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"I didn't vote for him," an American once said, "But he's my president, and I hope he
does a good job."
That - on this eve of the 4th of July - is the essence of this democracy, in 17 words.
And that is what President Bush threw away yesterday in commuting the sentence of Lewis
The man who said those 17 words - improbably enough - was the actor John Wayne. And Wayne,
an ultra-conservative, said them, when he learned of the hair's-breadth election of
John F. Kennedy instead of his personal favorite, Richard Nixon in 1960.
"I didn't vote for him but he's my president, and I hope he does a good job."
The sentiment was doubtlessly expressed earlier, but there is something especially appropriate
about hearing it, now, in Wayne's voice: The crisp matter-of-fact acknowledgement that
we have survived, even though for nearly two centuries now, our Commander-in-Chief has
also served, simultaneously, as the head of one political party and often the scourge
of all others.
We as citizens must, at some point, ignore a president's partisanship. Not that we may
prosper as a nation, not that we may achieve, not that we may lead the world - but merely
that we may function.
But just as essential to the seventeen words of John Wayne, is an implicit trust - a sacred
trust: That the president for whom so many did not vote, can in turn suspend his political
self long enough, and for matters imperative enough, to conduct himself solely for the
benefit of the entire Republic.
Our generation's willingness to state "we didn't vote for him, but he's our president,
and we hope he does a good job," was tested in the crucible of history, and earlier than
And in circumstances more tragic and threatening. And we did that with which history tasked
We enveloped our President in 2001.And those who did not believe he should have been elected
- indeed those who did not believe he had been elected - willingly lowered their voices
and assented to the sacred oath of non-partisanship.
And George W. Bush took our assent, and re-configured it, and honed it, and shaped it to a razor-sharp
point and stabbed this nation in the back with it.
Were there any remaining lingering doubt otherwise, or any remaining lingering hope, it ended
yesterday when Mr. Bush commuted the prison sentence of one of his own staffers.
Did so even before the appeals process was complete; did so without as much as a courtesy
consultation with the Department of Justice; did so despite what James Madison - at the
Constitutional Convention - said about impeaching any president who pardoned or sheltered those
who had committed crimes "advised by" that president; did so without the slightest concern
that even the most detached of citizens must look at the chain of events and wonder: To
what degree was Mr. Libby told: break the law however you wish - the President will
keep you out of prison?
In that moment, Mr. Bush, you broke that fundamental com-pact between yourself and the majority
of this nation's citizens - the ones who did not cast votes for you. In that moment, Mr.
Bush, you ceased to be the President of the United States. In that moment, Mr. Bush, you
became merely the President of a rabid and irresponsible corner of the Republican Party.
And this is too important a time, Sir, to have a commander-in-chief who puts party over
This has been, of course, the gathering legacy of this Administration. Few of its decisions
have escaped the stain of politics. The extraordinary Karl Rove has spoken of "a permanent Republican
majority," as if such a thing - or a permanent Democratic majority - is not antithetical
to that upon which rests: our country, our history, our revolution, our freedoms.
Yet our Democracy has survived shrewder men than Karl Rove. And it has survived the frequent
stain of politics upon the fabric of government. But this administration, with ever-increasing
insistence and almost theocratic zealotry, has turned that stain into a massive oil spill.
The protection of the environment is turned over to those of one political party, who
will financially benefit from the *** of the environment. The protections of the Constitution
are turned over to those of one political party, who believe those protections unnecessary
and extravagant and quaint.
The enforcement of the laws is turned over to those of one political party, who will
swear beforehand that they will not enforce those laws. The choice between war and peace
is turned over to those of one political party, who stand to gain vast wealth by ensuring
that there is never peace, but only war.
And now, when just one cooked book gets corrected by an honest auditor, when just one trampling
of the inherent and inviolable fairness of government is rejected by an impartial judge,
when just one wild-eyed partisan is stopped by the figure of blind justice, this President
decides that he, and not the law, must prevail.
I accuse you, Mr. Bush, of lying this country into war.
I accuse you of fabricating in the minds of your own people, a false implied link between
Saddam Hussein and 9/11.
