http://blogcritics.org/ A sinister cabal of superior bloggers on music, books, film, popular culture, politics, and technology - updated continuously. en Copyright 2005-2007 by the authors Tue, 24 May 2005 18:03:06 EDT http://backend.userland.com/rss Blogcritics.org custom software http://blogcritics.org/ Phillip WinnSunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. 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Administration0@blogcritics.org Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/05/24/180306.php DuctapeFatwaThere has been a lot of internet chatter in recent weeks among Americans who style themselves as "leftists," primarily because they admire Democratic politicians who believe they could do a better job of slaughtering Afghans, Iraqis, and coming soon, Iranians, than the Republicans, and because "we can't just cut and run."The crusade is undeniably popular, with politicians and their corporate sponsors as well as with voters, even though the voters have not, at least yet, received a benefit. While fans may state different reasons for their support, as far as the voting classes are concerned, America does speak with one voice.Unfortunately, it is a voice that willingly funds, and advocates crimes against humanity, and constitutes a much graver danger to ordinary Americans than any gaggle of scuffed-up old CIA assets ever could.Staying in Iraq is by definition, pro-war, or more accurately, pro-colonization, since a war tends to imply some sort of parity, which in Iraq, there is not.In their unstinting efforts to outdo the right at the popular new American game of Good Germanhood, some "leftists" have been reduced to making the argument that while it is morally reprehensible, it is pragmatic.It is, after all, making quite a bit of money for those who are intended to make money from it, and even people who have not received a benefit support it.Therefore, any politician who wishes to continue in politics has little choice but to support it, and those who support him have little choice but to go along.It is indeed the official policy of both monied political parties, and the number who oppose it, always small, shrinks daily.That old unbridgeable gap again: it is just as impossible for Americans to comprehend the idea that the oil, and the people, and the land, are NOT US property by divine right, as it is for people in the Middle East to entertain the notion that they are.A few hardline obstructionists, enemies of freedom and terrorists like myself find ourselves unable to resist the temptation to ask the pro-crusade faction questions like: What would Americans think of it if Iran, just as an example, decided that it did not like America's form of government, and appointed itself the boss of the US and sent in Iranian gunmen and torturers and sexual predators to enforce its views?What sort of arguments could Iran make that would successfully address any possible American objection to this?How could Iran successfully put down the anti-Iranian "insurgency?"What would be your level of enthusiasm, if your town were Fallujized, for the Iranians sticking around, under any pretext whatsoever?Under what circumstances, and for what price, would you join up with the Iranian occupying forces to become part of the New American Army, and on their orders, kill those of your neighbors that you were ordered to kill, and inform the occupation authorities if you suspected a friend or relative of harboring anti-Iranian sentiment?If you are not a devotee of Mr. Bush, is it likely that you and your Bush-supporting neighbor might find yourselves fighting shoulder to shoulder against Iranian gunmen who have hauled both your sons off to be "interrogated" and destroyed both your homes?Even though you might have some very big differences of opinion on just what type of government you want the US to have, would you be unified in your resolve, to use a popular meme, that it will be a government decided on and fought over by Americans, without the benefit of Iran?Would it really matter to you, or your Bushista neighbor, what the Iranian government thought of your views, or his? Or would you both be focused on ousting the gunmen who were murdering your children, your neighbors and friends?Is it possible that you might hold, even express the opinion that the United States does not belong to Iran, and it is none of Iran's business what kind of government you have?Do you think that even the most pro-Iranian Americans might say that by invading the US and occupying it and committing a host of atrocities against its people, Iran had forfeited the right not only to even opine, or offer counsel, on the subject of the United States, but had also waived its right to be considered a sovereign nation with a legitimate government?Do you think that pro-Iranian would be moved when it was pointed out that for Iran to withdraw from the United States would mean a certain, sudden and sharp decrease in revenue for several key Iranian corporations?Would he look at the burned and battered body of his little daughter and understand that for Iranian politicians, her slow, agonizing death was simply pragmatic?Asking these