Thomas Jefferson got it right.

On the Thomas Jefferson Memorial, Architect John Russell Pope got it wrong.

And the manner in which Pope missed the mark is especially relevant in light of this week’s organic change to the architecture of the nation Jefferson designed.

As a former temporary resident of D.C. (at a certain Jesuit-leaning university which overlooks the Potomac in the city’s northwest), I’d like to report, for the benefit of the unwary, two troubling aspects of the Thomas Jefferson Memorial.

The Pantheon-styled edifice occupies the northern tip of a channel island in the Potomac at the lower boundary of the Tidal Basin – where, yes, I once rented one of those goofy paddle boats – near a motorists’ nightmare called Ohio Drive. Said nightmare loops beneath and beyond a tangle of freeways to the monument’s south and takes the uninitiated all the way to Hains Point (there’s a road that shortcuts the loop!) before doubling back the island’s west side to three deviously hidden parking lots. Those lots constitute (the lesser) Problem Number One: what is a hot, sticky hike to the monument in ordinary Washington summer swelter quickly tests the limits of human endurance when July afternoons bring their inevitable thunderstorms.

The greater Problem Number Two, and an indelible component of the monument’s interior, is one of elision, to wit: the enlightened founder’s “quotes” engraved there do not bear full fidelity to those which history itself has carved in stone. Though the great man’s statue is surrounded by panels containing some of his some of his most instructive thoughts, each has been edited with the ruthlessness of a tabloid editor who’s down to his last column inch.

Panel One bolts-together three key passages from the Declaration of Independence, and appropriately uses ellipsis twice, as does Panel Two with its three non-contiguous phrases from a Virginia law he co-authored; a glance across to Panel Four, its provenance similar Panel Two, reveals that all pretense of indicated elision has been abandoned.

The undisputed champion of the group is the formidable Panel Three, an amalgam of no less than eleven separate phrases – in two instances, single words – from five separate sources, stitched-up in a much-too-tidy manner without the barest acknowledgment of the deed.

Considering that the Memorial was built during the extravagantly expensive Second World War, one imagines an engraving budget perfunctorily sliced to the bone.

Jefferson was as exuberantly verbose as he was eloquent, and to do him justice requires a full reading, and representation, of his words in context. Not to put too fine a point on it, but reducing Jefferson’s thoughts to mere aphorisms puts one at severe risk of inflicting an injustice upon both the man and his meaning.

Circling above the four panels already discussed resides another passage around the base of the dome – a quote as forceful as it is succinct, and the only one rendered all in caps: "I HAVE SWORN UPON THE ALTAR OF GOD ETERNAL HOSTILITY AGAINST EVERY FORM OF TYRANNY OVER THE MIND OF MAN"

A visitor would think that Jefferson was proclaiming his antagonism toward King George in particular, monarchists in general or some diffuse Tory dogma; that visitor would be wrong. The author of the declaration was in fact setting his hand against something even more malignant: the influence of religious demagoguery in the conduct of America’s national affairs.

In the presidential election of 1800, Philadelphia clergy were circulating pamphlets declaring Jefferson unfit for office because he was not a Christian.

Which, incidentally, was no great secret. He had declared himself on multiple occasions to be an Epicurean, a subscriber to the classic Greek notion that the most fulfilling life is one dedicated to personal contentment – the “pursuit of happiness” he bequeathed us in his watershed variation on Locke’s “life, liberty and property.”

Jefferson was not hostile to religion in private life – the Memorial’s Panel Two, referenced earlier, reflects his thoughts as a co-author of the 1799 Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom. In a letter to his nephew (Peter Carr, from Paris, 1787) he allowed that there was personal merit in the life of Jesus of Nazareth, provided that the subsequent supernatural messianic theology developed around him was disregarded. But he understood that in public life, freedom of religion also meant freedom from it.

In his “Notes on the State of Virginia” (1785), Jefferson specifies his indifference to religion, provided faith has no bearing on the conduct of government. In a particularly memorable passage he states, “The legitimate powers of government extend to such acts only as are injurious to others. But it does me no injury for my neighbour to say there are twenty gods, or no god. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.” And it was in a letter as president, in response to complaints from a gaggle of Connecticut Baptists, that Jefferson’s phrase “a wall of separation between church and state” established America’s shorthand for the Constitution’s Establishment Clause (Letter of Thomas Jefferson to the Danbury Baptist Association, January 1, 1802).

