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A
Lost Opportunity
by
P.M. Carpenter
For nearly two days last week the eponymous 9/11 Commission did
a credible bipartisan job of publicly exposing various jurisdictional
screw-ups leading to the tragedy. Members of both parties asked
telling questions and often received telling answers. Atypical
of past political boards of inquiry, the political rhetoric of
feigned indignation and argumentum ad hominem were off the table.
The commission seemed to be getting somewhere. Republican chairman Thomas Kean showed nothing but managerial
fairness and Democratic commission members such as former senator
Bob Kerry showed a willingness to wield criticism no matter where
or on whose partisan head the hammer fell. The commission’s probing
was, by and large, even-handed and evenly spread.
Then Richard Clarke appeared and everything went to hell.
Never mind that the former counterterrorism chief criticized Bill
Clinton for failing to provide a "covert action program to aid
Afghan factions to fight the Taliban" and for rebuffing his suggestion
"that we bomb all of the Taliban and al Qaeda infrastructure."
Those failures were fair game, as they should be, and not one commissioner
asked Clarke how he could be so disloyal in bluntly and publicly
criticizing his former presidential employer. There was no perceived
wrong in Clarke panning Clinton.
Yet in bluntly and publicly criticizing the Bush administration,
Clarke had committed a ghastly sin -- an almost inhuman transgression
impossible to overlook. Thus two of the commission’s more congenitally
partisan dogs bared their teeth, defended their pup and cast the
stain of attack politics on what had been an honorable body possessed
of honorable conduct.
John Lehman, Ronald Reagan’s Secretary of the Navy, got the partisan
ball rolling with a cutesy burlesque designed to discredit anything
Clarke had to say before he could say it. This couldn't be "the
same Dick Clarke" who had testified before (omitting the difference
in previous testimonial focus). "I hope you’re going to tell me,"
Lehman postured, that what you, Mr. Clarke, have to say "is really
the result of your editors and your promoters" -- not "studied judgment."
Greedy handlers and dark motives were at work, for no harsh criticism
of George W. Bush could result from "studied judgment." Lehman
laid it on thick. He sure didn’t want to see Clarke "shoved to
one side during a presidential campaign as an active partisan selling
a book."
Nothing, of course, would please Lehman more than seeing Clarke
politically buried, let alone shoved aside, but we need not belabor
the obvious in such transparent "questioning."
Later,
in Commissioner Jim Thompson's second round of questioning Mr.
Clarke, the former Republican governor tried doing what all
the commissioners could have done to every witness had they so
chosen: He tried to pin Clarke as a liar. Batting his eyes and
cocking his head like an exasperated schoolgirl, Thompson grilled
Clarke about a routine, boss-puffing background briefing: "You
intended to mislead the press, did you not?"
Thompson charged that as a White House operative, Clarke had even
reveled in liberating himself from "standard[s] of candor and morality."
My, such refreshing political innocence from a former governor
of Illinois, home of graveyard voting and multiple-ballot stuffing.
Thompson never sidetracked and pressed combat-veteran Colin Powell
on how he stomached working with a bunch of reactionary chicken
hawks, or Donald Rumsfeld on his curious choice of nonbelligerent
military targets, or any Bush administration member on the insulting
absence of Condoleezza Rice. He reserved outrage for Richard Clarke
only -- and the reason was evident to all.
Notwithstanding what some readers are sure to think, I mention
these prosecutorial highlights not in the happy pursuit of partisan
condemnation myself, but as a lament. The 9/11 Commission appeared
to have a real shot at piecing together a "studied judgment" of
what went wrong. Many, at least, hoped for that outcome. Messrs.
Lehman and Thompson dashed that hope last Wednesday.
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