If you want to have a truly dispiriting, soul-shrinking experience, read Justice Department official David Margolis’s decision to let Jay Bybee and John Yoo off the hook for any professional misconduct in authoring “torture memos” for the Bush White House.

The sad thing is, Margolis’s disagreements with the recommendations of the Office of Professional Responsibility seem reasonable. He takes a critical view of the memos in question. Here’s what he has to say, for example, about Yoo:

I would be remiss in not observing, however, that these memoranda represent an unfortunate chapter in the Office of Legal Counsel. While I have declined OPR’s findings of misconduct, I fear that John Yoo’s loyalty to his own ideology and convictions clouded his view of his obligation to his client and led him to author opinions that reflected his own extreme, albeit sincerely held, views of executive power while speaking for an institutional client. These memoranda suggest that he failed to appreciate the enormous responsibility that comes with authority to issue institutional decisions that carried the authoritative weight of the Department of Justice.

Read further, and Margolis describes a process in which the OPR – going through drafts and responses from the principals – struggles to see how the Bush lawyers’ conduct might violate various ethical and professional codes of the Justice Department, the DC Bar, and other associations. In one of his responses, Yoo taunts the OPR for doing what it says he was doing: trying to make the code fit a predetermined conclusion. Ultimately, Margolis concludes that the standards they were compelled to follow were simply too low:

I conclude the DC rules created an unambiguous obligation on Yoo and Bybee to not provide advice their client that was knowingly or recklessly false or issued in bad faith. While the OLC best practices may require more, failure to meet those standards should result in poor evaluations or administrative disciplinary action, but not bar referrals.

So Yoo and Bybee were not lying or acting in bad faith. They were sincere in their perfidy! And even if they violated the higher standard, it doesn’t rise to the level of disciplinary action from the bar.

The problem here is not that Margolis has an overly bureaucratic sensibility, or even lawyers writing codes of conduct that protect lawyers and lawyerly institutions and not the public trust. It’s that a departmental disciplinary procedure is a terrible venue for adjudicating this issue. And it’s pathetic that we’re stuck looking to this arcane bureaucratic process for some measure of corrective justice here. Of course the result – whatever it was – was going to fall short.

There are many questions here that demand answers. The lack of resolution on torture is a kind of open wound in the body politic. It will fester if left alone. We ought to look backward. Can we determine exactly what went wrong, who was responsible, who violated domestic or international law, and what, if any punishment, they deserve? Is Yoo the villain here? Dick Cheney? Bush? Can we, as a society, agree that something went seriously wrong here? This gets us into the realm not of departmental hair-splitting but South Africa-style truth commissions.

Of course, that’s not going to happen. The more likely outcome is this fades into the background until the next big terror attack. Then all the unresolved issues will erupt in our faces. The intense pressure to “get tough” on prisoners will resume. Ticking time bombs will once again fill our op-ed pages. And because we lack clarity on exactly what the law allows, how institutions should behave, there may be nothing to stop them from going dangerously awry again.

Jack Bauer

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Vengeance – experienced vicariously via movies or TV – is one of the purest kinds of emotional satisfaction. And the revenge flick has had something of a renaissance recently, as Stanley Fish notes in this blog post, citing Liam Neeson’s memorably-delivered statement from “Taken” as a road map for the entire genre:  “If you’re looking for ransom, I don’t have any money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career, skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my daughter go now, that will be the end of it I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don’t, I will look for you. I will find you. And I will kill you.”

If you saw the movie, or even if you didn’t, you know that’s exactly what he does. And the quest to save the daughter and get the bad guy’s scalp unfolds with a number of plot flourishes – torture, Arab sheikhs collecting American virgins, corrupt French bureaucrats – that make it appear that Dick Cheney was hired on as an uncredited script-doctor.

Revenge fantasies are durable, reliable entertainments because they allow us to experience actions that aren’t allowed in real life, and that most of us wouldn’t truly want to experience even if given the chance. That would be fine if we were just talking about pop culture. But during the 2000s, the revenge fantasy escaped the realm of fiction. It came to dominate our politics and – for a while – overturned centuries of established U.S. policy and tradition toward prisoners.

Call it the Jack Bauer Decade: a strange, hopefully anomalous phase of American history, and one that America has yet to grapple with fully. (more…)

Goldman Sachs Capital Partners

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I’m late to this, but it’s not going away, so here’s my question: Is Matt Taibbi merely a journalistic scourge, or also a scourge on journalism itself? The question isn’t just about Taibbi, but about the state of journalism and America right now, post-bubble, post Iraq war, post-Bush.

