By Lyndsey Layton
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, March 22, 2007; C01
Gruff, jowly John Murtha wouldn't seem to be a Code Pink kinda guy, what with his appetite for pork and his pro-gun, antiabortion Marine hero bona fides.
But there the congressman was, in a Rayburn House Office Building hallway, gallantly protecting some war protesters from the group who had been tossed out of a hearing room and threatened with arrest.
"He said 'I know these people,' he gave me his hand and said we wouldn't be arrested," said Medea Benjamin, a San Francisco human rights activist who was doing her earnest best Tuesday to end the war when her lobbying methods provoked the displeasure of the U.S. Capitol Police. Code Pink ladies on one side; uniforms on the other. In the middle, the impressive bulk of 74-year-old Murtha. He called the sergeant at arms and didn't leave until he was assured the women would be released, Benjamin said.
"He's one of the most principled people I have ever met," said Benjamin of the Pennsylvania Democrat. "I don't know about the past. I'm sure there's plenty I wouldn't like. I'm sure there's plenty about his present record I wouldn't like. But I really respect his position on this issue. And today, he stood up for us."
For the antiwar women of Code Pink, the progressive thinkers at MoveOn.org and liberals from Berkeley to Brooklyn, the 33-year congressional career of Murtha might as well have begun on Nov. 17, 2005.
That's when the defense hawk and decorated 'Nam vet from Johnstown, a gritty town best known for its worst flood, stood alone on the House floor and called for an end to the war in Iraq. He called it "a flawed policy wrapped in illusion." He stunned his colleagues and electrified war protesters, who recognized that his staunch military support could supply credibility to a cause sputtering between teach-ins, action alerts and e-mail campaigns.
They made him an icon, his fellow Democrats eventually moved his way and into control of Congress, and tomorrow, the House is expected to vote on a resolution that would set an end date for the conflict. The legislation, due largely to Murtha's efforts, allows President Bush to deploy troops who don't meet readiness standards as long as he publicly declares it. It includes nearly $1 billion in money for mental health services and brain injury care for Iraq soldiers and veterans, $2.5 billion for training and equipment for military reserves, and $123 million more than the president requested to armor vehicles and upgrade other equipment headed to Iraq.
To embrace him, the antiwar left has ignored Murtha's dealmaking with a man they revile, former Republican leader Tom DeLay. And his support for oil drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge and doling out pork from his seat on the powerful Appropriations defense subcommittee to defense companies in his district. And the delight he also inspires in antiabortion, pro-gun advocates.
"To be honest, I didn't know much about him before he stood up against the war," said Gael Murphy, a District resident and co-founder of Code Pink, which awarded Murtha its "badge of courage" last year. "Then I was reminded about the Abscam scandal. He has another side of him."
Ah, yes, Abscam. That 1980 FBI sting featured G-men posing as the posse for an Arab sheik named Abdul who needed asylum in the United States. The public corruption probe brought down a flock of officials, including a senator and five congressmen, before it was over. Murtha's canny political wiles were captured right on hidden camera: He repeatedly refused the $50,000 proffered, but kept the door open if the sheik might invest in some business in his district. "I want to get the goddamned jobs in the district, some bank deposits, later after we've dealt awhile, we might want to do more business," Murtha said. The FBI named Murtha as an unindicted co-conspirator in the scandal. He testified against two other House members who were convicted of bribery and conspiracy.
Then there was the nonprofit a staffer set up in Johnstown to help disabled people find work; defense contractors and lobbyists wound up on its board.
None of that bothers Tom Matzzie of MoveOn.org, the progressive group calling for an end to war. "For people who want to get out of Iraq, John Murtha is a hero," he said. "The issue is the war. Americans are getting shot and killed every day. If Tom DeLay wanted to become an antiwar activist, we'd take him."
When Yvette Clark was running for Congress from Brooklyn last year, she brought Murtha to speak. In affluent Park Slope, with its bistros and chic baby boutiques, the former owner of Johnstown Minute Car Wash packed 'em in. "I had been quoting him throughout the campaign," said Clark, who won and is now a freshman lawmaker. "It was great to have Jack there. He added credibility to what I had been saying."
Murtha is in the unique position of being able to speak to both the antiwar movement and the Pentagon. But he makes it clear that his common ground with the liberals is limited strictly to the Iraq war.
"It's a marriage of convenience," said G. Terry Madonna, director of the Center for Politics and Public Affairs at Franklin and Marshall College. "Once this is over, he's going to continue to vote for strong defense and they'll part."
Soon after the Iraq war started, Murtha began weekly visits to wounded soldiers at Walter Reed Army Medical Center and Bethesda Naval Medical Center, a ritual he continues. "I always ask, 'What happened to you?' " Murtha said.
As the war progressed, the answers alarmed him. Complaints about a lack of body armor. Tales of equipment shortages. Murtha returned shaken from the visits, his ruddy face set in a frown. Simultaneously, he was hearing private concerns from military commanders about the way the war was being prosecuted. "The reality didn't match the rhetoric of what the administration was saying, that everything was going well," Murtha said. "They lied so much."
He began to think Iraq was draining resources and damaging the country's military reserves, making it unable to respond to new threats. By November 2005, Murtha had had enough. "I was so frustrated that I had to speak out," he said.
The next two weeks, Murtha's office received about 18,000 letters and e-mails from around the country, 80 percent of them supporting him. Someone from California tucked a $10 bill into a letter, encouraging Murtha to fight on. Strangers stopped him at the airport to thank him.
He has barreled ahead, through his failed bid to be elected majority leader, to craft a strategy to redeploy troops out of Iraq, sparking weeks of internal wrangling within his party over how to end the war.
"We have the same goal, we absolutely want our sons and daughters home," said Tina Richards, the 44-year-old mother of a Marine, who came from Missouri to lobby lawmakers earlier this year. She thinks the Democrats' plan under consideration today doesn't go far enough, but adds, "I completely respect Mr. Murtha because he's trying to deal with the politics and find the best route."
Murtha sees redemption ahead.
"In the end, everything I've said is right," he said. "Every single thing I've said from the time I started out is right. I said it was going to hurt the troops, that the strategic reserve is going to be depleted, that we can't sustain this militarily, that we've got to do it diplomatically. All those things are coming about."
