Safe Harbour

17h30 Friday, August 26, 2005 [click graphic to enlarge]

Spent last Sunday at Kalk Bay Harbour.

It's the last time I'll go there...

And the words that are used | For to get the ship confused | Will not be understood as they're spoken. | For the chains of the sea | Will have busted in the night | And will be buried at the bottom of the ocean.

...until perhaps this weekend. Over the past month, while on leave, we somehow gravitated to Kalk Bay. Unlike most of Cape Town, which lies on the other side of the peninsula, and although most of the fishermen have been deprived of quotas, it retains something of its past.

For tourists, it's the V&A Waterfront with a human face and a lot of soul. For locals, it's home. While yuppies crowd the restaurants, cafes and remarkable shops lining the old Main Road, you can find Cape Town's best fish and chips at Kalky's on the harbourfront.

Last week, I spent some time talking to Moses, a drunken fisherman soaking up the sun at the end of the harbour wall. He offered me R32,000 for my wife and bet me he could swim to Muizenberg, which we reckoned to be about "two sea miles" along the coast. The wind was howling across a green, white-capped sea and, although I bet he'd land up at Cape Hangklip on the other side of False Bay, Moses believed he could do the job.

One of his friends caught a pale, baby Great White shark and, as he swung the two-to-three foot fish over the wall, its fins gouged two gaping holes in another of their party's back. "Backstabber," muttered the drunken sot, giggling hoarsely under his whiskered breath. While they tended the wound, Moses asked me, "So Mike, what do you get twice in a week and once in a year?"

I have this thing going with one of the guys at the car park as well. He tells really shitty jokes ("If I told you I climbed an apple tree and came down with a pair, would you believe me?"), but he's okay. I thought long and hard on Moses's question. "Twice in a year and once in a week?"

"Naai, man, what do you get twice in a week and once in a year?"

He was slumped against the harbour light built in the first years of the last century, his mouth limp from sweet wine. It was about 10 a.m. Out at the reef, amid the kelp and swarms of gulls, four surfers rode a half-hearted swell, trying for a wind-blown three-footer. "Fuck it, Moses, how can you ask me that? 'What do you find twice in a week and once in a year?' How am I meant to know the answer?"

"Mike. Mike, tell me, where are you from?"

"Cape Town."

"Ja then, you'll mos know the answer."

"Mmm..."

Fishing families still work the harbour. Tough, leathered women scale, gut and carve harders, yellowtail and snoek with knives as keen as scalpels. They've special scrapers these days. They used to use pieces of wood with three or four bottle tops nailed to one end.

Speaking a loud, lyrically guttural and crude Cape Flats Afrikaans, several were giving an old fisherman hell. He'd snuck up on one of cleaning tables, pinched the bag of cheap wine hidden beneath it, and had stolen a couple of swigs. Vintage curses mixed with laughter confounded tourists photographing the fat seal rolling in the bottle-green water between the boats and the quay.

"Mike."

"Ja."

"Give me a smoke, man."

"No. That's crap, Moses, and you know it. It's ten bucks a pack and I can't afford it. Why should I give you one if I can't give one to the other guys?"

He held out a R1.00 coin.

"Here."

I lit a couple of cigarettes in the windless alcove afforded by the harbour light doorway and ignored the money. Between the century and year painted white on red above the door, somebody had written HIP2B². It's one of Mark Shuttleworth's open source initiatives.

A typically Capetonian piece of graffito. Old ideas. Old media. Very polite. I passed Moses his cigarette.

"I don't sell singles."

"No, thanks, Mike. But your wife is nice, man. R32,000."

"Fuck you, Moses. Where are you going to get R32,000?"

That stumped him.

"Twice in a week and once in a year?"

"Ja."


Clinging to a past worth preserving... [click graphic to enlarge]

A song will lift | As the mainsail shifts | And the boat drifts on to the shoreline. | And the sun will respect | Every face on the deck, | The hour that the ship comes in.

The sun burned with a stinging heat. My arms were beaded with sweat. Alvin occasionally came over and filled Moses's glass of cheap sherry. He offered me some. Eyeing the tourists filling The Brass Bell across the water, I wondered at their idiocy, packing themselves like sardines into an overpriced drinking hole, and declined.

Moses's friends were using heavy rods and their ability to cast left me in no doubt they'd been doing this for years. They came through from Retreat—Lavender Hill, most likely. It turns out Moses has a sister teaching school in Kenilworth. He has one teaching school in Elands Bay as well. Somewhere else too.

"Mike. I took Monday off work."

"But today's Wednesday, Moses."

"Ja."

He says he's working on the Majestic Hotel restoration project as an 'interior decorator'. He qualified in 1984. We lived a while in Kalk Bay back then. We had a single room above the bottle store and what is now the Olympia Cafe. We'd join the drunks on the balcony at sunrise and look out over the bay.

Hell, I first got stoned at Kalk Bay. I was about fifteen. We were staying at Zonker's great-aunt's 19th Century seaside house around the corner and came down to the harbour in the evenings. On one occasion, around sunset, a couple of fishermen working one of the boats offered us a smoke. Taking an old Coke tin in calloused hands, the old man rammed a wad of dope into its open mouth, punched a hole in the side with a marlin spike and, sucking at the hole, fired the wad with a couple of matches.

It made for a long, cool smoke.

I believed Moses's story. He could well be an interior decorator of the artisan type—a painter. The old Majestic bar used to be one of the only pubs in Cape Town that would sell alcohol to kids under eighteen. It had spittoons. Today, with the former Kings Residence next door, it's an imposing hulk being reborn as an upmarket, and tastefully ostentatious, tourism 'hideaway'.

Liqour outlets in Cape Town will serve anybody, of any age, these days.

Moses probably hadn't been missed at the construction site. A couple of days before I'd found a couple of dust-caked workers sleeping the morning away between the shore-side harbour wall and breakwater.

"'E'. You get 'e' twice in a week and once in a year."