So it was completely in character for presidential candidate Jefferson to disdain the Pennsylvania clerics’ attacks in a personal letter to confidant and fellow Founder Dr. Benjamin Rush, in which he described his desire to correct “...[T]hat delusion on the clause of the constitution, which, while it secured the freedom of the press, covered also the freedom of religion, had given to the clergy a very favorite hope of obtaining an establishment of a particular form of Christianity thro' the U. S.; and as every sect believes its own form the true one, every one perhaps hoped for his own, but especially the Episcopalians & Congregationalists. The returning good sense of our country threatens abortion to their hopes, & they believe that any portion of power confided to me, will be exerted in opposition to their schemes. And they believe rightly; for I HAVE SWORN UPON THE ALTAR OF GOD, ETERNAL HOSTILITY AGAINST EVERY FORM OF TYRANNY OVER THE MIND OF MAN [uppercase added]. But this is all they have to fear from me: & enough too in their opinion...” (Letter of Thomas Jefferson to Dr. Benjamin Rush, Sept. 23, 1800).

In a sense, we are in the midst of a Week of Jefferson. Tomorrow is both an exuberant homage to the national institutions he helped create and the 188^th anniversary of his death. And we’ve had four days to grieve over Monday’s dreadful violation of the values he lived.

Prominent among his principles was the belief that the greatest national good abides in secular legislation, not sectarian fulmination. His monumental “hostility,” completely historic but incompletely rendered his Memorial, was toward Christian sectarian “schemes” to subvert the law, schemes he rightly identified and condemned as “tyranny over the mind of man.”

I would suggest that, this week at least, the best remembrance of Jefferson is to imagine his response to judicially-abetted schemes which serve to create Christian sectarian tyranny over the bodies of our daughters, partners and wives.  

Occupation Troops: Thoughts on Viewing the American Cemetery at Normandy

Beneath clean white markers on manicured lawns, American troops forever occupy lands wrested from tyrants’ brutal grip. Across its broadest seas, the world’s great ships sail in freedom purchased with the priceless lives of brave Americans who forever occupy their depths.

American troops occupy their own strife-torn nation by the thousands, the tens of thousands, the hundreds of thousands: Gettysburg, Shiloh, Antietam. As American troops occupy our great mausoleums and humble churchyards, they confer upon each a proud equality that transcends a grave’s opulence, or its lack.

Around the world in nature’s tender, remote embrace, unmarked patches of forest, desert and field are occupied by American troops whose ultimate moments remain unrecorded and unattended by their countrymen’s gentle care.

Yes, Americans are global occupation troops. In quiet repose they occupy places whose soil would be bloody still had it not been redeemed with American blood. They occupy the memories of grateful peoples and nations that would not exist, whose hopes would be hollow, had they never greeted hopeful young Americans come to vouchsafe freedom’s promise.

They landed here armed with a pledge of liberty, and occupied a territory even more vast than all the world’s battlefields and graveyards – the boundless realm of humanity’s highest aspirations and its children’s optimism.

They occupied a savior’s place in the tearful prayers of the oppressed.

By the thousands, hundreds, dozens and alone, American troops will always occupy large tracts of the world and small specks of eternity. For their devotion, the world and eternity are both brighter places.

For all its momentary troubles, the American dream enduringly occupies the collective mind of a hopeful world – a testament to beloved sons and daughters who will remain as occupiers of nations and seas from which they shall not depart until land and water cease to be.

Belligerent by Nature

I don’t have to step too far out my back door to know that some of my neighbors are – I’ll say this gently – disturbed. It’s evident in the way they bluster and flap and shriek the most outrageous things. Only recently have I learned that such behavior has a proper scientific name: ornithologists call it “countersinging.” The label is spot-on, as my rowdy neighbors are songbirds.

Dr. Jeremy Hyman of Duke University, avian biologist and animal behaviorist, has heard what I’m hearing. What’s more, he’s listened carefully enough to write an interesting – to me, at least – 2003 paper on countersinging: “Countersinging interactions…include singing matched song types and singing so as to overlap individual songs…. Several studies have documented that matched countersinging and overlapping are correlated with aggressiveness and readiness to escalate confrontations, suggesting that matching and overlapping are honest signals of aggressive intent.”

My backyard neighbors are essentially yelling at one another, trying to shout the competition down, to jam their rival’s signal. Eerily, much of what they’re saying sounds like human words or syllables, and often has been rendered as such by authors of birding guides.

The Tufted Titmouse takes up a cry that sounds for all the world like “Cheater, cheater, cheater.” I find that accusation offensive, as I am innocent. Besides, he has no proof.

