On the Side of Terror

“Congressman, you have a noon meeting with a group of peace activists who want to talk with you about your position on Syria.  And I should warn you that there are some TV vans down in the parking lot.”

“Ouch!  I’m meeting with some big donors at 11, another group of donors at 1, I didn’t have breakfast, and it’s already 10:30.  That doesn’t leave much time to prepare, Sally, but I think I’ve got this Syrian thing down pat.  I’ll just run through some talking points with you right now to make sure I’ve got them straight.  I can ask the peace group for their input, listen to them for a while, make my statement, and fake the rest of it.”

“Okay.  Shoot.”

[Congressman, adopting a solemn tone]  “Syria is the newest battleground in the War on Terror.  Al-Qaeda organized the bombings of U.S. embassies in Tanzania and Kenya, as well as the attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.  Like a cancer, it has spread its evil influence throughout Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, and now Syria.  It is number one on our list of terrorist organizations around the world. We cannot permit this menace to go unchecked.  We have fought terrorism in Afghanistan, in Iraq, and now we will not rest until we have eliminated the al-Qaeda movement in Syria.   [Pauses]  How’s that sound?”

“Uh, it sounds great, Congressman, just great.  One small correction, though, right at the end.”

“What’s that?”

“Well... in Syria, we’re supporting the al-Qaeda faction, not fighting against them.”

“What!  Are you sure about that?”

“Positive, sir.  The opposition to President Assad is now largely dominated by violent jihadist groups affiliated with al-Qaeda.”

“So this isn’t part of the War on Terror?”

“Apparently not, sir.  If it is, we’re now on the side of Terror.”

“Okay.  Scratch that.  How the devil could a thing like that happen?  It makes no sense!  What is the reason we’re so hellbent on attacking Syrian government forces, then?”

“The administration claims that Assad’s use of chemical weapons crossed a red line, sir.”

“What red line was that?  Who drew a red line?”

“President Obama says the world drew a red line when countries signed a treaty banning chemical weapons.  But ‘the world‘ didn’t decide to launch an attack on Syria for using them--just the U.S.  Which would make this a first.  So far there has never been a country that simply took it upon itself to attack another country for using chemical weapons. ”

“Well, regardless of who drew the red line, we should have the President’s back on this one.  The use of chemical weapons is horrible, inhumane, and a clear violation of international law.  That’s my position.”

“I think everyone agrees that chemical weapons are abominable, sir.  But there’s a complication with that approach that you might want to consider--well, several of them, actually.”

[Glancing at his watch, getting a little tense as he feels time slipping away]  “Can you give me a simple version of the complications?”

“I’ll try, sir. You mentioned that the use of chemical weapons is a clear violation of international law.  But if we were to attack Syria, that would also be a violation of international law, because Syria hasn’t attacked the U.S., and the UN Security Council hasn’t authorized the U.S. to carry out an attack.”

“So you’re saying it would be hypocritical of us to claim Syria violated international law, and then go ahead and violate it ourselves?”

“I did my best to avoid using that word, sir.”

“What are the other complications?”

“Well, we knowingly supplied Saddam Hussein with materials to make chemical weapons during their war with Iraq, back during the Reagan  administration.  So our hands aren’t exactly clean on the chemical weapons issue.  And our own forces used white phosphorus and depleted-uranium munitions when we attacked Iraq.”

“Sounds to me as if you’re saying we’re being hypocritical again.”

“I don’t know what to say, sir.  You asked me to lay out the facts.  That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

“Okay, okay.  But the facts certainly aren’t very helpful.  Any more complications?”

“A rather large one, I’m afraid.  The opposition forces in Syria also have chemical weapons, and may have used them.  Reports are also emerging that they have carried out bloody massacres, executed prisoners in cold blood, raped women, beheaded babies, and buried villagers with their throats cut in mass graves.”

“They what!?  And these are the people we’re supplying and supporting?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re sure of these things?”

“The facts seem to be well established, I’m afraid.”

“Damn it!  I listen to our intelligence briefings, I read the White House press releases, I saw John Kerry praise the opposition in front of the House Foreign Affairs Committee, I pay attention to what Nancy Pelosi and John Boehner have to say.  So why is it that all of this stuff you’re telling me is news to me?”

“Uh, I really can’t say, sir.”

“Do you suppose it’s classified for national security purposes?”

“All of this has been widely reported in the world press, Congressman. There are even videos of some of these things on YouTube.”

“Listen, the White House and our congressional leaders need to get this information right away.  Type it up with footnotes and references, and draw up a cover letter over my signature.”

“Um, begging your pardon, but I’m pretty sure they already have this information.”

“What makes you think that?  Maybe they don’t read the world press or watch YouTube.”

“Maybe not, sir, but with the hundreds of billions of dollars we spend on gathering intelligence, and with the NSA’s monitoring of e-mails, phone calls, computer searches, and the like for foreign embassies, the UN, governments around the globe, and everyone else you can think of, surely they’re aware of these things.”

