NOTES FROM SRI LANKA.

(April '06)

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04/02/06

Hell's bells....

What's that I hear? A distant ringing in my ear? Something.... garbled.... coming through... must... put... words... together... Yes. Now I can hear it. It's the fire alarm. Bloody thing. Second time this.... do you smell...smoke?

Jeebus, I'm a deep sleeper. The place could be burning down around me and I wouldn't notice until I woke up dead and crispy the next morning. This is what comes of choosing a squat house next to a major staging area for a substantial private army. No, I don't mean an army consisting only of privates. (Rank privates... so just settle down.) I mean a closely held corporate army, owned by our neighbor Gung-Ho, the militant, the ex Special Ops commando, the "man", if you will. Even if you won't, that's what he is. And oh the noise, noise, noise, noise that comes out of that place!

Great... now I'm starting to sound like the Grinch who ate Cincinnati. Or stole Christmas. One of those Grinches. Newt GinGrinch.

So the deployment appears to be underway next door. That is bad news for somebody but perhaps good news for those of us in the Cheney Hammer Mill who are now walking around like zombies, bumping into each other and knocking over the water cooler for lack of sleep. Even Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is starting to look a little run-down. Perhaps that's because he was run down...by a jeep. Of course, his hyper-titanium shell makes him impervious to such adversities, but no one can tell me it doesn't knock the wind out of him. Hey - deep down, he's more human than any of us. His micro-mechanism is extremely sensitive. And whenever the stapling machine doesn't make small talk with him, his eyes fill up.

So where is this fire alarm coming from? Probably the nether regions of the Hammer Mill. Most likely, one of Gung-Ho's bombardiers dropped a stray shell in the courtyard or in one of the forge rooms. Two, maybe three alarm fire - nothing to get too excited about. But it's annoyances such as this that make me want to find another place to squat entirely. Damn it, if we didn't have Trevor James Constable in our midst, a multiple alarm fire might actually be a problem worth getting out of bed for. (Since we get buzz bombed at least twice a month, Trevor James has set his orgone generating device to pull thousands of gallons of water out of the Indian Ocean and dump it on any firebomb impact site before it grows into a conflagration. If Marvin's feeling up to it, he'll lend a claw.)

Science is our friend - that's demonstrably true. Where would we be without gravity, for instance? Up in the sky. Way up in the sky. Like most pop groups, basic physical laws are the only thing that holds us together. Without them, we would break up into individual subatomic particles.... or not, depending upon the random circumstance. Think about it. (Not too long, mind you...) Speaking of up in the sky, Gung-Ho's squadron is getting thicker by the minute. It's so bloody loud in here, Mitch Macaphee has to eat his breakfast with earmuffs on. Even the sound of Big Zamboola's ravenous entreaties can't get through. 

Okay... I'm going down to the basement now. Can't hear myself think. Bloody private air forces! 

 

 

  WEEKLY RANT. 

(Note to readers: for those of you only interested in my political ravings, start here. For those who only wish to inspect my band-related ravings,...well...you get the drift.)

Good News. This administration is like the Reagan White House on acid. Well... let's just say more acid. The "line of the day" this week was about the liberal press sitting on all the good news that's pouring out of Iraq like blood from a wound, choosing instead to focus on those very negative stories about people being blown to bits or getting a bullet in the back of the head -- all that "bummer" news, you know? Those reporters are just totally harshing Dubya's war buzz, dude. So the sunshine boys have deployed themselves like spokesmodels on a new product launch... or maybe just new packaging for the same old garbage. They're circumventing the "filter" of the press and taking their case straight to the American people, talking about the many positive developments in the new democratic Iraq that never make it to the newspapers or the evening news. And hey, you know... the least I can do is lend them a hand, right? 

Ergo, here is just some of the "good news" you're not getting about Iraq: 

Somehow I have to think that when Rumsfeld, Cheney, and Dubya talk about how biased news coverage is bringing support for the war to new lows, they are not talking about these underreported stories. 

luv u,

jp

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04/09/06

Where am I?