You probably know the background: Taibbi has written a couple of searing cover stories for Rolling Stone on the financial shenanigans of Goldman Sachs over the past century and on the Obama administration’s close ties to Goldman and Wall Street and its halting attempts to reform the banking system.

These pieces are, unlike most stories that contain the word “Geithner,” actually fun to read and make a simple and compelling point: historically, and now, there is a tight nexus between the elite banks and uppermost reaches of the federal government – whether it’s run by Republicans or Democrats. This has proven to be catastrophic. Its persistence after the disaster of 2008 is a significant structural problem for the American economy – and, by extension, the global economy. Obama’s diffidence on the matter is one of the great mysteries of his presidency, given the both the substantive problem and the political advantages to taking on the bankers, which would theoretically appeal both to liberals and the tea party crowd.

Taibbi indicts not just Goldman, but the system. And that system is, well, highly indictable. But on the way, he overreaches. He imbues his villains with more agency than they deserve. He makes mistakes. (more…)

The Philadelphia Inquirer’s decision to give a monthly column to John Yoo – author of several “torture memos” offering legal rationales for the Bush administration’s abusive interrogations – is (pick your term): Tone-deaf? Crazy? Morally dubious? Newspapers have made a lot of questionable decisions in recent years, some perhaps unavoidable, some true whoppers. But this is just flat-out wrong.

Many newspapers and other traditional media outlets, fearful of the “liberal bias” charge and watching their audience disappear, have spent the past decade trying to build their credibility with conservatives. There’s nothing wrong with that per se –  they are run mostly by liberals, and we need conservative voices in the political debate. But those efforts went awry during the Bush administration. Confronted by an White House that was wildly overreaching on presidential power, surveillance, torture and the politicization of basic governance, most media lost their bearings. They treated these things as normal, if controversial, activities of government.

Fortunately, the political system self-corrected. But the media’s problems remain. Here is part of of editorial page editor Harold Jackson’s explanation for Yoo’s hiring:

He’s a Philadelphian, and very knowledgeable about the legal subjects he discusses in his commentaries. Our readers have been able to get directly from Mr. Yoo his thoughts on a number of subjects concerning law and the courts, including measures taken by the White House post-9/11. That has promoted further discourse, which is the objective of newspaper commentary.

But other providing a valuable forum for self-justification, I don’t understand what the op-ed page gains with Yoo. There are plenty of talented conservative writers out there. Yoo’s debut column is undistinguished conservative boilerplate.

The only reason Yoo is prominent enough to write a column in the Inquirer is because of his work in the White House Office of Legal Counsel. Hiring him is thus is an implicit endorsement of the legitimacy the legal opinions he crafted there. But those opinions are legally suspect and morally repugnant. Yoo is an advocate of a questionable legal theory of nearly unlimited presidential power, and his memos were instrumental in providing legal cover for techniques that were, by any commonsense interpretation of the word, torture.

Yoo might be a war criminal. At the very least, Inquirer editors should engage that issue directly. Simply hiring him says: we don’t think so. This is an assent to the dangerous notion that if the U.S. government did it, no matter how reprehensible it might be, it must have some legitimacy. That’s sad – and not part of the American journalistic tradition I know.

Update: Wednesday’s New York Times story on this quotes Harold Jackson confirming that Yoo’s hiring was indeed an attempt to address the liberal bias perception: “‘There was a conscious effort on our part to counter some of the criticism of The Inquirer as being a knee-jerk liberal publication,’ Mr. Jackson said. ‘We made a conscious effort to add some conservative voices to our mix.’”

The staff of the New York Times has done some great reporting on the Bush administration’s torture policies. But there is something absurd about the paper’s internal debate over how to describe what the U.S. did to Abu Zubaydah and other prisoners. Public editor Clark Hoyt recounts the discussions that led to the chosen word of the moment, “brutal”:

The word had appeared a few times before in this context, most recently on April 10, when the Central Intelligence Agency said it was closing the network of secret overseas prisons where interrogations took place. Scott Shane, who covers national security, said he and his editor in the Washington bureau, Douglas Jehl, negotiated over the wording of the first paragraph. Shane wrote that methods used in the prisons were “widely denounced as illegal torture.” Jehl changed that to the “harshest interrogation methods” since the Sept. 11 attacks. Shane said he felt that with more information coming to light, including a leaked report by the International Committee of the Red Cross, the words harsh and even harshest no longer sufficed. He proposed brutal, and Jehl agreed.

A week later, Jill Abramson, the managing editor for news, came to her own conclusion that the facts supported a stronger word than harsh after she read just-released memos from the Bush-era Justice Department spelling out the interrogation methods in detail and declaring them legal. The memos were repudiated by President Obama.

