Читать книгу George Anderson - Peter Dimock - Страница 6
ОглавлениеDear David Kallen,
My name is Theo Fales. In the vision I had two years ago I came to the end of myself and found other people standing there—and knew that the present was a gift of time in which to sing a true history of equal historical selves. That’s why I’m writing you now—to request an interview. We were undergraduates together at Harvard though our paths never crossed. I was two years ahead of you.
I need to speak with you. In December of 2004, you signed on behalf of the Office of Legal Counsel the document that contained a footnote that found the policies and acts of torture committed by the officials of the George W. Bush administration legal. Your signature made torture the official policy and accepted practice of my government.
You did this after you directed Special Forces trainers to torture you. Rightly you did this in search of an experiential basis for the words of your legal finding. In the event, you named what they did to you as torture and immediately ordered the procedures stopped with a special hand signal your torturers had given you for that purpose.
Then on December 30, 2004 you signed the official memorandum you were charged with drafting to replace the secret one of August 2002 that had been withdrawn after it was made public in the wake of the disclosure of the Abu Ghraib photographs. You allowed a note (footnote 8) to be inserted (did you craft it yourself?) that found all previous authorizations of torture to be legal under the standards your words and your experience gave you the art and ability to know.
I need to speak with you in person because I do not know how to live this history. My complicity summons angels singing—I know that you and I are the same person. Somehow our entitlement to rule continues. Surely this is mystery in need of colloquy.
I am requesting the touch of your words in the moving air (and the touch of your hand) in the hope that they will help me learn to live my complicity honorably. I send you this historical method in good faith.
I believe we will soon have the opportunity to meet in person. In four months, on June 19th, both of us are scheduled to attend, as I understand the arrangements, the dedication ceremony and public opening of the new Charles Jason Frears Memorial American Music Archive and Performance Center on the New Carrollton campus of the University of Maryland.
You did something braver than I will ever do. This method I am sending you takes a month (thirty or thirty-one days) to practice in its entirety. We both have the necessary time to prepare ourselves. I use the words my method brings me to create notes for another history. I trust you will agree that history is a discipline of action applied to events in time. You and I know enough to claim the original sovereignty—or, if necessary, a new one—of the authorized grace of a word’s reciprocity.
I admire you more than I can say—for your bravery and for the formal, rigorous beauty of your legal art. You needed an experiential foundation for each word in the crucial legal phrase “the intentional infliction of severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental” in the Convention Against Torture signed by President Ronald Reagan in 1988 and ratified by the United States in 1994. There had been no rulings about these words in case law. If we become friends, I hope you will tell me if you were convinced that the administration you served needed to extract information from the living bodies of the captured and detained by more active means than previously had ever been permitted by the laws of war?
When we meet in June, both having practiced at least some of the exercises prescribed by this method to the best of our abilities, I propose we discuss the appropriate speech to choose for the history we are now living in the New World.
Was it David Addington, General Counsel for Vice-President Cheney, or another of his aides, who dictated the paragraph of footnote 8 that was inserted after your draft had been reviewed by his office? That footnote stated that nothing in the official legal finding the reader was engaged in reading—your empirical experience of waterboarding with your body to give the word “torture” in the language of the law experiential accuracy and validity notwithstanding—was to be construed to suggest that anything that had been done to detainees at the order of the highest officials in the administration in the seventeen months between August 2002 and December 2004 would not be permissible according to your document’s legal reasoning. Torture needed only the sound of your voice before the reader’s eyes to be condemned or upheld in law. You signed this memorandum of legal understanding that had the force of law in all offices of the executive branch knowing your signature, once the document included footnote 8, perpetrated war crimes. Why lend the sound of your voice on the page to crimes against humanity given everything you knew and know?
Footnote 8 meant that the methods the Special Forces trainers used on you at Fort Bragg have continued to be used during interrogations conducted under the color of law by American citizens and professionally trained personnel ever since.
