Charlotte Raven Tuesday October 23, 2001 The Guardian
Outrageous as it sounded, there is nothing unusual about Hilary Armstrong's assessment that "war is not a matter of conscience". Most people would agree with the chief whip's view that the government's involvement in the Afghan conflict is a straightforward policy question that has no bearing on any moral dilemma. Armstrong's horror at MP Paul Marsden's insistence on dragging ethics into a discussion of what is clearly, for her, a morally neutral topic seems perfectly well founded at a time when every kitchen table in the country is debating what X troop movement will contribute to the ultimate objective. In this climate, the only criticism of the government that plays is one that takes issue with tactics. You can argue until the cows come home about whether or not the US and British forces are equipped for a winter war, but you can't say, as Marsden did, that the whole thing is a stinky business. Those who try are dismissed as hopeless naifs who have simply failed to grasp the "realities" of a situation best described by a diagram covered with arrows.
No one is more sensitive to the charge of being out of touch with "reality" than the poor old British left. Their fear of being thought childish for getting flustered by civilian corpses has resulted in a bullish engagement with pro-war commentators that judges the action purely on the basis of whether or not it will "work". Any squeamishness about state-sponsored death per se is put aside in favour of a cool-headed assessment of the allies' strategic goals. If they ever do mention any emotional or moral response to the atrocities, it is to distance themselves from what Suzanne Moore calls "naive pacifism". Nothing would shame them more, it seems, than to be caught out in some mindless display of humanity for the innocent victims of a war they will neither wholeheartedly condemn nor support. More bothered about seeming grown up to their editors than being true to the sense of moral outrage they felt when they first heard about the bombing, they are busy being armchair generals while people such as Marsden are going to the wall, unsupported by any argument that stops them seeming simply eccentric. They would find it faintly embarrassing to admit to any similar moral pangs, so they concentrate instead on trying to warn Bush and Blair about the challenges of the next phase. Doomsayers they might be, doves they most certainly are not.
It's easy to get lost in this debate and forget why you're there in the first place. A couple of weeks ago, I wrote what I thought was a perfectly serviceable column about why I was opposed to the war. Among other things, it satisfied my need to find reasons to support an instinct that I thought was irrelevant in itself. Like many others, I was appalled by what I saw in the first week but somehow didn't think that the sense of outrage and, yes, moral indignation was enough. I, too, thought it somehow sloppy to validate a response that Armstrong and the rest would regard as a sign of intellectual immaturity. Without realising it, I had fallen for the cultural demand that the visceral and, yes, childish reaction to early images of this conflict should be repressed in favour of a more "constructive" contribution. I took this on board at the time, but Marsden has reminded me that there's nothing shameful about feeling sick to the stomach at the thought of what is taking place. This week, it is the image of low-flying aircraft spewing out platitudes in Pashtu about how the forces that have displaced the entire population of Kabul are friends of the Afghan people that makes me want to shout obscenities at every government minister who has ever mentioned freedom.
Of course, they have got an answer for this. If they could be bothered they would remind me that collateral damage is never sought but is, none the less, justified in pursuit of the greater good. You can't be against wars, they would say, because sometimes they are simply a regrettable necessity. Naive pacifism is all well and good but what would any of today's frustrated peaceniks have done about Hitler?
Some wars clearly are justified. I accept that. But the criteria that makes them worth fighting has nothing to do with the attainability or otherwise of any strategic ends. The justice of a just war stands whether or not it achieves its objectives. It is only when the war is not just - when it is simply the most efficacious means of aggressor getting what he wants - that the question of results eclipses every other consideration. Then, as now, the war can only be justified if things turn out as the aggressor hopes. If they don't, it will not have been "worth it". The fact that the perpetrators of the present outrage are judging their actions purely in terms of whether they arrive at a desirable outcome proves that they are operating in a moral vacuum. Like the criminal who can only judge the success of any sortie by whether or not he comes back with the booty, they cannot see that something can still be morally rancid if every dot and comma of your master plan comes to fruition. By their logic, it is OK to kill people if you can demonstrate that doing so helped you achieve some wider objective. A good proportion of the murderers in Strangeways probably think the same.
An ugly spectacle
I wasn't going to watch the Concert for New York because I thought this was their business. It would be easy, from this distance, to complain about the cloying sentiment and patriot whistleblowing that I presumed were bound to form a large portion of an evening dedicated to remembering the dead and celebrating the achievements of the living. Grief always looks slightly vulgar if you don't know the people involved and I didn't want to be the one carping about the tone of the bereaved city's mass wake.
I still wish curiosity hadn't got the better of me. Watching the show was like peeking into someone's front room the night after they buried their husband. The spectacle wasn't pretty. Celebrities in fireman's outfits bowing in front of bewildered emergency workers; children who had lost their fathers sharing the mike with policemen vowing vengeance on Osama bin Laden - "You can kiss my Irish ass!" And every sentimental ballad you have ever heard, and hundreds you haven't, wringing everyone dry of emotion to the point where they could hardly stand up.
Objectively, it was disgusting. But that doesn't mean it shouldn't have happened or that there was anything wrong with the way it went off. As Bill Clinton said, this was the first opportunity many of the audience would have had in over a month to "stomp their feet and make a joyful noise". If it seemed messy and ill-judged then it is worth remembering that that is what grief looks like. I think this is one occasion when Americans cannot be called to account for what, under other circumstances, would have been slated as a major cultural mishap.