Moses was stunned. Spittle dribbled from the side of his mouth and he tilted slightly more sideways as he squinted up at me.

"Jissus, are you a professor?"

"Uh-uh. I'm a Capetonian."

He chortled. I looked at him, drowning in the sun. Off the wall, the ocean held sway, the sea lifting paint-chapped trawlers on its segueing swell. Gulls wheeled on the wind and a couple of boats came in to epithets thrown them from the quay. One of Moses's buddies was swiftly cutting up the shark, throwing most of it off the harbour wall and keeping the rest for bait. Wendy had her face turned to the mountain and to Heaven, soaking it all in.

"Moses, what do you get seven times in a week and once in a year?"

I was messing with his head. It was always going to be beyond his drunken stupor.

Slowly... "Seven times in a month and one time in a year?"

"Seven times in a week and once in a year."

His response came quickly.

"A day. You get seven days in a week..." He tailed off into somnolence.

About ten minutes later, he asked me for another smoke. I took the money and gave him one.

We smoked in silence.

"Mike."

"Ja, Moses."

"Mike. Tell me. What do you get seven times in a week and once in a year?"

"'Y'."

"Because I want to know."

"'Y'."

"You asked me the question. Now I want the answer."

"'Y'."

Moses was getting upset. "Naai, man, Mike, don't be..."

"You get 'Y' seven times in a week, Moses. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. And only once in a year."

He looked confused for a couple of seconds before his face lit up.

"Ja, ja, ja... you get seven 'y's in a week and one in a year."

"Yup. But the thing is, when you ask people and then have to give them the answer, you must just keep saying 'Y'."

"Why?"

"Because it drives them bevok. Like it did you."

He thought about it a while before cracking up. He was still repeating the joke to himself when we left. We promised to visit him at work, but I doubt we'll call. He'll probably be busy.

I'll look out for him this weekend though. And head for the other wall.

Then the sands will roll | Out a carpet of gold | For your weary toes to be a-touchin'. | And the ship's wise men | Will remind you once again | That the whole wide world is watchin'.

Bob Dylan | When the Ship Comes In

Considering the Alternative...

Before turning to Tehran...

Some have the impression that you are a reasonable people. But the majority of you are vulgar and without sound ethics or good manners.

Usama bin Ladin October 2003

Bin Ladin was, of course, referring to those who'd elected George W. Bush to the presidency rather than the representatives of good taste and refined discernment listed my blogroll, may Allah bless and protect you all. Americans, by and large—like most infidels, are a bunch of boors epitomised by the Mad Whore-mongering Satanic Dog in the White House.

George W. Bush and his gang of rabid neocon racoons are out of control. The United States knows no internal dissent and he rules by military diktat. Crazed by a need for booze and a good fuck, the demented freak has his evil eyes and sick intentions fixed on Iran. You're going in there, people, whether you like it or not [mp3 download: 11.4MB]. Why? Because George, Dick, Condi and myriad others think it a good idea. That's all, 'a good idea' handed them by several preceding administrations.

Well, why not? The world's largest reservoir of oil, the region tops the Resource War list. With global warning out of control, drowned continents and wasted deserts imminent, somebody has to take it. Why not the world's only remaining super power?

Hah... you naive, gas-guzzling fools and idolaters. You've been watching CNN again, haven't you? Since when has the U.S., a broken-back whore impossibly deep in debt, been a super power? It is a penny horrible country, a rancid, dollar-and-dime, tinpot dictatorship and banana republic run by foam-flecked jackals with syphilis of their brains, and it has been reduced to a state of quivering, trouser-wetting fear by one man and the Iraqi Resistance Army.

Who, you might well ask, is that man? Ah yes, you know the answer, don't you? He is the leader of al-Qa'ida—the world's OTHER super power—Usama bin Ladin. Face it. Bin Ladin and his sidekick, Raymond (sorry, that's not it) Ayman al-Dhawahiri, control your miserable, civil-liberties constrained, consumption-crazy, tax-bills-up-to-your-eyeballs lives. If the media is to be believed, he is the source of all your problems, has you in his pocket, and is squeezing you like a stress ball.

Then again, why believe the communist-inspired, east coast-controlled liberal media? Look to your leaders for answers. One by one, they'll troop out and declaim Usama bin Ladin as the greatest threat to world peace since Cain decided to do Abel (to this day, a blot on the escutcheon of all good Jewish families).

Bin Ladin, once a small-town terrorist thug known undeservedly for knee-capping cities, has been elevated to a status not accorded any country in the world. Having dragged BushCo into the Middle East like a rented mule, he is seen as a power capable of bringing down the mightiest nation on Earth. Despite botched assassinations and your 700 military bases scattered ill-manneredly across the globe—dark sentries of our ever-thinning arterial energy, he's been whupping yo' ass from Afghanistan to Indonesia to Spain to Britain to Morocco to Iraq and beyond.

Ask your congressman. He'll tell you.

But your innate arrogance, misguided self-aggrandisement and their resulting psychotic delusions are not why I am writing this blog entry. I am writing this to alert you to Mr. Bin Ladin's offer of a truce. Indeed. It demands your serious consideration. It is not a figment of the press's or your local politician's imaginations. It is the real thing and it is on the Web. Let's hand over to Usama, may Allah bless and protect him and his various investment portfolios.

"Over to you, Usama."

"Thanks, Mike. This thing on?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go for it."

"Ta. [clears throat] Listen to me, you cowardly, godless, goat-fucking scumsuckers..."

[cut]

"Okay, okay, I get it. [clears throat] This message is about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and how to end those wars. It was not my intention to talk to you about this [good job I intervened, eh? Ed.], because those wars are definitely going our way. But what triggered my desire to talk to you is the continuous deliberate misinformation given by your President [George] Bush, when it comes to polls made in your home country which reveal that the majority of your people are willing to withdraw US forces from Iraq.