questions, I think, puts an impossible burden on Americans, but it can be informative, too. Americans simply cannot imagine themselves in such a position. It is beyond difficult, and I have come to accept, quite possibly culturally impossible, for Americans to follow an "it could be me" train of thought. That sort of thing does not happen to Americans, not regular people like your co-workers, your neighbors, your family.That kind of thing happens to brown people far away who wear funny clothes and do not speak English, as seen on TV.The reality divide is the problem. Iraqis see themselves as real live human beings, regular folks, with the same intensity that Americans see themselves that way.When their children are maimed and murdered, their brothers tortured, their sisters and daughters shamed, the emotions they feel are exactly the emotions Americans would feel. There is no difference at all.And no bomb, no napalm, no gas, no pain ray, no torture that can change that.If only they were able to perceive it, Americans today are surrounded by an unprecedented smorgasbord of insight into just how events unfolded in Germany in the 1930s. Politics30090@blogcritics.org Tue, 24 May 2005 18:03:06 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/02/25/195444.php DuctapeFatwa(Continued from Part 4) Noushin scrubbed her wet clothes on the flat river stone, glancing occasionally at Sholeh and Sharuz, their wet, plump bodies glistening in the sun. Noushin wasn't worried about the twins, the water was shallow, the sun was warm, and there was no one about to complain about their nakedness. She was a bit concerned, however, about Niki, the goat, who did not seem pleased at being dressed in Sholeh's best clothes. "Tuck it up higher," she called to them. "She might trip."At sixteen, Noushin had little patience for overbearing busybodies, and her widowed status brought some measure of independence as a compensation for the poverty.Although she could not say that she had come to love Akbar in the few weeks of their married life, her grief when he was killed in the massive air strikes of '05 was sincere. He died without knowing the secret she herself scarcely knew or comprehended. The twins were born a month to the day before her fourteenth birthday, and Noushin was not sure if the backbreaking, assiduous struggle to care for them, and keep them alive and healthy, was motivated by true maternal love or the simple desire to have playmates again.According to the customs in her remote village, technically in Iran, some said, though so close to the Afghan border that the topic was a frequent subject of the kind of lively debate occasioned by a question of local interest whose answer makes absolutely no difference to local life, she should have stayed with Akbar's family and raised her children with the help and interference of dozens of in-laws, but Akbar was the only son, his mother had died when he was born, and his sisters had spread out across the globe, married with families of their own.She could have gone with her father-in-law to live with his youngest daughter in Turkmenistan, but the ravages of war, and the question of whether an aged blind man would count as a valid chaperone for several days' journey in the company of the sisters' husband and the half-dozen Turkmen brothers and cousins he had brought with him rendered the invitation lukewarm, and her politely regretful decline of it less of a scandal than her acceptance would have been.So she stayed in her little mud-walled enclosure, barely more than a cave, and managed to provide enough basic care, and avoid enough social opprobrium, to at last have her longed-for playmates, though she had little time to play with them, she made a face at the pile of clothes still unwashed. She wanted to dress up the goat, too.***********Boykin motioned to Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Ricardo Sanchez to sit down. Although he admired Sanchez' steadfastness in the wake of the media frenzy over the souvenir photos that had found their way into the media Back Then, he was not comfortable with the man's ethnicity. Still, he had to admit that Sanchez had pulled his weight in containing the situation, and privately, had accepted full responsibility for his error in failing to implement a strict camera ban. In fairness, though, Boykin reflected, the real heroes in that incident were the American people, who reaffirmed his faith in them by accepting the photos as what they were: American soldiers just wanting to show the folks back home that they could do their jobs defending freedom and have a little fun at the same time, that life in theatre wasn't all about sweltering behind shitty buildings and getting your legs blown off by improvised explosive devices. It was generally conceded that overall, the photos had boosted morale at home, as well as on the battlefield. Boykin chuckled to himself. Five years later, and all the new recruits and Selectees alike STILL wanted to work the Ghraib."So, tell me how this works, exactly.""The Citizen Defenders Program, sir," is the kind of innovative, outside the box pro-active strategy that the nation needs to win the