I'd like to take a look at a powerful and controversial critical article, "The Meaning of Timothy McVeigh," by Gore Vidal. Please see attached document.
After reading the article, respond to the following questions by Thursday at 11:59 pm.
1. How would you describe Vidal's style of writing? Is his style effective? Is it appealing?
2. What do you feel Vidal's purpose is in composing this article?
3. Why do you think this article was so controversial when it was published in late 2001?
4. How does Vidal come to understand McVeigh? Is he sympathetic, apathetic, angry, or empathetic toward him?
5. What do you think of the structure of this article? Is it well designed?
6. Who do you feel the intended audience for this article is? What leads you to that determination?
The Meaning of Timothy McVeigh
Americans were fed the story of Timothy McVeigh’s trial and execution as a simple, unquestionable
narrative: he was guilty, he was evil, and he acted largely alone. Gore Vidal’s 1998 Vanity Fair essay on
the erosion of the U.S. Bill of Rights caused McVeigh to begin a three-year correspondence with Vidal,
prompting an examination of certain evidence that points to darker truths—a conspiracy willfully
ignored by F.B.I. investigators, and a possible cover-up by a government waging a secret war on the
liberty of its citizens.
BY GORE VIDAL
NOVEMBER 10, 2008
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Toward the end of the last century but one, Richard Wagner made a visit to the southern Italian town of
Ravello, where he was shown the gardens of the thousand-year-old Villa Rufolo. “Maestro,” asked the
head gardener, “do not these fantastic gardens ’neath yonder azure sky that blends in such perfect
harmony with yonder azure sea closely resemble those fabled gardens of Klingsor where you have set so
much of your latest interminable opera, Parsifal? Is not this vision of loveliness your inspiration for
Klingsor?” Wagner muttered something in German. “He say,” said a nearby translator, “‘How about
This was last May. In a week’s time “the Oklahoma City Bomber,” a decorated hero of the Gulf War, one
of Nature’s Eagle Scouts, Timothy McVeigh, was due to be executed by lethal injection in Terre Haute,
Indiana, for being, as he himself insisted, the sole maker and detonator of a bomb that blew up a federal
building in which died 168 men, women, and children. This was the greatest massacre of Americans by
an American since two years earlier, when the federal government decided to take out the compound of
a Seventh-Day Adventist cult near Waco, Texas. The Branch Davidians, as the cultists called themselves,
were a peaceful group of men, women, and children living and praying together in anticipation of the
end of the world, which started to come their way on February 28, 1993. The Federal Bureau of Alcohol,
Tobacco and Firearms, exercising its mandate to “regulate” firearms, refused all invitations from cult
leader David Koresh to inspect his licensed firearms. The A.T.F. instead opted for fun. More than 100
A.T.F. agents, without proper warrants, attacked the church’s compound while, overhead, at least one
A.T.F. helicopter fired at the roof of the main building. Six Branch Davidians were killed that day. Four
A.T.F. agents were shot dead, by friendly fire, it was thought.
McVeigh died in character; that is, in control. Always the survivalist, he seemed to ration his remaining
breaths. When, after four minutes, hewas officially dead, his eyes were still open, staring into the
camera recording him “live.”
There was a standoff. Followed by a 51-day siege in which loud music was played 24 hours a day outside
the compound. Then electricity was turned off. Food was denied the children. Meanwhile, the Media
were briefed regularly on the evils of David Koresh. Apparently, he was making and selling crystal meth;
he was also—what else in these sick times?—not a Man of God but a Pedophile. The new attorney
general, Janet Reno, then got tough. On April 19 she ordered the F.B.I. to finish up what the A.T.F. had
begun. In defiance of the Posse Comitatus Act (a basic bulwark of our fragile liberties that forbids the
use of the military against civilians), tanks of the Texas National Guard and the army’s Joint Task Force
Six attacked the compound with a gas deadly to children and not too healthy for adults while ramming
holes in the building. Some Davidians escaped. Others were shot by F.B.I. snipers. In an investigation six
years later, the F.B.I. denied ever shooting off anything much more than a pyrotechnic tear-gas
cannister. Finally, during a six-hour assault, the building was set fire to and then bulldozed by Bradley
armored vehicles. God saw to it that no F.B.I. man was hurt while more than 80 cult members were
killed, of whom 27 were children. It was a great victory for Uncle Sam, as intended by the F.B.I., whose
code name for the assault was Show Time.
