It's been a little while since I posted a diary here, and I've been enjoying the Sanford coverage as much as any one...but if we're going to take pleasure in another's suffering (when he damn well deserves it), we'd better acknowledge, at the same time, that there is some suffering going on that is not all that funny. And unfortunately, the coverage it's getting is making it sound less like something we should be outraged about, than like a great story of human triumph. Bullocks on that.
Back in March, a battle in Afghanistan left a little girl with terrible burns from white phosphorous. The AP story about it gives a few intense details -- her body was still on fire hours after the incident, her oxygen mask melted to her face, etc. -- but the general tone of the story is one of celebration. The doctors did a good job, great friendships were formed, and now the girl (albeit terribly disfigured) is on her way home.
To my mind, this story -- and the way this AP story was written -- captures the problem of the wars as they now stand. The story does not ask the important questions. It points out the battle was conducted by French and Afghan forces, but the French don't use white phosphorous (according to the story). So where's the call for an investigation? Where's the accusation that something's rotten in Denmark? As well, why is anyone at all using white phosphorous when we might run the risk of hitting civilians? Because it avoids the difficult questions, the story becomes part of a narrative that suggests that war is hell, and we should look for the silver lining. The focus of the story isn't even the girl -- it's the effect of all this on the doctors and the nurses. In other words, it's been a tough war for us, but we've done what we can for the unfortunate locals, and now we're sending them back home so that we, too, can go home with a clean conscience. Forget that a little introspection might reveal that we might have done it better, or not at all.
The story's details "featurize" it -- but that's really their only purpose. We then, immediately, come to the real "news" item -- the girl is going home:
"I am fine, I want to go home," she quietly told hospital staff members who gathered to see her off. Razia can smile again. She learned to say "ice cream" in English and play catch with nurses.
Great. Her life is destroyed, but she knows how to say ice cream and can play catch like a ten year-old with his dad in the back yard. And she has some great nurse friends she'll never see again.
And it's really one the nurses who are the "feature" of the feature story:
"You're just not even sure whether this child is going to make it or not," said Capt. Christine Collins. "And then seeing her actually walk for the first time, taking her outside for the first time ... it's one of those life-changing things that you'll never, ever forget."
Good. I'm glad Capt. Collins won't forget. Unfortunately, because this story is written so flatly, the rest of us will forget it as soon as we click back to stories about cavorting governors.
The story even seems to buy into a little hand-fed propaganda, courtesy of the military.
A U.S. military spokeswoman with NATO's security force said military officials can't be certain whether it was their own round or an enemy round that hit Razia's house.
"Either scenario is possible, and equally regrettable," Maj. Jennifer Willis said. "One thing is certain: Razia will have the best care that we can give her."
Two U.S. officials told The Associated Press that the battle was primarily a French operation. They spoke on condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to release the nationality of the force involved.
Granted, the story reminds us that the Taliban have, basically, AK 47s, not white phosphorous, but why does this bullshit line from Maj. Willis go unchallenged? Where's the tough follow-up question with the "No comment" response, at least? The story, unfortunately, is more concerned with getting back to heart-string details. Like:
Capt. Collins served as Razia's primary nurse during the first weeks of care. Razia, who was hooked up to a feeding tube, wouldn't respond to the nurses or doctors even after a week in the hospital. Collins used her experience as a mother to reach out. Nurses carefully lifted Razia out of bed, and Collins rocked her for an hour.
"After that she was a completely different child," she said, her voice cracking. "She smiled for the first time. She was looking at her father and started talking to her father a lot more. And at that point I knew we would have this bond that would probably last a lifetime with her," Collins said.
Wait. What's the subtext here? You can firebomb a country as long as you're willing to rock the crisped children to sleep? And that last line from Collins basically acknowledges that what's temporary for her is permanent for the girl -- though that might be a Freudian slip.
Eventually, they treated the girl like a doll:
The American team has tried to help Razia feel normal. Nurses painted her fingernails red, a splash of color next to scarred skin. A friend in the U.S. sent a black wig, which Razia wore with a wide smile.
Is red fingernails and a wig "normal" for a four-year old Afghan girl? Maybe it's normal for Jon-Benet Ramsey, but the reporters here are offering creepy details as though they stories of triumph.
"It was very intense, a labor of love, in working with her. It was an absolute pleasure and honor," said Collins, who is stationed at Nellis Air Force Base outside Las Vegas.
A pleasure and an honor. The military spirit prevails. Will the girl look back as an adult and conclude that it was a pleasure and an honor?
The end of the story wonders whether anyone will marry the girl eventually. That's forward-thinking. Give the girl all kinds of American makeup, Gatorade, and ice cream, and then send her back to her own people. The reporters conclude:
Her father once ran a vegetable shop, but he has no more money. He is thankful to the U.S. team for the extraordinary medical care but remains laden with worry. His family's future — and Razia's — is uncertain.
Dad and the reporters might be uncertain -- but I'm not. The suffering is over for me: I'm done reading the story, and the reporters are on to the next one. Just as we're on to reading about Governor Sanford, and enjoying his suffering. The little girl's story is not uncertain: her suffering has just begun.
Someone somewhere noted that Obama's most recent press conference included no utterances of either "Iraq" or "Afghanistan." There are other priorities surely. One of them is making sure that hypocrite republicans get called out for their crap. Another is ensuring that press coverage of the wars does not descend into bullshit feature stories that turn war crimes into tales of American valor.