(6)
A History Lesson-Part One
George W. Bush put down the book he was skimming, turned off the light, and was asleep in five minutes.
"Mr. President?"
The whispered sound startled the sleeping President. "Wha–?" said President Bush as he slightly lifted his head. He noticed the clock said 1:00AM.
"Mr. President, wake up. Mr. President."
"Geez, Tommy, what is it? You're gonna wake up Mrs. Bush," whispered the President to who he thought was the Secret Service agent standing watch outside the residence. But as the President opened his eyes and looked at the person leaning over his bed, what he saw made him lurch with such violence that he banged his head on the headboard of his bed. There, leaning over him, was a tall, thin man, with a craggy face and a full beard holding a candle.
"Wha–who are you? Geez, what the hell is going on?" said an agitated and suddenly alert George W. Bush, who, in his foggy state, was convinced a Muslim terrorist had somehow breached security and was mere moments from killing him. The President stole a quick look over at his sleeping wife and wondered why she hadn't woken up.
"Mr. President, don't be afraid. I would just like you to get up and come and talk with me for a few minutes."
As the President's eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw standing over him an apparition that looked like a cross between Abraham Lincoln and Osama bin Laden. This had to be a joke. A sick joke. The President's mind raced. Was it Karl? Dick? Andy? Laura? No–nobody would do this–it wasn't safe. Nobody plays practical jokes like this on a president. In the middle of the night! "Who the hell are you and what are you doing in here?" whispered the President firmly, looking again over at Laura, who wasn't budging.
"I used to live here," said the tall, bony man, looking around.
"Aw, c'mon. This is ridiculous! This isn't twenty questions. I want to know who you are and how you got in here–fast before I press this panic button. Oh, what the hell," said the President, who had had enough of whatever this was as he pressed the button to summon the Secret Service.
"It won't work. See? Now why don't you put on your robe and slippers and what say we go down the hall into the study and have us a little talk by the fire," said the man.
Whoever he was, he was right about the panic button. It wasn't working, which was very unusual. This "Abe bin Laden" had managed to disable the panic button. And Laura, incredibly, was still sleeping. What to do... scream? Throw the clock at him? And then it hit him.
Oh, man, this is a weird dream. One of those dreams where you think you're awake, but you're really still dreaming. Okay, I get it. My God! Okay, calm down, take it easy. Well, I guess I'll strap in, see where this is goin'.
"So, you used to live here, eh?" asked the President, now playing along.
"Yes. The house! It's different than I remember it. It's bigger..."
"Of course it is... well, then, let me grab my robe and a bottle of water. You want a bottle of water? Coffee? A drink?"
"No, no thank you. Well, maybe a glass of water, if you don't mind."
"You look awfully familiar," said the President, warming up to his dream.
"Yes," said Bony Man with a chuckle. "I do have a face for the ages. You know, I made several 'ugly' lists in my time," he said, still laughing.
"Well, I'd know that face anywhere. Now, to what do I owe this most unusual visit?" asked George W., trying to hide his astonishment at who he was looking at. As he put on his robe and his slippers, he glanced again over at his sleeping wife, which confirmed that this must be a dream.
"Well I'm not trying to be rude in waking you like this, but I thought maybe you could use a little advice from a feller who has been in a pickle or two like the one you seem to be getting yourself into."
"Pickle? I'm in a pickle?"
"Ah, well. That is for you to decide. But let's have a sit-down in the study and talk."
With that, the man lifted his gawky frame to full height, his lankiness making him appear even taller than he was. To George W. Bush's amusement, he was still holding a candle.
Of course he would, thought the President as they exited the bedroom and went down the hall to the study. This is too much.
When George W. Bush opened the double-doors to the study, there was a fire already in full flower, and two comfortable chairs sitting in front.
"Mr. President, the fire looks good'n'warm. Please," said the man, extending his arm in an "after you" motion.
"Call me George, please," said the President, handing the man his glass of water.
"Then you may call me Lincoln, George," said the man amiably. He had always hated the nickname "Abe."
"Oh, I don't know if I can do that, Mr. Lincoln. You don't know what an honor this is... I mean, you're like the number one guy around here. There's been plenty of fellas run through this place since you–you..." The President was suddenly stumped as how to put it.