Oh, there I am. Or is it here? Here is just there without the "T", isn't it? Sure it is. But that's neither here nor there. We've got a problem here, Houston, a serious problem.

I know... you've heard this before from the denizens of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, right? Always something going wrong in that run-down ruin, riddled through with tropical rot. Overrun by mongooses? Roger that. Wrapped by Christo? Ditto. Possessed by strange magnetic fields that make inter-temporal space-time journeys as simple as stepping across a threshold? Absolutely. Taken over by a cheaper-than-thou junta of foreign generals? You betcha. I could name a dozen similar scenarios, but you've been through every single one, oh faithful blog reader. But this... this is certainly the most serious challenge our squat-mill has ever faced. Why, the very MENTION of it makes my skin crawl. That's right, friends... the relentless enemy of every abandoned structure: rezoning!

Typically, messages to the mill come in the form of notes tied to bricks or, somewhat more subtly, notes tied to rocks. Yesterday however, as Matt was stepping out for his morning constitutional, he noticed an official-looking document pegged to the front door by a ceremonial dagger. (A rustic horse cart was pulling away slowly... slowly....) Putting his constitution back in its leatherette binder, Matt pulled the missive down and scanned the inscription. Then he brought it to me for an actual reading, as opposed to a scanning (which doesn't typically yield much information, particularly if you're skipping over most of the words). I quickly handed it over to Marvin (my personal robot assistant) who determined that it was a legal writ of some kind. That is to say, whoever writ it writ it in a way that only a legal mind could understand. 

Sadly, we have no legal scholars in our small entourage. We do, however, have a surfeit of scientific and technological savants willing to offer their sage counsel on any topic we place before them. So we sought out the estimable Mitch Macaphee, who ran a tutored eye over the mysterious document. He then turned to his fifties-vintage electronic brain, fired up all three banks of vacuum tubes, and started punching keys with apparent abandon. Finally, his sculpted featured silhouetted against the orange glow of the machine, Mitch held a finger aloft and uttered a definitive "a-HA". He had broken the code, and was now ready to enlighten us as to the writ's contents. Moments passed in silence until, in frustration, I urged him to speak. "Oh," he said, surprised by my confusion. "It's quite simple, actually. They're having us out." 

"Out?" I said. 

"Yes," Mitch replied. "Out. As in, 'out on the street.'"  

Matt cleared his throat. "Why?"

"We've been rezoned," said Mitch. "Bound to happen. They're building luxury condos. A bunch of expatriates have bought up the units and bribed the local magistrate to evict us. Simple." 

Rezoned! Evicted! Sent out into the cruel streets without a farthing! All in the name of building another block of trendy townhouses. And the biggest irony? People want to move here because they've been reading this bloody blog! Who knew? 

So if you're reading this, don't even THINK about moving here. We've got some serious backpedaling to do. 

 

 

  WEEKLY RANT. 

(Note to readers: for those of you only interested in my political ravings, start here. For those who only wish to inspect my band-related ravings,...well...you get the drift.)

Supine. I was listening to a newscast on NPR -- one of their correspondents was talking about anticipated staff changes at the White House, and he referred to the president as "loyal" to those in his inner circle of advisors. Here we have a president who is not only constitutionally incapable of admitting to a mistake, but who also relies very heavily on those advisors in the same way a glass of water requires water. He is the vessel that contains the vulpine political calculations of Karl Rove and the twisted policy judgments of Cheney and Rumsfeld; Bush can no more fire those guys than he can acknowledge and apologize for fucking things up in the usual way. How is this loyalty, exactly? Aren't these journalists bending a little too far backwards to say something nice about this administration? It is as if we must always -- by default, in fact -- assume they are motivated by only the best impulses, even when the evidence overwhelmingly points in the opposite direction. NPR's pusillanimity has only intensified since Bush's arrival. (The GOP controlled Congress has cut back funding for the Corporation for Public Broadcasting over the past ten years, though I think they're unlikely to zero it out completely since that sliver of federal funds constitutes an effective lever of control over NPR and PBS.) They are not alone -- the corporate media are also severely intimidated by this crew.

