Peggy Noonan

A thought today about complexity and politics.

The American people right now are not in a mood to trust any political plan, proposal or policy that seems complicated—highly involved, technical, full of phased-in elements and glide paths and Part C’s.

They are against complexity not because they don’t think life is complex. They know it’s complex. They know it because they live it every day. They assume public policy issues are also complicated. They know there are facts they don’t know, which probably have to be factored in as policy is developed. But more and more they recoil from complicated, lengthy, abstruse proposals.

Why?

Because they think—they assume, at this point, reflexively—that slithery, slippery professional politicians are using and inventing complications to obfuscate and confuse. They think politicians are using complexity to create great clouds in which they can make their escape, like a cartoon character, like Road Runner.

They think modern politicians hide in complexity. They think politicians evade responsibility with it. We can’t do the right thing, it’s too complicated! Americans don’t trust “comprehensive plans,” because they don’t trust the comprehensive planners.

This, I think, is the essential problem with Congress’s immigration proposals. All the phased-in-partial-assimilation-glide-paths-to-guest-worker-status stuff seems like a big 500-page con. It’s all too complicated to be understood by anyone who’s not a tenured political science professor with a second degree in accounting.

What people will trust, and understand, is this: We will close the border tomorrow, and then figure it out from there.

*   *   *

People resist complicated proposals for realistic reasons.

First, they have a natural and healthy skepticism toward the political class. They think the Senate and House are in effect using public anxiety about our collapsed borders to sneak in—I use that term deliberately—their own party-favoring addendums and amendments. People sense Washington is using public concern as a plaything to get what will serve the political class.

Second, people know that while much of life is complicated, some of it is simple, such as what you can see with your eyes. They would believe a bill that closed the borders worked when they saw that it worked. They will know when the border has been closed. No one will be coming across it. It will be adequately patrolled. Those seeking illegal entry will be turned away.

No one, on the other hand, believes he will be able to know with certainty whether a phased-in guest-worker plan is working in the short term, or the long term either. They’ll only know if it was a disaster after the disaster is done. And they will have to rely for some of their data on government figures—about which they will be dubious, for one of the great modern American understandings is that statistics don’t lie but liars use statistics.

And the third reason is they know everyone in Washington is not trustworthy in terms of basic normal human commitment on the immigration issue. They’re not reliable.

*   *   *

The other day Rep. Tom Tancredo won a straw vote. A small vote, but, as Tom Tancredo is not exactly a longtime famous Republican party leader, it was interesting. Why would Republican voters choose Mr. Tancredo? Because they know where his heart is on immigration: Stop it, now. It’s where he’s been for years. He was out there alone on the issue. Now some have joined him. But you know where his heart is and his position is clear.
The irony is that this makes Mr. Tancredo one of the few among Republicans who would be given some leeway by his voters in fashioning an ultimate immigration plan. Why? Because they know he’d be doing his best. Because he means it. They know this because of his past: He was doing his best when there was nothing in it. He’s committed to getting as much progress as possible. Which means his supporters would give him flexibility. They’d even allow him to get complicated. “If he gets complex, you must have to.”

Democrats have the same problem on the same issue—who believes a word Hillary Clinton says when she speaks of immigration?—and on more.

Democrats use complexity as a thing to hide behind when they talk about taxes. Republicans can say, and can mean, “I hate taxes and will cut them.” Democrats can’t say that, because they don’t hate taxes and in fact will raise them. Though they will not say it. They will say, “Tax cuts on the top 10% of income earners are nonprogressive and unhelpful, and I will cut their tax cut, or hike their taxes, and in turn make commensurate cuts on the taxes of the most deserving lower income taxpayers, though not in a way that will negatively impact the deficit.”

When voters hear this they know exactly what it means: We will raise taxes.

*   *   *

What is the answer to the public’s skepticism about complexity, and a modern leader’s need to look at complicated problems in a way that sometimes involves complicated solutions?

Mr. Tancredo knows. Ronald Reagan knew. Mean it.

Reagan’s overhaul of the tax system in 1986 was rather complicated. It wasn’t complicated for tax policy, but it was complicated for normal humans trying to figure out what they owe. Why did Reagan’s base support a complicated plan? Because they knew Reagan meant it. They knew Reagan hated taxes, built his career in part on opposing high taxes, pushed for lower taxes, had cut them in his career. They trusted Reagan to get the best deal he could. The base did not doubt his sincerity. They didn’t think he was using the tax issue to finagle advantages for his party. Because he wasn’t.

It has been said in politics that sincerity is everything, and once you can fake it you can do anything. But people can tell when you’re faking sincerity—on immigration, on taxes, on our very safety as a nation. Faking it isn’t working anymore.

Message to political leaders: You better mean it, or they’ll never let you do your phased-in multitiered comprehensive plan anymore

Absent sincerity, the future is simplicity.

Something’s happening. I have a feeling we’re at some new beginning, that a big breakup’s coming, and that though it isn’t and will not be immediately apparent, we’ll someday look back on this era as the time when a shift began.

All my adult life, people have been saying that the two-party system is ending, that the Democrats’ and Republicans’ control of political power in America is winding down. According to the traditional critique, the two parties no longer offer the people the choice they want and deserve. Sometimes it’s said they are too much alike—Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Sometimes it’s said they’re too polarizing—too red and too blue for a nation in which many see things through purple glasses.

In 1992 Ross Perot looked like the breakthrough, the man who would make third parties a reality. He destabilized the Republicans and then destabilized himself. By the end of his campaign he seemed to be the crazy old aunt in the attic.

The Perot experience seemed to put an end to third-party fever. But I think it’s coming back, I think it’s going to grow, and I think the force behind it is unique in our history.

*   *   *

This week there was a small boomlet of talk about a new internet entity called Unity ’08—a small collection of party veterans including moderate Democrats (former Carter aide Hamilton Jordan) and liberal-leaning Republicans (former Ford hand Doug Bailey) trying to join together with college students and broaden the options in the 2008 election. In terms of composition, Unity seems like the Concord Coalition, the bipartisan group (Warren Rudman, Bob Kerrey) that warns against high spending and deficits.

Unity seems to me to have America’s growing desire for more political options right. But I think they’ve got the description of the problem wrong.

Their idea is that the two parties are too polarized to govern well. It is certainly true that the level of partisanship in Washington seems high. (Such things, admittedly, ebb, flow and are hard to judge. We look back at the post-World War II years and see a political climate of relative amity and moderation. But Alger Hiss and Dick Nixon didn’t see it that way.) Nancy Pelosi seems to be pretty much in favor of anything that hurts Republicans, and Ken Mehlman is in favor of anything that works against Democrats. They both want their teams to win. Part of winning is making sure the other guy loses, and part of the fun of politics, of any contest, of life, can be the dance in the end zone.

But the dance has gotten dark.

Partisanship is fine when it’s an expression of the high animal spirits produced by real political contention based on true political belief. But the current partisanship seems sour, not joyous. The partisanship has gotten deeper as less separates the governing parties in Washington. It is like what has been said of academic infighting: that it’s so vicious because the stakes are so low.