"We know that the majority of your people want this war to end and opinion polls show the Americans do not want to fight the Muslims on Muslim land, nor do they want Muslims to fight them on their [US] land. But Bush does not want this and claims that it is better to fight his enemies on their land rather than on American land. Bush tried to ignore the polls that demanded that he end the war in Iraq.

"We are getting increasingly stronger while your situation is getting from bad to worse. The war in Iraq is raging and the operations in Afghanistan are increasing. In response to the substance of the polls in the US, which indicate that Americans do not want to fight Muslims on Muslim land, nor do they want Muslims to fight them on their land, we do not mind offering a long-term truce based on just conditions that we will stick to.

"We are a nation that Allah banned from lying and stabbing others in the back, hence both parties of the truce will enjoy stability and security to rebuild Iraq and Afghanistan, which were destroyed by war.

"There is no problem in this solution, but it will prevent hundreds of billions from going to influential people and war lords in America — those who supported Bush's electoral campaign — and from this, we can understand Bush and his gang's insistence on continuing the war.

"If your desire for peace, stability and reconciliation was true, here we have given you the answer to your call."

al-Jazeera | Bin Laden offers Americans truce


...consider the alternative.

My dear old mother always said there was place for me in the diplomatic corps, but this is the biggest and best deal I've been able to broker. It knocks the Begin / Sadat and Arafat / Peres / Rabin deals into a cocked hat. In fact, De Klerk and Madiba will probably be calling me shortly. Who the hell are Tutu and Luthuli now? Stockholm, here I come.

Sorry...

Yup... this is a settlement hammered out in Heaven (virgins included). You'd be mad not to take it. Look at it this way. What's in it for you if you ignore it? Iran? What's going to happen once the Israelis, backed by the USAF and the U.S. taxpayer, go in there with their tactical nukes (or 'bunker busters' as they'll be called)? All hell is going to break loose. The Iranians are a moderate and gentle people, but push them too far and they'll go ballistic. Literally.

They'll have good reason to. With some twenty-five nuclear facilities dotted around the country, any takeout is going to have to be a whopper. Problem number two. Take a look at Isafahn, one of Bush's so-called problem sites (not that he gives a shit about nuclear sites—he's into destroying infrastructure). The city, home to cultural museums and antiquities beyond the ken and comprehension of the average redneck, is a low-resolution blur on Google Earth. There's good reason for this. It's a massive fucking city. And it's only a couple of miles from the high-resolution nuclear facility stuck behind an outer-city hillock.

Google, which does no evil, doesn't want you to see any either. Come the onslaught, the good citizens of some forty major towns and cities are toast. Teheran's mistake, believing nuclear facilities mattered, was positioning them close to its people. As a pretext for knocking out infrastructure serving the oil industry (the Yanks really couldn't give a damn who has the Bomb), they're perfectly placed for BushCo's War of the Worlds. The Dresden, Coventry (which my next-door neighbour, then a teenager, could see burning from Birmingham) and Tokyo firestorms will look like dry runs come the northern Summer.

This will not go down well in the Arab world. Or Moscow, Beijing and Pyongyang for that matter. Millions of dead Muslims? Nor will it be a repeat of the Native-American genocide (as, I've no doubt, most Americans quietly hope it will be). Indonesia and the Philippines will explode, Pakistan will implode and a howling, raging, never-say-die beast will rip its way towards Bethlehem to avenge itself and bathe in the blood of Israel. RPGs will smack into chemical trains running through DC, shoulder-fired missiles will bring down commercial air liners across the U.S.A. and Europe, and apartment-based Katyushas built from aluminium tubes will level formerly quiet suburbs. Suicide bombers will lurk in every underground and poison gas will cloud the air. Mortuaries will overflow and the stench of rotting flesh will be everywhere.

It will not be pleasant.

Your newfound allies India and Japan, with Russia, China, Australia and the whole E.U. mob, will turn on you overnight and pledge to rebuild the Middle East once you've been hounded out of town. Oil will be quoted only in Euros and the U.S. will be called on to repay its foreign debt.

It will all be over in a couple of months. And you'll not have done a thing to cocoon yourselves from peak oil, food, water or global warming (although it might cause Israel's theological Howard Stern to shut the fuck up). Which, when all is said and done, is what this is all about.

Usama, a peaceful man, knows all this, but threats are not his stock in trade. To his credit, he allows for intelligent life in North America. Dr. al-Zawahiri, a poet and gentle soul, does too. Allah's wrath is mighty, but even He will not allow 290 million Americans to fall on their swords. Will he? If I were in your shoes, I know what I'd do. I'd reconsider his offer. Do not listen to this Scott McClellan fool. He is paid to say these things.

If I were you, I'd get the hell out of the Middle East, dismantle the garrisons, torture chambers, black holes, bunkers and prisons, and bring the troops, spooks and kooks home. If you're that fond of Israel, take it with you and put it to good use for a change—blocking hurricanes or something.

But it's all up (or down) to you. Here are your shoes back; thanks for the loan. If you want tens of millions of angry Semites vigorously applying their leather soles to your faces, be my guest.

"In conclusion, I say to the American people we will continue to fight you and continue to conduct martyrdom operations inside and outside the United States until you depart from your oppressive course and abandon your follies and rein in your fools."

Usama bin Ladin October 2003

Bombing al-Jazeera

Tonight BBC's Newsnight [mp3 download 1MB] reported that al-Jazeera have filed a new Freedom of Information Request with the UK government about Bush and Blair's conversation about bombing al-Jazeera.

"Thank you for your email of 24 November in which you request a copy of any memos or notes that record President Bush's discussions with the Prime Minister about the bombing of the al-Jazeera television station in Qatar. Your request has been handled under the Freedom of Information Act 2000.

"I can confirm that the cabinet Office holds information which is relevant to your request."

It is gratifying to find out Newsnight confirming our argument [almost verbatim], but also it confirms how sorely lacking the rest of the mainstream media have been in their coverage of developments in this story. See also the lack of national media coverage of Peter Kilfoyle's disclosures of last week.