Of course, the explanation you'll hear from the more forthcoming journalists is that the opposition party does not create the political space in which reporters can easily operate. This is true, but not the whole truth. Reporters tend to reflect the values and priorities of the institutions that employ them; if the Democrats suddenly transformed themselves into a grassroots progressive party of poor and working people, the press would still feel more comfortable criticizing them than they would criticizing the Republicans. In fact, it would probably be even more lopsided in favor of the GOP, since the corporate media ownership would stand behind the party that takes their money, and a true progressive party would not accept Viacom's checks. Not that the Dems are even close to standing on principle -- they, too, represent the corporate interests that sluice money into their campaign coffers and otherwise make life easier for them. So... is it cowardice or commonality of interest that makes them supine in the face of an administration run amok?  

The exceptions prove the rule. Feingold's move to censure the president for so plainly violating a federal statute provoked a stampede of Democratic senators in the opposite direction; reporters dutifully passed along the GOP spin that Feingold's move was just pre-season presidential politics. No assumption of virtue there! Then there's Cynthia McKinney's run-in with the Capitol Police, who appear still not to recognize her as one of maybe six black women in the House of Representatives. For chrissake, even I could pick her out of a crowd, and I'm not employed at the capitol. Her abandonment by the entire senior Democratic congressional leadership indicates the party's bankrupt political strategy of never saying a critical word about a person in uniform, in hopes that they will be mistaken for Republicans on election day. Fat chance, folks. Meanwhile, press coverage has proceeded from a presumption of McKinney's guilt. 

Did anybody notice that "smiling" Tom Delay effectively resigned this week? Hmmm... seems the McKinney story was something of a success. 

 

luv u,

jp

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04/16/06

What duh....?

How 'bout that? Isn't gravity supposed to pull instead of push? Damnedest thing. I'm floating, floating... floating... falling... FALLING!... fall... floating again... Make up your bleeding mind!

Oh, hello. And welcome back to the land of blog. Big Green blog, that is, a.k.a. Notes from Sri Lanka. This is where you come to get the latest on what the hell we've been doing all week... expecting what, I don't know. You'll have to excuse my earlier outburst -- I was finally drifting off to sleep after hours of fruitless effort. Now that I'm back on Terra Firma, I can bring you up to speed as you wait breathlessly for every new detail of our pointless exploits. (Don't worry about writing this down; the entire sequence will be chronicled in comic strip form on new boxes of Sugar Pops cereal. Look for the special Big Green display card. See your grocer for details.)

Now, now... where was I? Ah, yes. The eviction notice. The Cheney Hammer Mill has been condemned, you see. No two ways about it, our local chamber of commerce has it in for us, big time. As they are busily converting this entire island into luxury vacation flats, the "powers that be" have decided to take this opportunity to clear the decks of all squatters. Thanks to my somewhat ill-advised references to the hammer mill in this blog, our local council has long been aware of our illicit presence within its bowels (the mill's, that is, not the council's) and is now taking steps to see us put out on the street where they feel we belong. That means the three members of Big Green -- myself, my illustrious brother Matt, and our long-time co-conspirator (and drummer) John White -- plus Marvin (my personal robot assistant), his inventor Mitch Macaphee, our mutual friend Trevor James Constable, the man-sized tuber, the two Lincolns (matter and anti-matter), and Big Zamboola will be residents of various gutters and fields in a fortnight or so... unless we take drastic steps. 

What steps, you ask? Don't ask... tell! We're clueless over here. 

Our financial advisor, Geet O'Reilly, took a moment away from doing our taxes to suggest that we try some kind of legal intervention. "Why don't you phone a solicitor?" she asked, and Mitch Macaphee started breaking out in blue spots. (He's got this thing about lawyers, see.) Once we had his temperature stabilized, Matt asked Mitch to write a letter to the local Chamber of Commerce pretending to be a lawyer... he could, perhaps, invent some bogus letterhead -- Macaphee, Macaphee, and Pendergast, LLC. Mitch's spots turned green. This obviously wasn't going to work. It was clear that we would have to take a more direct approach. No go-betweens, damn it! It was time to petition the powerful, to take our demands out into the street, to show them we weren't going to just lie down and take it... that we were going to FIGHT! We're going to choke that Chamber of Commerce building with protesters. Time to get down to it, friends - are you WITH ME? 