*   *   *

The problem is not that the two parties are polarized. In many ways they’re closer than ever. The problem is that the parties in Washington, and the people on the ground in America, are polarized. There is an increasing and profound distance between the rulers of both parties and the people—between the elites and the grunts, between those in power and those who put them there.

On the ground in America, people worry terribly—really, there are people who actually worry about it every day—about endless, weird, gushing government spending. But in Washington, those in power—Republicans and Democrats—stand arm in arm as they spend and spend. (Part of the reason is that they think they can buy off your unhappiness one way or another. After all, it’s worked in the past. A hunch: It’s not going to work forever or much longer. They’ve really run that trick into the ground.)

On the ground in America, regular people worry about the changes wrought by the biggest wave of immigration in our history, much of it illegal and therefore wholly connected to the needs of the immigrant and wholly unconnected to the agreed-upon needs of our nation. Americans worry about the myriad implications of the collapse of the American border. But Washington doesn’t. Democrat Ted Kennedy and Republican George W. Bush see things pretty much eye to eye. They are going to educate the American people out of their low concerns.

There is a widespread sense in America—a conviction, actually—that we are not safe in the age of terror. That the port, the local power plant, even the local school, are not protected. Is Washington worried about this? Not so you’d notice. They’re only worried about seeming unconcerned.

More to the point, people see the Republicans as incapable of managing the monster they’ve helped create—this big Homeland Security/Intelligence apparatus that is like some huge buffed guy at the gym who looks strong but can’t even put on his T-shirt without help because he’s so muscle-bound. As for the Democrats, who co-created Homeland Security, no one—no one—thinks they would be more managerially competent. Nor does anyone expect the Democrats to be more visionary as to what needs to be done. The best they can hope is the Democrats competently serve their interest groups and let the benefits trickle down.

*   *   *

Right now the Republicans and Democrats in Washington seem, from the outside, to be an elite colluding against the voter. They’re in agreement: immigration should not be controlled but increased, spending will increase, etc.

Are there some dramatic differences? Yes. But both parties act as if they see them not as important questions (gay marriage, for instance) but as wedge issues. Which is, actually, abusive of people on both sides of the question. If it’s a serious issue, face it. Don’t play with it.

I don’t see any potential party, or potential candidate, on the scene right now who can harness the disaffection of growing portions of the electorate. But a new group or entity that could define the problem correctly—that sees the big divide not as something between the parties but between America’s ruling elite and its people—would be making long strides in putting third party ideas in play in America again.

“The first note was clear and absolutely certain. There was no question or stumbling in this bugle. It swept across the quadrangle positively, held a fraction of a second longer than most buglers hold it. Held long like the length of time, stretching away from weary day to weary day. . . . This is the song of the men who have no place, played by a man who has never had a place, and can therefore play it. Listen to it. You know this song, remember?”

For novel readers who care about war and warriors who cared about novels, a great memory is the picture, seen in tens of millions of imaginations, and finally in a film, of Pvt. Robert E. Lee Prewitt playing taps at Schofield Barracks, 25 miles from Honolulu, on the eve of Pearl Harbor, in James Jones’s great novel, “From Here to Eternity.” It was published 55 years ago and sold three million copies, and it is on my mind today because I’m thinking about the taps we will all hear this Monday, Memorial Day, at ceremonies and in cemeteries throughout the country. When I hear it I’m going to think of what my father always said when he heard taps. “Play it, Prewitt,” he’d say. Because that character was like men he’d known in the American army of World War II.

*   *   *

It is good that we have this day to remember heroes, to think again of those who over the centuries put themselves in harm’s way for our country, for us. It is good that we remember, and take inspiration from, tales of valor, of flags carried uphill, like the one carried by the intrepid young First Lt. Arthur MacArthur, during a Union charge in the Civil War (he would go on to become a lieutenant general and the father of a son named Douglas), and heavily defended positions taken by a lone soldier, like Sgt. Alvin York in World War I. It’s good to remember the simple human potential for bravery that lives within all of us, and that in some is fully tapped and met with brilliant, unforgettable actions.

The starkest description of the meaning of what the members of the armed services do, and have done, is the simple observation that freedom of speech was not secured for us by editors, readers and writers, but by soldiers who gave their lives to win it and would give their lives to defend it.

But thinking of “From Here to Eternity” has me thinking of the old American Army of the 20th century, the Depression era, peacetime army that Jones captured as no one else ever had. It was an unspectacular thing, that Army, or seemed so until December 1941. Jones’s Pvt. Prewitt was a lost Southern boy who found a home in that Army. He and his friend Angelo Maggio of New York “could live better Inside.”

They came from little, had no money, had received indifferent public educations, and the 1930s Army they joined was neither racially integrated, gender-neutral nor adequately funded. The great divide, the caste system, was between officers and enlisted men. The latter were given training and discipline and were left with a passionate and passionately mixed attitude toward the institution that made them part of something as it chipped away at their individuality, that employed them and enslaved them, that made them men and often treated them like children.

When James Jones himself joined the Army, in 1937, a young man whose options seemed limited, he wrote back home, “This place is hell. They herd you around like cattle; they order you around like dogs; they work you like horses; and they feed you like hogs.” In the 1953 film of the novel, directed by Fred Zinnemann, the first shot after the credits is of men marching in brisk formation. But all you can see are their boots on a dusty field, perfect but anonymous.

They were not, the men of the peacetime, Depression-era Army, especially respected by the public they served.

*   *   *

Our current Army is very different. Our people respect it, and its members are comparatively well-educated, largely middle-class, highly professional, and integrated in race and sex. Chances are good its members will be thanked when they return home from wherever they are—Iraq, Afghanistan, Bosnia, elsewhere. It is a good thing we finally appreciate them, a good thing we, as a society, give them the honor they deserve. There are heroes among them, and their exploits too will be spoken of this Monday, and in Memorial Days of the future.

So here’s to them. May they flourish and be safe. Here’s to the heroes down the ages who did valorous, death-defying, death-ignoring things. And, this Monday, here’s to someone else. Here’s to the uncelebrated of the armies of the past, to all the men who went unlauded, who wanted to serve brilliantly, who didn’t always quite make it or didn’t quite get the call, who were replacement troops never sent to the front, whose service was comparatively undistinguished or unrecognized, but who were there, and did their job, and for us. And that’s enough. Here’s to them, and to their fictional counterparts Prewitt and Maggio, and all those who once found a home in the army.

What was missing in the president’s approach the other night was the expression, or suggestion, of context. The context was a crisis that had gone unanswered as it has built, the perceived detachment of the political elite from people on the ground, and a new distance between the president and his traditional supporters. The president would have done well to signal that he knew he was coming late to the party, as it were; that he’d come to rethink his previous stand, or lack of a stand, and had begun to consider whether there was not some justice in the views, and alarm, of others.

Without an established context the speech seemed free-floating: a statement issued into the ether, unanchored to any particular principle and eager to use, as opposed to appreciate, whatever human sentiment flows around the issue of immigration. It was a speech driven by an air of crisis, but not a public crisis, only a personal and political one.

