On Libya, the U.S. Is a Pitiful Giant
Look to the Japanese for some lessons in character.

As the world watches in sadness and admiration the tragedy of natural disaster in Japan and the courageous and civilized response of the Japanese, and beholds also the demeaning spectacle of utter pusillanimity that has been generated by events in Libya, my thoughts return to the discussions I had about American exceptionalism with Rich Lowry and Ramesh Ponnuru in these cyber-pages a year ago. There cannot be anyone not moved and impressed by the stoicism, solidity, and bravery of the entire population of the afflicted areas of Japan, as thousands have died, tens of thousands have been left homeless, hundreds of thousands are threatened by radiation and other problems, and none have looted, or even, which would be more forgivable, panicked or, as far as can be seen, engaged even in self-pity or indignities of any kind.

With the world watching, in a national ordeal inflicted by nature, of which there was no warning and for which there could have been no preparation, much less rehearsal, the Japanese have responded with a calm, dignity, courage, and Samaritanly generosity that cannot be simulated or artificially improvised, and that marks a nationality of immense distinction. It is inconceivable that Japan, whatever its agonies, has not earned and won the heightened respect of the whole world in increasing measure with each day of the cataract of earthquakes, floods, nuclear seepage, and disintegration of services that has afflicted that nation. With the selfless heroism that was so evident as combat approached the Home Islands of Japan in 1944 and 1945, and which produced 100 percent casualty rates in Iwo Jima and Okinawa, but is now deployed spontaneously to the noblest and most incontestable human causes of survival and help to the endangered, Japan sets a standard of conduct that commands the homage of all.

Comparisons are always apt to be invidious, and this one is in some respects odious, and there can be no question of the generally admirable response of Americans to natural disaster, but I have found it hard not to think of Hurricane Katrina. Pres. George W. Bush paid a heavy price in the polls and in public esteem generally, from which his administration did not recover and he has only recovered personally in retirement, with a good look at his successor and a read of his very engaging memoir. His behavior was unpresidential, and "Brownie, you're doing a heckuva job" ranks in the annals of presidential malapropisms with subsequent lapidary utterances from the same source, such as, but not confined to (with a mouthful of food for emphasis), "Yo, Blair!" and, in reference to the American economy, among more obvious candidates for such a description and state of insecurity, "The sucker could go down." But, in the abstract, commending officials, greeting an ally (even if Presidents Roosevelt and Reagan would have been a bit more ceremonious in salutations to Mr. Churchill and Mrs. Thatcher), and warning of imminent danger to the country, are not bad things to do, even if, in the words of The New Yorker magazine, they were "things that could be better said."

But I can't forget, though I would like to, and I doubt if tens of millions of others in the United States, and hundreds of millions of foreigners, can forget, the spectacle of snipers firing at rescue vehicles and workers, including medical helicopters, or, in the midst of the greatest crisis their city has faced since Gen. Andrew Jackson repulsed the British army commanded by the Duke of Wellington's brother-in-law in 1815, the sight of up to a third of the New Orleans police deserting their posts and fleeing their city in stolen vehicles. What happened in those shameful days was not typical of the American character; it was a terrible departure from a heroic popular tradition that is documented more than fabled and has been repeated countless times since communities of Americans first arose on these shores, including, most conspicuously in recent memory, in the brave firemen and unconquerable spirit of the whole city of New York in the face of the terrorism of Sept. 11, 2001. Yet the disgusting cowardice, venality, and beastliness of the underside, uniformed and otherwise, of New Orleans, one of America's most beloved and historic cities, occurred, and the world saw it, and it behooves America to think upon it, too.

As for Libya, there is room for legitimate debate over what to do there, but I cannot believe that there is a single conscient American who has followed these matters who is not appalled by the grotesquerie of American policy fumbling that has stalked, wreathed, and bedeviled this issue. The president, draped in what is becoming infamous sanctimony, said, of Qaddafi, "He has lost all legitimacy and he must go. . . . The best revolutions are organic. . . . We are not sure." Weeks pass, thousands are massacred, and the White House has no standing to assess the legitimacy of foreign governments under challenge and portentously to asseverate moral imperatives, and then waffle over the course cried out for by the majority of Libyans and urged by the European Union and the Arab League, representing the entire adjoining regions. This president (of the United States) famously said in Prague in 2009, "Words must mean something" in reference to arms control, which he has pursued in regard to the United States but not to Iran or North Korea. He was correct; they must, when uttered by the holder of his great office, but they don't, at this sadly disappointing time, in arms control or the assistance of the forces of oppressed legitimacy.

No one is suggesting American boots on the ground in Libya, as they have left their imprint, more or less durably, on the ground of dozens of officially undeclared enemies or beneficiaries, in Central America, the Caribbean, Iceland (in 1941), Lebanon (in 1957 and the 1980s), Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan. The world wonders what significance the words of the president of the United States now have, and what is now left of American exceptionalism in the conduct of an American regime that even restrains the dyspeptic Europeans and — of all miraculous, unhoped-for conjurations of moral fiber — the arm-flapping, fissiparous Arabs, from helping the majority of Libyans. A no-fly zone is the minimum that could show solidarity with those who are, by their lights, defending the proverbial "inalienable rights . . . self-evident truths . . . and sacred honor" of whatever sane and decent people may have survived 42 years of psychotic and atavistic brigandage in Muammar Qaddafi's Libya. This is not exceptional for the world and the generality of its countries. But it is exceptional, exceptionally bad, in the history of the United States of America. It is not (quite) too late for the administration — including Vice President Biden, Secretary Clinton, and Secretary Gates — to return to its moral and practical senses.

— Conrad Black is the author of Franklin Delano Roosevelt: Champion of Freedom and Richard M. Nixon: A Life in Full. He can be reached at [email protected].

© 2025 Conrad Black