Actually, Marvin is pretty good at holding a sign. The trouble was with the man-sized tuber -- he doesn't really have hands, per se. You kind of have to stick the post of the sign in his husk, then tilt it back so it doesn't fall on Big Zamboola from behind. Big Zamboola -- there's another problem. No hands, no husk... pretty much all mouth. We didn't even bother with the sign in his case; we just told him what to holler. In any case, it was a pretty pathetic looking protest, particularly with all the spectacular marches that have been going on lately in the States and in France. From the windows of the mill, it looked like what it was -- a straggly gathering of freaks on the steps of the Chamber building. 

Did I go? Hell, no. Neither did Matt or John. We're back here on a rear-guard maneuver, making sure the demolition crew doesn't sneak in during our absence. Clever, eh? Pass the nachos, Johnny... there's a good chap!

 

 

  WEEKLY RANT. 

(Note to readers: for those of you only interested in my political ravings, start here. For those who only wish to inspect my band-related ravings,...well...you get the drift.)

 

Death Becomes Us. Has anyone else noticed that Zacharias Moussaoui is a lunatic? The man's ravings go way beyond incoherence, and he has a total disregard for his own well-being -- he's suicidal, as a matter of fact. So... are we going to execute the criminally insane and, if so, what do we hope to achieve by doing so, other than cementing ourselves on the extreme of those great nations (China, Iran, etc.)  who still employ capital punishment with abandon? That special kind of vengeance we Americans call "closure"? Yes, Moussaoui appears to have been part of the 9/11 plot -- that's a lot more than we can say about the vast majority of people our government has killed in the name of those gruesome attacks. But I don't believe Moussaoui could have actually stopped the attacks from happening precisely because he is a mad man; I think it's a stretch to consider him responsible  for more than 3,000 deaths when he was obviously cannon fodder too incompetent to evade apprehension by a wholly dysfunctional FBI. If he is executed, it will be because he was addle-brained enough to get caught... and because the government is anxious to make someone -- anyone -- pay the ultimate penalty for the crimes of 9/11. These, it seems to me, are insufficient reasons for putting someone to death. 

Granted, I'm against the death penalty in general. But this goes beyond the moral issue of whether or not it's right to allow the state to kill people. The feds are trying to execute an incompetent for crimes perpetrated by others. What is the point of showing the jury photos of charred bodies from the terror attacks on the WTC and Pentagon? Who hasn't seen these and/or similar images? The jury is obviously being stoked up with scenes of atrocities committed by long-dead co-conspirators of Moussaoui. He may have wanted to be on one of those hijacked planes, but ultimately he wasn't. And if Moussaoui might have prevented the attacks, so too might the FBI have done so if they'd been doing their jobs properly. It seems to me the gap between Moussaoui's intentions and the actual deed may have been virtually insurmountable for him, given his mental state and his apparent lack of self-control. What ever the case may have been, he did not kill those people... he just refrained from sparing them. 

Will adding another body to the heap help the dead rest easier? Will it help their families achieve a modicum of justice?  The first question is unanswerable; the second is for the families themselves to decide. I'm sure 9/11 families are all over the map on this one. Some have taken very principled stands against the government's use of violence under the banner of the terror attacks; others have reacted with bitterness and even indiscriminate anger. I for one can't blame people for feeling rage over the loss of a loved one in such a heinous way. But the law should not be in the business of using that rage to further specific policy objectives. The push for Moussaoui's execution is one small part of that misappropriation. Probably the most fascinating aspect of this trial has been what it revealed about the FBI and the Justice Department. After all, there has been a concerted effort to tamp down scrutiny of the administration's actions leading up to 9/11. Dubya fought the establishment of the 9/11 Commission tooth and nail; when he lost that battle, he tried to hamper its effectiveness in a number of ways -- by putting Henry Kissinger at the helm, by restricting it to an impossible timetable, by refusing to give it subpoena power, and so on. He refused to allow Condi Rice to appear before the panel, then relented under pressure. He initially refused to testify, then agreed... but only before select members and only in the company of Dick Cheney, without being sworn and without allowing the Commission members to take notes out of the meeting. Why, exactly? 