Tim Whewell's analysis that the government is coming under repeated and sustained pressure to release the document under three fronts, parliamentary efforts, the Keogh and O'Connor Trial and the FOIA requests is reassuring. As time goes on, it is looking less and less likely that the memo will stay hidden. more...

Here's al-Jazeera's take on the situation today:

The British government has denied allegations that a memo of a conversation between the British prime minister and the US president included the suggestion of bombing Aljazeera. The denial came on Tuesday even as the British government turned down a request from Aljazeera for access to the memo containing the reported communication between Tony Blair and George Bush.

Blair's spokesman said: "We will reply properly in terms of any request to us, but it is not the practice and will not be the practice to release conversations between the prime minister and other world leaders. But what we can confirm is that the memo does not refer to bombing the Aljazeera station in Qatar, despite the various allegations," he said. "I am not aware of any suggestion of bombing any Aljazeera station."

[...]

Peter Kilfoyle, a member of the British parliament, said last week he had been briefed on the memo by former MP Tony Clarke who had seen it, saying it had included a discussion of bombing Aljazeera.

al-Jazeera | UK denies Aljazeera bombing plot

Bush Unplugged...

George W. Bush Special Rendition...

In other words, this initiative is a broad-gauged initiative that deals with the defense aggressive war of the country, the diplomacy threats of the country, the intelligence black ops to defend conduct war for our country, and the education indoctrination of our people. And it's an important initiative, and I'm going to tell you why in a second. But thank you for joining your — together to make this happen.

more...

Yeah, it's George W. Bush Unplugged. A special edition rendition to boot. Get it while you can...

...MLK Unplugged...

"But dere iz somethin' dat I mus' say ta muh ma fuckin peeps, who stand on da warm threshold which leads into da palace o' justice: In da process o' gaining our rightful place, we's mus' not be guilty o' wrongful deeds. Let us not seek ta satisfy our thirst fo' freedom by drinking from da cup o' bitterness an' hatred. We mus' forever conduct our struggle on da high plane o' dignity an' discipline. We mus' not allow our creative protest ta degenerate into physical violence. Again an' ag'in, we's mus' rise ta da majestic heights o' meeting physical force wiff soul force. An' don't make me pull mah gat!

"The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed da Negro community mus' not lead us ta uh distrust o' all whitey peeps, fo' many o' our whitey brothers, as evidenced by they presence here taday, gots come ta realize dat they destiny iz tied up wiff our destiny. And dey gots come ta realize dat they freedom iz inextricably bound ta our freedom. Don't make me come ovah there bitch..."

more...

Changing mood completely, but sticking with the Unplugged theme, Stu Savory brings it all back homey for American civil rights icon, Martin Luther King Jr.

...and Sharon Unplugged

You wish.

Note: Blame Brian for this last entry in the Unplugged series...

Waiting for the Barbarians...

Blind, Deaf, Dumb and Deluded...

"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief, | "There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief. | Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth, | None of them along the line know what any of it is worth."

In addition to an increase in the number of SWAT teams, their roles have expanded. Traditionally utilized for highly specialized action, such as barricaded suspects and hostage situations, the teams are increasingly engaged in traditional police work, especially work related to anti-drug efforts. The research shows that between 1990 and 1995 SWAT units were employed in their traditional roles for only a small number of occasions. Instead 75% of their activities were devoted to serving "high risk" warrants, such as "no-knock" warrants, mostly drug searches. "In SWAT units formed since 1980, their use has increased by 538 percent," said Kraska. He added that such units are now being deployed as full-time roaming patrols.

The SWAT teams wear camouflage, body armor and gas masks, and use weapons such as diversionary "flashbangs" (a diversionary device), submachine guns, explosives and chemical weapons. Kraska's survey shows that the SWAT teams receive training by active and retired military experts in special operations. Heckler and Koch, makers of the MP5 submachine gun used by the Navy Seals, also provide training to the SWAT teams. Some units also have helicopters and armored personnel carriers at their disposal.

National Drug Strategy Network | S.W.A.T. Team Use In U.S. Law Enforcement Dramatically Increases [1997]


Law and Order...

"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke, | "There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke. | But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate, | So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."

Departmental SWAT teams have accepted the military as a model for their behavior and outlook, which is distinctly impersonal and elitist; American streets are viewed as the "front" and American citizens as the "enemy." The sharing of training and technology by the military and law enforcement agencies has produced a shared mindset, and the mindset of the warrior is simply not appropriate for the civilian police officer charged with enforcing the law.

The soldier confronts an enemy in a life-or-death situation. The soldier learns to use lethal force on the enemy, both uniformed and civilian, irrespective of age or gender. The soldier must sometimes follow orders unthinkingly, acts in concert with his comrades, and initiates violence on command. That mentality, with which new recruits are strenuously indoctrinated in boot camp, can be a matter of survival to the soldier and the nation at war.

The civilian law enforcement officer, on the other hand, confronts not an "enemy" but individuals who, like him, are both subject to the nation’s laws and protected by the Bill of Rights. Although the police officer can use force in life-threatening situations, the Constitution and numerous Supreme Court rulings have circumscribed the police officer’s direct use of force, as well as his power of search and seizure. In terms of violence, the police officer’s role is—or should be—purely reactive. When a police officer begins to think like a soldier, tragic consequences—such as the loss of innocent life at Waco—will result.

Cato Institute | Warrior Cops — The Ominous Growth of Paramilitarism in American Police Departments [1999]


Exporting Democracy...

All along the watchtower, princes kept the view | While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.