I accuse you of firing the generals who told you that the plans for Iraq were disastrously
I accuse you of causing in Iraq the needless deaths of 3,586 of our brothers and sons,
and sisters and daughters, and friends and neighbors.
I accuse you of subverting the Constitution, not in some misguided but sincerely-motivated
struggle to combat terrorists, but to stifle dissent.
I accuse you of fomenting fear among your own people, of creating the very terror you
claim to have fought.
I accuse you of exploiting that unreasoning fear, the natural fear of your own people
who just want to live their lives in peace, as a political tool to slander your critics
and libel your opponents.
I accuse you of handing part of this Republic over to a Vice President who is without conscience,
and letting him run roughshod over it.
And I accuse you now, Mr. Bush, of giving, through that Vice President, carte blanche
to Mr. Libby, to help defame Ambassador Joseph Wilson by any means necessary, to lie to Grand
Juries and Special Counsel and before a court, in order to protect the mechanisms and particulars
of that defamation, with your guarantee that Libby would never see prison, and, in so doing,
as Ambassador Wilson himself phrased it here last night, of becoming an accessory to the
obstruction of justice.
When President Nixon ordered the firing of the Watergate special prosecutor Archibald
*** during the infamous "Saturday Night Massacre" on October 20th, 1973, *** initially responded
tersely, and ominously.
"Whether ours shall be a government of laws and not of men, is now for Congress, and ultimately,
the American people."
President Nixon did not understand how he had crystallized the issue of Watergate for
the American people.
It had been about the obscure meaning behind an attempt to break in to a rival party's
headquarters; and the labyrinthine effort to cover-up that break-in and the related
And in one night, Nixon transformed it.
Watergate - instantaneously - became a simpler issue: a President overruling the inexorable
march of the law of insisting - in a way that resonated viscerally with millions who had
not previously understood - that he was the law.
Not the Constitution. Not the Congress. Not the Courts. Just him.
Just - Mr. Bush - as you did, yesterday.
The twists and turns of Plame-Gate, of your precise and intricate lies that sent us into
this bottomless pit of Iraq; your lies upon the lies to discredit Joe Wilson; your lies
upon the lies upon the lies to throw the sand at the "referee" of Prosecutor Fitzgerald's
analogy. These are complex and often painful to follow, and too much, perhaps, for the
But when other citizens render a verdict against your man, Mr. Bush - and then you spit in
the faces of those jurors and that judge and the judges who were yet to hear the appeal
- the average citizen understands that, Sir.
It's the fixed ballgame and the rigged casino and the pre-arranged lottery all rolled into
one - and it stinks. And they know it.
Nixon's mistake, the last and most fatal of them, the firing of Archibald ***, was enough
to cost him the presidency. And in the end, even Richard Nixon could say he could not
put this nation through an impeachment.
It was far too late for it to matter then, but as the decades unfold, that single final
gesture of non-partisanship, of acknowledged responsibility not to self, not to party,
not to "base," but to country, echoes loudly into history. Even Richard Nixon knew it was
time to resign
Would that you could say that, Mr. Bush. And that you could say it for Mr. Cheney. You
both crossed the Rubicon yesterday. Which one of you chose the route, no longer matters.
Which is the ventriloquist, and which the dummy, is irrelevant.
But that you have twisted the machinery of government into nothing more than a ***
machine of politics, is the only fact that remains relevant.
It is nearly July 4th, Mr. Bush, the commemoration of the moment we Americans decided that rather
than live under a King who made up the laws, or erased them, or ignored them - or commuted
the sentences of those rightly convicted under them - we would force our independence, and
regain our sacred freedoms.
We of this time - and our leaders in Congress, of both parties - must now live up to those
standards which echo through our history: Pressure, negotiate, impeach - get you, Mr.
Bush, and Mr. Cheney, two men who are now perilous to our Democracy, away from its helm.
For you, Mr. Bush, and for Mr. Cheney, there is a lesser task. You need merely achieve
a very low threshold indeed. Display just that iota of patriotism which Richard Nixon
showed, on August 9th, 1974.
And give us someone - anyone - about whom all of us might yet be able to quote John
Wayne, and say, "I didn't vote for him, but he's my president, and I hope he does a good