“Harsh sounded like the way I talked to my kids when they were teenagers and told them I was going to take the car keys away,” said Abramson, who consulted with several legal experts and talked it over with Dean Baquet, the Washington bureau chief. Abramson and Baquet agreed that “brutal” was a better word.

These discussions presume there is a public debate over whether waterboarding is harsh or brutal or torture. But there isn’t a genuine debate at all: it’s obvious that it’s all of those things. The reason the wording is in dispute is classic Orwell: Dick Cheney and others claim that torture is useful in defending American interests and lives, but U.S. and international law ban torture. So the U.S. must torture but call it something else. So we don’t torture. By failing to call torture by its true name, the Times and other media outlets lend legitimacy to a rhetorical scam.

This is an interesting journalism question. A group of public officials – whose record of honesty and credibility on national security matters is already in considerable doubt – insists that torture is not torture but something else. Even if they’re sincere in their assertions that “enhanced interrogation” is key to defeating terrorism, self interest is also key motivation for this stance: they don’t want to be prosecuted for war crimes and don’t want their legacy tarnished. Yet the media establishment feels it must avoid weighing the context and motivations behind these improbable linguistic acrobatics, and so cannot make a rather straightforward judgment.

I can see the reasoning, and Hoyt spells it out: if you start calling torture torture, a lot of people will get mad at you and accuse you of liberal bias. You’re also strongly implying someone has committed a crime, which will stir up even more outrage and perhaps have legal implications. Still, I think these problems have to be weighed against a paper’s basic obligation to tell its readers the truth, and not filter information with euphemisms coined to obscure the truth. By dancing endlessly around the question of whether “brutal” = “torture,” media outlets are only damaging their own credibility.

Why is the notion of Karl Rove tweeting in defense of Bush administration torture policies so disturbing?

Precautions taken 2 guarantee compliance w/ federal prohibition on torture. U might characterize diligence as overcautious.#TCOT #SGP #HHRS

Yes, I suppose U might be impatient with the amount of legal and bureaucratic activity the Bush White House set in motion to justify waterboarding and other “enhanced interrogation techniques” if U belonged to the Khmer Rouge or the Syrian secret police (though if U were a Nazi, this fastidiousness would seem nothing exceptional).

But seriously, this is … icky. And on about three different levels. Rove is not a lawyer or an intelligence expert; he is no position to judge the merits of legal memos or other steps taken to justify “enhanced interrogation.” And in general, nothing he says about what went on in the Bush White House can be taken as anything but spin. He’s also a particularly amoral political operative; throughout his career he’s has prided himself not just on winning but on using underhanded tactics to destroy the reputations of his opponents. That such a man is blithely spinning on one of the gravest moral issues before us is ridiculous and chilling, an example of the Bush administration’s elevation of politics above even the nation’s bedrock ideals. That Rove is doing this on Twitter (with hashtags!) just adds a layer of absurdity to the whole thing, while giving a bad name even to the “had too much butter on my pancakes” Twitterer class. Via Alex Massie.

President Obama deserves credit for releasing the Bush torture memos. But his position on torture prosecutions is so muddled it gives nuance a bad name (and just when it was making a comeback). There are so many bad actors it’s hard to figure out how to handle them all, but Obama’s position is, or appears to be: CIA interrogators won’t be prosecuted. The lawyers who wrote the now-infamous memos may be. The top officials who were ultimately responsible – Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Tenet, others – probably not. And – maybe – there should be some kind of 9/11-style commission to examine this. But Obama is not actually calling for that, just suggesting it.

This makes sense only through the prism of politics – and a complex politics it is, involving constituencies in the intelligence and defense bureaucracies, Congress and the nation as a whole. Obama is trying to please, or to not offend, as many of these constituencies as possible, while at the same time laying down a clear marker against torture.

Obama should be setting the tone for how the country handles the torture issue. Instead, the debate has slipped away from him entirely and taken on a life of its own. Democrats are agitating for investigations and prosecutions. Republicans are arguing that torture works (pivoting from, without completely abandoning, the now-untenable “we do not torture” refrain). And Obama is both parsing up a storm and trying to stay above it all.

I empathize – Obama is trying to accomplish a lot, and the torture debate can only suck attention from much bigger issues, while opening up political and social divisions the president is trying to put behind him. It may even make more sense, in terms of building a lasting anti-torture consensus, to have less accountability rather than more. But this process requires clarity, not endless caveats. How, for example, does Obama’s don’t-prosecute-the-interrogators-policy apply to the period before the legally enabling memos were written? A process has begun here; more disclosures will follow the ones we’ve already seen. It will be messy and politically contentious – exactly the kind of thing we know Obama doesn’t like one bit. But that is how democracy works, and Obama would be advised, to the degree he can, to simply get out of the way.

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