The Marines also had a hand in training the so-called Al Hillah special weapons and tactics (SWAT) team. Based on training received from the Marine force-reconnaissance units, Al Hillah is comparable to U.S. special operations forces. Force-recon Marines are experts in direct-action, close-quarter fighting and reconnaissance operations. The force-recon Marines started training a handful of specially picked men from the Al Hillah province. These soldiers receive training in marksmanship, tactics, but also mission planning and decision making. The SWAT team ran missions with the Marines in the province of Babil, the site of the ancient city of Babylon. The team now has 175 members. For additional experience, some of them have been training in Jordan. Other specialized units include the special police commando battalions, which represent the Iraqi ministry of interior’s strike-force capability. The commandos, ultimately to be composed of six full battalions, are vetted Iraqi officers and rank-and-file servicemen.

National Defense | Iraqi Special Forces Need More Training, Equipment [2005]

Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl, | Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.

Bob Dylan | All Along The Watchtower

Insufferable British Snobs...

T.E. Lawrence: The Seven Pillars of Wisdom

A senior British officer has criticised the US army for its conduct in Iraq, accusing it of institutional racism, moral righteousness, misplaced optimism, and of being ill-suited to engage in counter-insurgency operations. The blistering critique, by Brigadier Nigel Aylwin-Foster, who was the second most senior officer responsible for training Iraqi security forces, reflects criticism and frustration voiced by British commanders of American military tactics. What is startling is the severity of his comments - and the decision by Military Review [pdf 1.2MB], a US army magazine, to publish them. ... Brig Aylwin-Foster's criticisms have been echoed by other senior British officers, though not in such a devastating way. General Sir Mike Jackson, the head of the army, told MPs in April 2004 as US forces attacked Falluja: "We must be able to fight with the Americans. That does not mean we must be able to fight as the Americans."

[...]

Colonel Kevin Benson, director of the US army's school of advanced military studies, who told the Washington Post the brigadier was an "insufferable British snob", said his remark had been made in the heat of the moment. "I applaud the brigadier for starting the debate," he said. "It is a debate that must go on and I myself am writing a response."

Guardian | US army in Iraq institutionally racist, claims British officer

I wonder what my friend Tom Barnett, the author of The Pentagon's New Map once heavily involved in Force Transformation and now itching to blog from Teheran, would say to the above.

On the eve of the war in Iraq, Barnett predicted that taking Baghdad would not be about settling old scores, or enforcing disarmament of illegal weapons. Rather, he wrote, it “will mark a historic tipping point—the moment when Washington takes real ownership of strategic security in the age of globalization.”

Jim Lobe | Pentagon Moving Swiftly to Become “Globocop”

Ostensibly an open-ended critique of the U.S. Army's inability to respond appropriately or effectively to the counterinsurgency (COIN) following Phase 4 of Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF), British Army Brigadier Nigel Aylwin-Foster's paper, Changing the Army for Counterinsurgency Operations, is the most scathing, but potentially constructive, document to come out of the illegal invasion and attempted occupation of Iraq. Suitably understated and ambiguous—and laced with wry, cutting compliments, it shreds all hope any U.S. ally might have of the American army filling the stated mandate given it by its Pentagon-controlled political masters.

Offering compelling reason to change both the American worldview and way of life, the British officer points out that military culture is born of social norms and values and, to be successful, military objectives should always subordinate themselves to political ends. Showing 'force transformation' to date to be the fundamentally flawed results of systemically self-serving institutions of delusion, Brigadier Foster hints at just how difficult it will be to turn the average American recruit into an effective soldier—if, indeed, it can be done. Using the demented Soldier's Creed to good effect, he points out that being a soldier takes a damned side more than a blind commitment to becoming a high-tech, unthinking warrior hell-bent on obliterating one's painted enemies (and all unfortunates in their vicinity). Brigadier Foster finds the military—and, by extension, the society it represents, sorely wanting; rendered ineffective by:

"...a combination of enduring, longer term factors, compounded by shorter term, transient factors which have collectively conspired to render the U.S. Army conceptually and culturally ill-disposed to OIF Phase 4, and similarly ill-disposed to adapt to the extent required, and thus ironically ill-suited to the path determined for it de facto by U.S. Foreign Policy at the beginning of the 21st Century."

In other words: "Listen chaps, if you're to stop making such asses of yourselves, you'll have to try again. From scratch."

If I were to fault Foster, I'd accuse him of presupposing intelligent life in the White House and Pentagon. He fails to consider a mindset believing these to be the End Times, an apocalyptic era calling for global resource grabs and the obliteration of naysayers. While, for the sake of all of us, the Brits and other nation states tend to play by the rules—no matter how ugly they may be, the U.S. administration, riding the compliance of its populace, realises it can make them up as it goes along; or do away with them altogether. It seems that, in the American psyche, life is a movie. It ends with a bang, not a whimper.

Observers will note that Barnett’s arc of instability corresponds well to regions of great oil, gas, and mineral wealth, a reminder again of Wolfowitz’s 1992 draft study. It asserted that the key objective of U.S. strategy should be “to prevent any hostile power from dominating a region whose resources would, under consolidated control, be sufficient to generate global power.”

Jim Lobe | Pentagon Moving Swiftly to Become "Globocop"

The Arabic-speaking areas of Asia in this sense were a rough parallelogram. The northern side ran from Alexandretta, on the Mediterranean, across Mesopotamia eastward to the Tigris. The south side was the edge of the Indian Ocean, from Aden to Muscat. On the west it was bounded by the Mediterranean, the Suez Canal, and the Red Sea to Aden. On the east by the Tigris, and the Persian Gulf to Muscat. This square of land, as large as India, formed the homeland of our Semites, in which no foreign race had kept a permanent footing, though Egyptians, Hittites, Philistines, Persians, Greeks, Romans, Turks and Franks had variously tried. All had in the end been broken, and their scattered elements drowned in the strong characteristics of the Semitic race.

[...]

We pay for these things too much in honour and in innocent lives. I went up the Tigris with one hundred Devon Territorials, young, clean, delightful fellows, full of the power of happiness and of making women and children glad. By them one saw vividly how great it was to be their kin, and English. And we were casting them by thousands into the fire to the worst of deaths, not to win the war but that the corn and rice and oil of Mesopotamia might be ours.

