I’ve been running from this picture for a week now.
It’s a photograph of the signing ceremony for the new torture bill. The bill legalizes torture, including rape, and denies due process to anyone the President declares an enemy of the state. Which, of course, could be anyone.
Look how happy they are. Look at their smiles. What are they thinking? Deutschland über alles?
Notice the sign attached to the front of the desk: Protecting America. I think this is the first American administration to use captions. Obviously the hope is that people will believe the caption and not what’s actually happening, which is almost always the exact opposite of what the caption says.
Like “Work Means Freedom.” That sort of thing.
My friends and readers, this picture depresses the living shit out of me. It captures in a single image the essence of banal evil that has gripped our nation. Not banal if you’re strapped to a torture table, of course, but banal for the millions of Americans who slap flag decals on their cars and wear Support Our Troops pins and believe, somehow actually believe, that George W. Bush is a nice man. A patriotic man. Just protecting America.
So a week ago I looked at this picture, and tried to write something, and couldn’t. I fled, instead, to France. (Where else?) Thank you all for accompanying me on that little divertissement. It was fun, wasn’t it? The guessing game, the prizes.
Over the weekend I continued to escape by hanging out on other feminist blogs, hoping for a little emotional solace. Mistake. I love and respect my sister bloggers, but for some reason the feminist-leftist blogosphere has been beset with nasty infighting for months now. The nastiness culminated a few days ago in a bizarre episode at Feministe that was so wrong in so many ways I thought we’d reached some kind of blogular nadir, our own digital Death Valley.
Until someone threatened to murder Chris Clarke’s dog.
The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.
For the hurt of the daughter of my people am I hurt: I mourn; dismay has taken hold on me.
Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no physician there?