It wasn’t until May 14, 1995, that Janet Reno, on 60 Minutes, confessed to second thoughts. “I saw what
happened, and knowing what happened, I would not do it again.” Plainly, a learning experience for the
Florida daughter of a champion lady alligator rassler.
The April 19, 1993, show at Waco proved to be the largest massacre of Americans by their own
government since 1890, when a number of Native Americans were slaughtered at Wounded Knee,
South Dakota. Thus the ante keeps upping.
Although McVeigh was soon to indicate that he had acted in retaliation for what had happened at Waco
(he had even picked the second anniversary of the slaughter, April 19, for his act of retribution), our
government’s secret police, together with its allies in the Media, put, as it were, a heavy fist upon the
scales. There was to be only one story: one man of incredible innate evil wanted to destroy innocent
lives for no reason other than a spontaneous joy in evildoing. From the beginning, it was ordained that
McVeigh was to have no coherent motive for what he had done other than a Shakespearean motiveless
malignity. Iago is now back in town, with a bomb, not a handkerchief. More to the point, he and the
prosecution agreed that he had no serious accomplices.
I sat on an uncomfortable chair, facing a camera. Generators hummed amid the delphiniums. Good
Morning America was first. I had been told that Diane Sawyer would be questioning me from New York,
but ABC has a McVeigh “expert,” one Charles Gibson, and he would do the honors. Our interview would
be something like four minutes. Yes, I was to be interviewed In Depth. This means that only every other
question starts with “Now, tell us, briefly . . . ” Dutifully, I told, briefly, how it was that McVeigh, whom I
had never met, happened to invite me to be one of the five chosen witnesses to his execution.
Briefly, it all began in the November 1998 issue of Vanity Fair. I had written a piece about “the shredding
of our Bill of Rights.” I cited examples of I.R.S. seizures of property without due process of law,
warrantless raids and murders committed against innocent people by various drug-enforcement groups,
government collusion with agribusiness’s successful attempts to drive small farmers out of business, and
so on. (For those who would like further evidence of a government running amok, turn to page 397 of
my The Last Empire.) Then, as a coda, I discussed the illegal but unpunished murders at Ruby Ridge,
Idaho (a mother and child and dog had been killed in cold blood by the F.B.I.); then, the next year, Waco.
The Media expressed little outrage in either case. Apparently, the trigger words had not been spoken.
Trigger words? Remember The Manchurian Candidate? George Axelrod’s splendid 1962 film, where the
brainwashed (by North Koreans) protagonist can only be set in murderous motion when the gracious
garden-club lady, played by Angela Lansbury, says, “Why don’t you pass the time by playing a little
Dove Cameron Takes a Lie Detector Test
Since we had been told for weeks that the Branch Davidian leader, David Koresh, was not only a drug
dealer but the sexual abuser of the 27 children in his compound, the maternal Ms. Reno in essence
decreed: Better that they all be dead than defiled. Hence, the attack. Later, 11 members of the Branch
Davidian Church were put on trial for the “conspiracy to commit murder” of the federal agents who had
attacked them. The jury found all 11 innocent on that charge. But after stating that the defendants were
guilty of attempted murder—the very charge of which they had just been acquitted—the judge
sentenced eight innocent church members up to 40 years on lesser charges. One disgusted juror said,
“The wrong people were on trial.” Show Time!
Personally, I was sufficiently outraged to describe in detail what had actually happened. Meanwhile, the
card players of 1998 were busy shuffling and dealing. Since McVeigh had been revealed as evil itself, no
one was interested in why he had done what he had done. But then “why” is a question the Media are
trained to shy away from. Too dangerous. One might actually learn why something had happened and
become thoughtful. I wrote in these pages:
For Timothy McVeigh, [Waco and Ruby Ridge] became the symbol of [federal] oppression and murder.
Since he was now suffering from an exaggerated sense of justice, not a common American trait, he went
to war pretty much on his own and ended up slaughtering more innocents than the Feds had at Waco.