My Carolina Wrens are prone to unwarranted panic: “Jeopardy, jeopardy, jeopardy!” Of course, it’s a false alarm.

There’s an anonymous libel being spread – anonymous, as I cannot identify the voice’s owner – that goes, “she HURTS you, HURTS you, HURTS you.” Not just slanderous, it smacks of misogyny. That call has even the experts stumped.

By an inquiry to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, perhaps America’s foremost repository of songbird savoir-faire, I am reliably informed that this time of year the woods are filled with immature birds that have not yet learned to vocalize in a refined manner. To my mind, the birds’ scholarship is faulty and I’ve just about abandoned hope that they’ll ever enjoy mature discourse.

The Towhee is the most annoying of all, prone to protracted spells of belligerent paranoia. Daily, he hurls himself against his own reflection in our kitchen’s bay window. Lunging repeatedly at the self he can’t recognize, he beats his wings against an imaginary peril only a bird brain could concoct. It sounds like someone’s lobbing tennis balls against the glass. Occasionally he’ll pause long enough to wrap his battered beak around the trademark refrain, “DRINK your TEEEEEEE…DRINK your TEEEEEEE.” Not a useful proposition, as I’m certain tea won’t help. I’m amused that he, of all birds, would recommend a beverage I associate with gentility.

In his 1928 book, The Outermost House, naturalist Henry Beston described the birds with whom his cottage shared the Cape Cod dunes as “…not brethren…not underlings [but] other nations caught with ourselves in the net of life and time [and] the splendor and travail of the earth.” For the most part, my little wooded Bestonia has splendor to spare, its colorful citizens flitting through a verdant lattice, threading among tendrils of light and shadow woven by low-angle sun through crisp autumn air. Great choruses of beguiling warbles and cheery, lyrical trills rise and fall as optimistic little neighbors transact their nation’s business.

It also has its share of “travail,” courtesy of a few pessimistic agitators with voices completely out of proportion to their message’s merit. They are ridiculous little hotheads whose songs and behaviors remain predictably rote – accusations, defamation, paranoia; confused flapping at invented threats while demanding that I drink my tea.

I can’t blame them – they’re just silly birds with a sort of hard-wired biological imperative to be cantankerous. They may actually be flattering me, says Jennifer Scales in a 2009 dissertation submitted at the College of Charleston. Scales correlates elevated levels of songbird aggression with the superior quality of their habitat. Measured by civic clamor alone, my Betstonia is a great nation indeed.

But I will say that occasionally, for their own good – because like Jeremy Hyman I’ve been carefully listening instead of just hearing – I have to step off the patio and wave my arms to shut them up. It’s when they’ve gotten a little too self-absorbed; inebriated, as Disraeli would say, with the exuberance of their own verbosity. It’s when, beyond the echo of their own quarrelsome voices, they have missed the distant cry of the approaching hawk.

E Pluribus Unum

Across the Potomac from Georgetown, between Rosslyn and Arlington and awash in the bright, lingering notes of the Netherlands Carillon, stands one of America’s great icons. The Marine Corps War Memorial took sculptor Felix de Weldon three years to fix in meticulously and faithfully detailed bronze what Joe Rosenthal froze on film in a fraction of a second. Observers with no knowledge or memory of the events of February, 1945, might presume that all six of the Iwo Jima flag raisers were Marines. They’d be wrong.

Pharmacist’s Mate 2nd Class John Bradley was a Navy Corpsman, a combat medic, who had climbed to the top of Mount Suribachi with a 40-man patrol from E Company, 2nd Battalion, 28th Marines. As Suribachi was being softened-up by aerial bombs and naval artillery, Bradley had been on the beach tending to a badly wounded Marine. He gave the man the last of his water before beginning the long, thirsty, 560 foot climb up the mountain and another 24 hours of tropical combat with no water of his own. Bradley is easy to spot among the other giant figures of the memorial. He’s the one with the empty canteen pouch.

In the agonizing hours after the towers fell on 9/11, 235-year-old St. Paul’s Chapel on Broadway in Manhattan became the hub of a massive rescue and relief effort. The chapel, just across the street from Ground Zero, had been shielded from the massive shock wave and debris of the collapse by the nine-story bulk of 5 World Trade Center. In the dolorous moonscape that had been Manhattan, the Episcopal chapel stood, unscratched, as a magnet for both helper and helpless alike.

The staff of St. Paul’s has poignant stories from that time: George Washington’s historic personal pew being used for medical triage, crowds of exhausted rescue workers for whom the sanctuary was an impromptu dormitory, 15,000 volunteers serving 500,000 meals, and a visit by one frail old lady.

