George Bush’s Gaffe is Not Just a Slip of the Tongue  

Iraq exists in Bush’s unconscious, but no longer as the enemy. Iraq exists as a reminder of his folly.

In his public comments on the war in Ukraine, ex-president of the United States, George W. Bush, made a historic gaffe. Reading from the prepared text, but taking his eyes off it at the last moment, Bush blurted out a momentous truth: “[The] decision of one man to launch a wholly unjustified and brutal invasion of Iraq… I mean, of Ukraine.”

The moment he realised his faux pas, he admitted under his breath, “Iraq, too”, and made his way out of the embarrassment, saying, “Anyway, 75!”

Bush’s gaffe is historic in all that it reveals about wars, nations and certain kind of political leaders in the world. It was rather effortless, to begin with, how Bush slipped into mentioning Iraq while speaking about Ukraine, as a victim-country of war. Bush revealed that the ghosts in his head seem quite active at 75. The ghosts of war haunt you, especially the wars that you waged against others, wars that were “unjustified and brutal”.

Also read: In Brief: Weaponising the Research Community

War is not just any other sovereign decision. It is the most privileged moment and act of sovereignty that declares who the enemy is. This is the opposite of the condition Thomas Hobbes defines as the “war of all against all” which is a pre-political state of nature. This is the war of one state against another after its justified existence in order to overcome the state of nature. The state runs the world in the name of preventing the state of nature. It does so by retaining absolute power to wage war in its name, and the name of its people. States order the world, maintain the “world order” (or “world peace” if you like) by simultaneously holding the right to wage war for the sake of that order.  

The fact that America’s war against Iraq in 2003, and Russia’s war against Ukraine in 2022 were “unjustified” has been accepted by the leader who fought the former war. The slip of the tongue in this case was a Freudian slip (comedian John Fugelsang called it “a Freudian confession” on Twitter). It was a confession of crime, if not guilt. Iraq exists in Bush’s unconscious, but no longer as the enemy. Iraq exists as a reminder of his folly. The enemy is a ghost that haunt’s Bush imagination. Bush offers the world the important lesson that all (political) enemies eventually pass into ghosts. Since war is a declaration of death, it anticipates and produces a world of ghosts that outlive the war. The meaning of ghost here is twofold: the enemy is no longer seen as a human being but as a ghostly figure one must eliminate, and once the enemy is dead, it lives on in the unconscious realm as ghosts that outlive death.

War, in that sense, is ghost-making. Ideologies of war – where the enemy is declared as someone dangerous, whose existence is untrustworthy and hence isn’t worthy enough to live – not just caricatures the enemy but describes him as something unreal. For ideologies of war, the enemy is unhuman, monstrous, and all propaganda against it is justified. Propaganda in politics is a tool of war. The evil that designates who is evil is the real evil in history. Evil is not a figure, but a deed.

Also read: How India Nearly Gave in to US Pressure to Enter the Iraqi Killing Zone

There is a disturbing slippage in Bush’s confession. To equate Iraq with Ukraine, to juxtapose and superimpose one country with another, one war with another, is to treat counties and people generically, not specifically. To erase the distinction between one war and another is to treat war as a continuous and possible condition of the world order, with the plight of victims being the same. Each country suffers a distinct war, and undergoes a suffering that cannot be compared and equated with another. In fact, one of the most important arguments against war is to make the experience of war serve as a deterrent against a future, incumbent one.

The modern West, however, is founded on war and colonialism, and the radical disbelief and outrage currently in Europe is more about one white, European nation going to war against another. A similar disbelief is missing when it comes to Iraq or Afghanistan. A similar outrage is missing when it comes to Palestine. This is also the reason why the name of one country cannot be superimposed upon another. Iraq is not Ukraine. Iraq is radically other, and exists outside the racial and political limits of western imagination. Bush’s gaffe erases that distinction. His unconscious admission suffers from a crass inability to understand the incommensurability of war, and the impossibility of comparing its victims. The Iraqi poet who’s given the world unforgettable war poems, Sinan Antoon, reacted on Twitter to the audience that guffawed on Bush’s faux pas: “Freudian slip about past massacres (of other barbarians) amuses audience. All is well in the settler colony.” A joke for an American audience is humiliation for the people who suffered the brutal fact of war. A gaffe on war is not a joke. 

The unexpected gaffe by a 75-year-old Bush shows that such verbal accidents are more likely to happen later in life, when an overripe unconscious is bound to make a slip. Bush’s mind is dogged by the ghosts of war. The historical, political and ethical scandal of his gaffe drives home what we know: War is a game that sovereigns play in the name of the modern state to relive a new version of the state of nature, where Hobbes’ “all” transforms into “some/one”, a particular enemy. 

The enemy is often invented within nations, as much as between them. This idea has the disturbing potential to destroy the modern world. 

Manash Firaq Bhattacharjee is the author of The Town Slowly Empties: On Life and Culture during Lockdown (Headpress, Copper Coin, 2021), Looking for the Nation: Towards Another Idea of India (Speaking Tiger, 2018), and Ghalib’s Tomb and Other Poems (The London Magazine, 2013).

‘Manchester Is the Place’ and Six Other Reminders of What Verse Can Do For an Embattled City

A collection of poems written about cities under attack, about loss, hope and resilience.

A collection of poems written about cities under attack, about loss, hope and resilience.

Women pay their respects following a vigil in central Manchester. Credit: Reuters/Peter Nicholls

Women pay their respects following a vigil in central Manchester. Credit: Reuters/Peter Nicholls

Tony Walsh on Manchester

On May 22, a terrorist set off a bomb at Ariana Grande’s concert in Manchester, England. The attack left 22 dead, including an eight-year-old girl. Poet Tony Walsh responded with a tribute to the city – on everything that made it special and would keep it going.

