What price Condi’s empathy? In Clintonian pain-feeling terms, your average anguished Westerner can sympathize with Mrs. Farahat’s “loss” (must be terrible to bury three sons, etc.) but not empathize with it: after all, she doesn’t even feel it as a “loss” but as a source of family pride and her entree to parliamentary politics.
In a multicultural age, we suffer from a unicultural parochialism: not simply the inability to imagine the other, but the inability even to imagine there is an other. The President himself is the master at this, as in his frequent and weirdly narcissistic assurances to the Muslim world that he understands them because his middle name’s Hussein and he was at a madrasa in Jakarta for a couple of years.
Likewise, because he’s a community organizer who spent his entire adult life with a bunch of polytechnic Marxist “educators” and anti-American race-baiting hucksters, President Obama recently assured the massed ranks of the jihad that he understands them, too: he understands why they’re so affronted by the waterboarding of terrorists that these legions of hitherto law-abiding young Muslims have been driven to sign up for al-Qaeda and Co. That would make sense if an uneducated Yemeni youth had as exquisitely refined a sensibility as an ACLU lawyer in Chicago. But he doesn’t. Anybody who lives in the Middle East knows that, if he happens to be picked up by the authorities in his own town, he has a good chance of being physically tortured for even the most routine infraction. The Montreal photojournalist Zahra Kazemi was arrested by police in Tehran and, much to the “sadness” and “regret” of the Canadian government, wound up getting questioned to death. Nobody in the Muslim world is outraged by what happens in U.S. detention, only by U.S. detention per se.
Indeed, when the Egyptians and Jordanians complain about American activities far more benign than anything that goes on in their own dungeons, they’re playing the empathy game far more shrewdly than Obama. They understand the Western elites’ need to feel bad about themselves, and they’re happy to stir the pot. Likewise, the Iranians and the North Koreans instinctively grasp that, for the Americans and Europeans, the feeling that you’re engaging in talks far outweighs any purpose to or outcome of said talks.
Donald Rumsfeld famously spoke of the “known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns—the ones we don’t know we don’t know.” The old Cold Warrior’s cool detachment is unfashionable in an age of ersatz empathy, but it has an appropriate humility in a world of imponderables: how might the nuclear ambitions of Pyongyang, the millenarianism of Tehran and the death-cult of jihad play out in the years ahead? Who knows? But it helps to know that you don’t know—and that, even in a therapeutic culture, you don’t know how everybody feels.
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