She was African-American, and they guess she was in her 80s. She had taken the subway from the South Bronx all the way to Lower Manhattan, blustered through police barricades and slowly made her way across the toxic crime scene. At the chapel door she lingered only long enough to hand the staff her cane – her contribution, she explained, to be used by anyone among the injured. Then she turned and hobbled anonymously back toward the Bronx.

Years ago I spent a couple of summers counseling at a camp where it was always one of my great delights to recite an allegory we counselors used to call, “The Fable of Heaven and Hell.” It’s the story of a man who, upon arrival at the Pearly Gates, discovers St. Peter’s computer is on the blink and it’s impossible to confirm his reservation. While we’re waiting for a repair, suggests the old apostle, why not let me show you what you’ve avoided? In a flash, the two are standing on a vast plain, spanned by an impossibly long picnic table. The table is heaped with delicacies of every description and set with the finest china. This, says Peter, is Satan’s realm. Our hero, of course, is not buying it. Where’s the suffering, the flames, Bosch’s deranged hellscape of grotesque demons and decaying sinners? Just wait, says Peter, just wait.

And soon they see the legions of the damned approach the enormous table. They are sickly, jaundiced and lethargic, and our hero soon sees why. In place of a right hand, each has a three foot long fork; in place of the left, a three foot long spoon. The denizens of Hell heap their plates and sit, but it’s joyless. Their devilish utensils make it impossible to bring the food to their mouths. Well, the wizened saint gently asks, seen enough?

Happily, the Pearly Gates are up and running when they return and, after a few taps on his keyboard, St. Peter bids welcome to the celestial kingdom. But our hero lurches to a drop-jawed halt just inside the boundary: Heaven, it seems, is a vast plain, spanned by an impossibly long picnic table. The table is heaped with delicacies of every description and set with the finest china. How can it be!? Just wait, counsels Peter, just wait.

They see the angelic multitudes approach the enormous table, laughing, vigorous and beautiful, but our hero cannot understand why. Because in place of a right hand, each has a three-foot fork; in place of the left, a three-foot spoon. The chosen say a quiet blessing, then heap their plates and sit. They load their ungainly utensils and…each leans forward to feed the person across the table.

And that, we would announce to our campers, was the way to make our own lives a lot less hellish: be selfless – feed the person across the table. Invariably, dinner that night would be a messy affair.

The upcoming 9/11 anniversary is what got me thinking about Iwo Jima and St. Paul’s and days in piney woods. I’m just sappy that way, but I’m a guy who likes some occasional reassurance that there still might be some selflessness left in the world. I’m the kind of naïf who believes it only takes simple acts of serial kindness to make humanity truly humane. If only we could take a moment and sit, metaphorically, at the same table.

Today, America seems mired in demagoguery unparalleled since the days of McCarthyism. Uncritical masses are prey to master propagandists of every persuasion who have replaced informed commentary with performance art. To paraphrase H.L. Mencken, doctrines known to be untrue are being preached to people known to be idiots. The result is factious, belligerent discord. We remain a country, but we seem too ouchy to be truly a nation.

On this anniversary of September 11^th, who will join me in resurrecting the spirit of September 12^th? I’m talking not about fear, grief or anger, but about that day when a shell-shocked nation awoke to find that the polarity of right/left, native/immigrant, white/black, gay/straight, choice/life, rap/country, young/old and rich/poor had been switched off. I’m talking about the feeling of national unity, the open expressions of concern for strangers’ welfare, the knowing nods that said we’re all in this together. I’d like to think that next week, for at least one day, we can get that feeling back again. Each of us must have some morsel to offer the person across the table. Or a canteen. Or a cane.

Cabin Pressure

There is nothing heroic about Steven Slater.

Slater is the JetBlue flight attendant whose dramatic Monday meltdown has become a curious cause célèbre among the take-this-job-and-shove-it crowd. As his assigned flight from Pittsburgh to New York’s JFK Airport was taxiing to the arrival gate, a woman reportedly stood up and began removing luggage from an overhead compartment. As he was instructing her to sit down, things got a bit physical. In a written statement to a New York court, Slater said, "I lost patience after a female passenger had an argument with another passenger and then opened the bin door hitting me on the head without apologizing.” In fact, she offered an expletive instead. Faced with a situation requiring tact and maturity, Slater chose not to step up but to step out.