War on Terror," Sanchez began.Boykin waved his hand impatiently. "Don't recite the press release to me, Rico-Suave. Just tell me how the damn thing works.""Yes, sir. A company in Texas has developed a highly sophisticated and adaptable system of remote weapons activation, which the Core of Engineers has reconfigured and customized to dovetail with current operational needs in critical corridor sectors.""Damn it, boy! I said don't read me the press release. Tell me in English. You were born here, weren't you. Don't tell me you don't speak English.""It's like an online computer game, sir. The Citizen Defender, stateside, clicks his mouse, and destroys whatever target we assign him, wherever on earth it is, sir.""And how much will this cost us to set up?""A lot, sir. But the Citizen Defenders pay to play. The program will pay for itself and then some, within the year. We have already have paid applications from almost every Professional and Preferred adult in the country, and about 80% of the minors."Boykin threw back his head and laughed. "God bless the Resolve and Patriotism of the American people, Sanchez. Put your faith in them and you can't go wrong. How soon can we have this thing up and running?" Politics26011@blogcritics.org Fri, 25 Feb 2005 19:54:44 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/02/18/203032.php DuctapeFatwa(Continued from Part 3) Noushin scrubbed her wet clothes on the flat river stone, glancing occasionally at Sholeh and Sharuz, their wet, plump bodies glistening in the sun. Noushin wasn't worried about the twins, the water was shallow, the sun was warm, and there was no one about to complain about their nakedness. She was a bit concerned, however, about Niki, the goat, who did not seem pleased at being dressed in Sholeh's best clothes. "Tuck it up higher," she called to them. "She might trip."At sixteen, Noushin had little patience for overbearing busybodies, and her widowed status brought some measure of independence as a compensation for the poverty.Although she could not say that she had come to love Akbar in the few weeks of their married life, her grief when he was killed in the massive air strikes of '05 was sincere. He died without knowing the secret she herself scarcely knew or comprehended. The twins were born a month to the day before her fourteenth birthday, and Noushin was not sure if the backbreaking, assiduous struggle to care for them, and keep them alive and healthy, was motivated by true maternal love or the simple desire to have playmates again.According to the customs in her remote village, technically in Iran, some said, though so close to the Afghan border that the topic was a frequent subject of the kind of lively debate occasioned by a question of local interest whose answer makes absolutely no difference to local life, she should have stayed with Akbar's family and raised her children with the help and interference of dozens of in-laws, but Akbar was the only son, his mother had died when he was born, and his sisters had spread out across the globe, married with families of their own.She could have gone with her father-in-law to live with his youngest daughter in Turkmenistan, but the ravages of war, and the question of whether an aged blind man would count as a valid chaperone for several days' journey in the company of the sisters' husband and the half-dozen Turkmen brothers and cousins he had brought with him rendered the invitation lukewarm, and her politely regretful decline of it less of a scandal than her acceptance would have been.So she stayed in her little mud-walled enclosure, barely more than a cave, and managed to provide enough basic care, and avoid enough social opprobrium, to at last have her longed-for playmates, though she had little time to play with them, she made a face at the pile of clothes still unwashed. She wanted to dress up the goat, too.***********Boykin motioned to Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Ricardo Sanchez to sit down. Although he admired Sanchez' steadfastness in the wake of the media frenzy over the souvenir photos that had found their way into the media Back Then, he was not comfortable with the man's ethnicity. Still, he had to admit that Sanchez had pulled his weight in containing the situation, and privately, had accepted full responsibility for his error in failing to implement a strict camera ban. In fairness, though, Boykin reflected, the real heroes in that incident were the American people, who reaffirmed his faith in them by accepting the photos as what they were: American soldiers just wanting to show the folks back home that they could do their jobs defending freedom and have a little fun at the same time, that life in theatre wasn't all about sweltering behind shitty buildings and getting your legs blown off by improvised explosive devices. It was generally conceded that overall, the photos had boosted morale at home, as well as on the battlefield. Boykin chuckled to himself. Five years later, and all the new recruits and Selectees alike STILL wanted to work the Ghraib."So, tell me how this works, exactly.""The Citizen Defenders Program, sir," is the kind of innovative, outside