“I think we made enormous mistakes,” he concedes, then quickly qualifies it by urging us to remember the context of the times. I searched for a way to describe his shtick here but can’t do better than this bit from Timothy Noah’s review of his book:
The frenzy begins about a third of the way in, after he and Matthews spend a few minutes playing pattycake over how mean Sarah Palin was to “exploit” the fact that our next president used to fraternize with a terrorist. As you’ll see, Matthews actually has a personal connection to the Weathermen’s targets, which only makes Ayers’s ambivalence — “I don’t want to defend what we did but nor do I think it was completely insane” — that much more callous. Exit question: Has this degenerate ever once explained
Ayers periodically expresses mild regret for his crimes, in tones reminiscent of a middle-aged insurance executive who wishes he hadn’t gotten drunk quite so often at his college fraternity. “We took ourselves so seriously–OK, a little too seriously, we were too earnest by half and way too insistent,” he writes at one point. “[F]rom the edges, we were entirely inflexible, maybe even a bit goofy.” But in the process of describing such youthful indiscretions, Ayers invariably winds himself up into a self-exculpating frenzy.