[...]

For my work on the Arab front I had determined to accept nothing. The Cabinet raised the Arabs to fight for us by definite promises of self-government afterwards. Arabs believe in persons, not in institutions. They saw in me a free agent of the British Government, and demanded from me an endorsement of its written promises. So I had to join the conspiracy, and, for what my word was worth, assured the men of their reward. In our two years' partnership under fire they grew accustomed to believing me and to think my Government, like myself, sincere. In this hope they performed some fine things, but, of course, instead of being proud of what we did together, I was bitterly ashamed.

It was evident from the beginning that if we won the war these promises would be dead paper, and had I been an honest adviser of the Arabs I would have advised them to go home and not risk their lives fighting for such stuff: but I salved myself with the hope that, by leading these Arabs madly in the final victory I would establish them, with arms in their hands, in a position so assured (if not dominant) that expediency would counsel to the Great Powers a fair settlement of their claims. ... I risked the fraud, on my conviction that Arab help was necessary to our cheap and speedy victory in the East, and that better we win and break our word than lose.

[...]

The only thing remaining was to refuse rewards for being a successful trickster and, to prevent this unpleasantness arising, I began in my reports to conceal the true stories of things, and to persuade the few Arabs who knew to an equal reticence. In this book also, for the, last time, I mean to be my own judge of what to say.

T.E. Lawrence | The Seven Pillars of Wisdom

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

My family tends to be genetically challenged. Well, that's what the geneticists would have us believe. My wife and I both have blue eyes and, as kids, we had blonde hair. Mine grew darker during adolescence (I blame the drugs) and my wife's when she started manufacturing mouths for me to feed. Well, that's what she says. I still blame the drugs.

Either way, we remain genetically blonde haired and blue eyed. And left handed for good measure.

Being thus afflicted, we were obliged to pass our 'recessive' genes on to our kids. We had, apparently and so the textbooks told us, no choice in the matter. It is the way of the world and Mother Nature. It ensures we will always stand out in a crowd. So, much as my youngest would like to be 'different'; dyeing her hair black, cutting up her clothes, sticking pieces of metal through her nose, lips, ears and other strange body parts she is, like her brother, sister and parents, blonde haired and blue eyed.

None of our kids are left handed, which proves science does sometimes get it right.

But all this is besides the point. The point is that I, a blogger, cannot resist a good 'blonde joke'. And Frank Paynter, the devious old bastard, offers the best blonde joke ever. In fact, the whole family—bar my eldest daughter—found it irresistibly... nay, side-splittingly funny. Eldest daughter is studying archiving and likes to retain a certain composure. Anyway, after cracking up, she regains her strait-laced look of disdain, feigns distaste and asks, "Why do so many women have bruises around their belly buttons?"

My wife and I, still laughing, can't figure this one out. "I dunno," I chortle. "Why do so many women have bruises around their belly buttons":

"Because you get blonde males as well," she sniffs, and leaves the room.

It's good (and she is 20), but this joke—courtesy of Frank, is as good as it gets.

Everything Passes

Sharbat Gula, 1984. Photo: Steve McCurry National Geographic

I started this blog four years ago. So what? It doesn't matter. I'm always starting this blog. That said, the people I've met and have come to know over the past forty-eight months—no matter how fleetingly, do matter. Like Sharbat Gula, they live on. In me. And they continue to make a difference. Yeah, you. You, you and you (blonde or otherwise).

I'd forever talk to you, | But soon my words, | They would turn into a meaningless ring. | For deep in my heart | I know there is no help I can bring. | Everything passes, | Everything changes, | Just do what you think you should do. | And someday maybe, | Who knows, baby, | I'll come and be cryin' to you.

Bob Dylan | To Ramona

The Soft Parade

U.S. jets napalm Vietnamese village '72

When I was back there in seminary school | There was a person there | Who put forth the proposition | That you can petition the Lord with prayer | Petition the lord with prayer? | Petition the lord with prayer? | You cannot petition the lord with prayer!

al-Zarqawi also said his fighters had carried out nearly 800 operations against "the crusader forces" since the invasion of Iraq, putting "crusader" casualties at around 40,000 soldiers.

"Since the start of mujahidin operations after the fall of the Baathist regime and until today, nearly 800 martyr operations aimed at crusader targets and military convoys have been carried out," he said. "We estimate casualties among the adorers of the Cross in Iraq at no less than 40,000 soldiers."

Abu Musab al-Zarqawi

Crazy? Not in the way he might at first strike you. Think about it. Two to two-and-a-half thousand U.S. troops killed in action in Afghanistan and Iraq (and Falluja still not taken), close on 20,000 wounded shipped back to the U.S., an unknown number of 'coalition' forces killed or hospitalised, an 'unknowable' number of mercenaries blown away or 'retired' (the U.S. taxpayer funds up to 40,000 soldiers of Cheney's fortunes), and thousands of 'Iraqi security forces' recruits and other collaborators either butchered or maimed.

al-Zarqawi, whoever he might be, is not half as daft as he's painted, and 40,000 is perhaps a conservative estimate. Then again, and as these archival stills of a Vienamese village being napalmed way back in the early '70s remind us, 40,000 amounts to small potatoes when measured against the tens of millions killed or crippled by U.S. foreign policy since WWII.


U.S. jets napalm Vietnamese village '72

There's only four ways to get unraveled | One is to sleep and the other is travel | One is a bandit up in the hills | One is to love your neighbor till | His wife gets home.

"First, chase out the invaders from our territory in Palestine, in Iraq and everywhere in Islamic land. Second, install sharia [Islamic law] on the entire Earth and spread Islamic justice there ... The attacks will not cease until after the victory of Islam and the setting up of sharia. O young Muslims everywhere in the world, and in particular in the neighbouring countries [of Iraq] and in Yemen, I recommend jihad to you ... O nation of Islam, America is today drawing its last breath."