"... I was shot," finished an unfazed Lincoln.
"Yeah... umm, forgive me, sir, but I really don't know how to talk to someone who's...uhh..." Once again, the President was tongue-tied.
"...dead?" Abraham Lincoln said this like he was commenting on the weather.
"Yeah, yeah. So what does that make you, uh, some kind of a... uh..."
"Ghost?... yes, I suppose. I'm representin' the Presidents of the past. The ones who are no longer on this earth. A pretty eclectic bunch," the former president chuckled. "They elected me to come and have a word with you."
Abraham Lincoln stretched his long legs out towards the fire. "Mr. Seward and I would get together, on a night like this one, in front of a fire just like this, and take turns reading to one another."
"Mr. Steward, sir?"
"Seward. William Seward was my Secretary of State. As fine a man who lived in that day. Should've been president. You see, nobody loved me enough to hate me at that time. I was everybody's second choice. Or third," said an obviously digressing Lincoln.
"This is unbelievable," said the President shaking his head, lost for a moment in his own revelation. "It's really Abraham Lincoln!"
"Yes?"
"No, I was just talkin' to myself, sir."
"Oh, yes. In any case, I thought we might have a few words concerning the many responsibilities that have been thrust upon you so early in your presidency. I suppose one of the reasons that I am here is that I, too, had a major event happen early on my watch." Lincoln leaned in slightly towards President Bush.
"The Civil War!" said the President, happy to get one right.
"Yes, the Civil War. Now, Mr. President–"
"Call me George, please, sir."
"George..." said Lincoln with polite emphasis. "I walked into a hornet's nest when I got here, oh, I did. As I said, nobody knew enough about me to really hate me, but on the other hand, I was viewed as a simple country lawyer who was not nearly up for the complicated work ahead of me. And that assessment was from my supporters," chuckled Lincoln, slapping his knee.
"Yeah, I'm with you on that one."
"And like you, I took on as members of my Cabinet men who were more experienced and more famous than I. People thought I was half-crazy, bringing in the likes of Chase, and Bates, and Seward, and the Blairs. Hoo boy, there were many cooks in that kitchen!" Lincoln stared back into the fire, as if conjuring up the images right there in front of him. "I knew that I was going to need the very best men to help me, even if most of 'em wanted my job! You see, I didn’t have a large staff to help me. It is stunning to me to see all of the people that work in this house! I had just two men, Hay and Nicolay, to help me do everything." Lincoln was silent for a few moments, lost in thought.
"But anyway, where was I... Oh yes. Even before I walk in the front door of this house, South Carolina walks out of the Union! How do you like that? And then, like dominoes–do you know the game? Anyway, like dominoes, out of the Union go Mississippi, Louisiana, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, and...umm...ah yes, Texas- your Texas, George!"
"I assure you, Mr. Lincoln, that I had absolutely nothing to do with it," interjected the President.
Abraham Lincoln stood up and walked over to the large window overlooking Lafayette Park. In the street, a solitary car could be seen driving in the distance. He ran his fingers over the thick drapes that framed the window, admiring the fabric. "Yes, well, the point of it is, I was under a tremendous amount of pressure by one large group to do something, and by another large group not to do anything at all. As time went on, and the war started, I was assailed on every side–by the Radicals on one side, who thought I was soft on the Negro issue and slavery in particular, and pilloried by the Democrats and Copperheads on the other for being a 'nigger-lover' and causing the country to break in two! Did you know, I was a Republican, George, the first one?"
"I do know that, sir. You are our champion and role model."
"Well, in those days, the parties were reversed in many ways that might surprise you. The Democrats were the ones who wanted things to stay the way they'd always been, and the Republicans were the side that favored change–some of them too much change too fast, if you ask me."
"Well, whatever it was then, we're happy today to call you one of our own," said the President without any apparent irony.
"This is where the fine fellers of my Cabinet were so helpful to me. Not only was their advice crucial, but also I had Mr. Chase to fend off the Radicals, Seward the moderates, and Blair and Bates took on the Copperheads." Lincoln sat back down and paused for a sip of water. "This is where I see a bit of a problem for you, George. How do you make decisions, if you don't mind me being nosy?"