By signing that document you undid the truth you knew. I’m not blaming you. I do the same with every breath. There can be no discernable line between public and inward voicing unless actions can be made accountable in speech. Like you I am a loyal citizen and faithful servant of empire.
I cannot distinguish myself from you. That’s why I ask now for the chance to meet in person and to speak with you formally but without restraint.
How do we devise a method for living the present moment within a frame of redemptive, universal history? (Our training gave us the rhetorical means to make the case that this was both possible and necessary.) Weren’t we taught well that it was our duty to use our power and privilege to dispel all temptations to the contrary? The community of equally valuable free selves was and is the final goal of the American state under our stewardship. The brightness of American summer air—over Bar Harbor or Nantucket—confirms each year the naturalness of our authority.
I know I have no right to ask you to answer these questions sincerely and truthfully unless I am willing to give an accurate and true account of myself.
I have been trying to find a way to do this responsibly during the past few years—to devise a method that won’t waste time or encumber others with false, awkward, or wasted mental steps.
During this same time, I am confident I have adequately met my obligations as Senior Executive Editor for McClaren Books, even serving briefly as Executive Vice-President of the education division for our parent company, NCI Corporation (formerly Newmark Communications International). Now I am sending you my historical method so that my request for an hour to meet in person this coming June 19th will be understood by you as made with a carefully disciplined and rigorously practiced good faith.
Even if you find that you cannot honor my request, my method, if you engage the exercises it prescribes in an active way, will give you a reliable technique with which to weigh the value of my arguments against your own experience. I can say in its favor that there have been moments in my practice of its exercises when I have been able to find myself outside the cycle of owning everything and of fathers killing sons. I rely upon the trust and good faith instilled by our training. I am confident you will take this letter seriously. At my method’s end I hope both of us will have a way to approach the people waiting in Fallujah to talk with us about the common history we have made.
≈
Like a name—like empire—this happens all at once: some new speech, some new immediacy of obedience and rule.
By historical method I mean every exercise possible—physical and mental—by which the self can learn to rid itself of inordinate attachments to empire and, once they have been removed, search and find ways to refuse empire and create reciprocity among equals.
This is what happened to me:
This intrusion of a sense of harm in the moment: this complicity of presence. There are lots of ways of being protected—this system of alarm at the way we rule: all the colors of the world fly loose—they fly calmly toward the screen, then suddenly return to narrative purpose but establish rule by traveling in the wrong direction.
I promise that I’m trying to say what happened as clearly as I can. What happened has determined my system of composition. Without a way of saying it adequate to the occasion there will be nothing but confusion.
This presence of harm:
Mary Joscelyn took a job straight out of Fordham College in the publicity and advertising department of McClaren Books (this was in 1964), a well-regarded mid-sized New York book publisher known for its excellent American history titles. She never worked for any other company and died of a sudden heart attack on a Sunday afternoon in 1995 in her Queens home at the age of sixty-five. She had risen to the position of director of print promotion and was in charge of all print reviews and print media relations for the McClaren imprint. I myself was taken on at McClaren Books as an acquiring editor in 1984 after a ten-year reading binge. (I was a graduate student in American history at Yale.) I was expected, because of my background, to acquire titles in American history and politics. I was permitted to acquire fiction in addition if I could find the time for it. Mary and I did not know each other well. I cannot really say we were friends. How I wish that I could. I like to think we shared a belief in the virtues of elegance and restraint: Jamaican and New England light—so piercing it can sing. That’s what I like to think now. This thought needs discipline.
By 1995 McClaren Books had been bought by NCI. McClaren Books and then Lessing & Company Publishing had been added and combined under the McClaren name to become NCI’s high-end trade book publishing division worldwide. NCI’s human resources department had chartered a bus to take any employee who wanted to go to Mary’s memorial service to Saint Sebastian Roman Catholic Church in Queens. Everyone who spoke—daughters, sister, a brother, pastor, Frank Braithwaite, NCI’s Vice-President for Media Relations and Mary’s boss—spoke of Mary’s religious devotion. I had not known of it during all the years we spoke and joked. We enjoyed each other’s company and helped each other do the best for the books we worked on together.