the box pro-active strategy that the nation needs to win the War on Terror," Sanchez began.Boykin waved his hand impatiently. "Don't recite the press release to me, Rico-Suave. Just tell me how the damn thing works.""Yes, sir. A company in Texas has developed a highly sophisticated and adaptable system of remote weapons activation, which the Core of Engineers has reconfigured and customized to dovetail with current operational needs in critical corridor sectors.""Damn it, boy! I said don't read me the press release. Tell me in English. You were born here, weren't you. Don't tell me you don't speak English.""It's like an online computer game, sir. The Citizen Defender, stateside, clicks his mouse, and destroys whatever target we assign him, wherever on earth it is, sir.""And how much will this cost us to set up?""A lot, sir. But the Citizen Defenders pay to play. The program will pay for itself and then some, within the year. We have already have paid applications from almost every Professional and Preferred adult in the country, and about 80% of the minors."Boykin threw back his head and laughed. "God bless the Resolve and Patriotism of the American people, Sanchez. Put your faith in them and you can't go wrong. How soon can we have this thing up and running?" Politics25691@blogcritics.org Fri, 18 Feb 2005 20:30:32 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/02/11/200306.php DuctapeFatwa(Continued from Part 2)"Now I won't be offended if you don't want to answer, but where do you get them?"Haley grinned at Rick and dipped her roti in the small bowl of thick, creamy raita."You won't believe it, but I scavenge them. You know, from houses, when people are Priced Out. They leave most of their stuff, it's not like they can take it with them, whether they go Informal or GoodJob. I wait a few days, let whoever comes first get the other stuff, then I move in and get the books. I guess you could say I'm a bottom feeder.""So, these books people pay you hundreds of dollars for, those same people could just get them free if they went to an abandoned house?""YES!" Haley dissolved in giggles. "Is that a hoot, or what? And I only get those big sales once in a while, as you know all too well," she gestured at her complimentary dinner. "And sometimes you practically give them away.""Less often than sometimes. Like practically never. I can't afford to. Haley helped herself to more roti. "I did today, though. It was, I dunno, this little kid, there was this book about different religions, written for children, and he was all, ohh, the blue people! I mean, what can you do?""You can eat this biryani," said Rick. "Otherwise it'll go to waste."Secretary Falwell did not like taking questions from the press. In fact, he abhorred it. So much so that lately he had begun to question the need for a press at all. He prayed about it often, asking God to lay a Word of Wisdom on his heart, that he could in turn lay on the desk of Vice President Emeritus Rove, at whose behest he was here today. Even if an argument could be made that the American public needed any more information than was disseminated by the White House press secretary, Falwell could find no justification at all for continuing to permit the existence of foreign media. As he had told Boykin the other day, allowing these hotbeds of anti-Americanism to have television stations and newspapers was technically speaking, giving aid and comfort to the enemy."I know we've had our differences, Jerry," Boykin had said. "But I hope you know, I'm with you on this one. It's a slow process, but we'll get there."The process was too slow for Falwell. It had taken him almost two years to make the No-Read lists a reality. It could have gone a lot faster had Falwell not stood firm on the Books of Faith Whitelist.The battle had been worth it, though. Now no book pertaining to religion could be printed, published or sold in the US or its Occupied Territories without first passing muster with Falwell himself."Congress shall pass no law," he had begun his remarks at THAT press conference, "and Congress has passed no law. This does not however, give the government of the people license to shirk its duty to protect our Homeland from the Devil.And as long as we allow our printing presses, our publishing houses, and our bookstores, to corrupt themselves and our blessed children with works of blasphemy, idolatry, and terror, we have shirked our duty.Today, we ask God for forgiveness, and we ask you, the American people, for forgiveness, and pledge to you a New Leaf, a New Day in the Lord, as we cast this sin from us."Falwell's Whitelist was not a long one, and it did not include the Koran, the Bhagvad-Gita, the Maharabata, the Granth, Bibles except the King James Version (that had caused the Vatican to break off diplomatic relations with the US, which Falwell considered they should never have had in the first place). He prayed hard over the touchy subject of Torah scrolls, until some Words of Wisdom had been laid upon his heart, and some Freewill Gifts had been laid upon his hand, the latter from some shadowy figures in the NSA that Falwell had not realized were interested