In a meltdown reminiscent of Peter Finch’s deranged on-air “mad as hell” speech in the film Network, Slater grabbed the plane’s intercom to announce, “I’ve had it” – though not that succinctly – in a tirade that included volleying the passenger’s unladylike expletive back at her as a compound word. He then grabbed a can of beer from the beverage cart, popped the cabin door, inflated the emergency evacuation chute and slid into American folklore.

Slater’s mother, a retired flight attendant, told television reporters that her son actually exercised more restraint than she would have in the same situation. As I write this, a Facebook fan page dedicated to his antics has 178,381 followers, and the newly-unemployed and potentially unemployable Slater is being hailed as a working-class hero. Apparently, lessons learned at home have carried him far.

I find in Steven Slater more to be pitied than admired, more evidence of a deeply disturbed and conflicted personality than of an emblematic crusader. According to police, Slater’s dramatic exit was not immediate; he was reportedly sent to the front of the plane to cool down, and was observed drinking alcohol freely. In his MySpace profile, Slater describes himself as “Beating alcoholism and substance abuse ‘one day at a time.’” Monday wasn’t one of those days. Besotted thinking may be evident in his PA announcement, “I’ve been in this business 28 years,” an impressive achievement for a 39-year-old.

Slater’s conflicted view of his job is found in some of his regular posts, as “skyliner747,” to the online industry forum Airliners.net, in which he discusses the very issues that came to a head this week. On January 18, 2008, he vigorously deplored the actions of an agitated flight attendant who apparently exchanged angry words with a passenger:

“If the flight attendant did indeed speak the words alleged afterwords [sic] and rant and rave…then she obviously lost the very composure she was hired to have…. I have found that a little tact and diplomacy on my part goes a long, long way to making my own job much easier. ‘Busy’ or not, unprofessionalism is unacceptable, and you don't speak to people that way. Period…. I am always amazed by the (fortunately few) FA's on power trips. We know who they are, and as unpleasant as they are for the passenger, imagine the nightmare of working three days with these people in that close proximity!”

By contrast, his comment on March 17^th of this year, rendered here exactly as posted, makes him seem to have hardened: “I hate to be bag nazi when i work a flight, but I feel if I am not, then I am letting down all those who cooperate and thry to help out as well.”

In every account I’ve seen, other flight attendants are appalled by his behavior – “unprofessional” is the common description – and the great injury it has done to their good names. They seem to be in general agreement that no amount of provocation can establish an excuse for Slater’s actions. So how has the industry’s bête noir become America’s man of the hour?

I submit that the popular appeal of Steven Slater’s psychotic episode proves that the new model of public discourse in America is the tantrum. Our cable channels have devolved into little more than protracted, program-length tantrums about politics and culture and people we just don’t like, and such institutionalized outrage has become a standard that suborns individually outrageous behavior. When we make angry people our heroes, personal restraint equates to weakness.

Maybe Slater is such an online darling because bad manners suffuse so much of the online community. Emboldened by username anonymity in increasingly rude web interactions, civil discourse has been replaced by the instant gratification of in-your-face exchanges calculated to give offense. Immune to the idea that maturity is measured by one’s ability to delay gratification, too many ouchy, self-absorbed people are just one indignity away from behaving disgracefully in person. But only the immature throw tantrums, or admire those who do.

Steven Slater’s actions cost JetBlue plenty: $25,000 to replace the emergency slide, plus lost use of the aircraft while the work is underway. The airline has also distributed $10,000 worth of flight vouchers as an apology to the passengers aboard his flight. It’s reasonable to assume that the carrier will act to recover its losses from the “hero” who caused them.

Add the potential civil judgment to the other costs incurred by Slater himself: loss of a career and a possible felony record for malicious mischief, reckless endangerment and trespassing. His defenders say the charges are too severe, considering – no doubt – that he was provoked. And, that they find it entertaining. But this was no wacky prank. Beyond the loss to JetBlue, there is the manifestly unsafe act of deploying the emergency slide while the plane was at the gate, an explosive, 3,000-p.s.i. event that took six seconds or less and placed ground crews at risk of injury or death. Thankfully, no one was injured and, fortunately, Slater’s emotional shortcomings were revealed in an episode other than a genuine emergency in which the emotional demand would have been exponentially greater.

I think it’s only fair and probably unnecessary to say that Steven Slater is an aberration in a profession otherwise worthy of our esteem. When his 15 minutes of fame is over, we can get back to remembering flight attendants Donna Dent, Doreen Welsh, and Sheila Dail, who earned the world’s admiration and gratitude by guiding 150 passengers to safety as US Airways Flight 1549 floated helplessly in the frigid Hudson River. Or we can appreciate the everyday heroics of the Lufthansa flight attendant in this video, who used a pillow fight to raise coach passengers’ spirits.