To acknowledge what he apparently thinks are the biases of the base, he used loaded words like “sneak”—illegal immigrants “sneak across the border”—as if to establish his populist bona fides. This was, not to put too fancy a rhetorical term on it, creepy, and managed to be offensive to everyone.

What was needed was a definitive statement: As of this moment we will control our borders, I’m sending in the men, I’m giving this the attention I’ve given to the Mideast.

Once that is done, all else follows. “Comprehensive solution” seems like code for “some day we may do something”. No one believes in comprehensive solutions. They believe in action they can see. No one believes in the wisdom of government, but they do believe it has a certain brute power.

*   *   *

The disinterest in the White House and among congressional Republicans in establishing authority on America’s borders is so amazing—the people want it, the age of terror demands it—that great histories will be written about it. Thinking about this has left me contemplating a question that admittedly seems farfetched: Is it possible our flinty president is so committed to protecting the Republican Party from losing, forever, the Hispanic vote, that he’s decided to take a blurred and unsatisfying stand on immigration, and sacrifice all personal popularity, in order to keep the party of the future electorally competitive with a growing ethnic group?

This would, I admit, be rather unlike an American political professional. And it speaks of a long-term thinking that has not been the hallmark of this administration. But at least it would render explicable the president’s moves.

The other possibility is that the administration’s slow and ambivalent action is the result of being lost in some geopolitical-globalist abstract-athon that has left them puffed with the rightness of their superior knowledge, sure in their membership in a higher brotherhood, and looking down on the low concerns of normal Americans living in America.

I continue to believe the administration’s problem is not that the base lately doesn’t like it, but that the White House has decided it actually doesn’t like the base. That’s a worse problem. It’s hard to fire a base. Hard to get a new one.

*   *   *

Speaking of the detachment of the elites, the second big news of the week—in some ways it may be bigger—is the apparent critical failure of “The DaVinci Code.” After its first screening in Cannes, critics and observers called it tedious, painfully long, bloated, grim, so-so, a jumble, lifeless and talky.

There is a God. Or, as a sophisticated Christian pointed out yesterday, there is an Evil One, and this may be proof he was an uncredited co-producer. The devil loves the common, the stale. He can’t use beauty; it undermines him. “Banality is his calling card.”

I do not understand the thinking of a studio that would make, for the amusement of a nation 85% to 90% of whose people identify themselves as Christian, a major movie aimed at attacking the central tenets of that faith, and insulting as poor fools its gulled adherents. Why would Tom Hanks lend his prestige to such a film? Why would Ron Howard? They’re both already rich and relevant. A desire to seem fresh and in the middle of a big national conversation? But they don’t seem young, they seem immature and destructive. And ungracious. They’ve been given so much by their country and era, such rich rewards and adulation throughout their long careers. This was no way to say thanks.

I don’t really understand why we live in an age in which we feel compelled to spoof the beliefs of the followers of the great religions. Why are we doing that? Why does Hollywood consider this progressive as opposed to primitive, like a pre-Columbian tribe attacking the tribe next door for worshiping the wrong spirits?

“The DaVinci Code” could still triumph at the box office, but it has lost its cachet, and the air of expectation that surrounded it. Its creators have not been rewarded but embarrassed. Good. They should be.

What’s behind the president’s, and the Congressional Republicans’, poll drop? All the bad news that’s been noted, from Iraq and Katrina to high spending and immigration. What’s behind the bad decisions made in those areas? Detachment from the ground.

Power is distancing.

When you’ve been in Congress for a while, or the White House for a while, you both forget too many things and learn too many things.

You forget why they sent you. You forget it’s not that you’re charming and wonderful. You forget it’s not you. You become immersed in a Washington conversation, a political conversation, that is, by definition, unlike the normal human conversation back home. To survive and thrive, national politicians have to speak two languages, Here and Home. Actually it’s more than two languages, it’s two cultures. It’s hard to straddle cultures.

But even as you forget a lot, you learn a lot. You get crammed into your head the political realities on the ground around you—how big the minority Democratic bloc in the House really is, how many votes the other team has in what committee, where to go for legal money, how the press will react to any given decision or statement.

In time you know a lot of things the people who sent you to Washington don’t know. And you come to forget what they do know. It used to be easy for you to remember that, because it’s what you knew too.

*   *   *

Republicans inside and outside Washington are right when they say Republican leaders take a daily pounding in the press. They do. They’re right when they say this causes attrition. It does. They’re right when they say history handed the Republicans a unique challenge in 9/11 and after.

But it’s also true that the administration and the Congress are losing their base, and it isn’t because of the media. Republicans on the ground love to defy the MSM. When the media dislike their guy, they take it as proof their guy is good.

Of all the bad poll numbers for the Republicans, I think the worst is the right track/wrong track numbers, which continue to trend downward. A majority of the American people think we’re on the wrong track. How can this be when the American economy is in a boom? When the Dow Jones Industrial Average is approaching its all-time high, when annual growth is almost 5%, when unemployment is low, and so is inflation? (People don’t talk much about inflation anymore, but in the 1970s and early ‘80s it was the thief in the night that kept America sleepless. They could almost feel the worth of their savings going down with each tick of the clock. It was more disruptive, more damaging to a sense of security, than street crime. It is an unnoticed achievement that it has been so low so long.)

There are many reasons for the current unease. Not everything comes down to politics, not by a long shot. But part of it is politics.

It has long been the American way to believe political problems can be solved or eased through political action. Were tax rates in certain areas of the economy too high from 1940 to 1980, and were they injurious to our economy and to individuals? Yes. So Americans pushed back, pamphleteered and backed leaders who promised to lower them. In time the taxes came down.

Name the political problem, we could answer it, or work toward answering it, with political solutions.

But faith in political action has been damaged the past few years, not by outside forces but by the two major political parties themselves.

If you are a normal person with the normal amount of political awareness, you might see it this way:

The Republicans talk about cutting spending, but they increase it—a lot. They stand for making government smaller, but they keep making it bigger. They say they’re concerned about our borders, but they’re not securing them. And they seem to think we’re slobs for worrying. Republicans used to be sober and tough about foreign policy, but now they’re sort of romantic and full of emotionalism. They talk about cutting taxes, and they have, but the cuts are provisional, temporary. Beyond that, there’s something creepy about increasing spending so much and not paying the price right away but instead rolling it over and on to our kids, and their kids.

So, the normal voter might think, maybe the Democrats. But Democrats are big spenders, Democrats are big government, Democrats will roll the cost onto our kids, and on foreign affairs they’re—what? Cynical? Confused? In a constant daily cringe about how their own base will portray them? All of the above.

Where does such a voter go, and what does such a voter do? It is odd to live in the age of options, when everyone’s exhausted by choice, and feel your options for securing political progress are so limited. One party has beliefs it doesn’t act on. The other doesn’t seem to have beliefs, only impulses.

What’s a voter to do? Maybe stay home, have the neighbors over for some barbecue, and then answer the phone when a pollster calls asking for a few minutes to answer some questions. When they get to the part about whether America is on the right track or the wrong track, boy, the voter knows the answer.