“But there must be some mistake!  How can you explain these... discrepancies between the values we’re claiming and the actions we’re taking?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Congressman.  I don’t make policy or speeches.  I just work here.”

“Well I’ll tell you one thing, Sally.  I don’t care what the leadership says, I’m meeting with the peace group in a little over an hour, with TV cameras running, and there’s no way in hell I’m going out there to come down on the side of a bunch of extremist, undemocratic al-Qaeda war criminals.”

“At this point, Congressman, I’m probably supposed to encourage you to do the cautious, politic thing.  But the truth is, sometimes you make me remember why I actually voted for you myself.”

© Tony Russell, 2013

"An Almost Impenetrable Innocence"

      With Kevin getting up early to work out before school starts, I’ve been getting an early start as well.  In fact, my editor complimented me on my punctuality, in his usual gruff style.  (“About time you began to put in a full day’s work for a full day’s pay.”)  So I now seem to be on the same morning schedule as my neighbor’s foreign exchange student, Aadil.  

I saw him walking down the sidewalk--heavily laden with books, as usual.  Pulling alongside him I yelled, “Want a ride?”

“Good morning.  Thank you, I would be most grateful,” he said.

“Just push that stuff aside and toss your books in the back seat.”

He looked at the mound of football gear, jackets and hats, notebooks, sandwich wrappers, candy bar wrappers, towels, sales flyers, and cloth shopping bags.  “I can hold my books,” he said.  “It is no inconvenience.  I do not wish to disturb your possessions.”

“Suit yourself,” I said.  “Tell me, you seem to follow politics, what do you think of this Syrian situation?”

He glanced over at me.  “I know you enjoy discussing political matters,” he said.  “But perhaps we should converse about something else.  It is difficult to speak frankly when one is a guest in someone else’s country, and I have no desire to give offense.”

“Hey, I’m a grownup here,” I laughed.  “I’d like to hear what the other half of the world thinks.”

“Speaking numerically, it would be what the other 96% of the world thinks,” he said.  “But certainly no one person can represent the views of so many billions of people.”

“Just speak for yourself, then,” I said.  “I’m open-minded.”

He looked puzzled.  “What is this ‘open-mindedness’ of which you speak?”

“Sometimes American idioms can be confusing.  What I mean is, I’m willing to give a fair hearing to whatever you have to say.”

He looked a bit dubious.  Speaking slowly, picking his words carefully, he said, “Forgive me, then, but it is difficult for many of us in other countries to credit how naive the American people can be.  Your continued trust in the words of your leaders seems to indicate an almost impenetrable innocence.”

I frowned.  “I’m not following you here.”

“When your country attacked Iraq, your citizens were persuaded to do so because, it was claimed, Iraq had a nuclear program and chemical weaponry that threatened the U.S.  It was also claimed that Saddam Hussein was implicated in the tragic events of 9-11.  Many other allegations were made by your Secretary of State, Mr. Colin Powell.”

“Okay. What of it?”

“Not a single one of those allegations, as you may remember, turned out to be true.  Excuse me for pointing out that your country killed tens of thousands--maybe, indirectly, even hundreds of thousands--of innocent people; created more than a million refugees; unleashed sectarian violence that turned civilian life into a bloodbath; littered the landscape with radioactive materials; and destroyed the infrastructure of Iraqi society.  Many people around the globe disputed those charges at the time they were made, and pointed out that the evidence for U.S. claims was flimsy and contrived.  Yet you believed your leaders, and went to war.”

“Well, anybody can make a mistake.  And Saddam Hussein was a dictator and a bad man.”

“Yes, he was an evil dictator.  But that did not concern your government when he was your former ally.  In fact, many of his weapons were ones your country had supplied him.  This is what I mean about your citizenry’s innocence--one might even call it gullibility.  You refer to these claims made by your rulers as mistakes.  To most of the rest of the world, it was obvious that they were lies.  Even one of your Senate committees, long after the fact, found that the evidence for the war had been falsified.  Promoters of the war themselves eventually conceded that it was about oil, not evil.  Yet somehow the myths live on.”

‘‘These things happen.”

“Again, excuse me for saying so, but they happen with predictable regularity.  When your country attacked Panama and deposed General Noriega, a dictator you had supported for years, your government launched an all-out military assault, killed hundreds of innocent Panamanian citizens, and did so on the flimsy excuse that the Panamanian police had roughed up one of your naval officers and insulted his wife.  That minor incident was used as a pretext to launch a war that your government desired.  In 1964, your government charged that two U.S. naval ships had been attacked by North Vietnamese.  In response, your Congress passed the Gulf of Tonkin resolution, committing your country to an all-out war in Vietnam.  It is now known that the two ships were never attacked, and that your administration had been seeking such an incident to justify an upscaling of the war.”