Toward the middle of the service—the choir was singing—I felt myself enter through the gates of a vision into my real history. (Tears were streaming down my face; I noticed but did not feel them.) Nothing remotely like this had ever happened to me before. I was raised a secular, upper-class, Protestant child of the American Enlightenment. This precluded all Old World burdens of inherited superstition or the contagion of the unrequited failure of indenture not lived out to term. In my vision I was suddenly four years old again standing behind by mother, clutching in my fists the folds of her black and yellow skirt. The black was the same deep black as a storybook’s ink. Across the cloth’s billowing undulations marched the most beautiful yellow elephants. In their shining majesty they spiraled around my mother in horizontal lines—strung out according to a joyful informal symmetry of cloth and air—graceful, lifted trunk to delicate, curling tail.
High above—above my arms’ ability to reach my mother’s waist—appearing in the doorway, was a woman’s radiant face—piercing, dancing light shot from behind her head, her hair framed in radiance that flooded the doorway of my parents’ New Haven basement apartment.
The woman’s eyes were already looking for mine as my mother’s body politely blocked her entrance. How did I know suddenly that the elephants were part of a triumphal procession my mother wore to celebrate her absolute powers of politeness, rage, abandonment, and loss? The woman’s eyes found mine there where I stood behind my mother’s skirt. They asked without using words—without fear—(they assured me she was willing to bear the knowledge of whatever answer I gave without restraining the reach of my infant terror and glory)—“How are you?”
It was the first empirical question I understood as important. I knew it was urgent beyond sentiment or calculation. In the event (I learned later I had not yet begun to speak though I had just turned four) I answered with my gaze—I could feel the shining elephants marching through my hands—that I was valuable and full of light because she had come back.
In the moment my mother disappeared. (Was this what she had always feared would happen?) I knew she would not let the woman cross the threshold. That would never happen now, nor did the woman expect it. But in the light of Jamaica and New England (or wherever it was my mother had gone and whether or not I would ever be able to find her again) I saw that a New World history of true love was both possible and inevitable. At Mary Joscelyn’s service I saw a true vision of another history I had forgotten to live in a way that could be stored and then retrieved from memory.
Then I made a serious error, though I trust not a fatal one. As soon as the service was over, in the joy of my vision’s new immediacy, I urgently asked my boss and best friend, Owen Corliss, to give me—then and there—the equivalent scene from his own life. I asked him to tell me what he had seen during the singing. No American lacks this moment: recognizing the person we meet when we come to the end of ourselves and know that everything can be possessed. My vision and now my method have taught me this. Still, I also know now you cannot go around demanding from others the narration of events the way I did. Owen refused—lightly at first. But I insisted. He pretended not to understand; our relations have not been the same since.
My career proceeded—not much changed outwardly, but I knew I could not go on after what I had seen. Then I sleep-walked—I was married and I raised a beloved daughter (well, I hope)—without courage or conviction until 2007.
Then I read about the bravery of what you did to establish the formal, legal meaning, in the Convention Against Torture (signed and ratified by the United States in 1988 and 1994) of the words “severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental.” I knew then (I assume that everyone has the right to assert this right to imaginative, sympathetic knowledge) that, like me, you needed a method for living in the present as a true and universal history to be completed in the New World. Coherence, after all that has been done and said, can have no other source. Together, if we practice a reliable method well, we can find a way to repair what we have done. I have learned to see us standing, an arm’s length apart, explaining to people suddenly gathering on a bridge in Fallujah the redemptive logic of American dominion.
By historical method I mean every means by which a person rids the self of its attachment to empire and creates a true reciprocity of equal historical selves. True virtue consists of consent to being in general.