Congressional Republicans right now seem just like the liberal Republicans of the great Losing Era of Republican history, circa 1960-80. All the Republican congressmen in those days had good beliefs, and shared them at the Rotary luncheon back home. The government was getting too big and taxes were too high. Then they’d go back to Washington and vote for higher spending and higher taxes. But not as high as the Democrats, they’d point out. Their job was to stand athwart history and cry, “Please slow down just a little bit!”

Republicans on the ground back home got mad. Eventually they threw the old guys out and sent to Washington in 1980 a guy who meant it when he said he’d cut and contain.

*   *   *

A reporter told me a story a few weeks ago. He was at a meeting with an important Republican congressman. Talk turned to the upcoming 2006 elections. The congressman argued it will be better for the Republicans than people think; they’ll hold the House. He said they are better at getting the vote out. He made the case for this based on turnout figures in 2000 and 2004. They have more money. He made the case for this assertion too. And they have a message. The reporter who was there said later he noticed the oddest thing. Under “message” his notes were blank. He couldn’t really remember what the congressman said.

No wonder. How could they have a message if they’ve lost their meaning?

The oddest thing about Republicans and Democrats in power is that they always know the technical facts, always know about fund raising, always know what the national committee is saying about getting turnout. But so often they don’t know the message or even have a message. Which is funny, because they’re in the message business. They’re like shoemakers who make pretty shoeboxes but forget to make the shoes.

Party leaders say they’re aware they’re in trouble, aware of a sense of stasis in the country. They are going to solve the problem, they say, by passing legislation. They’re going to pass a budget. And they’re going to pass an immigration bill, too. People will like that.

But no they won’t. The American people are not going to say, “I am relieved and delighted our Congress passed a budget.” They will be relieved and delighted if Congress cuts spending. They would be relieved and delighted if Congress finally took responsibility for the nation’s borders. They won’t be impressed if you just pass bills and call it progress.

Party leaders are showing a belief in process as opposed to a belief in, say, belief. But belief drives politics. It certainly drives each party’s base.

One gets the impression party leaders, deep in their hearts, believe the base is . . . base. Unsophisticated. Primitive. Obsessed with its little issues. They’re trying to educate the base. But if history is a guide, the base is about to teach them a lesson instead.

ALEXANDRIA, Va. (AP)—Moussaoui said as he was led from the courtroom: “America, you lost.” He clapped his hands.

Excuse me, I’m sorry, and I beg your pardon, but the jury’s decision on Moussaoui gives me a very bad feeling. What we witnessed here was not the higher compassion but a dizzy failure of nerve.

From the moment the decision was announced yesterday, everyone, all the parties involved—the cable jockeys, the legal analysts, the politicians, the victim representatives—showed an elaborate and jarring politesse. “We thank the jury.” “I accept the verdict of course.” “We can’t question their hard work.” “I know they did their best.” “We thank the media for their hard work in covering this trial.” “I don’t want to second-guess the jury.”

How removed from our base passions we’ve become. Or hope to seem.

It is as if we’ve become sophisticated beyond our intelligence, savvy beyond wisdom. Some might say we are showing a great and careful generosity, as befits a great nation. But maybe we’re just, or also, rolling in our high-mindedness like a puppy in the grass. Maybe we are losing some crude old grit. Maybe it’s not good we lose it.

No one wants to say, “They should have killed him.” This is understandable, for no one wants to be called vengeful, angry or, far worse, unenlightened. But we should have put him to death, and for one big reason.

This is what Moussaoui did: He was in jail on a visa violation in August 2001. He knew of the upcoming attacks. In fact, he had taken flight lessons to take part in them. He told no one what was coming. He lied to the FBI so the attacks could go forward. He pled guilty last year to conspiring with al Qaeda; at his trial he bragged to the court that he had intended to be on the fifth aircraft, which was supposed to destroy the White House.

He knew the trigger was about to be pulled. He knew innocent people had been targeted, and were about to meet gruesome, unjust deaths.

He could have stopped it. He did nothing. And so 2,700 people died.

*   *   *

This is what the jury announced yesterday. They did not doubt Moussaoui was guilty of conspiracy. They did not doubt his own testimony as to his guilt. They did not think he was incapable of telling right from wrong. They did not find him insane. They did believe, however, that he had had an unstable childhood, that his father was abusive and then abandoning, and that as a child, in his native France, he’d suffered the trauma of being exposed to racial slurs.

As I listened to the court officer read the jury’s conclusions yesterday I thought: This isn’t a decision, it’s a non sequitur.

Of course he had a bad childhood; of course he was abused. You don’t become a killer because you started out with love and sweetness. Of course he came from unhappiness. So, chances are, did the nice man sitting on the train the other day who rose to give you his seat. Life is hard and sometimes terrible, and that is a tragedy. It explains much, but it is not a free pass.

I have the sense that many good people in our country, normal modest folk who used to be forced to endure being patronized and instructed by the elites of all spheres—the academy and law and the media—have sort of given up and cut to the chase. They don’t wait to be instructed in the higher virtues by the professional class now. They immediately incorporate and reflect the correct wisdom before they’re lectured.

I’m not sure this is progress. It feels not like the higher compassion but the lower evasion. It feels dainty in a way that speaks not of gentleness but fear.

*   *   *

I happen, as most adults do, to feel a general ambivalence toward the death penalty. But I know why it exists. It is the expression of a certitude, of a shared national conviction, about the value of a human life. It says the deliberate and planned taking of a human life is so serious, such a wound to justice, such a tearing at the human fabric, that there is only one price that is justly paid for it, and that is the forfeiting of the life of the perpetrator. It is society’s way of saying that murder is serious, dreadfully serious, the most serious of all human transgressions.

It is not a matter of vengeance. Murder can never be avenged, it can only be answered.

If Moussaoui didn’t deserve the death penalty, who does? Who ever did?

And if he didn’t receive it, do we still have it?

I don’t want to end with an air of hopelessness, so here’s some hope, offered to the bureau of prisons. I hope he doesn’t get cable TV in his cell. I hope he doesn’t get to use his hour a day in general population getting buff and converting prisoners to jihad. I hope he isn’t allowed visitors with whom he can do impolite things like plot against our country. I hope he isn’t allowed anniversary interviews. I hope his jolly colleagues don’t take captives whom they threaten to kill unless Moussaoui is released.

I hope he doesn’t do any more damage. I hope this is the last we hear of him. But I’m not hopeful about my hopes.

The meme is out there: “A thousand days.” That’s how long the Bush administration has in office (or had, to be precise, as of yesterday).

To criticize the White House—if the criticism is serious, well-grounded and well-meant—is helpful, and part of a long and good tradition. But allowing philosophical estrangement to leave you wishing the administration ill is to give in to the destructive spirit of the age. That too has a tradition, but not a good one. Five years ago this September history took a dark turn, and though we can forget it in the day to day, we’re all in this together.

In that spirit, a plan for the thousand days.

*   *   *

With the appointment of Tony Snow the first round of staff changes seems ended, and the desired effect is achieved: a new start, with new people.

The sense of newness will last for a while because the reporters who tell us the news need a storyline. They need, as they say, a narrative. The narrative they will go with now is: “Staff Changes Being Felt Throughout White House / May Signal Policy Changes.”