I was shocked.  “Are you saying we instigate fights, like some bully in a schoolyard?”

He thought about that.  “What I am suggesting is that your nation is an imperial power, which quite deliberately chooses wars to assure its dominance of energy supplies, pipeline routes, sea lanes, and other strategic goals.  However, in order to secure enough popular support from your people to divert more than half of your national budget from services to benefit them, and spend it instead on global domination, your government propagandizes its own citizenry with falsehoods and demonizations.  It manipulates intelligence, then creates a pretext to launch whatever war it wants at the moment.  The war it desires right now is with Syria.”

“Do you really think the American public is that stupid?” I demanded.

“No, certainly not,” he said.  “I think, as I said, that you are gullible.  Your gullibility is rooted in something quite admirable: your love for the ideals upon which your country was founded.  But your national self-image has been shaped by thousands of movies and books in which the hero is a single powerful figure, sometimes with a ‘sidekick,’ who acts outside the community, faith, and the legal framework to right the world’s wrongs.  You see yourselves in terms of the Lone Ranger, John Wayne, Superman, Batman, Spider-Man, Rambo, Spenser, Dirty Harry, and so many others--all protecting the innocent, punishing the evildoers, and administering justice on their own, with their fists or guns.  Your rulers appeal to that deeply-ingrained self-image.”

I’d had more than enough.  “What are you?!” I bellowed.  “Some agent of al-Qaeda?”

He blanched.  “Please, sir, do not say such things.  Even such offhand remarks have caused people to be disappeared.  Far from being aligned with al-Qaeda, we have been followers of the teachings of Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan in my family for three generations now.”

“Who?  Was he one of bin Laden’s henchmen?”

He sighed.  “Ghaffar Khan was called ‘the Muslim Gandhi.’  He was a tireless advocate for peace and nonviolence in the struggle for India’s freedom and a united India.  I too believe in nonviolence.  I have no wish to offend you.  You sought my honest opinion, and I have given it.  I am only telling you what appears self-evident to millions of other people on our planet.”

“For your information,” I told him, “we may not go to war with Syria.  This is a democracy, and a sizable majority of the American public opposes an attack.”

“With all due respect, sir, it is highly probable that your country will be entering the civil war in Syria, and---incredible as it may seem--fighting on the side of al-Qaeda.  The intent isn’t simply to punish Assad for using chemical weapons.  Your president intends to kill Assad, eliminate most of his government, and annihilate most of the Syrian army.  I am sorry to say that your government does not care what your public desires, nor does it care what the rest of the world desires.   It cares neither for peace, nor truth, nor justice.  It cares for power and empire.  Your rulers simply want a war, and will use any means necessary to secure one.”

When I didn’t respond, he glanced over, and his eyes widened with alarm.  “Sir!” he shrieked.  “You must put your hands on the steering wheel!  You cannot drive with your fingers in your ears!”

© Tony Russell, 2013

Doesn’t the Pope Realize It’s Football Season?

       “A person could perish of entertainment....” 

         - Garrison Keillor

“Did you see that the Pope has called for people around the world to get together for a day of prayer and fasting this Saturday?” asked my neighbor Harmon, looking up from his newspaper.

“Guess I missed that,” I said.  “What’s that about?  On Saturday, you said?” 

“Looks as if it’s in response to the fighting in Syria, and maybe to Obama’s wanting to launch an attack against Assad.”  

“Doesn’t the Pope realize it’s football season?”

“According to this, Francis says that you don’t build peace with a culture of confrontation or a culture of conflict.  He says we have to promote a culture of encounter and dialogue instead.”

“You won’t win many games that way, Harmon,” I said, shaking my head.  “A team has to have an edge to it.  A bit of a nasty streak.  Play smash-mouth football.  Say, when you’re finished reading that, could I see the sports section?”

“Sure,” he said, continuing to scan the article.  “One of the comments here says Francis is acting as the ‘pontiff’--it means ‘bridge.’  He’s trying to bridge the gaps between people, to bring us together.”

“The tailgate party is before the game, Harmon, not after the whistle blows.”

“I think he has something different in mind, Ace.  He’s calling for a gathering in Saint Peter’s Square, from 7 PM to midnight, to ask God for the gift of peace, not just in Syria, but everywhere there’s conflict and violence.”

“From 7 PM to midnight?  That’s a five hour time slot.  And I thought it was bad when TV turned an hour-long football game into a three-and-a-half-hour marathon of commercials.  How’s he going to keep people entertained for that long?” 

“Five hours to focus the world’s attention on preventing the pain and suffering of an expanded war doesn’t seem like that much to ask.”

“You’ve got to keep things in perspective, Harmon,” I said.  “He’s getting some bad advice on his scheduling.  The evening games on Saturday are the big headliners. West Virginia has a road game at Oklahoma that starts at 7, and Notre Dame plays Michigan at 8.  That’s really going to cut into his audience.”

