Defining "torture"

In the context of today's renewed debate over torture and waterboarding, I thought I'd again share my thoughts on what I consider to be the critical issue. Many people would say that the critical issue is this: should we torture detained terrorists or not? Many people also believe that the Bush administration decided that we should, indeed, torture detainees, and that the primary method of torture was waterboarding. Many further believe that torture doesn't work. If not, why use it? It follows that Bush, who favors torture, is either a fool or a devil.

If that's how you think, then I think you need thinking lessons. You might have the same opinion about me, and you may conclude that I, too, am a hopelessly misguided fool (at best) or a sadist (at worst). But if you read the rest of this post (which is a slightly edited version of a prior post on this subject), you may come to believe that people can disagree with you on this issue without being either misguided or evil. Odds are that you can't do that because it would also mean allowing for the possibility that George Bush is neither misguided or evil. For a lot of people, that's really hard to do, but why not give it a try?

I think it was Wittgenstein who once said that language can bewitch the intelligence, and it is certainly that way with respect to the language of torture. Words do not have meanings in and of themselves. Instead, they have meaning to the extent that we agree on the word's referent. Everyone pretty much agrees on what the word "table" refers to, but if we went out for a picnic and placed our food on a flat rock, it would be quite silly to spend all day arguing over whether or not that rock really constitutes a table. Words do not bring meaning to objects or activities. Instead, objects or activities bring meaning to words. To the extent that we agree to use the word "table" to refer to a man-made flat surface elevated a few feet off the ground, the word is useful. Its meaning derives from that agreement -- and nothing else. If we don't agree that a flat rock is actually a table, then the word "table" loses its utility in the picnic situation. If the large majority of people at the picnic do not agree that the flat rock is a table, then you can't say "please put this basket on that table over there" because the person might respond by saying "there is no table over there, just rocks."

With that in mind, let's consider the use of the word "torture." The word obviously has meaning and is useful for purposes of communication because everyone agrees that techniques such as those described in the al Qaeda interrogation guidebook constitute torture. Here are a few examples:



Whether you are a liberal champion of social justice or a war-mongering, profiteering conservative, you undoubtedly agree that the word "torture" applies here. Thus, in a conversation, instead of detailing out the exact methods used by al Qaeda to extract information from their detainees, we can, with greater efficiency, use a verbal shorthand and simply say that they torture prisoners to get information from them.

What about waterboarding? Arguing about whether or not that interrogation method constitutes torture is like arguing about whether or not a flat rock is a table. The problem is that there are good arguments as to why this technique should not be lumped in with the methods described in al Qaeda's interrogation manual and some good arguments (I guess) as to why it should be. But just as a flat rock does not magically become a table if we force others to suppress their opposition to using the word in that fashion, waterboarding does not magically become torture if we shame everyone into remaining silent about their objections to using the word "torture" for that method of interrogation.

Words do not derive their meaning because some higher power dictates what the word will refer to. That's not how language works. Words acquire meaning through a natural process of consensus-building that no one controls. I can google the word "torture" because someone once used the word "google" as a verb and then it caught on. Everyone now agrees that "to google" means to conduct a search on the internet using the google search engine. If that consensus had not emerged on its own, no government mandate would have made it happen.

The meanings of words have fuzzy boundaries. At the boundaries, it really isn't profitable to argue endlessly over whether or not the word truly applies. It kind of does, and it kind of doesn't. Obviously, waterboarding is qualitatively different from the techniques that al Qaeda likes to use (which everyone agrees is torture). Just as obviously, waterboarding causes causes much more discomfort than polite questioning (which everyone agrees is not torture).

In cases like this, and there are many, there is no right answer. Even so, as a legal matter, the line needs to be drawn. Drawing the legal line is the job of our elected representatives. That's why I consider George Bush to be a serious participant in this debate and consider most Democrats to be nonserious hysterics. From the beginning, George Bush has been clear that he supports the use of harsh interrogation techniques like this, that he does not consider these techniques to be torture, that he understands how others could disagree, and that he wants congress to clearly draw the line so that CIA interrogators would know what techniques they could use without placing themselves in legal jeopardy. Until now, however, Democrats were much more interested in pointing the accusing finger at Bush and portraying him as supporting "torture." They wanted to apply the word "torture" to waterboarding so they could then accuse Bush of being "no better than the terrorists." That political game works (i.e., in a time of war, the Democrats succeeded in their effort to tarnish their own president in the eyes of the nation and the world), but it is not a serious approach to the problem. Obviously, drawing the line at waterboarding is infinitely better than drawing the line at "severing limbs."

What would a more serious approach involve? It would involve defining the harshest interrogation techniques that the CIA is permitted to use. That is, it would involve drawing a different line than the line that was drawn during the Bush administration. We already have the memos that clearly describe where the CIA drew the line during the Bush years. The line was drawn to allow harsh interrogation techniques that fell light years short of al Qaeda's torture methods, but many think they were still too harsh (and they jump at the chance to label those techniques "torture," as if they should be in the same category as applying a hot iron to a detainee's skin).

Wouldn't you love to see the new memos detailing what the CIA can and cannot do in the aftermath of a mass-casualty attack on US soil (when fear is running high that another -- perhaps even worse -- mass casualty attack is right around the corner)? That memo (the one that guides CIA interrogators today, I suppose) would allow us to have the debate that we should have: where do you draw the line? But Democrats will never take that step because, the moment they do, they will be accused of condoning torture by the far left elements of their own party. And accusing others -- Republicans in particular -- of condoning torture is an essential part of the liberal experience (which, as a said before, requires a villain).