No Glow
by Dick Polman
JANUARY 16, 2009 TAGS:
The George W. Bush administration died by constitutional fiat on Tuesday, at the age of 8, after a long and debilitating illness.
Most Americans will either rejoice or voice relief. Some might even wish they could hurl their shoes at Bush's retreating helicopter. The former president will be interred in a suburban Dallas home, where, politically speaking, he is hoping to have an afterlife better than Herbert Hoover's.
The public's current anathema toward Bush is rare in contemporary history. Americans typically mourn their perishing leaders, even those who were not particularly good at the job; as Republican pollster Bill McInturff told NBC the other day, "Historically, presidents on the way out get some kind of glow." When George H.W. Bush's time ran out, two months after losing the 1992 election, he was nevertheless viewed favorably, in a Gallup poll, by 52 percent of the people - and unfavorably by only 27 percent. Bill Clinton's final numbers were even better. So were Ronald Reagan's.
Not so for the younger Bush. As he breathes his last in office, the NBC-Wall Street Journal poll reports that he will be mourned by only 27 percent of the people. That's the share of Americans who still like the job he's doing. Put another way, not since Richard Nixon have we had a president who can spread so much happiness simply by expiring politically.
It will take time to precisely pinpoint the nature of Bush's fatal illness, but most presidential health experts believe that it was multi-faceted psychological malady, a toxic mixture of hubris, arrogance, denial, excess machismo, and terminal prevarication.
There were, of course, extended episodes of robust political health, particularly in the days and weeks after the nation was attacked by terrorists; during the final runup to war in Iraq, and in the weeks following the invasion, when it is traditional for Americans to stand behind their commander-in-chief; and on election night 2004, when the president won the popular vote, a goal that had eluded him four years earlier. But his chronic illness, which afflicted him from the neck up, and which he nurtured among his top advisers, ultimately overwhelmed him. He spent most of his final three years on the wane - all the while insisting that it was his critics who were sick, not him.
His symptoms were evident as early as the autumn of 2002, when he was most fit. Relatively few Americans suspected that something was wrong, in part because it was difficult to determine at the time that so many of his prewar remarks were in conflict with factual reality. For instance, he told Americans on Sept. 28, 2002, that Saddam Hussein's regime "possesses biological and chemical weapons, is rebuilding the facilities to make more, and, according to the British government, could launch a biological or chemical attack in as little as 45 minutes after the order is given."
But the public didn't learn, until after the war was launched, that the Defense Intelligence Agency in September 2002 had told him something very different: "There is no reliable information on whether Iraq is producing or stockpiling chemical weapons."
By March 8, 2003, virtually on the eve of war, the symptoms had gotten worse. Bush told the nation: "Intelligence gathered by this and other governments leaves no doubt that the Iraq regime continues to possess and conceal some of the most lethal weapons ever devised." Yet this assertion was merely another prevarication, because, in fact, there was doubt.
Just one day earlier, on March 7, the International Atomic Energy Agency (a United Nations affiliate which repeatedly got it right) had concluded the opposite of what Bush was claiming: "After three months of intrusive inspections, we have to date found no evidence or plausible indication of the revival of a nuclear weapons program in Iraq."
And now, on his political deathbed, it's clear that the symptoms will persist to the last breath. During his final press conference, on Jan. 12, he bristled at a reporter who mentioned that America's moral standing in the world had been damaged during the last eight years. Bush replied, "I strongly disagree” and suggested that only "the elite" felt that way.
This remark was one lingering manifestation of his denial symptom. Every international poll during the past three years, sampling tens of thousands of citizens in dozens of nations, has documented the sullying of America's image. Just last month, the Pew Global Attitudes Project reported that positive perceptions of America had declined - by as much as 30 percentage points - in 26 of the 33 nations polled between 2002 and 2007. Our image was worst in Turkey (hardly a redoubt of "elite" opinion), where we were viewed favorably in 2007 by only 9 percent of the populace.
Or consider Bush's deathbed ruminations about his performance during the Katrina crisis. His sluggish response, in late August 2005, sent his political health plummeting, never to recover; in retrospect, it was the turning point. Last Monday, Bush remarked, "You know, people said, 'Well, the federal response was slow.' Don't tell me the federal response was slow..."
We'll tell him anyway. A federal report in 2006 concluded that a "blinding lack of situational awareness and disjointed decision-making needlessly compounded and prolonged Katrina’s horror," and stated that "earlier presidential involvement could have speeded the response." Those words were authored by the Republicans in the U.S. House of Representatives.
It is arguably bad form to speak ill of the politically dead, but certain statistics, from the realm of factual reality, do seem appropriate at this time. At the birth of the Bush administration, the jobless rate was three points lower than it is today; the Dow Jones average was 2,300 points higher than today; the number of families living in poverty was 1.2 million lower than today; the number of Americans lacking health insurance was 5.9 million lower than today; and the federal budget was $236 billion in the black, whereas it's $1.2 trillion in the red today.
Bush's political survivors include the members of the Republican party (271 House and Senate members at the dawn of the Bush era; 219 today), and his brother, Jeb, who still may nurture presidential ambitions, but who may find it difficult to bring the Bush brand back from the dead. There is no indication yet whether George W.'s soul will be passed to another politician, although some observers suggest that his basic approach, particularly the certitudes and propensity for denial, will be reincarnated in the form of Sarah Palin.
