There we were, two Trotskyites at brunch, waiting for what would come next in a world decidedly not of our making. And if this world was no longer our oyster, it was definitely a place where absurdity reigned supreme – rather than a toy president, neither of us voted for in an election he didn’t “win” who was about to wage another war we didn’t want, or need, justified by yet another brilliant speech he didn’t write, whipping ordinary Americans into a jingostic, flag-waving frenzy of unprecedented approval.
Hey, this orgy of patriotism promoting destructive intrusions on foreign soil blinds the American people to the danger of what’s really going on here – the continuing hijacking of our government, by veiled, insidious “American” interests, plus this current attorney general chewing up constitutional guarantees like a pitbull masticating the homework.
What could we do, my friend and I, to exert a modicum of control over our own destinies – that portentous morning of mornings – but order eggs, that most optimistic of repasts.
These big-government guys’ agenda includes making you believe: Hey, the U.S. “needs” a war – it’s “good” stimulus for the sagging economy, right?
Indeed, this was the fateful Sunday the official U.S. bombing of Afghanistan began – only we didn’t know it yet. Surrounding us sat prosperous Americans bathed in classical music and the buttery yellow beneficence of newly painted walls made even brighter by lit sconces. A bit twee, but still, we were lulled into the temporary illusion of comfort, well-being.
What’s the deal with Tony Blair, Britain’s eloquent, persuasive prime minster, suddenly becoming a U.S. hood-ornament, a cheerleader for global conflagration, assuming such a visible leadership role in this anti-terrorist crusade, er, campaign. Gee, didn’t we … declare our independence from England way back, once before? So why does he seem to think we’re still his colonies?
The prior evening, on the telephone, my friend “Tim” and I had nicknamed Osama bin Laden “Osme,” reducing the CIA-trained turncoat/international terrorist – the Baron of Blowback – to just another J.D. Salingeresque character who might have rampaged, or make that tantrumed his way through the immortal short story, “For Esme with Love and Squalor.”
Like all great literary efforts, the renamed, reconfigured masterpiece “For Osme with Loathing and Terror” would be riddled with ambiguities: How although Osama bin Laden has been identified as the mastermind behind the catastrophic Sept. 11 terrorism against America, U.S. intelligence myopically persists in dismissing him as a cave-dwelling primitive incapable of coordinating such sophisticated attacks, rather than the canny multimillionaire CIA-trained strategist he is.
Don’t forget the oil-business ties between the Bush dynasty and the bin Laden tribe, “Tim” reminds me. Yes, the Bush-bin Laden connection, doubtlessly another reason for DUH-Be-Ya’s three (at least) documented public excursions into tears. And what about Osme’s palmy bell-bottom days visiting America as a youth, plus his family’s blatant economic penetration of the U.S. – including his allegedly “estranged” brother actually endowing a prestigious professorial “chair” at Harvard, plus the family construction company’s rumored “renovation” of Newark Airport.
Besides, Osama bin Laden’s married to the daughter of Mullah Omar, “Tim’s” sister had told him. So, marrying the boss’ daughter, “Tim” declares, Osme’s in real tight.
Mullah Omar, heartless destroyer of Buddha-statues, is Osme’s father-in-law? Really? Later, I realize this Mullah Omar, supreme commander of the Afghanistan’s ruling Taliban – so fearsome he has an eye stitched shut, an eye he lost fighting the Soviets – is reportedly in his early 40s. How young could this co-wife be? And was she his chief wife? Or just the junior one always rushing to the, uh, 7-11 to get him non-dairy creamer for his morning kawfee whenever he returned from wargames in the desert?
Clever ploy, an outsider marrying into the ruling family to cement ties, I reply, but what about Osama’s other three or four wives? How do they feel about being part of a harem – or does that get their chadors bunched up into an uproar?
Then “Tim” wonders what might happen if someone wrapped themselves in an American flag as a chador and walked down Broad Street like that – how inspiring would that be?
Have you noticed, “Tim” suggests, how the USA’s choice of war-targets gets poorer and poorer – third-world countries our government believes are easily bombed into submission, but when they find out they can’t, withdrawal is impossible?
Encouragingly enough, despite protests to U.S. policies being perceived as “disloyal,” some regular folks “know” something’s awry. On my customary Saturday afternoon visit to a local charity-thrift shop, the manager, an ex-schoolteacher, felt that as horrific as the events of Sept. 11 were for this country, what lies ahead most likely will be worse, if U.S. bombings trigger further episodes of domestic terrorism. About this she was certain: “We’re not being told the half of it.”
And if it’s really true Osama bin Laden actually has a quartet of lookalikes to help elude his trackers, then we’d better hunker down under our schoolhouse desks during air raid drills and hope this guy never spent any significant time watching “Survivor” on television.