Did he know what he was doing when he blew up the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma
City because it contained the hated [Feds]? McVeigh remained silent throughout his trial. Finally, as he
was about to be sentenced, the court asked him if he would like to speak. He did. He rose and said, “I
wish to use the words of Justice Brandeis dissenting in Olmstead to speak for me. He wrote, ‘Our
government is the potent, the omnipresent teacher. For good or ill, it teaches the whole people by its
example.’” Then McVeigh was sentenced to death by the government.
Those present were deeply confused by McVeigh’s quotation. How could the Devil quote so saintly a
justice? I suspect that he did it in the same spirit that Iago answered Othello when asked why he had
done what he had done: “Demand me nothing, what you know you know, from this time forth I never
will speak word.” Now we know, too: or as my grandfather used to say back in Oklahoma, “Every
pancake has two sides.”
When McVeigh, on appeal in a Colorado prison, read what I had written he wrote me a letter and . . .
But I’ve left you behind in the Ravello garden of Klingsor, where, live on television, I mentioned the
unmentionable word “why,” followed by the atomic trigger word “Waco.” Charles Gibson, 3,500 miles
away, began to hyperventilate. “Now, wait a minute . . . ” he interrupted. But I talked through him.
Suddenly I heard him say, “We’re having trouble with the audio.” Then he pulled the plug that linked
ABC and me. The soundman beside me shook his head. “Audio was working perfectly. He just cut you
off.” So, in addition to the governmental shredding of Amendments 4, 5, 6, 8, and 14, Mr. Gibson
switched off the journalists’ sacred First.
Why? Like so many of his interchangeable TV colleagues, he is in place to tell the viewers that former
senator John Danforth had just concluded a 14-month investigation of the F.B.I. that cleared the bureau
of any wrongdoing at Waco. Danforth did admit that “it was like pulling teeth to get all this paper from
In March 1993, McVeigh drove from Arizona to Waco, Texas, in order to observe firsthand the federal
siege. Along with other protesters, he was duly photographed by the F.B.I. During the siege the cultists
were entertained with 24-hour ear-shattering tapes (Nancy Sinatra: “These boots are made for walkin’ /
And that’s just what they’ll do, / One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you”) as well as
the recorded shrieks of dying rabbits, reminiscent of the first George Bush’s undeclared war on Panama,
which after several similar concerts outside the Vatican Embassy yielded up the master drug criminal
(and former C.I.A. agent) Noriega, who had taken refuge there. Like the TV networks, once our
government has a hit it will be repeated over and over again. Oswald? Conspiracy? Studio laughter.
TV-watchers have no doubt noted so often that they are no longer aware of how often the
interchangeable TV hosts handle anyone who tries to explain why something happened. “Are you
suggesting that there was a conspiracy?” A twinkle starts in a pair of bright contact lenses. No matter
what the answer, there is a wriggling of the body, followed by a tiny snort and a significant glance into
the camera to show that the guest has just been delivered to the studio by flying saucer. This is one way
for the public never to understand what actual conspirators—whether in the F.B.I. or on the Supreme
Court or toiling for Big Tobacco—are up to. It is also a sure way of keeping information from the public.
The function, alas, of Corporate Media.
In fact, at one point, former senator Danforth threatened the recalcitrant F.B.I. director Louis Freeh with
a search warrant. It is a pity that he did not get one. He might, in the process, have discovered a bit
more about Freeh’s membership in Opus Dei (meaning “God’s work”), a secretive international Roman
Catholic order dedicated to getting its membership into high political, corporate, and religious offices
(and perhaps even Heaven too) in various lands to various ends. Lately, reluctant Medialight was cast on
the order when it was discovered that Robert Hanssen, an F.B.I. agent, had been a Russian spy for 22
years but also that he and his director, Louis Freeh, in the words of their fellow traveler William Rusher
(The Washington Times, March 15, 2001), “not only [were] both members of the same Roman Catholic
Church in suburban Virginia but … also belonged to the local chapter of Opus Dei.” Mr. Rusher, once of
the devil-may-care National Review, found this “piquant.” Opus Dei was founded in 1928 by Jose-Maria
Escrivá. Its lay godfather, in early years, was the Spanish dictator Francisco Franco. One of its latest
paladins was the corrupt Peruvian president Alberto Fujimoro, still in absentia. Although Opus Dei tends
to Fascism, the current Pope has beatified Escrivá, disregarding the caveat of the Spanish theologian
Juan Martin Velasco: “We cannot portray as a model of Christian living someone who has served the
power of the state [the Fascist Franco] and who used that power to launch his Opus, which he ran with
obscure criteria—like a Mafia shrouded in white—not accepting papal magisterium when it failed to
coincide with his way of thinking.”