The next story line will either be “Staff Changes Fail to Stop Listless Drift” or “Shakeups Yielded New Dynamism”.

So the story now is change, and the story a few months from now is the change that change wrought.

This is a time of opportunity. White House staffers can work to help create the future headline they want.

As a public face of the White House, Tony Snow will likely get a good start. His remarks to the press yesterday—“Believe it or not, I want very much to work with you”—were gracious, and showed legitimate sympathy for the press corps. They have hard jobs and operate under many pressures, from uncomprehending editors in the bubble back in the newsroom to officials who try to jerk them around to executive producers in New York who don’t like their hair. (One of the best White House correspondents I ever knew, a woman of seriousness and sophistication who threw the ball straight down the middle, was removed from her assignment, her career thwarted, because she’d committed the sin of not being considered pretty enough by her boss. Before she was removed she had to spend half her time getting new clothes and haircuts and makeup. This so she could do a serious job with expertise and spirit. TV is absurd.)

Mr. Snow’s White House press briefings are going to be nice to watch. The press does not want to appear to be ungracious and oppositional. They have an investment in demonstrating that the tensions each day in Scott McClellan’s press briefings, with David Gregory’s rants and Helen Thomas’s free-form animosities, were the fault of Mr. McClellan, not the press.

So they will start out gracious with Tony. Good. Everyone involved will benefit from turning the page.

*   *   *

A plan for the administration? Free advice is worth the price, but here goes:

Narrow—and deepen—the focus. The administration has popped too much the past five years, tried to do too much, and all at the same time. An administration about everything is an administration about nothing.

There are three issues on which the administration can, and should, focus, and only three. Why? Because three big issues in a thousand days is more than enough, and because history itself will hand the White House new problems every day and every week—a hurricane, a scandal, a coup, a famine, an insurrection, a terror incident. It all has to be dealt with. It all will come along and take your attention, for a while, from the big three. Lincoln confessed what all presidents learn: events controlled him more than he controlled events.

Issue 1: Iraq, Afghanistan and the age of terror. On these, stabilize, fortify, succeed. Keep America safe. All this will require ruthless concentration. Back up all action with illustration and explanation. Inform the public—constantly—as to what is happening, and why, and what is being done, and why. We already know liberty is God’s gift to man; make statements that are less emotive and more fact-filled, more strategically coherent.

Renew attention to Afghanistan. The American invasion of that country had the support of the world. Don’t let anything endanger the stability and health of the endeavor. Public confidence in the administration’s management of homeland security went down after Katrina. Talk about what’s being done, and how, and why. Find Osama—it is a scandal that the man who started the new era is still free, still taunting the West, still inspiring those who see the world as he does. It was a mistake to think finding him was not as important as a wider war on terror. Finding him is key. It is almost five years since he did what he did. Get him, try him, kill him.

Issue 2: the economy. The Dow Jones Industrial Average is at new post-9/11 highs; there’s little unemployment. New home sales are up, productivity up, profits up. This is President Bush’s triumph. And yet in polls Americans don’t credit him with it. (My hunch: Americans, a deeply savvy lot, never want to tell a politician he’s doing well on the economy because their applause may lead him to feel he can shift focus to, say, colonizing Mars. Americans always name prosperity in retrospect. In real time they like to keep the pressure on.)

There are problems, challenges, changes that require thought. The biggest complaint I hear now from people who email me from all parts of the country is that they’re being worked to death, longer hours at the office, can’t see the kids. Gas prices are up and up, etc. The president should talk about the economy—not in a braying, bragging way but in an instructive, engaged way that discusses the philosophy and actions that allowed the market to do what it wants to do, grow.

Presidents always—all of them—like to say they created 50,000 jobs last month. No president has ever created a job, except in the public sector. But presidents can take steps that keep jobs from being created, and deserve credit when they don’t. And they can take steps that are helpful to job creators, and deserve credit when they do.

Did the tax cuts, at the end of the day, help the economy? Why? How? Will a change in the tax structure, or will making permanent the tax cuts, help? What impact does high federal government spending have on the economy? Where should we go on that, and why? Talk about the flow of money in America.

Issue 3: the integrity of America’s borders. That is, the right and ability to decide who comes here and when, the right and ability to make judgments based on our nation’s needs. This is both an economic issue and a national security issue; it naturally connects to issues 1 and 2.

On this, Washington is talking a lot and doing nothing.

Congress and the White House right now are like people who live in a big house who have finally noticed the kitchen is on fire. So they all meet in the living room and debate how exactly to rebuild the kitchen, what color to repaint the walls, and how to get the best deal on a new microwave. And while they are holding their discussion they’re forgetting to do the most important thing. They’re forgetting to put out the fire. You can lose a house this way. Putting out the fire in this case is closing and policing the essentially open border with Mexico—now. Close down illegal immigration, now. Then talk. (A hunch for liberals: Your views will be received with greater generosity once the air of daily crisis is removed.)

*   *   *

So that’s it. Three big issues, plus whatever comes over the transom each day and demands a response. On that, the wisdom of Calvin Coolidge: When 10 problems are walking toward you, don’t feel you have to do something right away. Some of the problems will fall to the side and not reach you, some will solve themselves. Face what remains. But focus, to the extent you can, on the big three.

There have been, and apparently will be, personnel changes in the administration. The charmless and much-abused Scott McClellan is out; the focus of Karl Rove’s portfolio has shifted back to hardball politics; Rob Portman to the Office of Management and Budget, etc. These shifts are not precisely cosmetic, but they do not signal Big Change. Whoever takes Mr. McClellan’s place will put a new face on the news but will not change the news. Other things are needed for that.

To an extraordinary degree this is George W. Bush’s presidency. Its strengths are his strengths and its weaknesses his weakness. This White House is him. The decisions it makes are him.

This is true to some degree in all presidencies—all presidents set direction or, at the very least, a certain mood, certain administration tendencies. But I’ve never seen a president who controlled the facts and personality of his White House as Mr. Bush has.

He is not, like Jimmy Carter, a man who seeks to gain a sense of control by focusing on details. He would not, as Mr. Carter did at Desert One, instruct the leaders of a high-risk military rescue mission not to shoot on any Teheran crowds if they move against the mission. (See Mark Bowden’s recounting of that failed endeavor in this month’s Atlantic.)

But Mr. Bush’s feelings, assumptions and convictions set theme, direction and mood. All decisions as to declared destination go to him. He seeks a sense of control by making and sticking to the decision. When he won’t budge, the White House won’t budge. When it clings to an idea beyond evidence and history, it is Mr. Bush who is doing the clinging. When he stands firm, it stands firm.

And this is true of this president to an unusual degree, and makes him different from his recent predecessors.

We all like a president who says “The buck stops here.” Mr. Bush never ducks the buck. But he puts severe limits on the number and kind of people who can hand it to him. He picks them, receives their passionate and by definition limited recommendations, makes his decision, and sticks. All very Trumanesque, except Truman could tolerate argument and dissent. They didn’t pass the buck to little Harry, they threw it at his head. Clark Clifford was in in the morning telling him he had to recognize Israel, and George Marshall was there in the afternoon telling him he’d step down as secretary of state if he did.