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Most Americans will either rejoice or voice relief. Some might even wish they could hurl their shoes at Bush's retreating helicopter. The former president will be interred in a suburban Dallas home, where, politically speaking, he is hoping to have an afterlife better than Herbert Hoover's. The public's current anathema toward Bush is rare in contemporary history. Americans typically mourn their perishing leaders, even those who were not particularly good at the job; as Republican pollster Bill McInturff told NBC the other day, "Historically, presidents on the way out get some kind of glow." When George H.W. Bush's time ran out, two months after losing the 1992 election, he was nevertheless viewed favorably, in a Gallup poll, by 52 percent of the people - and unfavorably by only 27 percent. Bill Clinton's final numbers were even better. So were Ronald Reagan's.
Not so for the younger Bush. As he breathes his last in office, the NBC-Wall Street Journal poll reports that he will be mourned by only 27 percent of the people. That's the share of Americans who still like the job he's doing. Put another way, not since Richard Nixon have we had a president who can spread so much happiness simply by expiring politically.
It will take time to precisely pinpoint the nature of Bush's fatal illness, but most presidential health experts believe that it was multi-faceted psychological malady, a toxic mixture of hubris, arrogance, denial, excess machismo, and terminal prevarication.
There were, of course, extended episodes of robust political health, particularly in the days and weeks after the nation was attacked by terrorists; during the final runup to war in Iraq, and in the weeks following the invasion, when it is traditional for Americans to stand behind their commander-in-chief; and on election night 2004, when the president won the popular vote, a goal that had eluded him four years earlier. But his chronic illness, which afflicted him from the neck up, and which he nurtured among his top advisers, ultimately overwhelmed him. He spent most of his final three years on the wane - all the while insisting that it was his critics who were sick, not him.
His symptoms were evident as early as the autumn of 2002, when he was most fit. Relatively few Americans suspected that something was wrong, in part because it was difficult to determine at the time that so many of his prewar remarks were in conflict with factual reality. For instance, he told Americans on Sept. 28, 2002, that Saddam Hussein's regime "possesses biological and chemical weapons, is rebuilding the facilities to make more, and, according to the British government, could launch a biological or chemical attack in as little as 45 minutes after the order is given."
But the public didn't learn, until after the war was launched, that the Defense Intelligence Agency in September 2002 had told him something very different: "There is no reliable information on whether Iraq is producing or stockpiling chemical weapons."
By March 8, 2003, virtually on the eve of war, the symptoms had gotten worse. Bush told the nation: "Intelligence gathered by this and other governments leaves no doubt that the Iraq regime continues to possess and conceal some of the most lethal weapons ever devised." Yet this assertion was merely another prevarication, because, in fact, there was doubt.Just one day earlier, on March 7, the International Atomic Energy Agency (a United Nations affiliate which repeatedly got it right) had concluded the opposite of what Bush was claiming: "After three months of intrusive inspections, we have to date found no evidence or plausible indication of the revival of a nuclear weapons program in Iraq."
And now, on his political deathbed, it's clear that the symptoms will persist to the last breath. During his final press conference, on Jan. 12, he bristled at a reporter who mentioned that America's moral standing in the world had been damaged during the last eight years. Bush replied, "I strongly disagree” and suggested that only "the elite" felt that way.
This remark was one lingering manifestation of his denial symptom. Every international poll during the past three years, sampling tens of thousands of citizens in dozens of nations, has documented the sullying of America's image. Just last month, the Pew Global Attitudes Project reported that positive perceptions of America had declined - by as much as 30 percentage points - in 26 of the 33 nations polled between 2002 and 2007. Our image was worst in Turkey (hardly a redoubt of "elite" opinion), where we were viewed favorably in 2007 by only 9 percent of the populace.
Or consider Bush's deathbed ruminations about his performance during the Katrina crisis. His sluggish response, in late August 2005, sent his political health plummeting, never to recover; in retrospect, it was the turning point. Last Monday, Bush remarked, "You know, people said, 'Well, the federal response was slow.' Don't tell me the federal response was slow..."
We'll tell him anyway. A federal report in 2006 concluded that a "blinding lack of situational awareness and disjointed decision-making needlessly compounded and prolonged Katrina’s horror," and stated that "earlier presidential involvement could have speeded the response." Those words were authored by the Republicans in the U.S. House of Representatives.
It is arguably bad form to speak ill of the politically dead, but certain statistics, from the realm of factual reality, do seem appropriate at this time. At the birth of the Bush administration, the jobless rate was three points lower than it is today; the Dow Jones average was 2,300 points higher than today; the number of families living in poverty was 1.2 million lower than today; the number of Americans lacking health insurance was 5.9 million lower than today; and the federal budget was $236 billion in the black, whereas it's $1.2 trillion in the red today.
Bush's political survivors include the members of the Republican party (271 House and Senate members at the dawn of the Bush era; 219 today), and his brother, Jeb, who still may nurture presidential ambitions, but who may find it difficult to bring the Bush brand back from the dead. There is no indication yet whether George W.'s soul will be passed to another politician, although some observers suggest that his basic approach, particularly the certitudes and propensity for denial, will be reincarnated in the form of Sarah Palin.
--
Related Stories
Conservatism's GraveBy Dick Polman
Old tricks -- and incompetence -- prove a fatal combination.
What Were We Thinking?by Alex Rose
Dying ideologies of the Bush Administration.
India, Bush family cat, Dies at 18While Socks the Cat battles terminal cancer, news of a different Presidential pet’s passing has hit the wires. India, the Bush’s 18 year-old cat, died on Sunday. She was 18.
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