§

Pablo Neruda on Stalingrad

Chilean poet Pablo Neruda wrote an ode to the city after the Soviet Union defeated Nazi Germany’s attempt to capture Stalingrad, now in southern Russia, in February 1943. More than a million died in the battle or went missing during the time that many see as the biggest and most brutal conflict during the Second World War.

Translated excerpt:

And you, Russia, you stern warrior
Not experienced the same whether you are now:
And loneliness and cold lying,
Rancor vows … Plagued your chest
Zillion bullets, tens of thousands of cores.
Already scorpion crawled fascist
For your walls, great Stalingrad
In an effort to sting you! .. Where are they,
Your allies in a giant battle?
New York dancing .. and London immersed
In a treacherous thought … Oh shame! –
I shouted to them. – My heart can not,
Can not our heart, no, it can
In the world to live, that looks so calm
On the death of his best sons!
Can it be you leave them in the fight?
Think again! Perish yourself!
We are waiting for! .. What you say something?
Or have you, that on the eastern front
Mountain rose corpses filling
All of your sky? But then a legacy
Will get you the hell! .. Or you want to
Drive to the grave life? .. Erase the smile
With faces stinking mud, blood
Cruel torment? We say, “Enough!
We are tired of your petty affairs,
We are tired of your meetings autumn,
Where ever preside umbrella
Though sleeping in the coffin sinister Chamberlain! ”
Second Front is not! .. But Stalingrad
You can stand at least a day and night
You tortured with fire and iron!
Yes! Death itself is powerless in front of you!
They are immortal, your sons …

§

Premendra Mitra on Calcutta in the Bengal famine

In 1943 Bengal, nearly four million people died of a famine created by the British colonial government’s policies of making farmers move from food crop to cash crops, and diverting food imports to British troops fighting in the Second World War in a world where trade had dropped substantially. Premendra Mitra poem Phyan (meaning rice gruel) brings out the image of men, women and children on the streets of Calcutta crying out for phyan during the famine.

On the city streets
Roam strange creatures,
Human-like, yet, not quite human,
Cruel caricatures of humanity!
Yet they move and speak,
Like debris they pile up by the road,
Sit, foraging food, on piles of garbage
Weary

And cry out for phyan.

§

Sankichi Toge on Hiroshima

On August 6, 1945, at the height of the Second World War, the US dropped an atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima. The explosion killed 80,000 people immediately, and tens of thousand died painful deaths in the years that followed from being exposed to the radiation. In this poem, translated by Karen Thornber, Sankichi Toge writes about memories that will never fade. An excerpt:

can we forget that flash?
suddenly 30,000 in the streets disappeared
in the crushed depths of darkness
the shrieks of 50,000 died out

when the swirling yellow smoke thinned
buildings split, bridges collapsed
packed trains rested singed
and a shoreless accumulation of rubble and embers – Hiroshima
before long, a line of naked bodies walking in groups, crying
with skin hanging down like rags
hands on chests
stamping on crumbled brain matter
burnt clothing covering hips

corpses lie on the parade ground like stone images of Jizo, dispersed in all
                 directions
on the banks of the river, lying one on top of another, a group that had crawled to
                 a tethered raft

§

Sinan Antoon on Baghdad

In his work, Sinan Antoon looks at an Iraq caught between wars, at cities that build themselves up only to be torn down again. An excerpt from Wrinkles: on the wind’s forehead

3
the wind was tired
from carrying the coffins
and leaned
against a palm tree
A satellite inquired:
Where to now?
the silence
in the wind’s cane murmured:
“Baghdad”
and the palm tree caught fire


6
My heart is a stork
perched on a distant dome
in Baghdad
it’s nest made of bones
its sky
of death

7
This is not the first time
myths wash their face
with our blood
(t)here they are
looking in horizon’s mirror
as they don our bones

11
The grave is a mirror
into which the child looks
and dreams:
when will I grow up
and be like my father
. . .
dead

§

Zeb and Haniya on Lahore

On Easter Sunday in 2016, a bomber in Lahore killed 72 people outside a park, including many children. Musical duo Zeb and Haniya released a song, ‘Dadra’, as a reaction to the attack, talking about a city that is resilient “even in the darkest of times”. The song and the music video explore Lahore’s past, present and future.

§

Mahmoud Darwish on Jerusalem

As a city, Jerusalem knows conflict more than most. Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish, who wrote extensively on Israel’s mistreatment of Palestinians,talks in his poem In Jerusalem about the conflicting narratives, both historical and religious, that shaped the city’s past and present. An excerpt, translated by Fady Joudah:

In Jerusalem, and I mean within the ancient walls,
I walk from one epoch to another without a memory
to guide me. The prophets over there are sharing
the history of the holy … ascending to heaven
and returning less discouraged and melancholy, because love
and peace are holy and are coming to town.
I was walking down a slope and thinking to myself: How
do the narrators disagree over what light said about a stone?
Is it from a dimly lit stone that wars flare up?
I walk in my sleep. I stare in my sleep. I see
no one behind me. I see no one ahead of me.
All this light is for me. I walk. I become lighter. I fly
then I become another. Transfigured. Words
sprout like grass from Isaiah’s messenger
mouth: “If you don’t believe you won’t be safe.”
§
Postscript: Although the Nazi bombing of the Basque city of Guernica in Spain in April 1937 during the Spanish Civil War led to a lot of poetry, the city’s destruction was most iconically memorialised not in words but on canvas, by Pablo Picasso.

Pablo Picasso, Guernica. Credit: pablopicasso.org

The painting, which Picasso finished in June 1937, now hangs in the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía in Madrid.