in religion at all.So the scrolls stayed, as did the synagogues, but stationed outside the door of each was a team from the Department of Values, who maintained a constant prayer vigil that God's wayward Children of Israel would accept Jesus Christ as their personal savior, interrupted only for the purpose of giving witness to those entering or leaving the temple, and beseeching them to embrace their only path to salvation, be washed in the Blood of the Lamb. Attendance had dropped rapidly and dramatically. Most Jews now worshipped discreetly in private homes, as did all Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Catholics, and everybody else. This was, of course, a privilege reserved for Preferreds. GoodJobbers and GuestJobbers were considered to be doing the Lord's work of keeping the American economy strong every day without the need for formal worship, and Falwell doubted that Informals had any religion at all, and their precarious existence was punishment for it."So," the lawyer held out both hands, palm up. "Good news and bad news.""Good news first," said Roger, rubbing his own palms on his twill workpants, trying to dry them."Well, I was able to pull a few strings to get some info on MariLuz. Turns out her grandmother is an elder of sorts in a clan of the Tarasco tribe in Michoacan. That means, if we can get her out of Approval, and into Mexico, she has a home, and tribal custom says that as her family, so do you and Chuchito. Legally, it should be doable, as Compassionate Deportation, from Patriot IV, or from Native Repatriation, from Reservation Protection II. That's the one that is typically used to root out Native Americans and transfer them to Reservations, but since Mexico is now only semi-autonomous, meaning it is technically under US jurisdiction, we can also argue that MariLuz has the option to waive Approval status and request Repatriation.""Great," Roger felt a shiver of hope, but kept his emotions in check. "What's the bad news?""The bad news," replied Ben, "is that you'd be living in a mountain village so remote that almost no one there has ever seen a car. Only a handful of people speak Spanish, and those that do speak it as a distant second language. You'll have to learn Tarasco. There is no electricity, no running water, no telephone, and you'll live out your lives there living in a house made of sticks and leaves, maybe a little mud in winter, and you'll survive on whatever you can scratch out by walking behind an ox and an iron plow.""with MariLuz and Chuchito?'"Yes, all three of you." Roger grinned. "I thought you said there was BAD news. How soon can we go?" Politics25391@blogcritics.org Fri, 11 Feb 2005 20:03:06 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/11/28/070006.php DuctapeFatwacontinued from Part I"The President for Life, um, misspoke, sir," Chief of Staff Rick Santorum looked uncomfortable. "The Selection applies to offspring of GuestJobbers, sir.. Not Goodjobbers. The media has already been alerted, and the correction is out now. If I may, sir," and without waiting for an answer touched a switch on Boykin's desk.The screenbank came to life. Every screen had the correction in its crawl line.Boykin sat back, relieved. "Ah, Mexican kids.""And only in support positions sir. Kitchen and whatnot.""Well that makes sense," Boykin grinned. "In their blood, isn't it?""Not that I object on the basis, but the logistics, you know, there are advantages to small troops in operations, but you can go too far in that direction, and what have you got? A C-130's worth of Honorable Unusables every couple of hours, and DOV will raise a stink unless you bring back actual remains for a Christian burial."Although Boykin was a Man of Faith, his relationship with Secretary of Values The Reverend Jerry Falwell was not without friction. Both men attributed it to wartime tension.Santorum, sensing his audience was over, collected his papers. Neither noticed the man with the cleaning cart outside the open door.Roger pushed his cart down the hall and into the next office. Unlike Boykin's, it was empty. In this administration, it was only the bigwigs - and Roger - who were still around at 4 AM.Roger had avoided GoodJob status by virtue of his long-time Federal employment. He was grandfathered in as a Federal Protected, and even assigned a Preferred card, which carried with it the privilege of living off-compound. It did not, however, carry with it the privilege of an Approval Exemption for MariLuz, and he had had to throw himself on the mercy of his boss and a long chain of higher-ups to get an exemption for Chuchito. "Jesus Rogelio," MariLuz had whispered to him, when their son was only a few minutes old. It seemed like another lifetime, but it was barely seven years ago. And barely three when they came for MariLuz."Approved," they called it. Approved for the GuestJob program. GuestJobbers did not enjoy the same luxuries as the GoodJobbers. Instead of bunks, they had thin foam mats, 100 to a cell, one communal shower a week, and one Nutri-Loaf for every twelve hours worked. Hours were steady, 24 on, 8 off. There were no Vacation Hours. Phone calls, letters, visits, were