s but a tiny fraction of the population that could care about such things. Perhaps Slavoj Zizek hits closer to the point when he says that, going into the war, there was genuine liberal concern in the American populace for Iraq (and the Middle East; and the world in general). That is to say, we really believed in America’s unique place and mission in the world. Hence the third reason for going to war: to spread democracy in Iraq and the Middle East.
Did we really believe this? Do we think this? Do we think that, as opposed to other alternative world orders (such as Soviet communism, Chinese capitalist communism, or even a multipolar world where there’s no one superpower), American neoliberal representative democracy is—to put it simply—the best? For ourselves—and the world? Hence we are legitimated in pursuing “American” “national” “interests” (because, in the end, even if at first it doesn’t seem that way, the benefits would trickle down to the rest of the world; so we don’t even have to think about the other, it’s just a given that they would be OK too—someday) (We simply know better)? Hence we have the right to act as (even if it seems bullying) the superpower? Hence we are legitimated in spreading our system and destroying others?
Zizek expounds on this genuine liberal concern:
The supposition underlying these good intentions is that underneath our skins, we are all Americans. If that is humanity’s true desire, then all that Americans need to do is to give people a chance, liberate them from their imposed constraints, and they will embrace America’s ideological dream. No wonder the United States has moved from “containing” the enemy to promoting a “capitalist revolution,” as Stephen Schwartz of the Foundation for the Defense of Democracies put it in February 2003. The United States is now, as the defunct Soviet Union was decades ago, the subversive agent of a world revolution.
There is a problem with this generous, liberal stance, however. Zizek continues:
At this point, one should ask the naive question: the United States as global policeman—why not? After all, the post-Cold-War world effectively begged for some global power to fill in the void. Ah, but there’s the rub: The problem with today’s United States is not that it is a new global empire, but that it is not, i.e., that, while pretending to be an empire, it continues to act as a nation-state, ruthlessly pursuing its [own national] interests. Indeed, in a perverse reversal of the old ecological slogan, the bumper sticker for the Bush administration’s foreign policy could well be “act globally, think locally.”
Zizek provides an example of this mentality at work:
[A] stunning example of U.S. double-think was the two-sided pressure it exerted on Serbia in the summer of 2003. U.S. officials demanded that Serbia deliver suspected war criminals to the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia in The Hague (in accordance with the logic of the global empire, which demands transnational judicial institutions); but they also simultaneously pressured Serbia to sign a bilateral treaty obliging it not to deliver to the new International Criminal Court (also in The Hague) any U.S. citizens suspected of war crimes or other crimes against humanity (in accordance with the logic of the nation-state). No wonder the Serb reaction was one of perplexed fury.
Assuming—as Zizek does—that this liberal concern was genuine—that is to say, that we’re not simply doubletalking to—selfishly and unashamedly—legitimize to the world the pursuit of our own “American” “national” “interests”—is this generous, liberal Americanizing stance—containing as it does a fundamental contradiction between self-interest-pursuing America and generous liberalism—practicable? That is to say, if we were truly sincere about this—if we really believed in our unique, democratizing mission (America as the force of good) in the world—is it possible to implement it? That is to say, can we do it? Can we make the (American) dream come true?
Perhaps the concept of the “national” should have made obvious the difficulties of this. After all, the very idea of inclusion (to form a “nation”) necessarily implies exclusion (of the other)—and, following it, prioritization, marginalization, exploitation, repression, oppression . . . Perhaps—to be true to our liberal American dream—we should get rid of that concept, the “national”? That way, everyone, as Zizek says, truly can be American! However (as Chomsky has alerted us to) “American” itself has a specific meaning: first-class owners-of-the-country real Americans. So when these citizens of the world become “Americans,” like the rest of those who are already Americans (i.e. those who are already national citizens), what, are they just to be subordinated to (for the sake of the interests of) them “real” Americans?
Were we—as the recounting politician likes to portray him/herself—duped on the way to the Iraq war? Were we really misled? Fooled? Deceived? Or did libidinal investments (whether it be Neocon or (neo)liberal—or both) underlie our support for the war, our all too ready willingness to give our government license for doing the things that it did?
It is our government, after all. We live in a democratic society, don’t we? Isn’t that what we’re so proud of, what makes us different from them? We choose our representatives. We vote our rulers to power. We can protest in the streets. We (are allowed to) think on our own. Yet, why do we let people like Donald Rumsfeld say to us, “Just sit back, relax, we’ll take care of this?”—when obviously—as our TV screens show us—they are not—and then follow their injunction, or at least agree? Can we really plead deception or powerlessness and take our hands off of this when, as Chomsky points out, we live “in a free society, where we cannot plead fear in extenuation for silent complicity”? In other words, isn’t it true that in this—a failed war of choice—we are all complicit? We voted the administration a second time for crying out loud!
Deception or powerlessness . . . Are those really enough to account for this? Or, could it be . . . Was there to begin with in us a desire, a specific will to power—the will to conquer, the dismissive stance towards, the acceptance that we will trample on, the other for the sake of our own interests—that trumped any information/evidence/belief/ideology that, after all, was inconclusive and could have led us to the other direction (i.e. not go to war)? Instead of information shaping our actions, is it not rather our desire that made use of information to justify the underlying libidinal urges we harbored deep inside?