Once, when the mysterious Mr. Freeh was asked whether or not he was a member of Opus Dei, he
declined to respond, obliging an F.B.I. special agent to reply in his stead. Special Agent John E.
Collingwood said, “While I cannot answer your specific questions, I note that you have been ‘informed’
It is most disturbing that in the secular United States, a nation whose Constitution is based upon the
perpetual separation of church and state, an absolutist religious order not only has placed one of its
members at the head of our secret (and largely unaccountable) police but also can now count on the
good offices of at least two members of the Supreme Court.
From Newsweek, March 9, 2001:
[Justice Antonin] Scalia is regarded as the embodiment of the Catholic conservatives. . . . While he is not
a member of Opus Dei, his wife Maureen has attended Opus Dei’s spiritual functions . . . [while their
son], Father Paul Scalia, helped convert Clarence Thomas to Catholicism four years ago. Last month,
Thomas gave a fiery speech at the American Enterprise Institute, a conservative think-tank, to an
audience full of Bush Administration officials. In the speech Thomas praised Pope John Paul II for taking
And to think that Thomas Jefferson and John Adams opposed the presence of the relatively benign
Jesuit order in our land of laws if not of God. President Bush has said that Scalia and Thomas are the
models for the sort of justices that he would like to appoint in his term of office. Lately, in atonement for
his wooing during the election of the fundamentalist Protestants at Bob Jones University, Bush has been
“reaching out” to the Roman Catholic far right. He is already solid with fundamentalist Protestants. In
fact, his attorney general, J. D. Ashcroft, is a Pentecostal Christian who starts each day at eight with a
prayer meeting attended by Justice Department employees eager to be drenched in the blood of the
lamb. In 1999, Ashcroft told Bob Jones University graduates that America was founded on religious
principles (news to Jefferson et al.) and “we have no king but Jesus.”
I have already noted a number of conspiracies that are beginning to register as McVeigh’s highly
manipulated story moves toward that ghastly word “closure,” which, in this case, will simply mark a new
beginning. The Opus Dei conspiracy is—was?—central to the Justice Department. Then the F.B.I.
conspired to withhold documents from the McVeigh defense as well as from the department’s alleged
master: We the People in Congress Assembled as embodied by former senator Danforth. Finally, the
ongoing spontaneous Media conspiracy to demonize McVeigh, who acted alone, despite contrary
But let’s return to the F.B.I. conspiracy to cover up its crimes at Waco. Senator Danforth is an honorable
man, but then, so was Chief Justice Earl Warren, and the findings of his eponymous commission on the
events at Dallas did not, it is said, ever entirely convince even him. On June 1, Danforth told The
Washington Post, “I bet that Timothy McVeigh, at some point in time, I don’t know when, will be
executed and after the execution there will be some box found, somewhere.” You are not, Senator, just
beating your gums. Also, on June 1, The New York Times ran an A.P. story in which lawyers for the
Branch Davidians claim that when the F.B.I. agents fired upon the cultists they used a type of short
assault rifle that was later not tested. Our friend F.B.I. spokesman John Collingwood said that a check of
the bureau’s records showed that “the shorter-barreled rifle was among the weapons tested.”
