Back to Vietnam

WASHINGTON - On October 26, 1967, John S. McCain III took off from the deck of the aircraft carrier USS Oriskany on a mission from which he returned only five and a half years later. In 1968, on the deck of the very same ship, then anchored at Pearl Harbor, his father, John S. "Jack" McCain Jr., was appointed commander-in-chief of the U.S. Pacific Command. His son was a prisoner of war; he continued his mission. The son's fellow prisoners can testify that he refused a Vietnamese offer of release on the grounds that others had been captured before him, and deserved to be released before him.

The extent to which dealing with the fate of prisoners of war shakes democratic societies can be seen right now in both Israel and the U.S. The former is preoccupied with those who have not yet returned from the last war, two years ago, and the latter with a prisoner who was released 35 years ago, in March 1973.

In any event, that is the question the U.S. was pondering this week: Did McCain's time in captivity affect his ability to function as president? Moreover, does ruling out any such a connection constitute "slander" that should be rejected and repudiated?

It's a small war of the generals, Washington-style. On one side is General Wesley Clark, architect of the victory in Kosovo and a former presidential candidate, who believes that his military experience and ongoing loyalty to the Clintons - him and his big mouth - makes him a worthy choice for running mate. On the other side is McCain.

"I don't think riding in a fighter plane and getting shot down is a qualification to be president," Clark said earlier this week, igniting a firestorm.

One can agree with him or not, but he clearly did not demonstrate any political wisdom. The Democratic candidate, Senator Barack Obama, was forced to issue a chilling rebuke. On the one hand, Obama cannot identify himself with Clark, whose remarks he "rejected" and called "inartful." On the other hand, he wants to put the discussion behind him and not turn it into a drawn-out scuffle. Dwelling on the issue would only remind voters that whether or not McCain's imprisonment should be counted as an advantage, his rival did not serve at all, in Vietnam or anywhere else.

Four years ago, Vietnam starred in the election campaign when John Kerry, a decorated veteran of that war who also protested against it and was slandered, ran against President George W. Bush, who avoided active service in favor of a cushy stint with the Texas Air National Guard. Clark himself, by the way, like McCain, was a Vietnam vet - but with the ground forces, who tend to bear a grudge against navy pilots.

In any event, another illusionary bubble sold to the public by candidate Obama has burst: He himself may belong to a generation that is not forever picking at the unhealed wounds of Vietnam, but his candidacy alone is not sufficient to erase Vietnam from the public debate. What Obama gave - moving Vietnam from the news department to the history department - was taken away by a supporter whose mouth and brain are not quite in sync.

It's a pity that political calculation has taken control of this debate, but that's how it's been in America for several months now, and this will continue at least into early November because Clark's remarks deserve serious scrutiny. Did McCain's imprisonment help train him for the presidency? It is easy to say "yes" to this question, to draw a straight line from his captivity to the principled opposition of McCain the politician to aggressive interrogation methods - an issue on which his position has more in common with Obama than with Bush.

One can also see in his captivity the source of the interest McCain has demonstrated in the fate of the abducted Israeli soldiers, which was greater than that of a number of senior officials in the current administration.

Indeed, any formative experience prepares the candidates to be president, affects their order of priorities and affords the voter a window into the personalities of those who seek a mandate for leadership. Does McCain's obstinacy in the face of his captors, for example, point to what can be expected of him as president, for good and perhaps also for bad?

Is it appropriate for voters to give personal credit to someone who acts in accordance with a strict moral compass when facing a difficult test of personal suffering? Among the more popular U.S. presidents of the last generation were ones who did not hold themselves to such harsh standards. Some of them claimed, when caught doing wrong, that what counts is not personal virtue but rather public performance. And the public sometimes agreed with them.