Abu Musab al-Zarqawi

Crazy nonetheless? Not on this evidence. Listen to any of Bush's demented ravings...listen to any demagogue from Hitler to Mugabe and you'll find oodles of the same fevered claptrap. These people are sending kids off to war, and they'll use the language of those most likely to lay their lives on the line for misguided belief and their hidden intent. How else does one articulate a call proclaiming, "Follow me. I'm right behind you"?

These statements come from an audiotape of al-Zarqawi, made following a rocket attack on Israel last month. In it, the enemy is demonised using derogatory language I'll not tolerate on this blog, while "...fighter Shaikh Osama bin Laden, emir of the al-Qaida network, may God preserve him..." is lionised. After reading a deluge of racist comments denigrating Arabs and Islam on U.S. Web sites, I started wondering how, much like al-Zarqawi, chickenhawks delude themselves into thinking they're 'different' than those they seek to kill.

There is no difference. It's their sameness that drives them nuts.

Crazy? For sure.

When all else fails | We can whip the horses' eyes | And make them sleep | And cry....

Doors | The Soft Parade

Shootout

"The one-shot-one-kill thing is one of beauty..."

Through these fields of destruction | Baptism of fire | I've witnessed your suffering | As the battles raged higher | And though they did hurt me so bad | In the fear and alarm | You did not desert me | My brothers in arms.

"I believe it is the longest confirmed kill in Iraq with a 7.62mm rifle," said Staff Sgt Gilliland, 28, who hunted squirrels in Double Springs, Alabama from the age of five before progressing to deer - and then people. ... "It was elating, but only afterwards," said Staff Sgt Gilliland, recalling the September 27 shot. "At the time, there was no high-fiving. You've got troops under fire, taking casualties and you're not thinking about anything other than finding a target and putting it down. Every shot is for the betterment of our cause." ... "The one-shot-one-kill thing is one of beauty but killing all the bad dudes is even more attractive," said Staff Sgt Gilliland, whose motto is "Move fast, shoot straight and leave the rest to the counsellors in 10 years" and signs off his e-mails with "silent souls make.308 holes".

Telegraph | Sniper shot that took out an insurgent killer from three quarters of a mile

"Killing all the bad dudes..." Yeah, I believe Sergeant Gilliland's not alone in his desire to rid the world of them. Quietly, ruthlessly and efficiently (and supported by Web-savvy backers who intend posting footage to his—as yet—undeveloped site), Juba marches the same beat, hearing a different drummer. To Juba, the 'bad dudes' are the American troops who've invaded Iraq and now seek, incompetently, to occupy his country by force, proxy and bunker politics.

Reports differ, but Juba's knocked off some 100 to 150 American GIs and U.S. Marines [download wmv 24MB or view here, here, or here]. He's driving froth-mouthed armchair chickenhawks insane all over the United States. Numbers-wise, he kind of puts Sergeant Gilliland back in the shade, shooting squirrels.

How does he do it? Using a rifle-mounted camera, he does so quietly and, to minimise 'collateral damage' caused by skittish U.S. troops, close in, i.e. about 200 yards. The picture below, from a now-removed cached page of La Voz de Aztlan, is the only allegedly authentic photograph I've managed to find of the legendary sniper—to whom my wife appears to have taken quite a shine.


"What has been taken in blood cannot be regained except by blood..."

"Juba" is the nickname that the multinational forces in Iraq have given to a supposed member of the Iraqi insurgency who is alleged to be an accurate sniper, having killed and wounded up to a hundred United States soldiers. The sniper fires only once before moving from his position, leaving behind little evidence of his whereabouts.

"Juba's" existence has not been proven by any military source. U.S. soldiers have been led to believe that each sniper attack was perpetrated by the same individual, which is what gave rise to "Juba". Every time one of these incidents occurs a single bullet casing and a note have been found at the location where the sniper was believed to have been. The message, in Arabic, "What has been taken in blood cannot be regained except by blood. Baghdad Sniper".

Wikipedia | Juba

There's so many different worlds | So many different suns | And we have just one world | But we live in different ones.

After listening to expert commentary [RealPlayer] on the Baghdad Sniper, I gave my friend Bob Eckert a call.

"Bob."

"Mike. How're you?"

"Good, man. Listen, I've an idea for you."

"Always glad to hear your ideas. Barbie® sales are plummeting."

"It's a shame. But that's the way it goes, eh?"

"Yeah. Too many fat chicks."

"Hmm. Bob, you ever hear of Gilliland and Juba?"

"Can't say I have, Mike."

"Thought so. They're two of the best snipers in Iraq. One American, on Iraqi. They've killed hundreds."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So I'm putting together a couple of documentaries, cartoons, books, websites and all that shit. Plus a movie. I've signed Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp to play the leads. We're shooting as we speak. Ehem... pun not intended."

"What pun?"

"Never mind."

"Okay, that sounds good. Depp and Pitt?"

"Yeah. So Bob, we need the toys. They'll make billions."

"Will the movie sell? I mean, we've seen plenty of Iraqi stuff now. Nobody's keen. What happens to these guys? Does Gilliland take out Juba?"

"Fuck off, Bob. My movies sell. This is a story based on fact. And no, Gilliland does not take out Juba. These guys are in for the long haul. Our first movie takes place in Baghdad, but I've crews filming background in Teheran in preparation for the next."

"When's that due?"

"Mid-year."

"How many movies?"

"Dunno, Five or six. Iran, Syria, North Korea, Kashmir... I dunno. But I've got Depp and Pitt for the duration. And Watts and Aniston for this one."

"Watts and Aniston? But I take it Juba's the Muslim guy? What's he doing with a white chick?"

"You a racist, Bob?"

"Good God, no, Mike. Some of my best friends..."

"Good stuff, Bob. Don't worry, it'll sell. We just need the stuff to flog to the kids and I know you're the man."

"Well, that's easy, Mike. How soon can we get started?"