It was a mess. Messes aren’t all bad.

*   *   *

Bill Clinton didn’t govern by personal conviction, in part because he doesn’t seem to have known what his convictions were. They were unknown even to his cabinet members. His first labor secretary, Robert Reich, later said he thought Mr. Clinton liked late-night bull sessions where every problem was looked at from every angle and decisions ultimately deferred because talking gave Clinton the impression that he believed in something beyond his career.

Ronald Reagan’s convictions were clear to everyone around him. The destination was clear to everyone around him. But the route was not. That was always up for grabs. Reagan presided over a White House that fought every day over what exactly to do and how to do it. There were liberals, moderates and conservatives around him, and they brutalized each other. He allowed it. But at the end of each day there was a plan, and in the end it worked out pretty well. Reagan could tolerate dissent and ambiguity. He could even tolerate disrespect, which is what some within occasionally showed him. He didn’t really care. His ego wasn’t delicate.

FDR could tolerate tension and dissent too, and in fact loved setting his aides against each other. There was in his management style a certain sadism—he enjoyed watching Harry Hopkins torpedo Harold Ickes at lunch—but there was a method to his meanness. He thought the aide armed with the better plan would kill off the man with the lesser plan. As for personal loyalty, he doesn’t seem to have bothered much about it. He had a job to do. Loyalty can be a nice word for self-indulgence.

George W. Bush, on the other hand, does not tolerate dissent, argument, bitter internal battles. He is the decider. He decides, and the White House carries through. He is loyal to his aides, who carry out his wishes. (It is unclear whether this is a loyalty born of emotional connection or one born of calculation: Do it my way and the tong protects you.) His loyalty means they will most likely not be fired or leaked against, no matter what heat they take from the outside. And so his aides move forward with the sharpness and edge of those who know their livelihoods and status are secure. Bruce Bartlett has written of how, as a conservative economist, he was treated with courtesy by the Clinton White House, which occasionally sought out his views. But once he’d offered mild criticisms of the Bush White House he was shut out, and rudely, by Bush staffers. Why would they be like that? Because they believe that as a conservative, Mr. Bartlett owes his loyalty to the president. He thought his loyalty was to principles.

There are many stories like this, from many others. It leaves friends on the outside having to self-censor or accept designation as The Enemy. It leaves a distinguished former government official and prominent Republican saying, in conversation, “Those people aren’t drinking the Kool-Aid, they’re sucking it from a spigot!”

*   *   *

Because this White House rises and falls with the president, personnel changes, even seemingly interesting ones, seem ultimately irrelevant. If there is a new Treasury secretary it will look big, but in order to explain what it means in terms of policy, reporters will have to determine what John Snow’s policy was. And there was no Snow economic policy. There was Bush’s economic policy. (It is his triumph. But so snake-bit is he that no one credits him with it.)

John Snow, a bright and accomplished man, might as well, as Treasury secretary in the Bush administration, have been what Woody Allen said he saw when, years into his psychotherapy, he finally turned from his couch and looked to see who he was talking to, only to find his therapist was actually a melon on top of a baseball bat.

If this White House is all George Bush, nothing changes or shifts, nothing hits refresh unless he does. He is a tough and stubborn man, a brave one too, and he leads with his heart. These are virtues, or can be. The presidency can break you—we’ve seen it break presidents—and he does not intend to be broken. But one senses he fears to bend because if he bends, he breaks.

The odd thing is sometimes the bravest thing is to question yourself, question the wisdom around you, reach out, tolerate a hellacious argument, or series of arguments. Yes there is a feeling of safety in decisiveness, but if it’s the wrong decision, the safety doesn’t last. And safety isn’t the point in any case. Governing well is. That involves arguments. It means considering you may be wrong about some things. This isn’t weak—it’s humble. It’s not breaking, it’s bending, tacking, steadying yourself in a wind.

*   *   *

The greatest criticism of the president’s governing style and White House is that they are uncalibrated.

It’s not enough they commit themselves, they must commit future presidencies. It is not enough they do their job, they must announce “the concentrated work of generations.” It’s not enough they hit Afghanistan, they must hit Iraq; it’s not enough they improve, they must remake. It’s not enough they must fight a war, they must reform America’s most important social welfare program at the same time. It was not enough that Don Rumsfeld manage a war, he must at the same time modernize and revolutionize the military. It’s not enough to allow spending to rise or raise it modestly, you must back the biggest growth in government since the Great Society. It’s not enough to call for liberty, stand for liberty and assist the spread of liberty; you have to insist on it, now, or you are not America’s friend. It’s not enough to do A and B and C, you have to do Z too. It is all so uncalibrated.

Inside the White House they say, “We think big.” Maybe. But maybe they’re not thinking. They say, “We’re bold.” But maybe they’re just unknowing, which is not the same thing. The bold weigh the price and pay it, get the lay of the land and move within it. The dreamy just spurt along on emotions.

It’s as if Bush doesn’t understand the concept of danger. He understands sin, redemption, practicalities (every man has to make his living, life is competition, etc.). But danger? Does he understand how dangerous life is? It’s not cowardly to know this, and factor it in. It is in fact strange not to.

I sometimes think about people who ski. It has seemed to me that people who ski don’t know how dangerous life is. Life hasn’t taught them. So they look for danger on their vacations. They strap pieces of wood on their feet and propel themselves down high mountains full of snow and trees, drops and turns.

They consider this invigorating. The rest of us consider it perplexing. The rest of us are trying to take a holiday from danger. We are all shaped by experience. Lately I think the president could have used a time in his life when his father couldn’t pay the rent. Such experiences tend to leave you unwilling to count on good luck coming, or staying.

Sometimes Mr. Bush acts as if he doesn’t know you don’t have to look for trouble, it will find you. When you are the American president, it knows your address by heart.

I know that on some level he knows this. The president has taken, those around him say, great comfort in biographies of previous presidents. All presidents do this. They all take comfort in the fact that former presidents now seen as great were, in their time, derided, misunderstood, underestimated. No one took the measure of their greatness until later. This is all very moving, but: Message to all biography-reading presidents, past present and future: Just because they call you a jackass doesn’t mean you’re Lincoln.

*   *   *

In the end it doesn’t matter if White House staffers suddenly listen to critics, to non-pre-vetted policy intellectuals, to questioners, complainers, whiners, Wise Men, if you can find them, and people who actually have something to say. But it does matter if George Bush does.

It matters that he becomes his broadest self and comes to tolerate dissent, argument, ambiguity. That actually would be daring. It would mark not the appearance of change but change, not the appearance of progress but the thing itself.

I love immigrants. That’s not important or relevant, but it’s where I start. I love them so much I often have the impulse to kiss their hands. I am not kidding. I love them because they are brave. They left their country and struggled their way to this one to get a better life. (It’s good to remember that that’s not an insult to us but a compliment. They’re saying: Your way is better.) I love immigrants because they make themselves lonely for their children. They go to a place where few share their language, their memories, their references. They do this so their children will have a greater chance at happiness. I love immigrants because they invest in the future with the biggest thing they can invest with: their life.