Probably the same reason they want Moussaoui dead -- smoke and mirrors. There's Dubya's "culture of life" for you. 

luv u,

 

jp

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04/23/06

Pull the other one...

Hey, I meant figuratively, damn it. That smarts! I've only got two legs, you know. And two arms, so go easy. Ouch! Watch it, friend.... I've only got one of those. Accursed gendarmes!

Oh, crikey. You heard all that then, didn't you? Geez. Welcome back to the house of pain, a.k.a. the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, now in the process of being more abandoned than ever. That is to say, our little squatting party is being forcibly broken up by thugs from the local constabulary, hired on their off hours by building contractors who have been lusting after this piece of land for some months now. Like Colombian death squads in the night, they shed their uniforms and do their dirty work. Bastards! How the hell did Marvin (my personal robot assistant) work with these fiends? 

Yeah, so anyway -- the lawyer thing didn't pan out. Nobody wanted to take the case, even with our financial advisor Geet O'Reilly's persistent urging, egged on by a blue-spotted Mitch Macaphee. No money in it, you see? Not a good prospect. Oh... and our little impromptu protest, reported on in these pages last week, had little or no effect, other than to light a fire under the constables, who were pounding on our door just a few mornings later with the writ of eviction tucked into their baby-blue helmets. Take it from me, this is not the sort of thing you want to wake up to. I don't know about you, but I don't think real fast in the morning.... so my first inclination was to try to give them the slip. That was plan C from outer space, quite frankly. (My idea, I'm afraid...)

Plan C went like this: Matt, John and I snuck out the back door of the Cheney Hammer Mill, along with the Big Zamboola, who is the only other member of our entourage that gets out of bed early. None of us has any kind of motor vehicle at this point, so we had to walk past the v-formation of heavily armed police attempting to dislodge us from our lodgings (or de-mill us from our millings, to be more precise). Perhaps it was that sixth sense all constables have that tipped them off to our presence, working our way up a side street (or perhaps it was the admittedly incongruous sight of Big Zamboola -- a man-sized planetoid -- bouncing up the street like one of those oversized "earth" balls).  We thought we had shaken them when I felt that big, cold hand on my shoulder. Man... I should have listened to Zamboola's rantings for once. Usually he's talking about sandwiches, you know? 

Hokey smokes - so we've been served. And I don't mean somebody has shown us their killer dance moves. I mean the constables handed us the eviction notice. So it's on. I'd have to say Marvin's reaction has been the most dramatic so far. Panhandling. Panhandling... on the first day of our grace period. We haven't even been tossed out yet, and he's working the streets. Sheesh. (Hope he picks up enough for a pizza -- I'm freaking starving.)  

 

 

  WEEKLY RANT. 

(Note to readers: for those of you only interested in my political ravings, start here. For those who only wish to inspect my band-related ravings,...well...you get the drift.)

Your War. Iran has nuclear ambitions. We cannot allow them to develop the world's most destructive weapons. Where have you heard this before? It seems incredible that, with the fire we started in Iraq still burning out of control, we appear to have Iran in the crosshairs. The constant drumbeat of inflammatory rhetoric and hysterical accusations makes open conflict seem more and more inevitable with each passing week. Some say the hostilities have already begun, and there can be little doubt that the more clandestine limbs of our $400+ billion-a-year military octopus are now coiling their way through the Persian hinterlands, just as they did for many years in Iraq prior to the U.S. invasion. You would think that someone in the administration would understand what a huge mistake such an adventure would be... but it pays to remember that these folks truly believe Operation Iraqi Freedom has been a screaming success. And if today's Iraq is what "success" looks like, then a bloody, protracted regional war sparked by an attack on Iran will likely be viewed as a great triumph by Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld (the never-say-die kid) and Rice. And Hannity and Limbaugh. Did I forget anyone? Good -- then we just need six helmets, six rifles, and a flight to Teheran. Let's get this party started! 

