No Comment — May 19, 2007, 5:21 pm

“I’d Rather Trade Places with Jose Padilla”

The Bush Administration, entering into its last, lame-duck year, has the usual difficulties finding qualified help. Add to that public approval levels as low as have ever been seen. And consider finally what must be the least desirable place to work in the entire administration: Alberto Gonzales’s Department of Justice.

Truly Gonzales has performed an act of remarkable alchemy. He inherited what was arguably the most highly respected agency in the U.S. Government. For decades, the best and brightest law school graduates of any generation would battle over the handful of openings at main Justice and with various U.S. attorneys offices. No longer. Today, association with the Gonzales Justice Department is feared as a taint on any lawyer’s résumé. And here’s the best evidence I have seen of this so far. When asked if he would take Paul J. McNulty’s slot as Deputy Attorney General, the man who ran the Office of Legal Policy for John Ashcroft, Viet Dinh, has an instant response: “I’d rather trade places with Jose Padilla,” he says, referring to a man who was tortured and placed in solitary confinement in the Naval brig in South Carolina.

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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I first heard the name Barack Obama in the spring of 2004, while visiting my mother in Chicago. As we sat around the kitchen table early one spring morning, I noticed a handsome studio portrait among the pictures, lists, cards, and other totems of family life fastened to the refrigerator door. “Who’s the guy with the ears?” I asked, assuming he was some distant relative or family friend I didn’t know or else had forgotten. “Barack Obama,” she answered with a broad smile. “He’s running for Senate, but he’s going to be the first black president.”

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