Immigrants often start out in hard jobs for low wages, and of course are not applauded for this but sort of looked through, not noticed. I love immigrants because I am close enough to the immigrant experience to, simply, identify with them. My grandparents had Irish accents, spoke Gaelic at home, came from poor, obscure farming areas, and understood themselves to be different from those who’d been in America for many years. To be an immigrant in America is to experience a low-key, sometimes barely conscious estrangement from the main. It passes in a generation or two, and America is worth the price in any case, but estrangement deserves sympathy.

I love immigrants from all places, of all colors, ages and backgrounds. But my feelings are particularly strong toward Mexican and other Hispanic immigrants, and when I think of why, two things come to mind. One is that most of them are Catholic, which for me means that for all our differences in language and experience I share with them the biggest essential. They love Our Lady of Guadalupe and so do I. They know Jesus. You don’t get more basic than one’s deepest beliefs, one’s understanding of the truest facts of life. So Mexican immigrants are more like me than some of my neighbors are, and in my heart I don’t see them as immigrants but cousins. (I am aware it is a faux pas to admit this. In the modern world we’re not supposed to like our own. Sorry.)

The second thing is just a memory. It was a few nights after 9/11 and in New York, still rocked and shocked by what had happened, we had taken to massing spontaneously on the West Side Highway to cheer the trucks carrying workers who were going downtown to dig us out of the rubble. We stood there—all the orthodontists and attorneys and editors of Manhattan, the kings and queens of the city, suddenly irrelevant—cheering members of the Iron Workers Local and sanitation workers and cops and medical technicians.

One night, about 11 p.m., I was walking home with friends, going north on the wide, dark highway, and we came upon a woman, a thick middle-aged woman, dark skinned and dark haired. She was with a baby in a stroller. She was, I think, not the mother but the grandmother. They were there alone, in the darkness. Affixed to the stroller was a hand-lettered sign, and on the sign were these words: “American You Are Not Alone—Mexico Is With You.” All alone and she came out with that sign, at that time. I have tried to tell that story in speeches and I can never make my way through it, and as I write my eyes fill with tears.

Is this sentimental? Well, nations run on many things, including sentiment.

*   *   *

This week I went to the immigration march in New York. We massed on the Brooklyn Bridge and then marched into lower Manhattan. I just wanted to be there and see who was marching and hear what they said.

There were many thousands of people—it was dense, packed, a long moving line of people. It took an hour and a half to get across the bridge because every 20 yards or so the organizers would stop, play drums, and chant chants for local and national TV cameras. They’d stop, enact joy and fervor, and then walk on. Everyone was cheerful and peaceful.

Most of the marchers were young, in their teens and 20s and 30s. I asked a young man who’d rolled a newspaper into a bullhorn what he was saying when he led the crowd in chants. He didn’t speak enough English to answer quickly. Then he said, “We are saying, ‘We are here, look at us.’” I thanked him and patted his arm. I said, “God bless you,” and he nodded and marched on. Then he broke his stride, turned his head and said, “God bless you, too.”

I walked along with a young black woman, an American in her mid-20s, who was chatting in English and Spanish with those nearby. She was clearly in some organizational position, and she was carrying an American flag. Someone said something to her about it. She was on her cell phone, but after she snapped it shut, she laughed and said, “I am having an affair with this flag. I am having a love affair with this flag. Don’t tell my husband.” Everyone laughed, including me. But it was clear all the American flags were a strategic decision. All those Mexican flags in the marches in L.A. and elsewhere 10 days ago had been a public relations disaster. So now it was all American flags.

There were signs saying “We are here” and “We are America” and “A nation of immigrants.” It was obvious that this was all well organized: people in orange plastic pullovers directing the human traffic and chants, lots of hand-lettered union signs. Cars on the bridge below the walkway sounded their horns in rhythm with the chants in a manner that seemed coordinated. At one point a young Hispanic woman called out, “The Irish are coming!” It was like a scene from a movie where someone says, “Here come the Fighting 69th!” We looked for the Irish on the drive below, but there was no sign of them. My people, hardy and tardy.

The overwhelming impression I had was that the marchers were peaceful and high-spirited. Some seemed resentful or mildly snarly, but they were in the minority—and young, emphasis on young.

We curled past the courthouses of downtown, up Broadway, to Chinatown. Chinatown is of course largely populated by immigrants, legal and illegal, but they were not in the march. In fact, I did not see a single Asian in the march. They were all working, in the shops and on the street. They had no intention of letting yet another New York march get in the way of business. And you know, the marchers seemed to sense it. They didn’t spend long in Chinatown. As far as I could see they didn’t make it to Little Italy, either.

*   *   *

Where does all this leave me? Does my feeling for immigrants, and my afternoon at the march, leave me supporting open borders, or illegal immigration? No. Why should it? To love immigrants is not to believe America has no right to decide who can come to America and become a citizen. America has always decided who comes here. That’s why it all worked.

While the marchers seemed to be good people, and were very likable, the march itself, I think, violated the old immigrant politesse—the general understanding that you’re not supposed to get here and immediately start making demands. It would never have occurred to my grandparents to demand respect. They thought they had to earn it. It would never have occurred to them to air mass grievances, assert rights, issue a list of legislative demands. Especially if they were here unlawfully.

I happen to think America in general has deep affection for immigrants, knows they are part of the dynamic, a part of our growth and our endless coming-into-being. But when your heart is soft, and America’s is, your head must be hard.

We are a sovereign nation operating under the rule of law. That, in fact, is why many immigrants come here. They come from places where the law, such as it is, is corrupt, malleable, limiting. Does it make sense to subvert our own laws to facilitate the entrance of those in pursuit of government by law? Whatever our sentiments and sympathies as individuals, America has the right, and the responsibility, to protect the integrity of its borders, to make the laws by which immigrants are granted entrance, and to enforce those laws.

I think open-borders proponents are, simply, wrong. I think those who call good people like members of the voluntary border patrols “yahoos” are snobs. I think those whose primary concern is preserving the Hispanic vote for the Democratic Party, or not losing the Hispanic vote for the Republican Party, are being cynical, selfish, and stupid, too. It’s not all about who gets what vote, it’s about continuing a system of laws that has allowed America to become, among many other things, a place immigrants want to come to. And it’s about admitting immigrants in a coherent, orderly, legal manner, with an eye first to what America needs. That’s how you continue a good thing, which is what we’ve had. That’s how you leave Americans who’ve been here for a while grateful for immigration, and immigrants, and loving them, and even wanting, sometimes, to kiss their hands.

It has been a week of movement, of comings and goings that have reminded me of the wisdom of a friend, a businessman. He told me, a decade or so ago, that it is important to remember, especially when you have a problem or a particular challenge, that life is not a painting. Life is not static; it moves. In a painting of a room, say, everything is set in one position forever. But in life the curtains move with the breeze, people enter the room, and leave it. So whatever problem you’re facing, realize that life one way or another will change it to one degree or another, and at whatever speed.