"Not at all, Mr. Lincoln. First, I ask for the views of all of my Cabinet people, and my National Security team–that's probably something you didn't have back then–and then I might have further discussions with my Vice President, Dick Cheney, or my National Security Advisor, Condi Rice, and then I pray hard about it and go with my gut. I'm a gut guy, Mr. Lincoln. I go with my instincts. Then I stay with 'em. I'm not a waffler–or a flip-flopper; once I've decided something, I'm pretty much guaranteed to see it through, come hell or high water." The President was enjoying this immensely.
"Yes, now this Cabinet–they are all members of your party?"
"With the exception of Norm Mineta, Secretary of Transportation, who's a Democrat."
Lincoln was in full lawyer mode now. "And all of the people around you, do they share your views? Think like you do?"
"Well, Laura, my wife, sometimes knocks me up the side of the head on a few things, and don't ask my daughters, heh-heh-heh, but yes, by and large, the people around me share my ideology or worldview, if you will. That's the way it is nowadays in Washington. I'd like it to be different, but it's not."
"And do you think you are getting all sides of the debate on important issues with only advisors that think just like you do?"
The President shifted in his seat. "Oh, we have some healthy debates, arguments, what have you; just the other day Colin was practically yelling at Don about something or other. I had to tell 'em to simmer down, heh-heh-heh."
"From where we sit, Mr. President, we feel you're getting only one side of any story–the side the Radical elements of your party want you to hear. There has unfortunately been much collusion on the part of members of your Cabinet and their junior partners to provide you with only the infor–"
"Now hold on a minute, Mr. Lincoln. What are you trying to say here? With all due respect, sir, I know these people better than you do. These are brilliant, loyal public servants of the highest level."
"I reckon that's true."
"I made my reputation in Texas as a governor who wasn't afraid to reach across the aisle, work with the other party. We got a lotta things done down there. Spirit of bipartisanship," said the President wearing his Texan pride. "It's been more difficult here in Washington, I'll grant you that. Politics in this town is a dirty business. The special interests run the chicken coop. You probably didn't have nearly the problems with that that I do. I gotta have people in here that I can trust—depend on, and I know will do things a certain way."
"Fine and dandy, George," said Lincoln with a conciliatory nod. "I meant no disrespect, to you or to your fine Cabinet."
"None taken." President Bush was not sure where this was going.
"But George, we're concerned–I am concerned about a dangerous level of arrogance–hubris, if you will–that seems to be the order of the day in your administration. Don't misunderstand, confidence is fine; making decisions with determination and a strong sense of the righteousness of your cause can be a great virtue in a president." Noticing the baffled look on the President's face, Lincoln leavened his criticism with just the right touch of flattery. "I had to make many a decision for the public good that neither the public, nor the members of Congress necessarily understood or agreed with. And I sometimes went with my gut, too. The people look to you and your administration for leadership–especially at times like these, and, to be sure, this is no time for...waffling–yes, I like the word, sounds like waddling... but George, George, George..." Abraham Lincoln looked away with heavy eyes and a deep sigh. "It says in the Bible that 'Pride goeth before a fall'–"
"I know the saying well, sir."
"Yes... you're quite a religious man, are you?"
"I consider myself a man of faith. Jesus Christ is my personal Savior, and I pray a lot, and read my Bible every day."
"Hmm, I tried to read something out of the Good Book every day, too, although I must admit that it didn't always happen. I believe in the Book of Isaiah, it says, 'Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes.'" Abraham Lincoln searched for the right words. "George, all prideful men will fall, even presidents–especially, I fear, presidents, nations, and empires. All fall from the weight of their own arrogant pride."
George W. Bush was now shifting around more in his seat, and his leg started jiggling. He also began working on a fingernail with his teeth. This was beginning to feel like a lecture from his grandfather Bush.
"George, the people around you are being... less than honest with you. They are preventing you from making fully informed decisions by presenting half of the truth as the whole truth, and then they are asking you to make decisions based on these half-truths."
"How do you know this? What proof do you have?"
"George, what do you really know of Mesopotamia?" asked Lincoln, ignoring the President's protestations.