(I'm going to miss Scotty McClellan. Sure wish I could start missing Rumsfeld, as well.)

Seriously -- is there anyone in the U.S. who's truly convinced by this hokum about Iran? Are we cowering in the shadow of yet another colossal threat, too enormous to be ignored? As Ross Perot used to say, this is just sad. We seem to be sleepwalking our way into yet another unnecessary war, spurred on by the same kind of transparent exaggerations that brought us to Baghdad. As I've mentioned in this column before, the U.S. has now established a very weak standard for invading other countries, and unless we start actively resisting on a grassroots level, this administration and its successors will just do it again and again and again. I'm personally convinced that if there were a draft, resistance to these optional wars would be overwhelming. As long as we can ignore these conflicts, we won't feel compelled to do anything about them, aside from grumble and perhaps quietly disagree with the policymakers. Not enough to stop a juggernaut. 

Back in February-March 2003 on the eve of Bush's "shock and awe" campaign, many thousands of Americans took part in candlelight vigils and protests, with turnouts I would have thought inconceivable just a few months before (In my little town of Utica, NY, about 200 people turned out along the main street, and passersby were overwhelmingly supportive). Many though this might be enough to change a policy long-since decided upon and set in motion. It wasn't, and I think a lot of people fell into a kind of disillusionment with the process of non-violent resistance. This is where the Iraq war differs most dramatically from Vietnam -- during the Vietnam war, most families didn't have the luxury of simply turning away. You, your child, your sibling, your parent.... perhaps several family members were liable to be sent over there to kill or be killed, so you would tend either to be on the "victory" bandwagon or on the barricades of the anti-war movement. It took a long time even under those circumstances for opposition to build, but eventually it reached a magnitude that deeply troubled policymakers and forced action. Today, the draft would never be tolerated. And the main engine for opposing the Iraq war is resistance by military families, who have been given the full burden to bear on their own. 

When it comes to the actual fighting, this is their war... but when it comes to the ultimate responsibility for ending it, it's ours. 

F-Cell. You've probably heard this, but I'm told Moussaoui is accused of conspiring with failed "shoe-bomber" Richard Reid to make up the fifth 9/11 hijacking team. Talk about the cell that couldn't shoot straight! For chrissake, Reid was going to name Moussaoui -- his fellow suicide bomber -- in his will! If Moussaoui gets the death penalty, it will be like putting F-Troop in front of the firing squad for collaborating with the Hawkowis. 

luv u,

 

jp

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04/30/06

Take it away...

Okay... let's put it another way. Take me away. That's more like it. Has a pleasing finality, a sense of "closure" - that quintessentially American value. Yes, that's it. Closure. Aaaaahhhhhhh. Multo mucho end-o-lissimo.

As some of you will recall, your Big Green fiends (I mean, friends... what a difference a letter makes!) were served last week with that loathsome object known as a writ of eviction. Seems there are forces at work in the land that want to keep the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill -- our beloved squat -- as abandoned as its name suggests. They also happen to have local codes and property law on their side, it appears. Not good. Not at all good to have police showing you the door... especially when they want you to walk through it, besides. (I've seen the freaking door, okay? Stop pushing me!) I mean, it's one thing to throw people bodily out of the only home they've ever called their own.... but you don't need to get nasty about it. Or do you....?

Got to tell you, this is all about money. Sure, sure, you've heard me jabber on about this before. But it's true, I'm telling you. I've got it on the best authority -- Marvin (my personal robot assistant), who has been hanging around the local public houses, Tonto-like, listening in on other people's conversations.  These real estate developers from Madagascar, it seems, have targeted the Cheney Hammer Mill as part of a larger parcel that will soon be converted into luxury condos and sold to... well... sold to people who can afford them. People like Mitch Macaphee. You know... the heavy wallet brigade. Silver and riches. Gold and jewels. That's all that ever matters to the local planning ministry! They would sell their grandmother's grave to developers, and send the same thugs harassing us now to see her exhumed and consigned to street beggary.