This is the kind of advice that goes under the heading, “Man needs more to be reminded than instructed.” It reminded me then, and I’m thinking of it this week.

*   *   *

Tom DeLay leaves, and does it in a distinctive and helpful way. He faced the facts—a damaging political controversy would continue as long as he stayed on the scene; he could lose a seat for the party he actually cares about in a bruising battle for re-election—and left. To lose your career and maintain your equanimity—to retain, even, your joy—is most remarkable. By leaving he denies the opposition a rich target. At the same time he leaves the more consequential parts of his legacy—the groundbreaking Republican victory of ’94, welfare reform, etc.—intact. Good for him. A year ago no one would have predicted the curtain would move in this way.

Katie Couric leaves the Today show, where she has presided 15 years, to go to the “CBS Evening News.” This is leaving something important (the demographic and huge profitability of “Today”) for something less important, the fading network evening news shows that used to be appointment television and now seem more like relics. Still, relics that get substantial, if aging, numbers. Ms. Couric’s move may suggest a renewed interest on the part of the old Tiffany Network to reimagine and reinvigorate the nightly news. I suspect, however, that the move is strategic. CBS chief Les Moonves just spent a lot of money to take the queen of morning news off a competitor’s No. 1 morning news show. He rocks “Today” and puts everything in play.

When there’s a big move on a big news show, there’s the possibility things will shake out to your advantage. Viewers look around the dial, or rather hit new numbers on the clicker. (Odd that we call it the clicker when it doesn’t click. It’s like the way newspaper poets write of television: they always speak of the “flickering images.” But TV sets haven’t had flickering images in 30 years. They don’t flicker; they seamlessly, relentlessly whomp out their pictures, their tape.) Maybe they’ll give the “CBS Morning News” a chance. Maybe NBC will take a major blow. Either way, it unfreezes the field.

Where there is movement there is possibility. Mr. Moonves is hoping the curtains will move and people enter the room.

The rise of Katie Couric to the “Evening News,” however, raises an interesting question, and may be suggestive of the media environment of the future. I am not referring to the fact that Katie’s a woman and will be the first to “fly solo,” as everyone is saying. It’s not 1967, and she’s not replacing Walter Cronkite, who counted. We’re all happily used to women bringing us the news.

It’s this. The evening news shows have traditionally had an air of greater formality than the morning news, where the parameters for comment and personal views were understood to be broader. They have two hours to fill, not 23 minutes, of course personal views emerge. Ms. Couric’s on-air comments the past decade have led many people to understand that her political and cultural beliefs are pronounced, rigid, and part of her public presentation of herself. And that this is true in a way that does not apply to the beliefs, whatever they are, of Bob Schieffer, Brian Williams and Elizabeth Vargas. (Yes, Dan Rather also consistently signaled and declared his views, but in the end that contributed to his ouster.)

Is the appointment of Katie an acknowledgement by CBS that it doesn’t feel it has to care anymore about political preferences, that the existence of Fox News Channel has in effect freed up the network broadcasts to be what you and I might call more politically tendentious and they might call edgy? In a fractured media environment where everyone can have a voice, why wouldn’t the broadcast networks take the new freedom as new license? After all, if America is one big niche market, liberals make up a big niche.

I’m wondering how the network news divisions are viewing the lay of the land. The answer will tell us something about the future American media environment.

*   *   *

There’s another thing that I think may well become a part of the story as the electronic media make their way through the next few years. It is a sense I think I am correctly picking up that network news staffers are about to launch a round of quiet and internal questioning of the media’s coverage of the war in Iraq. Conservatives who are reading this will think I’m about to say, “Network staffers are wondering if they’ve been too negative, too tough on the war.” I don’t think that’s what they’re wondering. I think they’re about to start asking themselves if they were skeptical enough, tough enough; if they dodged controversy, if they feared too much being called left-wing and antiwar. If I’m right, how this debate goes internally will also have implications for the future media landscape.

Gen. Tony Zinni came out this week with a book questioning whether America should have gone into Iraq. On “Meet the Press” he called for Donald Rumsfeld’s resignation. I have not yet read Gen. Zinni’s book, because I am immersed in “Cobra II” by Michael R. Gordon, chief military correspondent of the New York Times, and Bernard E. Trainor, a retired Marine Corps lieutenant general. The book is a recounting of military professionalism, courage and determination in the invasion of Iraq, and a stinging indictment of failures of vision, judgment and knowledge by civilian leaders inside and outside the Pentagon. It hurts to read. If the book is a reliable reflection of reality (one senses, in reading it, that it is at very least a true reflection of part of what happened) it is sobering indeed.

The Iraq story is not over. We are there. We must give our troops everything they need, and remain cleaved to them in gratitude and loyalty. More will be written, more books and commentaries, and memoirs, too. For now, from me, two thoughts that have bubbled up from the national conversation this week.

The first is optimistic. Our troops in Iraq are the best of us: brave young men and women willing to put themselves in harm’s way for their country. But they are by and large something else: very good, and kind, and generous human beings. Every day for three years they have, as part of their mission and in their off hours, been interacting with Iraqi kids and young people. Those kids, those young people, having been exposed to who Americans are—their kindness, their helpfulness, their humor and good nature—will never forget it.

Will this have implications for the future? Yes, I do believe it will. After World War II, half of Europe had been defeated by America, bombed by it. And yet America had the broad support and affection of Western Europe in the crucial quarter century after that war, in part because of efforts such as the Marshall Plan, but also because of exposure, both prewar and postwar, to American GIs. Europeans came to know who Americans were. American leaders and diplomats did plenty to help America’s standing, but in the end the glory went, I think, to the GI Joes, and some Janes too, who won and occupied with American grace.

We will find, down the road, that many in Iraq will hold affection and respect for America because of the Americans they met and came to know in our armed forces in the first years of the 21st century. And this will have implications, and they will not be unhappy.

The second thought is less happy. Tony Zinni was against the Iraq war before it occurred, opposes it now, has written about it. Fine. But the history recounted in “Cobra II,” and the testimony of Gen. Zinni, suggests a lot of generals—a lot—were against the war in the run-up, for reasons that were many and serious. If this is correct it begs questions: Did they feel they could not speak? Why? What dynamics went into the decision? Or did they speak and we didn’t hear, or didn’t weigh what was said seriously enough? Did they speak inside? To what degree did the inside listen? Or were the generals and colonels, in fact, split? Were the generals more supportive than is now being suggested?

What really happened? I suspect books will be written on this too. I suspect we are all going to learn a lot, and some of it may be quite painful.

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Caspar Weinberger was buried at Arlington this week. He was a great man, a prudent warrior who two decades ago helped rearm America after years of confusion, loss and neglect. He hated war, having fought in World War II. It was enormously moving that Margaret Thatcher, that great lady, 80 and felled twice by strokes, journeyed from London to attend the funeral of this man who made such a difference in our national life and the world’s life.

Whenever I saw Cap Weinberger he seemed like a happy man. You can be happy when you know you are doing work you are supposed to be doing, work that helps the world, and human beings, and your country. The words that came to mind when I thought of Cap this week were: a life well led. What a great thing when you can know you’ve had that.