I was able to get your address through Frederick Avery, whose memoir about his time as Director of Central Intelligence I acquired and edited for McClaren Books. As I’m sure you are aware, McClaren and NCI published Storm Warnings: War and American Leadership after 9/11 a few years back. (It made it onto a number of bestseller lists for a few, brief weeks.) Fred first told me about what you did and I have read what’s been written about it since. Fred is a great admirer of yours. He disagreed, on pragmatic grounds, with the decision to withdraw the previous legal findings under which interrogations of detainees had been conducted, but said, given that decision, you had accomplished with skill, devotion to country, and with enormous courage a very difficult task.
I continue to enjoy the thought and feel amazed at the courage of your action—your decision to find an experiential ground with your own body to establish the legal meaning of the words in U.S. law upholding the enforcement of international sanctions against torture. It is your action that leads me to write to you now. Most people in this country, without acknowledging they are doing so, accept that torture must be used against our enemies because they believe there is no choice but to inflict limitless pain as the price of justified dominance. National security requires torture as a necessary tool to be used responsibly by those entrusted with the stewardship of the limitless, justified power of the American state—civilized empire of last resort.
I know now, because of my vision, that without your action, and others like it, we will not be able to prove to others and ourselves the necessary logic of our virtuous exercise of power. I have written a historical method with which you and I may prove to ourselves and to our loved ones our dedicated pursuit of the public good. Both in principle and fact, that pursuit permits our true love of them. I send you this method in advance of meeting you in person so that together we can devise another history that will repair what we have done.
After reading this, it will be difficult to reach me at my listed McClaren Books address. I have requested and been granted a leave of absence from the company. I needed some time to reconsider my future and to carefully compose this method. This decision comes after continuing difference between Owen Corliss and myself. At one time, I believe, both of us once considered my holding a slightly subordinate corporate title to be merely a formality.
The recent success of Fred Avery’s memoir makes me still valuable to the company. Inwardly I now insist on the necessity of acting on a just, historical vision (once its syntax was promised me at Mary Joscelyn’s funeral). Owen Corliss has told me this a misplaced personal luxury—one that he says he refuses to indulge at the expense of shareholders. You have done more than anyone else I know to make our present visible as history. With the help of this method and our actions, together I know we will be able to prove Owen wrong. We will be able to do this from within the good faith that clings to the remnants of our entitlement to rule. It’s from this that we will make our coherence sing—from this we’ll be able to join the logic of our rule to the natural equal rights of others.
Most days I am at my desk in the Reading Room in the Hollander Library at Pace University here in the city. The president and I know each other. We both sit on the board of trustees of the new Jason Frears Memorial American Music Archive and Performance Center whose magnificent new building is just now being completed on the New Carrollton campus of the University of Maryland on the Eastern Shore.
During my leave I have taken it upon myself to use my connections to the several parties to do what I can through research to lay the groundwork for possible mediation to resolve conflicting claims over the performance and licensing rights to some newly discovered Jason Frears recordings of high quality and other materials. These were found in the recent Judith Takes bequest of her personal papers to the Jason Frears Archive. They include the lyrics, once thought to have been lost, to Frears’ great four-movement composition, “Light Years.” NCI is the parent company that now owns the rights to the recordings Frears made during his most productive and creative years between 1959 and 1964. NCI is the major corporate sponsor of the Frears Center in partnership with the University of Maryland. (We are working on a capital campaign right now to raise an endowment.) Preparations are being completed for the dedication ceremony and public opening to be held in two months time on June 19th. I have been asked if I would make some remarks on behalf of NCI and have agreed to do so. You will be receiving an invitation to this event yourself shortly.