Do I seem bitter? Well, hey... I just spent the night in the flapjack vendor's cart with Marvin running interference. My ass is killing me. Even more troubling is the fact that this consortium of developers will not stop with our humble hammer mill. I've heard mutterings that they are planning to pave over large sections of the Indian Ocean and start selling parcels to retirees and businesses. Mitch Macaphee's eyes kind of lit up when he heard about this little scheme -- I could almost see the diagrams being drafted in that big floppy brain of his. A veritable city on the sea. As if that isn't bad enough, I can see the same kind of sparkle in Commandante Lincoln's eyes, as well: vast new lands to conquer! A new horizon for the hoary junta. God be praised! 

But hey... we're not beaten yet. No sir, not by a long shot. This is just the opening salvo in Big Green's continuing battle for its wholly illegitimate home. Hey - be that as it may, it is more legitimate than that bloody flapjack stand. (And a hell of a lot roomier, too.) 

 

 

  WEEKLY RANT. 

(Note to readers: for those of you only interested in my political ravings, start here. For those who only wish to inspect my band-related ravings,...well...you get the drift.)

Fear Factor. Remembering the Holocaust this week, a prominent New York Rabbi described Iran as an existential threat to Israel and the Jewish people. (Never to be outdone in the overstatement game, our own Senator Charles Schumer declared there to be no difference between Hamas and Nazi Germany... Hamas now being the most powerful military/industrial power in the world, hell-bent on territorial expansion.) It does astonishingly poor service to the memory of the millions killed by Hitler and his crew to use them as part of an effort to whip up war fever. Iran is years away from producing nuclear weapons, if they ever shall, and such a capability would only be useful to them as a deterrent. Ahmadenijad may obligingly employ Paleolithic anti-Israeli rhetoric, but I doubt he and the ruling elite of Persia will be ready to commit national suicide any time soon... for that is what the offensive use of nuclear weapons would mean for them, and they know it. The only nations that pose an existential threat to other nations are the major nuclear powers, including Israel (possessed of 200-300 undeclared nuclear weapons ) and, of course, the U.S. with its overwhelming arsenal of potential global destruction. 

So long as there is the threat of attack from hostile foreign powers, Iran will seek a nuclear deterrent. This is a general principle in international relations -- one boldly underscored by the Bush administration's open policy of unprovoked war. Our military forces are on both sides of them, and we have a history of interference in their internal affairs, from World War II through the CIA-sponsored 1953 coup and straight up the present day. Think they're paranoid? Wouldn't you be? Hard question for most Americans to answer. We don't have a history of domination by foreign powers, nor any experience dealing with nations more powerful than we are. What's more, we seem to have a national incapacity to put ourselves in other people's shoes -- that's far too "gay" for us. That's why we treat weighty topics like war with such casualness -- we can sit through most of our wars like it's pay-per-view television. Our politicians reflect that distant attitude, advocating the hard line and a very early resort to violence. (See Hillary Clinton.)

With so many willing executioners among us, it doesn't take much to get us embroiled in some overseas fiasco. Just apply the fear factor. We're already running down the now-familiar checklist with respect to Iran. Nuclear ambitions (or the hysterical accusation thereof)? Check. Semi-unshaven and very ethnic-looking leader whose name may be preceded in print by modifiers like "hard-line" and "extremist"? Check. Inspirational and or material support for groups we identify as terrorist -- like the Lebanese resistance group Hezbollah -- as opposed to practitioners of state terror allied to Uncle Sam? Check. Enough natural resources, such as oil, gas, gold, and other riches, to make Pat Robertson want to invest and Cheney want to rethink his "other priorities"? Double check. Iran gets special bonus points for saying nasty things about Israel and for being provocatively and unrelentingly adjacent to not one but two countries we've wanted to invade and many others who live on top of our oil. 

Damning evidence indeed. As our Solomon-like president famously said in the run-up to his Iraq triumph, what else do we need to know?

luv u,

 

jp

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