Danforth’s response was pretty much, Well, if you say so. He did note, again, that he had got
“something less than total cooperation” from the F.B.I. As H. L. Mencken put it, “[The Department of
Justice] has been engaged in sharp practices since the earliest days and remains a fecund source of
oppression and corruption today. It is hard to recall an administration in which it was not the center of
Freeh himself seems addicted to dull sharp practices. In 1996 he was the relentless Javert who came
down so hard on an Atlanta security guard, Richard Jewell, over the Olympic Games bombing. Jewell
was innocent. Even as he sent out for a new hair shirt (Opus Dei members mortify the flesh) and gave
the order to build a new guillotine, the F.B.I. lab was found to have routinely bungled investigations
(read Tainting Evidence, by J. F. Kelly and P. K. Wearne). Later, Freeh led the battle to prove Wen Ho Lee
a Communist spy. Freeh’s deranged charges against the blameless Los Alamos scientist were thrown out
of court by an enraged federal judge who felt that the F.B.I. had “embarrassed the whole nation.” Well,
it’s always risky, God’s work.
Our government’s secret police, with its allies, put a heavy fist upon the scales. There was to be only one
story: one man of incredible innate evil wanted to destroy innocent lives for no reason other than a
spontaneous joy in evildoing.
Even so, the more one learns about the F.B.I., the more one realizes that it is a very dangerous place
indeed. Kelly and Wearne, in their investigation of its lab work, literally a life-and-death matter for those
under investigation, quote two English forensic experts on the subject of the Oklahoma City bombing.
Professor Brian Caddy, after a study of the lab’s findings: “If these reports are the ones to be presented
to the courts as evidence then I am appalled by their structure and information content. The structure of
the reports seems designed to confuse the reader rather than help him.” Dr. John Lloyd noted, “The
reports are purely conclusory in nature. It is impossible to determine from them the chain of custody, on
precisely what work has been done on each item.” Plainly, the time has come to replace this vast inept
and largely unaccountable secret police with a more modest and more efficient bureau to be called “the
United States Bureau of Investigation.”
It is now June 11, a hot, hazy morning here in Ravello. We’ve just watched Son of Show Time in Terre
Haute, Indiana. CNN duly reported that I had not been able to be a witness, as McVeigh had requested:
the attorney general had given me too short a time to get from here to there. I felt somewhat better
when I was told that, lying on the gurney in the execution chamber, he would not have been able to see
any of us through the tinted glass windows all around him. But then members of the press who were
present said that he had deliberately made “eye contact” with his witnesses and with them. He did see
his witnesses, according to Cate McCauley, who was one. “You could tell he was gone after the first
shot,” she said. She had worked on his legal case for a year as one of his defense investigators.
I asked about his last hours. He had been searching for a movie on television and all he could find was
Fargo, for which he was in no mood. Certainly he died in character; that is, in control. The first shot, of
sodium pentothal, knocks you out. But he kept his eyes open. The second shot, of pancuronium
bromide, collapsed his lungs. Always the survivalist, he seemed to ration his remaining breaths. When,
after four minutes, he was officially dead, his eyes were still open, staring into the ceiling camera that
was recording him “live” for his Oklahoma City audience.
McVeigh made no final statement, but he had copied out, it appeared from memory, “Invictus,” a poem
by W. E. Henley (1849–1903). Among Henley’s numerous writings was a popular anthology called Lyra
Heroica (1892), about those who had done selfless heroic deeds. I doubt if McVeigh ever came across it,
but he would, no doubt, have identified with a group of young writers, among them Kipling, who were
known as “Henley’s young men,” forever standing on burning decks, each a master of his fate, captain of
Characteristically, no talking head mentioned Henley’s name, because no one knew who he was. Many
thought this famous poem was McVeigh’s work. One irritable woman described Henley as “a 19th-
century cripple.” I fiercely E-mailed her network: the one-legged Henley was “extremities challenged.”
The stoic serenity of McVeigh’s last days certainly qualified him as a Henley-style hero. He did not
complain about his fate; took responsibility for what he was thought to have done; did not beg for
mercy as our always sadistic Media require. Meanwhile, conflicting details about him accumulate—a
bewildering mosaic, in fact—and he seems more and more to have stumbled into the wrong American
era. Plainly, he needed a self-consuming cause to define him. The abolition of slavery or the
preservation of the Union would have been more worthy of his life than anger at the excesses of our
corrupt secret police. But he was stuck where he was and so he declared war on a government that he
felt had declared war on its own people.
