A Stretch

In the men's groups that I work with, Bush, we sometimes talk about "offering a stretch." What this means, essentially, is inviting a man to undertake a challenge of some kind, to do something, or say something that he has avoided doing or saying, perhaps out of fear for himself or of hurting another person. A man might, for example, have postponed asking his boss for a raise he believes he deserves. His stretch would be to go to his boss and ask for what he wants. Another man might never have ridden a motorcycle... His stretch would be to learn the ropes, get hold of a bike, and test out his skills. Another might need to tell a friend or a relative to his face that what he's done is wrong, misguided, hurtful.

These are simple examples, of course. Stretches get a lot harder and go a lot deeper than that. I'm explaining it, Bush, because I have a stretch to offer you. (One thing about stretches is that you can choose whether to accept them or not, so the choice is yours.) I have heard that your fellow Texan, Lance Armstrong, is coming to visit you in Crawford tomorrow: perhaps you'll be hopping on your mountain bike to take a ride with this champion of champions. That would be a treat that many of your fellow citizens would give a right arm for. But here's my stretch: you hop on your bike and, with Lance at your side to make things easier for you, you ride on down the road to where Cindy Sheehan is camped out--with as little ceremony and security as possible--and surprise her with a visit.

What to do when you get there? Offer her your hand, call her "Ms. Sheehan," this time, with respect, not "Mom" as you did when you met her before. That was a put-down, Bush. It didn't go down well. Look her in the eye--without that smirk--and tell her that you've been thinking a lot about her, and her son, and that you truly respect and value what she's doing there. Then invite her to sit down with you, at the side of the road if necessary, to talk. Well, actually, not talk: to listen. Invite her to tell you about her son, Casey, and listen silently, with attention to her words. At most, ask a quiet question here and there, and show your respect for both of them. Lance will be there to support you in this. He's a hero himself, unquestioned, and it's well known that he is not in favor of your war, so Ms. Sheehan will feel, perhaps, that she has an important ally at her side, too.

Okay, so you have listened, with quiet respect. Don't forget, Bush: she has said time and again that she's not looking for sympathy. It would be a mistake to try to offer it. I'm guessing that would also feel like a put-down to her. She needs your respectful ear. Then she gets to ask her bottom-line question--the one that no-one seems to understand: nearly every time you read a pundit piece in the paper, they seem to think she wants an apology. No. She wants you to tell her what the "noble cause" is, for which her son had to die. This is the tricky one, Bush, because I know your don't have the answer--least of all, the answer that will satisfy her. Which is why you have risked tarnishing your image to avoid this meeting.

So here's maybe the hardest part of the stretch: you have to ADMIT IT. You have to say something along these lines: "I don't have the answer, Ms. Sheehan. I know that we will disagree on what constitutes a 'noble cause.' I realize that my own justifications, over the months, have shifted. I know that I was badly mistaken, in the first place, in my statements about weapons of mass destruction and Saddam's involvement in the 9/11 attacks. I was blinded by what I saw to be the overwhelming evil of a dictator who was known to be killing his own people by the thousands, and I thought to see a 'noble cause' in bringing him down and liberating those whom he oppressed. The biggest mistake I made was in thinking that it was going to be easy. I was naive. I realize now, with the benefit of hindsight, that things were a lot more complex than I first imagined, and that my actions have caused disastrous unintended results. As I see it, the 'noble cause' at this point--and I realize that you might disagree, and I do sincerely honor your disagreement--is to make it possible for the Iraqi people to survive this trauma with the least violence and bloodshed possible, and help them create the stability they need to reimagine a way to live together in security and peace. I've sat here listening carefully to what you have to say, and I hope very much that you feel that you've been heard."

Of course, Bush, if your objective from the first was American control of Middle East oil, you can't say any of this with authenticity, and the lack of authenticity will shine through anything you say. If that's the case, I'm sorry, I can't help you. Unfortunately, it might explain your reluctance to sit down with Cindy Sheehan. But if we're to take what you've said all along at its face value--if you have been telling us what you saw to be the truth, and are as bewildered and distressed as the rest of us about the results of your misadventure--then you could do this stretch and come out way ahead. There's no way you can handle things much worse than you're doing now. You're looking like a heartless villain, driven only by political contingencies. If you accept my stretch, you could at least appear more honest, more sympathetic, more human--even more presidential--than you do right now.

When we offer a stretch, in our men's work, we also offer support in the form of some person to check in with, to report on progress and results. So here I am, Bush. Accept the stretch. Get on that bike. And feel free to call on me any time, to let me know how it's working for you. I'll be here.