“Rome’s in a different time zone, Ace.  There’s a... let’s see, six hour difference, so midnight there will be 6 PM here.  The event in Rome will be over before those games begin.” 

“Thank God for that,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.  “Notre Dame and Michigan are both ranked in the Top Twenty.  Do you think this rally in Rome will distract Notre Dame?”

“Funny you should mention Notre Dame.  Saturday is the vigil of the birth of Mary.  He calls her the Queen of Peace.  And ‘rally’ isn’t quite the right word, Ace.  This event he’s putting together isn’t a pep rally for one side or the other.  He wants people to approach the gathering in a spirit of penance.”

“Isn’t he afraid that will hurt the tailgating experience?  And cut into beer sales?”

“Not when he’s trying to get people to focus on the fact that an expanded war will mean more kidnapping and torturing, more shooting and bombing, more widows and orphans.  It’s a reminder of our own responsibility to help shape a more peaceful world.”

I was still thinking about the scheduling.  “You know,” I said, “UVA plays Oregon at 3:30, and Oregon is ranked third in the country.  If he’s starting at 1 PM our time, he’s going to run well into the second half of that game.”

“Maybe people can record it and watch it later, Ace.  Besides, let’s face it, there are plenty of games on a zillion channels from noon to midnight.  Plus there’s Monday night football, Thursday night football, Friday night football, all day Saturday football, and the pros all day Sunday.  The stations run replays of a lot of the best games.  You can even watch them with an app on your iPhone.  And if you miss one game, there are plenty more.”

“It’s not the same as watching a team you care about while it’s happening, Harmon.  You just don’t get the same tension, the same excitement as when you’re watching live.  Then every snap matters, the outcome is in doubt, and you’re waiting to see if somebody can step up, make a play, and turn the whole game around.”

© Tony Russell, 2013

Those Crazy Conspiracy Theories

The routine never varies here, so I was startled when there was a knock, followed immediately by a key turning in the door.  “It’s not time for breakfast yet,” I told Henry, the massive attendant.

“Get dressed anyway,” he told me.  “The Director wants you in his office in fifteen minutes.”

I’m a little slow on the uptake because of the meds.  “What does he want?  Did somebody report me for a violation?  Am I in trouble?”

He just shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Whatever it is, I’ve got half a dozen other patients he wants to see after you, so get a move on.”  And he slammed the door and left.

There wasn’t time to shave or shower--not at the rate I move nowadays--so I just pulled on my clothes, which was a struggle, because I’ve gained twenty pounds since I came here.  I was still combing my hair when Henry returned to escort me to the head man’s office.

To my surprise, the Director, who has always had an air of knowing what reality is, and he’s quite comfortable in it, thank you, looked a bit flustered.  “Charles,” he said, “you need to pack your things.  You’re being released at 10 AM.”

That stunned me.  The wheels in my brain roll through molasses, and it took me a while to process this unexpected turn. “Today?  This morning?  After all this time?  What’s going on?”

He looked decidedly uncomfortable.  “The Board has reviewed your record and decided there’s reason to believe your diagnosis is.. um,,, inappropriate.”

“My paranoia?  Those ‘crazy conspiracy theories’?”

He flinched, then nodded.

“When I thought somebody was listening to my telephone conversations?  And reading my e-mail?”

Another nod.

“And recording my Internet searches?  And tracking where my car went?”

He was looking increasingly awkward--a word I never thought I would apply to someone so self-assured.  Another nod.

“And those new members inside our environmental group chapter that I thought were government informers?”

“Yes.”

“And those people taking photos of our Occupy movement at the park?  And my suspicions that feds were gathering info on us and then sharing it with the banks, and the university, and the local police?”

He squirmed.  “Yes.”

“And the secret police--the NSA--lying to Congress about collecting information on millions of U.S. citizens?”

Yet another nod.

“And our government’s snatching people off the street without charges and not telling their families where they are or allowing them any legal representation and then hauling them off to secret sites in chains, with sacks over their heads, and torturing them repeatedly?”

Now he was actually sweating.  “Yes.”

“And the President’s having a list of people to be murdered using little remotely-guided drone aircraft?”

He just stood there, red-faced.

“And those same drones being deployed all over this country to spy on us?”

Once again he said nothing.

“But you’ve told me all along that I’m sick!” I pleaded.  “That I have ‘systematized delusions’ driven by ‘irrational fears and anxieties,’  that I’ve been seeing ‘threats that don’t really exist’!”

He gave a nervous cough.  “That judgment is now inoperative.”

“Inoperative?”

“No longer in effect.”

“I know what it means.  You’re saying all those bizarre things are actually happening?  That I’m not suffering from delusions?”

“Documentation now exists to substantiate all of those occurrences,” he said, his hands beginning to tremble.  “When they’re facts, they’re obviously no longer delusions.”