There are heroes great and small in every walk of life. But in his or any other, Steven Slater is not one of them.

Unknown Alternatives

War: a violent conflict between nation-states employing systematic destruction organized on an industrial scale with an outcome decided by force of arms.

By that definition, America’s last war formally ended in September of 1945. For the preceding 14 years – since the September, 1931, invasion of Manchuria – the Empire of Japan had been inflicting industrial-scale inhumanity across East Asia and the Pacific.

America’s systematic response also spawned an entirely new industry for which today is an important anniversary. It was at 8:15 a.m. on this date in 1945 that war was elevated to a new level about 580 meters above the Shima Surgical Clinic in Hiroshima.

Eleven days earlier the Allies had issued an ultimatum – the Potsdam Declaration – demanding a Japanese surrender and threatening “utter devastation of the Japanese homeland” as the alternative. The demonstration of that alternative over Hiroshima, and three days later at Nagasaki, has been the subject of debate ever since: Was it necessary?

On August 6, 1945, Japan was an aggressor whose martial and economic fortunes had failed. It was largely powerless to resist industrial-scale warfare. Five months earlier, 16 square miles of Tokyo – nearly four times the destruction at Hiroshima – was obliterated in one night of American bombing. The 100,000 Japanese deaths in that one Tokyo raid exceed the immediate death toll of either subsequent atomic attack. In addition, an estimated one million were injured and another million left homeless. It is clear that the Japanese homeland was suffering greatly prior to August 1945 on the strength of conventional munitions alone. What, ask historians on both sides of the question, could nuclear bombs do to change Japan’s mind that ordinary high explosives weren’t already doing?

We all breathe the air of our times. An insightful sample of the air from 65 years ago is contained in eight paragraphs (text in gray, below) of a United States government document prepared by a blue-ribbon panel, the U. S. Strategic Bombing Survey: The Effects of the Atomic Bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, June 19, 1946:

Even in the target cities, it must be emphasized, the atomic bomb did not uniformly destroy the Japanese fighting spirit. Hiroshima and Nagasaki, when compared with other Japanese cities, were not more defeatist than average. The bombs were tremendous personal catastrophes to the survivors, but neither time nor understanding of the revolutionary threat of the atomic bomb permitted them to see in these personal catastrophes a final blow to Japan’s prospects for victory or negotiated peace.

The further question of the effects of the bombs on the morale of the Japanese leaders and their decision to abandon the war is tied up with other factors. The atomic bomb had more effect on the thinking of government leaders than on the morale of the rank and file of civilians outside of the target areas. It cannot be said, however, that the atomic bomb convinced the leaders who effected the peace of the necessity of surrender. The decision to surrender, influenced in part by knowledge of the low state of popular morale, had been taken at least as early as 26 June at a meeting of the Supreme War Guidance Council in the presence of the Emperor.

This decision did not, of course, represent the unanimous feeling of those influential in government circles. As early as the spring of 1944 a group of former prime ministers and others close to the Emperor had been making efforts toward bringing the war to an end. This group, including such men as Admiral Okada, Admiral Yonai, Prince Konoye, and Marquis Kido, had been influential in effecting Tojo’s resignation and in making Admiral Suzuki Prime Minister after Kioso's fall. Even in the Suzuki cabinet, however, agreement was far from unanimous. The Navy Minister, Admiral Yonai, was sympathetic, but the War Minister, General Anami, usually represented the fight-to-the-end policy of the Army. In the Supreme War Guidance Council, a sort of inner cabinet, his adherence to that line was further assured by the participation of the Army nod Navy Chiefs of Staff, so that on the peace issue this organization was evenly divided, with these three opposing the Prime Minister, Foreign Minister, and Navy Minister. At any time military (especially Army) dissatisfaction with the Cabinet might have eventuated at least in its fall and possibly in the "liquidation" of the anti-war members.

Thus the problem facing the peace leaders in the government was to bring about a surrender despite the hesitation of the War Minister and the opposition of the Army and Navy Chiefs of Staff. This had to be done, moreover, without precipitating counter measures by the Army which would eliminate the entire peace group. This was done ultimately by bringing the Emperor actively into the decision to accept the Potsdam terms. So long as the Emperor openly supported such a policy and could be presented to the country as doing so, the military, which had fostered and lived on the idea of complete obedience to the Emperor, could not effectively rebel.