"That's Iraq, right? Yeah, we call it Iraq. I know that they are ruled by an evil dictator, a man called Saddam Hussein, who has ruthlessly murdered hundreds of thousands of his own people. I know that if we don't move to get rid of this brutal man, he may do irreparable harm to the peaceful people of the Middle East, and eventually, to the citizens of the United States."
Without moving a muscle in his face, Abraham Lincoln turned toward the President and gave him a polite clap. "Congratulations. You managed to avoid the question like a truly seasoned politician. I asked you about Mesopotamia, the land that was there long before Saddam Hussein or the artificially contrived entity called Iraq. You responded with a stump speech about a clown."
"He's... a clown who can blow up the world!"
"George, you are the–" For the first time, Lincoln's voice seemed to belie his normal calm. He exhaled and gathered himself. "The United States is the only nation on earth with the ways and means to blow up the world, George. Any other nation on earth with the temerity to unleash that sort of destruction knows that it has immediately consigned its own land to dust."
"We're not dealing with nations here, sir," said the President, in full debate mode. "We're dealing with ruthless individuals who don't care about their own lives, or the lives of their own people. All they care about is power, and their agendas. We were attacked by a shadowy group of terrorists who hate us for who we are, what we stand for, the freedoms that we enjoy. It is my duty as Commander-in-Chief, and you know this, to do everything I can to make sure that this type of thing doesn't happen ever again."
"These... terrorists— they were Iraqis?"
"No... no they weren't. They were Saudis, for the most part"
"Saudis! Hmm... then I'm guessin' you have a serious problem with the Desert Kingdom."
"Well, it's not that simple. These men were, for the most part, trained in religious schools in Pakistan."
"Ah, Pakistan... then your problem lies in Pakistan..."
"Again, sir, it's not that easy." The President wished, not for the last time that night, that he had his position books in front of him. "See, the whole region is interconnected in ways that are hard to explain." He wondered if he could bring Condi into his dream, or whether that would some breach of protocol he wasn't aware of. He could sure use her right about now.
"I am a patient man," replied Lincoln. He took a sip of water, and then leaned over to stir the fire with a poker that he again admired with his large, rough fingers for the fineness of its craftsmanship.
"Mr. Lincoln, sir, again, sir, with all due respect, the world is a very different place than it was when you left it... if you, in fact, have left it–heh- heh-heh." Lincoln acknowledged the joke with a nod and a quiet laugh. "Seriously, though, there now exist weapons that, put in the hands of the wrong people, could have dire consequences for everyone on the whole planet."
"It would seem to me that these weapons could have dire consequences no matter whose hands they're in," replied Lincoln with an eyebrow raised towards President Bush.
"Yeah, well, the genie is out of the bottle on that one, so to speak, and we can't very well put him back in, so our job is to manage the proliferation of these weapons, you see? My job is to assess the relative danger of the folks who either have these weapons, or are trying to get these weapons, and if they're friendly to us, then we have to keep a close eye on 'em, 'cause things change, but if they're not friendly, then we gotta take 'em out. We can't afford to sit around and wait for somethin' else to happen. That time is over. Not on my watch."
"Well then, this is where you need good people to help you figure out those dangers that you're speaking about. Whether or not they tell you something that goes against your assumptions. I never wanted people to tell me something because they thought it was what I wanted to hear–hated that, oh, you bet I did."
"Me too, Mr.–"
"Really? We have observed a disturbing trend to the contrary, Mr. President. Which brings me back to your ministers. It seems that they're not providing you with the full picture. No leader can be expected to know it all, although some have certainly tried, heh-heh, and none too successfully I might add. Oh, what I would have given for your intelligence capabilities, George!"
"Well, from everything I've read, you were pretty smart, too, sir."
"No–not smarts, George, your capabilities to see the enemy clearly. I think I suffered most in those days from the lack of reliable information. Down at that telegraph office every day...it'd darn near drive me mad not to learn the outcome of a battle until it was too late to do anything about it."
"Well, all this hi-tech stuff is great, sir, but believe it or not, we still suffer the 'fog of war.' And look, I still think you're wrong about my people–they give it to me straight... I mean, I don't like a lotta loser talk at the meetings, but–"
"–and you don't get any, I'm sure. But wishing so doesn't make it so, George, and I'm just concerned that you must demand to be told the absolute truth about all options, not just the ones that support one line of thinking."