My hands have been shaking for years now; I recognized the symptoms. “I liked your version of reality better,” I reassured him.  “There was always some comfort in thinking maybe I was crazy.”

“‘Reality’s just another word for someone else is screwed,” he said, with some sadness, then came around the desk, shook my hand, and wished us both good luck.  My time was up.

© Tony Russell, 2013

The News We Choose

Blonde TV anchor, reading from TelePrompTer:  “FAX News brings you ‘the news we choose,’ deranged, estranged, and rearranged.  Tonight’s major story:  Sindy Singer back in the headlines again.  We take you to Hollywood, where our top investigative reporter, Ben Gall, has been following the story closely.  Ben, what can you tell us about Sindy’s latest escapade?”

Reporter, wearing a tan topcoat and holding a FAX mike:  “Well, Arlene, fans of starlet Sindy Singer were stunned last night, at precisely 8:23 PM, when the young actress, famous for her highly-publicized drug-and-alcohol-fueled tantrums, fights, arrests, stints in rehab, and relapses, slipped out of the limousine at the premiere of her newest film.  

“Photographers, poised to catch a photo revealing that she was sans undergarment, were left with their mouths agape as her knee-length dress rose only an inch or so above her kneecap.  Even more shocking, as you can see in this accompanying video, her non-transparent dress completely covered  her breasts.  

“Ms. Singer, who appeared not to be intoxicated or under the influence of recreational chemicals of any kind, simply waved to fans, said “Hi,” and walked without assistance into the theater.  She was accompanied by her married co-star, with whom she is rumored not to be having an affair.

“Ms. Singer’s publicity agents were quick to respond to the incident, claiming the failure of her dress to slide below mid-breast and above her hip joints was a ‘wardrobe malfunction of colossal proportions,’ and apologized to the public.  Fans outside the theater, some of whom had been waiting for as long as three hours to see the actress in the flesh--or perhaps just to see her flesh--described themselves as feeling ‘cheated.‘  One disgusted man, who asked to remain anonymous, complained, ‘Like, I went out and bought a new battery for my video camera and everything, and then she pulls a stunt like this.’

“Industry insiders say it’s still too early to tell what impact this shocking incident will have on Ms. Singer’s meteoric career.  In Hollywood, I’m Ben Gall, reporting for FAX News.”

TV anchor:  “Thanks, Ben.  We’ll be providing hourly updates on this breaking story, which is a FAX News exclusive.  The Huffington Post, Yahoo! News, the National Enquirer, and the National Examiner have all been scooped on this one, and are playing catchup.  In other headline news: 

• Major league baseball will be expanding instant replay in 2014.
• Today is the birthday of Lee Ann Womack, who won a Grammy Award for Best Country Song with “I Hope You Dance.”  She turns 46.   
• President Obama failed to break par while golfing with comedian Larry David on Martha’s Vineyard, where the president is enjoying a weeklong vacation.
• Rihanna flagged down a taxi in New York by baring her midriff.
• World Wrestling Entertainment star Darren Young announced that he’s gay, claiming that ‘All sports are physical.’

“That’s the news you can use!  You’re on top of the stories your friends will be tweeting about.  Follow my Twitter feed throughout the day for more insights on major world events.

“And finally, today’s ‘Tidbit to Forget.’  The Natural Resources Defense Council reports that the U.S.’s top 40 cities will likely see 150,000 people die from heat stroke and other high-temperature maladies attributable to climate change by the end of this century.  [Smiles perkily]  Isn’t that a bummer for the kids and grandkids!?  [Ad-libs afterthought]  Well, really, for everybody that comes after us.  [Remembers to recover cheerfulness]  In the meantime, get out and enjoy this cool weather while you can!

“Join us again at 11, when we’ll have the latest on the Sindy Singer saga that has the country buzzing, as well as the other ‘news we choose.’  I’m Arlene Adkins, for FAX News.”

© Tony Russell, 2013

Speaking Power to Truth

“What’s the matter, Ace?  You’ve been moping around all evening.”

“Sorry, Patty.  It’s that column on global warming by George Will we ran in the paper a while back.  It’s become a real headache.”

“You mean the one that pooh-poohed the idea that global warming was taking place, and mentioned different scientific studies that backed up his opinion?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.  Turns out that a lot of his facts were cherry-picked, misrepresented, or just plain wrong.  Some of the scientists he cited have gone public with letters saying their conclusions are exactly the opposite of what he’s attributed to them.  The paper has been swamped with letters complaining about the column, asking how something filled with so many errors could get by our fact-checkers.”

“What’s the problem?  Now that the errors have been pointed out, Will can just apologize and issue a retraction.”

“Well, actually there are two problems.  Will didn’t admit to any of the errors or misrepresentations.  Instead of apologizing, he wrote a second column even worse than the first, defending himself.  And since Bob Spinner appointed me the paper’s ombudsman, I have to explain to all our readers how Will’s column made it through our rigorous fact-check process untouched.”