A preliminary step in this direction had been taken at the Imperial Conference on 26 June. At this meeting, the Emperor, taking an active part despite his custom to the contrary, stated that he desired the development of a plan to end the war as well as one to defend the home islands [italics mine]. This was followed by a renewal of earlier efforts to get the Soviet Union to intercede with the United States, which were effectively answered by the Potsdam Declaration on 25 July and the Russian declaration of war on 9 August.

The atomic bombings considerably speeded up these political maneuverings within the government. This in itself was partly a morale effect, since there is ample evidence that members of the Cabinet were worried by the prospect of further atomic bombings, especially on the remains of Tokyo. The bombs did not convince the military that defense of the home Islands was impossible, if their behavior in government councils is adequate testimony. It did permit the Government to say, however, that no army without the weapon could possibly resist an enemy who had it, thus saving "face" for the Army leaders and not reflecting on the competence of Japanese industrialists or the valor of the Japanese soldier. In the Supreme War Guidance Council voting remained divided, with the War Minister and the two Chiefs of Staff unwilling to accept unconditional surrender. There seem [sic] little doubt, however, that the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki weakened their inclination to oppose the peace group.

The peace effort culminated in an Imperial conference held on the night of 9 August and continued into the early hours of 10 August, for which the stage was set by the atomic bomb and the Russian war declaration. At this meeting the Emperor, again breaking his customary silence, stated specifically that he wanted acceptance of the Potsdam terms.

A quip was current in high [Japanese] government circles at this time that the atomic bomb was the real Kamikaze [“divine wind”], since it saved Japan from further useless slaughter and destruction. It is apparent that in the atomic bomb the Japanese found the opportunity which they had been seeking, to break the existing deadlock within the government over acceptance of the Potsdam terms.

Critics of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings note that the Japanese were discussing surrender months before the nuclear attacks. But the June 26th decision of the Supreme War Guidance Council was ambiguous: in the section of the bombing survey I’ve italicized, the emperor is portrayed as presenting not one option – surrender – but two, thereby preserving the council’s even division on the question.

America’s systematic analysis of the nuclear attacks was just one of three official postwar strategic bombing surveys. Panels also evaluated the theater-wide impacts of aerial strikes in Europe and the Pacific. Paul Nitze, who subsequently spent four decades as an architect of American cold war policy, eventually as a special advisor to President Ronald Reagan, was a member of both the A-bomb survey and the broader survey of bombing in the Pacific theater. Writing the report on the latter, Nitze makes a much stronger statement than any contained in the former, casting the nuclear attacks in a less favorable light:

“Based on a detailed investigation of all the facts, and supported by the testimony of the surviving Japanese leaders involved, it is the Survey's opinion that certainly prior to 31 December 1945, and in all probability prior to 1 November 1945, Japan would have surrendered even if the atomic bombs had not been dropped, even if Russia had not entered the war, and even if no invasion had been planned or contemplated.”

Emperor Hirohito declared the Japanese surrender on August 15th. Considering both surveys’ reports, it seems reasonable to conclude that the effect of the atomic attacks was to shorten the war by three or four months. For an America that had suffered more than 350,000 casualties in the Pacific – a figure growing by the hour – and facing the prospect of an additional million-plus in an invasion of Japan's home islands, Hirohito’s announcement couldn’t have come soon enough.

It’s arguable that operational use of the bomb shortened the war by providing Japan's anti-war faction with leverage to break the deadlock in the Supreme War Guidance Council. For that purpose, would one bomb have been sufficient? It is unclear just how well America was reading Japan's mood at the moment. But it does seem that the decision was ultimately Hirohito’s, and it is unknowable when he might have reached it based on the toll – albeit horrific – of conventional bombing alone.

History does not disclose its alternatives. On the rightness of President Harry Truman’s decision to send atoms into combat, historians may be destined to debate forever. What's important is that the war ended without an invasion and Japan, aided by humane victors, built itself back to prosperity and became our ally.

The end of the war meant the Allies were free to make what they would of Europe and Japan. It was also at Potsdam that Russia's Stalin provided the first clues of his intended domination of Eastern Europe to commence at war's end. So, in retrospect, today's Hiroshima anniversary is shared with another: it seems certain that the Cold War, with its own special thermonuclear chill, also began on this day 65 years ago.

Maybe it’s thanks to the harsh object lesson of Hiroshima that the Cold War stayed as cold as it did, and industrial-scale warfare itself was exposed as the one alternative that should remain forevermore unknown.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

President Barak Obama stood alone on a Gulf Coast beach, hearing only the waves and his own inner voice. The solitary scene just reinforced his isolation as the expanding oil slick threatens to overwhelm his connection with coastal residents and recovery managers….

