McCain tells a tall tale?

In December, when most of the leading presidential candidates were releasing holiday-themed ads, John McCain — who’s “reluctant” to talk about his service during Vietnam — was able to combine two messages in a single campaign commercial: “One night, after being mistreated as a POW, a guard loosened the ropes binding me, easing my pain. On Christmas, that same guard approached me, and without saying a word, he drew a cross in the sand. We stood wordlessly looking at the cross, remembering the true light of Christmas.”

It’s a story McCain has not only put in his ads, but has also repeated for several years, including over the weekend, at the forum at Rick Warren’s Saddleback Church.

Yesterday, however, questions arose about its veracity.

According to a very persuasive Daily Kos diary, the anecdote McCain told about a North Vietnamese prison guard making a cross in the dirt as a sign of solidarity — or as he said, “just two Christians worshiping together” — is very similar to a story about Alexander Solzhenitsyn and his times in the Soviet Gulags. “As Solzhenitsyn stared at the Cross drawn in the dirt his entire perspective changed. He knew he was only one man against the all-powerful Soviet empire. Yet he knew there was something greater than the evil he saw in the prison camp, something greater than the Soviet Union. He knew that hope for all people was represented by that simple Cross. Through the power of the Cross, anything was possible.” Steven Waldman notes that McCain’s recounting of this story has changed over the years and “has gradually morphed from being about the humanity of the guard to being about the Christian faith of the guard and John McCain.”

Is it possible that Solzhenitsyn and McCain had extremely similar experiences? Of course it is. Coincidences happen.

But there’s reason to be suspicious about whether McCain’s powerful anecdote is apocryphal.



Ezra noted:

When he returned from captivity, McCain wrote a 12,000 word memoir for US News and World Report. The role of religion is emphasized, and the rare glimpses of humanity in his captors is detailed. The story of the guard and the cross is notably absent. In 1974, McCain is invited by Ronald Reagan to a prayer breakfast. He tells a powerful story about the sustenance he found when spirituality crept in the cracks of his captivity. He does not tell the story of the guard. It first appears, as far as anyone can tell, in 1999, in McCain’s book, Faith of my Fathers. It reappears in this 2000 speech, though it’s slightly ambiguous whether McCain is saying it happened to him or another prisoner (my read, unlike this Kos diarist, is that McCain is referring to himself.) Minor details change over time — in one version the guard draws with a sandal, in another with a stick — but the basic shape remains pretty constant. There may be nothing here. But McCain is a huge Solzhenitsyn fan. And the enthusiasm with which he repeats this story in his presidential incarnation contrasts oddly with his apparent reticence to mention the moment — even when talking about religion and captivity — in the thirty years before his presidential run.

Hilzoy recommends caution, arguing that “people should be very wary of leaping to conclusions” on this. Quite right. McCain has made this story an important part of his campaign, and it may very well be true. He may have an explanation for the possible discrepancy.

I’d also add that, in general, I think it’s a huge mistake to go after McCain’s experiences as a prisoner of war to score political points. (Though, it’s worth noting, that questions about the anecdote were first raised by McCain’s critics on the right, not the left.)

I also believe, however, that McCain, through the course of his campaign, has been playing fast and loose with the truth. A lot. If McCain is using a powerful, emotional story that isn’t true, voters deserve to hear about it.