“Well, that’s a good question, isn’t it?  How did that happen?”

“I checked with our checkers.  They just sat there and laughed at the idea that we would question a George Will column.  He’s a big name, he’s rich, he’s a pal of the powerful, and the last time somebody called him on his facts he threw a fit.  If you question anything he says, FOX and talk-radio come swarming after you like yellow-jackets around the barbecue at a picnic in the park.”

“So George Will is exempt from fact-checks?”

“In theory, no; in practice, yes.  It’s that ‘too-big-to-fail’ syndrome.  It’s cropping up everywhere.”

“I think I get it.  As the paper’s ombudsman, you’re stuck.  Your job is to tell the truth, which is that the paper didn’t apply the same standards to him that it does to everybody else.  But that’s obviously not something the paper will let you write while they still sign your paycheck.  So you can speak truth to power, and lose your job, or speak power to truth, and lose your self-respect.”

“That’s about it,” I agreed.

“So what are you going to do?  Are we still going to be able to make house payments and put food on the table?”

[Hands her a sheet of paper, looking uncomfortable.]  “This is what I wrote.”

[Hastily reads it over.]  “You’ve defended the process, selecting only one or two of the errors and offering semi-plausible excuses for how they could have slipped through, while ignoring the rest.”  [Both sigh.]  “Well, I guess we live to eat another day.  How do you feel about it?”

“Like a girl in a too-small bikini.  It reveals more about me than I’d like for the public to see.”

© Tony Russell, 2013

National Infallibility

I ran into Howard downtown as I was heading toward the Farmers Market.  He was unloading some homemade folding wooden frames from the back of his old pickup.  They were seven or eight feet tall, and the tops were covered with black plastic bags.  “Can I give you a hand?” I asked.  “These don’t look like tomatoes.  What are you selling?”

“Hey, thanks Ace,” he said.  “And no, they’re not tomatoes and I’m not selling anything.  I’m giving information away.  Our group is putting up an exhibit on the mall.  If you could help carry these over to the fountain area, I’d appreciate it.  A couple of trips should do it.”

“What’s the exhibit about?” I asked, as I grabbed the first one, which he had leaned against a nearby wall.

“I’m a member of the Freedom Legion,” he said.  “This week is the anniversary of the U.S. atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki--Tuesday the 6th for Hiroshima, Friday the 9th for Nagasaki.  We’re putting up an educational exhibit to mark the anniversary.”

“Freedom Legion,”  I said.  “I’m not familiar with the group.  It sounds a little....”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, shaking his head.  “The people who are all for shooting other people, or stuffing them in prison, or just shutting them up have already taken the good names.  They’ve pretty much cornered the market on the ‘freedom’ and ‘liberty’ brands.  That kind of irked us.  We thought we’d try to reclaim ‘freedom’ for people who actually believe in some freedoms besides free markets and the freedom to throw your weight around.”

“How does that tie into your exhibit?” I wanted to know.  “Didn’t the Smithsonian run into some kind of controversy over a Hiroshima/Nagasaki exhibit a few years back?”

He looked at me.  “You remember that, huh?” he said.  “Your memory’s pretty good.  It dates back further than you think--1995, for the 50th anniversary of the bombings.  There was a real stink about it at the time.  We see our exhibit as an exercise in genuine freedom--the freedom to say all the things that the Smithsonian planned to say and then didn’t.  It was embarrassing--and kind of frightening--at how quickly they caved in and self-censored when the American Legion and some congress members started screaming about their original plan for the exhibit.”

“I don’t remember the details, Howie.  What did the Smithsonian do?”

  “Well, they’d intended to lay out a range of perspectives on whether the bombing was justified or not, whether Japan was already on the verge of surrender or not, whether racism or the desire to make a point to the Soviet Union figured in the decision to use the bomb, whether killing all those women and children was justified or not--that kind of thing.  When the stalwarts of the military-industrial complex amped up the criticism, the Smithsonian cut out all of the historically-accurate background and removed all the real-life doubts, qualms, ambiguities, and disagreements you might expect from a decision to incinerate two major cities.” 

“So you’re saying they surrendered to a single vision of history demanded by  people who believed in ‘my-country-right-or-wrong’?”

“Oh, unconditionally.  But I think you used a misleading label, Ace,” he said.  “The people who bullied the historians didn’t take a ‘my-country-right-or-wrong’ approach.  Theirs was ‘my-country’s-never-wrong’.”  It came out of an ironclad view of our national infallibility.  They simply couldn’t tolerate any version of history that wasn’t an American self-love fest.”

“That’s pretty harsh, Howie.”

“Not as harsh as killing maybe a quarter of a million civilians by blowing them up, burning them, or dooming them to a lingering death via radiation sickness.  Not as harsh as watching kids die of leukemia.  Not as harsh as refusing to even look back and learn something from all that death and suffering.”