"I frankly don't know what you're talking about." President Bush was becoming agitated. "You are calling my people liars, and that's a pretty stiff charge. Where are you getting this stuff? Didn't I already ask you that? How do you know what you know?
"George–how do you think that I am here? I died 138 years ago. I have ways of knowing things now that you can only dream of... hah!–only dream of," said the suddenly amused Lincoln, slapping his thigh..
"Look–if this is a dream, then I'm just tellin' myself this stuff, right? And then... how can I tell myself things that I don't know?" The President was completely baffled by his own logic.
"The mind is quite powerful," Lincoln offered. "In its crevices lie powers that are unfathomable. Nonetheless, George, I want to return to something I was asking earlier. What do you really know about the people from Mesopotamia, or Iraq, as it is now called? What do you know about them?"
The President leaned forward. "I know that they want to be free of a dictator that has brutalized them for thirty-five years, and I know that the people of Iraq want the same kind of freedoms that we enjoy in America."
"Don't you think that it is up to the Mesopotamians themselves to throw off the yoke of an evil government? Like the colonists did the British here in America?"
"You don't know this Saddam guy, Mr. Lincoln. He's got everything so tightened down, no one can scratch without him knowin' about it."
"These Iraqis, they're Moslems are they?"
"Yeah, most of 'em, I guess. Sadaam is a convenient Muslim–whenever it's convenient, or it serves his purpose, then he's all for Allah."
"There are two basic types of Moslems–"
"Yeah, good ones and bad ones! heh-heh-heh," interrupted the President.
"No George, Sunnis and Shias. Sunnis... and Shias," said Lincoln, as if speaking to a child. He was beginning to tire. "I reckon you know the difference?"
"Look, there are Muslims who want to live in peace, and go about their business, and there are some Muslims who want to blow us up, wanna deprive us of our freedoms. And, there are countries that support these bad Muslims, and I've made it clear that either the countries with the bad Muslims take care of the problem, or we're gonna take care of it for 'em. It's their choice."
"George, you're missing the point. The question you will be dealing with, I promise you, is Sunnis and Shias, not good Moslems and bad Moslems. You need to study the relationship between the two–do some research, some investigation–"
"I'm not the researcher–and I don't investigate. I decide. I gotta staff that does all the rest and they tell me what I need to know. I don't need to know the nuances of Islam to know when people are trying to attack our freedoms."
"You decide?? How on earth can you decide to attack a country when you are not even aware of the main boiling point? When you have no knowledge of the history of the people?"
"I have people who–"
"Do you know how much I read and studied the great issues of the day?"
"Well, we all read the stories about the candlelight–"
Abraham Lincoln leaned in close to George W. Bush. They were almost nose-to-nose, Lincoln's face casting an ominous shadow. "Son, do you think that I was a good president?"
The President, backing off slightly said, "Yeah... yes, of course."
"Well then, you listen to me. You are one arrogant son-of-a-gun, you know that? This is just a latter-day version of colonialism. My uncle used to say, 'You can dress up a pig, but it's still a pig'. You think because you profess the Christian faith that your god is better; that because you are an American, that your laws are better; and because you have more guns than they do that your cause is better. It all may be true–but you had better hope so, because there is a place for folks like you that are wrong about these things when their time on earth is up. It's not a pretty place, either."
"What are you–?"
But Lincoln would have none of it. "George, you are poised to make a holy mess upon a place that you know nothing about. You think you do, but you don't. You think the people of Mesopotamia are going to welcome you after you have rained all sorts of Hades upon them, but they won't. You think that there are only two kinds of Moslems, good Moslems and bad Moslems, but this is incredibly... lazy thinking. The truth is much more complicated than that, but you are simply not curious enough to find out why. And yet you think you know what's better for them? This is arrogance, George."
The President appeared to be sucking on an invisible lemon.
Abraham Lincoln stood up. "There are two people I would like you to meet–both named George, ironically. Two Georges who might have something to teach you about the conceit of hubris. These two Georges were around in my time. I must say, I knew one of them much better than the other. Be that as it may, I would like to introduce you to George Number One."
|
