And Yet... by Christopher Hitchens

and the gun that is on the mantelpiece from the beginning of the action is at last duly and lethally discharged. (It is described as a “Canakkale” rifle, Canakkale being the Turkish name for the Dardanelle Straits and the site of Gallipoli—the battle that was Atatürk’s baptism as a leader.) The handgunthat goes off later, and extinguishes Ka’s life, is heard only offstage. But it is clear that Islamist revenge has followed him to the heart of Europe and punished him for his ambivalence.
    Prolix and often clumsy as it is, Pamuk’s new novel should be taken as a cultural warning. So weighty was the impression of Atatürk that ever since his death, in 1938, Western statecraft has been searching for an emulator or successor. Nasser was thought for a while to be the needful charismatic, secularizing strongman. So was Sadat. So, for a while, was the Shah of Iran. And so was Saddam Hussein . . . Eager above all to have a modern yet “Muslim” state within the tent, the United States and the European Union have lately been taking Turkey’s claims to modernity more and more at face value. The attentive reader of Snow will not be so swift to embrace this consoling conclusion.
    ( The Atlantic , October 2004)

Bring on the Mud

    I N HIS CLASSIC post–World War I novel The Good Soldier Schweik , the Czech writer Jaroslav HaÅ¡ek makes mention of “The Party for Moderate Progress within the Boundaries of Law,” the very sort of political formation the powers-that-be have always dreamed of. With such respectful parties, there’s no danger of any want of decorum, or challenge to the consensus, or spreading of misgiving about authority or institutions. Instead, or rather: “There’s much to be said on both sides of the case.” “The truth lies somewhere in between.” “Lurid black and white must perforce give way to reputable gray.”
    Satire defeats itself, as usual. A political formation that could readily be considered absurd by intelligent readers in the stultified Austro-Hungarian Empire is now considered the beau ideal by the larger part of the American commentating class. What’s the most reprehensible thing a politician can be these days? Why, “partisan,” of course. What’s the most disapproving thing that can be said of a “partisan” remark? That it’s “divisive .” What’s to be deplored most at election time? “Going negative” or, worse, “mudslinging.” That sort of behavior “generates more heat than light” (as if there were any source of light apart from heat).
    The selection of these pejoratives tells us a good deal, as does the near-universal acceptance by the mass media of the associatedvernacular. To illustrate what I mean, consider a celebrated recent instance. Senator John Kerry was not adopting any “issue” when he proposed himself for the presidency by laying heavy stress on his record as a warrior. (That is to say, he clearly could not have intended to assert that Democrats had been more gung-ho than Republicans during the Vietnam War.) The “issue” was his own record, and ostensibly no more. But when that record was challenged, with varying degrees of rancor and differing levels of accuracy, the response was immediate. I have in front of me as I write a full-page ad in the New York Times of August 27, 2004, attacking the “Swift Boat Veterans for Truth” who challenged Kerry. This costly proclamation states, and then demands: “It can be stopped. All it takes is leadership. Denounce the smear. Let’s get back to the issues.”
    Never mind the truth or falsehood of the allegations for now. What’s worth notice is that the ad does not deny their truth so much as say that nobody has the right to make the allegations in the first place. Thus, having himself raised a subject, the candidate is presumed to enjoy the