“I don’t know if I want to listen to that kind of stuff, Howie.”

“There you go, Ace.  That’s the attitude I’m talking about.”

“No offense, Howie, but I’d like it better if you were selling tomatoes.”

“Maybe you’d prefer squash.”

© Tony Russell, 2013

No 'Normal' Anymore

Patty had sent me out to weed the flower bed by our driveway, and I was taking a hard pull on a cold one while I tried to decide whether yet another green thing was a flower or a weed.  Fortunately, my neighbor Gordon came by, walking his Doberman “Hercules,” and when Hercules sprayed the plant, I decided it was best left where it was.

“Looks as if everything is shooting up,” said Gordon, gawking at the teeming mass of plant life.  “Guess that’s what you get with longer growing seasons and the fertilizing effect of all that CO₂.  Global warming’s not all that bad.”

“Probably not,” I agreed, “except maybe for the rising oceans and the bigger forest fires and longer droughts and growing deserts and disappearing glaciers and dying coral reefs and plants facing extinction.  Things like that.  But I thought you didn’t believe in global warming?”

“I’ve gotta admit I used to be a climate change skeptic,” he said, nodding his head.  

“What changed your mind?” I asked, curious.  “You were pretty adamant about it, I remember.  Was it all those warnings by the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change?  The record high ocean temperatures?  The ice cores that showed the planet is the hottest it’s been in 12,000 years?  The warning last week that melting permafrost could set off a runaway temperature climb?”

“Nah, I don’t pay attention to any of that stuff,” he said.  “I still think those scientists are in cahoots with liberal politicians in waging a war on the coal industry.”

“Yeah?” I said.  “What do you suppose is in it for them?”

“Who knows?” he said.  “Maybe they all have investments in solar panels or wind farms.”

“Well, if you don’t trust the IPCC, and you don’t trust the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, and you don’t trust the politicians, and you don’t trust the 97% of climatologists who say that this global warming is real and caused by humans, what exactly was it that changed your mind?” I asked.

“God,” he said.

“God?”

“God.  My sister lives in Oklahoma.  Their two Senators, Jim Inhofe and Tom Coburn, are two of the biggest deniers of climate change in the country.  In 2011, Oklahoma had their all-time low temperature at 31 degrees below zero, their biggest 24-hour snowfall at 27 inches, 93 tornadoes in the month of May, a foot of rain in a single day in June, and then the western part of the state had an 11-month drought that was the driest ever recorded in the state.  In 2012, they had 64 temperature records broken in July--including 113 degrees at Chandler.  This year, of course, a huge tornado hit Moore in May and flattened it, killing 24 people.”

“And you think..?”

“God’s doing his darnedest to get people’s attention.  You can think Al Gore is a pompous jackass all you want--and I do--, but God’s sending a message.  We’re desecrating God’s green Earth, and He’s seen enough.  Enough pillaging, enough poisoning, enough polluting.  I just don’t know if Inhofe and Coburn and their kind are opening their heavenly mail.”

“But that’s Oklahoma,” I ventured cautiously.  “They have crazy weather there anyway.”

“Not that crazy,” he said.  “Besides, it’s everywhere.  Don’t you pay attention to what goes on around you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just open your eyes!” he said.  “Read the signs!  Spring is coming three weeks sooner here than it did forty years ago, and fall weather comes later.  Tree species on the Blue Ridge Parkway and in Shenandoah National Park are migrating northward.  We had a tornado rip through town in June of 2010, an ‘extreme weather pattern’ with dangerous winds and thunderstorms blowing down trees and damaging houses in June of 2012, a deadly derecho in July of 2012, and a “Frankenstorm” with high winds and heavy rains in October of 2012.  This year we’ve had the ugliest, most humid first half of July I can remember, and it rained nearly every day.  It was like living in the tropics at the start of rainy season.  Now the second half of July it’s been cool and pleasant, as if we’re heading into autumn.  It’s spooky.  It’s like there’s no ‘normal’ anymore.”

“You sound like a real convert,” I said.

“Born again again,” he agreed, as Hercules began jerking him down the street.

© Tony Russell, 2013

Review: The Terminal (2013)

This summer’s blockbuster is a remake of Steven Spielberg’s 2004 romantic comedy The Terminal.  The main figure in the earlier film, Viktor--played somewhat awkwardly by Tom Hanks, affecting a nondescript all-purpose Eastern European accent--is trying to immigrate to New York.  He becomes stranded in Kennedy Airport, however, when his home country suddenly undergoes a violent coup and no longer officially exists.  

In this 2013 remake, director Glenn Greenwald reverses the East-West aspects of the earlier plot and blends the Spielberg film’s storyline with elements of the 1998 Will Smith/Gene Hackman  action flick Enemy of the State.  Result: instead of a comedy we now have an international thriller.  Edward Snowden plays a former U.S. spy agency contractor who is stranded in Moscow’s Sheremetyevo airport after he reveals that an invisible coup has occurred in the United States, and the US government is no longer what its citizens think it is.