One poetic moment in what was largely an orchestrated hymn of hatred. Outside the prison, a group of
anti-death-penalty people prayed together in the dawn’s early light. Suddenly, a bird appeared and
settled on the left forearm of a woman, who continued her prayers. When, at last, she rose to her feet
the bird remained on her arm—consolation? Ora pro nobis.
Abolition of slavery or preservation of the Union would have been more worthy of his life than anger at
our corrupt secret police. But hewas stuck where he was and he declared war on a government that he
felt had declared war on its own people.
CNN gave us bits and pieces of McVeigh’s last morning. Asked why he had not at least said that he was
sorry for the murder of innocents, he said that he could say it but he would not have meant it. He was a
soldier in a war, not of his making. This was Henleyesque. One biographer described him as honest to a
fault. McVeigh had also noted that Harry Truman had never said that he was sorry about dropping two
atomic bombs on an already defeated Japan, killing around 200,000 people, mostly collateral women
and children. Media howled that that was wartime. But McVeigh considered himself, rightly or wrongly,
at war, too. Incidentally, the inexorable beatification of Harry Truman is now an important aspect of our
evolving imperial system. It is widely believed that the bombs were dropped to save American lives. This
is not true. The bombs were dropped to frighten our new enemy, Stalin. To a man, our leading World
War II commanders, including Eisenhower, C. W. Nimitz, and even Curtis LeMay (played so well by
George C. Scott in Dr. Strangelove), were opposed to Truman’s use of the bombs against a defeated
enemy trying to surrender. A friend from live television, the late Robert Alan Aurthur, made a
documentary about Truman. I asked him what he thought of him. “He just gives you all these canned
answers. The only time I got a rise out of him was when I suggested that he tell us about his decision to
drop the atomic bombs in the actual ruins of Hiroshima. Truman looked at me for the first time. ‘O.K.,’
he said, ‘but I won’t kiss their asses.’” Plainly another Henley hero, with far more collateral damage to
his credit than McVeigh. Was it Chaplin’s M. Verdoux who said that when it comes to calibrating liability
for murder it is all, finally, a matter of scale?
After my adventures in the Ravello gardens (CBS’s Bryant Gumbel was his usual low-key, courteous self
and did not pull the cord), I headed for Terre Haute by way of Manhattan. I did several programs where I
was cut off at the word “Waco.” Only CNN’s Greta Van Susteren got the point. “Two wrongs,” she said,
sensibly, “don’t make a right.” I quite agreed with her. But then, since I am against the death penalty, I
noted that three wrongs are hardly an improvement.
Then came the stay of execution. I went back to Ravello. The Media were now gazing at me. Time and
again I would hear or read that I had written McVeigh first, congratulating him, presumably, on his
killings. I kept explaining, patiently, how, after he had read me in Vanity Fair, it was he who wrote me,
starting an off-and-on three-year correspondence. As it turned out, I could not go so I was not able to
see with my own eyes the bird of dawning alight upon the woman’s arm.
The first letter to me was appreciative of what I had written. I wrote him back. To show what an eager
commercialite I am—hardly school of Capote—I kept no copies of my letters to him until the last one in
The second letter from his Colorado prison is dated “28 Feb 99.” “Mr. Vidal, thank you for your letter. I
received your book United States last week and have since finished most of Part 2—your political
musings.” I should say that spelling and grammar are perfect throughout, while the handwriting is oddly
even and slants to the left, as if one were looking at it in a mirror. “I think you’d be surprised at how
much of that material I agree with. . . .
As to your letter, I fully recognize that “the general rebellion against what our gov’t has become is the
most interesting (and I think important) story in our history this century.” This is why I have been mostly
disappointed at previous stories attributing the OKC bombing to a simple act of “revenge” for Waco—
and why I was most pleased to read your Nov. article in Vanity Fair. In the 4 years since the bombing,
your work is the first to really explore the underlying motivations for such a strike against the U.S.
Government—and for that, I thank you. I believe that such in-depth reflections are vital if one truly
wishes to understand the events of April 1995.
Although I have many observations that I’d like to throw at you, I must keep this letter to a practical
length—so I will mention just one: if federal agents are like “so many Jacobins at war” with the citizens
of this country, and if federal agencies “daily wage war” against those citizens, then should not the OKC
bombing be considered a “counter-attack” …
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