At my desk at the library I have unrestricted access to all the papers and other materials (including rehearsal tapes) from the still un-catalogued boxes given to the Frears Center last year by the terms of Judith Takes’s will. My offer to go through these papers and write a report concerning their contents addressed to NCI lawyers and Derek (Judith’s son and executor of her estate) has been gratefully accepted. Judith and I were in graduate school together in American history at Yale in the 1970s and 1980s and studied under the same adviser, Professor Charles Quick, a leading historian of early American slavery. I knew Derek slightly as a small boy (I took care of him one summer afternoon when he was six) and saw him occasionally as a young man.
This is how I spend my days now—preparing a preliminary catalog of these valuable new additions to the work of a great American composer. Frears reported that many of his most important compositions, including “Light Years,” came to him first in the form of words. He said that once he had found the notes of the music for the words that came to him, the words themselves disappeared from memory. He didn’t bother to preserve any record of them; their work was done. Only a few have survived and that appears to have happened by sheer accident.
I have adopted a variation of Frears’s compositional technique for this method: The words in which the history of the present we are living first comes to us, we have to assume, are unreliable. The betrayal built into the syntax in which most experience is steeped makes spontaneous speech unuseable for reciprocity. A historical method is necessary to live according to first principles. In the New World we have progressed at least this far: Every moment forfeit in a history of absolute loss.
Every moment forfeit in a history of absolute loss: I am valuable because she came back. Memorize this and you will be safe once you learn to create from it a republican, historical method of reciprocity. If I did not have your brave action to rely upon, I would not have any way to assert this or to approach you with any confidence when we meet in Maryland. This will prepare the ground for something to hold onto; some vision to report.
There is a limitlessness to possession of the New World; no settler soul survives intact. No citizen now survives possession’s continuance as a lawless entitlement to force.
This is how you began your Legal Finding:
December 30, 2004
Memorandum for James B. Comey, Deputy
Attorney General
Re: Legal Standards Applicable Under 18 U.S.S.
2340 – 2340A
Torture is abhorrent both to American law and values and to international norms.
The following is from an early record of my own practice of this method: Bourgeois good faith finally rests on the ideal of a lasting community of love founded on the ideal of love between spouses. This love—along with autonomy and cultivation—founds a concept of a universal, shared humanity whose freedom of action and reciprocity constitutes the transcendence of modernity without appeal to religion of any sort. Bourgeois freedom establishes the ethical ideal of emancipating an inner realm (operating by its own laws) from extrinsic purposes of any kind. This is the necessary basis for a true history.
If you see Leda before I do, sing her this song so she does not choose another. I am valuable because she came back. I will do the same for you if, while you are away, I meet your one true love and you teach me the words. Refuse empire, create reciprocity inside the present moment with which to build a society of equal historical selves.
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The Frears Center board of trustees has invited Leda Corot Rivers to sing at the dedication ceremony and public opening on June 19th. Leda lives in Montreal now and has been invited to apply to be the first Frears Foundation artist in residence for the academic year that begins next fall. I had to recuse myself from voting when the board met. I attended the audition of the finalists held two months ago today and fell in love from the very first notes she sang. I know this is hard to believe, but I assure you it is true. Leda is my one true love. I declare it immediately. Desire must be acted upon. She sang “Light Years” in an arrangement for voice and flute without words.
Leda laughed kindly when I declared myself. She said there was time now that we were no longer young—time in which love could take many forms. I told her I would compose a love song that would prove her wrong. Love, I told her, could only exist in one true action whose independent value was as immediate as the hollow spaces inside a sparrow’s wing—all motion a way to cancel loss.
My method takes four weeks and two days to complete. It is divided into four sections, one for each week. The first time through, the first week must be devoted to learning by heart the meditative techniques that will be used throughout; also to memorizing the historical principles underlying the method’s effectiveness.
By historical method I mean every means by which a person rids the self of its inordinate attachment to empire and creates reciprocity. The goal is a reciprocity based on an ideal of married love serving as the basis for a just society of equal historical selves. The original logic of the abundance of capitalism was another way of being.