The thread connecting the two films is that both central figures--Viktor and Edward--are so honest, straightforward, and devoid of hidden motives that their simplest words and acts make the officials trying to deal with them look bad by contrast.  When the officials continue to operate as rule-bound, duplicitous, and sometimes vindictive servants of the institution, we become appalled by both the bureaucracies they serve and their own limited moral imaginations.

Snowden, depicted as a computer systems expert employed first by the CIA and then by giant private contractor Booz Allen Hamilton, is moved by conscience and love of country to reveal to the public “that which is done in their name and that which is done against them.”  Fearing reprisals from the administration and its security apparatus--correctly, as it turns out--, Snowden travels abroad before his revelations are released.  He first takes refuge in Hong Kong, where he believes (mistakenly) he will be granted asylum.  There he issues a series of disclosures, each more shocking than the one before, and becomes the target of an international manhunt.

The manhunt is standard thriller material, with a range of international locations reminiscent of the Bourne series.  This is supplemented by the usual obligatory “romance.”  

Spielberg’s 2004 film used a contrived love interest between Viktor (Tom Hanks) and Amelia (a stewardess who passes periodically through Kennedy, played by the entrancing Catherine Zeta-Jones).  This 2013 version of the boy-girl angle is even more contrived.  Snowden is supplied with an off-screen girlfriend, who presumably remains in Hawaii and never figures in the plot.  

The girlfriend’s father--Jonathan Mills, in a brief but effective appearance--offers his observation, however, that Snowden “ always had very strong convictions of right and wrong.”  His comment is artfully balanced with the following scene, in which an irate neighbor says, “He’s lucky someone didn’t shoot him.”

In a misguided plot twist, the film introduces a second romance angle which quickly fizzles out, and serves only to get the mini-talented Anna Chapman, a former Russian spy, her moment on screen and in the tabloids.  Chapman, host of the weekly Russian TV show Secrets of the World, Twitters “Snowden, will you marry me?” and then poses coyly while flashbulbs pop.  They never meet.

Although the new Terminal has drawn widespread media attention, the film ultimately founders on its basic premises, which are so preposterous as to undermine the “willing suspension of disbelief” necessary for a film to touch us emotionally.

We are asked to believe that, unknown to the American people, the US’s security apparatus has constructed over the previous seven years a vast, illegal, all-encompassing electronic eavesdropping system which conducts surveillance of every citizen in the country, as well as of global communications.  

We are furthermore asked to believe that, instead of responding to Snowden’s revelations with outrage and huge demonstrations, U.S. citizens remain as passive as stunned beef cattle dangling from a moving rack while it carries them toward their slaughter. The film asks us to believe that half of the people in the country are comfortable with the idea that every snip of their electronic communication is monitored, recorded, and stored by government employees and private contractors.  

We are also asked to believe that mainstream media, instead of praising Snowden’s courage, his willingness to sacrifice his career, and his scrupulous care to avoid endangering the security of individuals and the country, actually collaborate with the government in portraying him as a coward and a traitor.

We are asked to believe that Congressional leaders rise to defend the government’s giant criminal conspiracy instead of condemning it.  Here Nancy Pelosi needs to be singled out for her outstanding performance.  Playing herself in a cameo role, complete with pearls, she defends the secret mass surveillance as entirely legal under Section 215 of the Patriot Act.  Appearing on a staged version of Meet the Press, she attacks Snowden and delivers a chilling portrayal of a hard-line party apparatchik endorsing governmental spying on its own citizens. 

Finally, we are asked to believe that sovereign nation after sovereign nation abandons any sense of international law or moral responsibility and bows to threats by the U.S., refusing Snowden asylum.  In one particularly far-fetched scene, the governments of France, Portugal, Italy, and Spain all collude with the U.S. to force a plane carrying the president of Bolivia (played by Evo Morales) to land in Austria, based on nothing more than a rumor Snowden is aboard.  There the plane is stormed and searched by Austrian police--only to find, in a comic denouement, that after all the hoopla, Snowden isn’t on the aircraft.

Snowden’s performance is a revelation.  The unknown, in his first feature role, is utterly convincing as a thoughtful thirty-something with a strong sense of patriotism and an even stronger sense of right and wrong.  Instead of a thriller with the requisite sexpot thrown in for romance, he manages to turn the film into a love story--a tale of genuine love for his country's ideals and for freedom.  There is talk of an Oscar, and he has already been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.  Producers and directors are besieging him with additional projects, but those remain on hold so long as the threat of a lifetime prison sentence or execution hangs over his head.

I won’t cheat people who haven’t yet seen the film by revealing its stunning conclusion; be advised that it is Hollywood to the end.  The real world could never match this.

© Tony Russell, 2013