"I'll send you some footage of Juba training and at work, and pictures of both. See what you make of them."

"Cool."

"Thanks, Bob."

"No, thank you, Mike."

"Pleasure. We'll both make a killing."

"Heh. Yeah."


Those sensitive to the realities of war should NOT click this graphic.

Now the sun's gone to hell | And the moon's riding high | Let me bid you farewell | Every man has to die | But it's written in the starlight | And every line on your palm | We're fools to make war | On our brothers in arms.

Dire Straits | Brothers in Arms

Entrapment

The Azadi Tower, Teheran

The story dates back to the Clinton administration and February 2000, when one frightened Russian scientist walked Vienna's winter streets. The Russian had good reason to be afraid. He was walking around Vienna with blueprints for a nuclear bomb.

To be precise, he was carrying technical designs for a TBA 480 high-voltage block, otherwise known as a "firing set", for a Russian-designed nuclear weapon. He held in his hands the knowledge needed to create a perfect implosion that could trigger a nuclear chain reaction inside a small spherical core. It was one of the greatest engineering secrets in the world, providing the solution to one of a handful of problems that separated nuclear powers such as the United States and Russia from rogue countries such as Iran that were desperate to join the nuclear club but had so far fallen short.

The Russian, who had defected to the US years earlier, still couldn't believe the orders he had received from CIA headquarters. The CIA had given him the nuclear blueprints and then sent him to Vienna to sell them - or simply give them - to the Iranian representatives to the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA).

GuardianOnline

The report from which the above quote is pulled boasts a two-part headline, George Bush insists that Iran must not be allowed to develop nuclear weapons. So why, six years ago, did the CIA give the Iranians blueprints to build a bomb?

First, we all know George Bush insists that Iran must not be allowed to develop nuclear weapons. Secondly, the answer to the question is obvious. The U.S. gave Iran blueprints for the Bomb in 2000 to defuse suggestions Iran might not have the Bomb in 2006. In other words, George W. Bush has cause, given his policy of pre-emption, to bomb the holy crap out of the place using bombs of the type he refuses to allow it to build.

The teaser qualifying the question—and this is important— reads: 'In an extract from his explosive new book, New York Times reporter James Risen reveals the bungles and miscalculations that led to a spectacular intelligence fiasco'. While the headline begs an easily given answer the teaser, replete with its suggestive adjective 'explosive', begs as easy a retort.

"'Spectacular intelligence fiasco'? You must be joking. It's standard entrapment."

Why the obfuscatory headlines? Because not even the Guardian would dare headline the story CIA Gave Iran Bomb Blueprints in 2000.

Much as I suspect it'd like to.

And, as we read the extract from Risen's book, we realise just how Iran, given blueprints and legally entitled to build the Bomb, has been boxed in. Having already "...obtained nuclear blueprints from the network of Pakistani scientist Abdul Qadeer Khan" and other sources, it would be guilty of negligence were it not in a position to do so. U.S. intelligence, always the intentional dummy, has delivered Iran to Bush on a silver platter.

"Porter, get your ass in here. How many years would it take Iran to build the Bomb?"

"Umm... ten years, Mr. Preznit."

"When'd we give 'em the plans?"

"Umm.. six years ago."

"How far are they?"

"We dunno."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"We sent them a list of all our spies in 2004 and they killed them. Like it says in the book. So we don't know."

"Holy shit, you assholes. You did what?"

"We sent them a list of all our spies in 2004, Boss. They killed them. So we don't know what's going on. Officially, that is."

"Enough of the legalese, Porter. I hear ya. Why the fuck you do something like that?"

"You asked us to, Sir."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I forgot. Damn. Yeah, well, it means we're all blind. Officially, of course. But it also means I'm still king."

"Yessir."

"Good. On the downside though, this means we have to bomb the place, take over their oil reserves and move on towards China immediately."

"That's what you wanted, Mr. Preznit."

"I know, Porter, but it's all becoming rather tiresome. I need a month in Crawford."

"Yessir."

"We'll prolly have to do the job between Ariel's death and the Israeli elections if they're not to descend to farce."

"Ariel's not dead yet, Mr. Preznit."

"Don't fuck with me Porter. A stroke of luck is always hard work."

"Sorry, Boss."

"That's okay, Porter. The Israelis ready to go?"

"As always."

"The Turks ready to let us use their bases?"

"Sure. Saw to it myself. Didn't your wife tell you?"

"What's she have to do with it?"

"I'm sending her over next month. She'll dot the 'i's and cross the 't's."

"Oh, Condi. She's not my wife, asswipe."

"Sorry, Boss."

"That's okay, Porter. You can go now."

"Thanks, Mr. Preznit."

"You're welcome."

True to form, CIA Director of Public Affairs Jennifer Millerwise Dyck fails to deny the leaks, preferring to blackball Risen in a manner befitting the fuckwits at Free Republic. Oozing self-righteousness, she says, "Setting aside whether what he wrote is accurate or inaccurate, it demonstrates an unfathomable and sad disregard for U.S. national security and those who take life-threatening risks to ensure it."

Indeed. Why torpedo the guy duped into arguing your case for you?

The launching of an outright war using nuclear warheads against Iran is now in the final planning stages. Coalition partners, which include the US, Israel and Turkey are in "an advanced stage of readiness". Various military exercises have been conducted, starting in early 2005. In turn, the Iranian Armed Forces have also conducted large scale military maneuvers in the Persian Gulf in December in anticipation of a US sponsored attack.

Since early 2005, there has been intense shuttle diplomacy between Washington, Tel Aviv, Ankara and NATO headquarters in Brussels. In recent developments, CIA Director Porter Goss on a mission to Ankara, requested Turkish Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan "...to provide political and logistic support for air strikes against Iranian nuclear and military targets." Goss reportedly asked "...for special cooperation from Turkish intelligence to help prepare and monitor the operation."

Michel Chossudovsky | Nuclear War against Iran