The Art of Stonewalling

The Art of Stonewalling

    During my childhood, we often traveled to Virginia to visit relatives.  I was amused that so many of the ante-bellum homes still displayed memorabilia of the Civil War, though it had been seventy-five years since the last shot was fired.  Lee and his Generals was still a favorite wall hanging and I remember inquiring as to why Gen. Thomas J. Jackson was referred to as “Stonewall” Jackson.
    I was told that Jackson earned the name by standing tall and strong in the heat of battle, inspiring his troops to fight on.  “There stands Jackson like a stonewall,” a comrade exclaimed at the first battle of Bull Run and the moniker stuck.  The term later moved into military parlance as a symbol for holding your ground under fire.
    The word stonewall has since morphed to have less noble connotations.  In today’s lexicon, it is a political maneuver designed to hide, obstruct, or evade the facts.  Stonewalling, stalling, and spinning have become common tactics of political or corporate wrongdoers when faced with their devious acts.  
    The 1973 Watergate hearings gave prominence to the word again when President Nixon was captured on tape saying to his men, “I don’t give a s--- what happens.  I want you all to stonewall it, let them plead the Fifth Amendment, cover-up, or anything else.”
    Others have found the time-honored technique of stonewalling useful.  Enron Corporate executives Ken Lay and Jeffrey Skilling both sat stone faced during a Senate hearing on Enron’s misdeeds.
    The Department of Energy, as well as our last two U.S. Attorneys General, have frequently balked when documents or explanations were sought by congressional committees or the media.  
    In the emerging Plamegate case, we have yet to determine who reporter Judy Parker is protecting in her willingness to be jailed rather than squeal—though some suggest it may be Parker herself.
    For an acute example of stonewalling, we need go no farther than 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.  Bush political strategist Karl Rove and press secretary Scott McClellan have built a stronghold that makes the White House look like a fourth century fortress preparing for a Goth invasion.  They have staunchly stonewalled on the 9-11 probe, reporter’s questions, the release of documents, the reason for war, congressional requests, and John Robert’s record.  
    Now Bush, himself, is stonewalling Cindy Sheehan, the mother who is camping on his lawn in Crawford, wanting to ask the president a few questions about her son’s death in Iraq.  Last week, before taking off on his bike ride, the president declined the visit, explaining that he needed to “go on with his life.”
    As he pedals forth, he should be reminded that stonewalls are more than metaphors.  They are what you hit when you lose control of the wheel, follow the wrong path, or defiantly ignore the obvious.  In any event, it’s not a pretty sight.