If an old aphorism is true, I am owed 957 more words to complete the phony analysis I began in the preceding paragraph - phony, because the picture I’m describing is itself a fraud.

Reproduced above is the cover of June 19th issue of The Economist, based on a May 28th photo by Reuters journalist Larry Downing. I say "based," because what The Economist printed is not the image Downing recorded.

The Economist is a blue-blooded British weekly aimed at a Brahman caste of international executives and policy makers, with unsigned articles of a rather pedantic tone. On the whole, The Economist might be considered somewhat witty. But on the 19th of last month they were too clever for their own good, and ours.

In Downing’s original shot, Obama is not only not alone, he is actively engaged in a conversation with coastal resident Charlotte Randolph as U.S.C.G. Admiral Thad Allen listens. But Randolph and Allen, not instantly recognizable and in postures nowhere near as dramatic as Obama’s, had to go.

The photographic trickery was exposed Monday by Jeremy Peters of The New York Times. According to Peters, Economist Deputy Editor Emma Duncan offered this rationale:

“I was editing the paper* the week we ran the image of President Obama with the oil rig in the background. Yes, Charlotte Randolph was edited out of the image (Admiral Allen was removed by the crop). We removed her not to make a political point, but because the presence of an unknown woman would have been puzzling to readers.

“We often edit the photos we use on our covers, for one of two reasons. Sometimes — as with a cover we ran on March 27 on U.S. health care, with Mr. Obama with a bandage round his head — it’s an obvious joke. Sometimes — as with an image of President Chavez on May 15 on which we darkened the background, or with our ‘It’s time’ cover endorsing Mr. Obama, from which the background was removed altogether — it is to bring out the central character. We don’t edit photos in order to mislead.

“I asked for Ms. Randolph to be removed because I wanted readers to focus on Mr. Obama, not because I wanted to make him look isolated. That wasn’t the point of the story. ‘The damage beyond the spill’ referred to on the cover, and examined in the cover leader, was the damage not to Mr. Obama, but to business in America.”

[*Though The Economist is a glossy magazine, its publishers refer to it as a newspaper.]

Just to be perfectly clear, the news service photographer had no part in the photograph’s alteration; in fact, it would be against Reuters policy to make such a change without management approval and the consent of the subjects. The Economist's Emma Duncan is the one who made the call.

Her call was fundamentally dishonest, intellectually and journalistically, and her explanation seems, well…thin. Her editorial standards are apparently humor (“…an obvious joke.”) and emphasis (“…bring out the central character.”), but during a long career in journalism I have had it emphasized to me, as I’ve emphasized to others, that there’s nothing funny about misrepresenting reality. That applies especially to visual media, where only half of the graphic’s intended message is under editorial control; it is the viewer, a creature with sometimes quirky predispositions, whose personal context completes the interpretive experience. No two people would write the same thousand words.

There is no denying that we live in a Photoshop age. A moderately astute adolescent with a couple hundred bucks can manipulate images in ways unavailable to the CIA less than a generation ago. There’s no dishonesty in doing so in the name of art or entertainment. Just don’t do it and call the image news.

I remember an interview with film director James Cameron several years ago in which he was commenting on advances in digital graphic technology. He was, he told the interviewer, sincerely worried about the future of our democracy. The power to completely rearrange elements within the frame long after the image is recorded left him wondering whether voters could ever trust their eyes again.

In 2004 there was no doubt in many minds that presidential candidate John Kerry and certified veteran-annoyer Jane Fonda once shared the same antiwar podium. The incontrovertible evidence, a grainy newspaper photo from the early ‘70s, was in fact a modern digital paste-up job using file photos snapped a year apart. A lot of smart people, and an exponentially larger number of the not-so-smart, were completely taken in. It was clear case of technological dishonesty in the service of political slime-mongers. It was James Cameron's nightmare.

In a larger scheme of things, the only apparent harm arising from The Economist cover is to the publication itself. Politically, not enough of the American electorate reads it for the misimpression to have meaningful effect. And while there needs to be a sustained cry for more editorial integrity among the world’s visual media, it’s a sad fact that committed visual propagandists will always have their ways of making the unreal look real, and us look like fools for believing it.

The next time an image – especially one purporting to depict newsworthy or politically sensitive events – amazes, appalls or inspires you, ask yourself: is there any particular person, entity or point of view that stands to gain by your reaction (or a similar reaction from others) and, if so, to what degree? That’s the first step in answering the question, Is it real?