forbidden, and no Family Hours. The silver lining was, unlike GoodJobbers, GuestJobbers actually received a small amount of cash for their work, which they could either deposit into a bank account to take care of their final expenses, or opt for General Disposal when that time came, and have the money sent directly to family back home.GuestJobbers' children were kept in cells identical to those inhabited by workers, the only difference being smaller mats for the younger children. Infants received formula for one year, then a gradual weaning to pureed, then solid Nutri-Loaf. At age five, they began their year of Intensive 3R, after which they were assigned cleanup and landscape tasks around the facility. Unless they were Selected, or Empowered as Givers. Few GuestJobbers voluntarily brought children with them. Almost all the kids in the facility were the result of Approval Roundups. Roger's job required very little thought, so he was able to spend every waking minute trying to figure out some way to get MariLuz out of the Approval Facility to which she had been assigned, and be a father to Chuchito, who still cried for his Mami at night.He had a ray of hope. A lawyer, an old friend from Back Then, had found some text in a forgotten corner of Patriot IV that could possibly be interpreted as a provision for Compassionate Deportation.Roger didn't know much about subsistence farming, and had no illusions about the quality of life he was likely to find in the Mexican Semi-Autonomous region, where things were so bad people were streaming into the US to get jobs as GuestJobbers, but if men and women were not segregated at the Approval Facility, and he didn't have Chuchito, he would gladly have claimed to be Mexican and Approved himself, just to be with his wife again.The Reverend Jerry Falwell bowed his grey head. "Thank you, Lord, for blessing the work of this great Task Force, and thank you for the gift of this miracle of technology, thy Blessed Rod of the Latter Days."Falwell raised his head and smiled at the men at the conference table. Before him sat the newest revision of the Juvenile Tasering Guidelines prepared by the Task Force for Chastity and Godliness."Brethren, I commend you," the Secretary of Values smiled. The Task Force was one of his favorite projects."I don't mind telling you that I believe it is another Heavenly Sign that within the framework of the Constitution of the United States, remember, Congress has passed no law - that we have been able to bring so many souls to Christ.""Sir, you know there's a new video -" began the man on Falwell's right. "Yes, Mr. Reed, I have heard about it, the CIA has not yet confirmed its authenticity, but in any event, it was to be expected. That the enemies of America, the messengers of Satan, attack our every move toward bringing our Homeland to the Path of Righteousness is no surprise."They were referring to a video received that morning by Al Jazeera, purportedly from the head of the European branch of Amnesty International. Now in its fourth year on the Pentagon's list of terrorist organizations, AI did little, at least publicly, besides issue communiques delivered by men in ski masks. This particular videotape excoriated the US for the routine use of Tasers on children and elderly people."Nobody takes these thugs seriously. Except the Anti-Terrorism Agency," Falwell chuckled."And our mortality rates in all tests were well within range," replied Reed."Richard, here on earth, our mortality rate is one hundred percent," Falwell rested his hands on the report. "I prefer to see the forgiveness of a loving God who rewards even these young sinners with Eternal Life. Now I don't know about you gentlemen, but I'm ready to accept some of God's bounty in the form of lunch!"Haley was having a slow day. Buoyed by recent success, she had decided to try her luck on a new street. Apparently the Preferreds in this neighborhood were not interested either in reading or giving the impression that they did. She was just about to flip the tarp and move on when she saw the man and the little boy."Hey, is that what I think it is?" the man asked eagerly, pointing to a book whose cover was only partly visible behind some others.Smiling, Haley took it out. "It's new," she said. "As you can see, most of them aren't.""Chuchito, I think we've found your birthday present," the man handed the book down to the little boy. "He had one, well, Back Then," he said to Haley, his voice low. "It was his favorite." He shrugged. "Weird kid.""DAD!" Chuchito shrieked, "This IS it!" He sat down on the sidewalk and began turning the pages. "There they are!" The blue people!" He looked up at Haley. "They are so cool!""Whoa, son," laughed Roger. "We haven't bought it yet. How much?" he looked at Haley, hoping he had enough money. No-Read books weren't cheap, and this one was new, not to mention...Haley noticed the embroidered nametag on Roger's shirt. He might be a Preferred, but he was no professional, and if this was the kid's favorite book, so much so that he remembered it from Back Then..."Twenty bucks," said Haley, grinning at Chuchito. "Birthday present.""Thanks, but I can't let you do that," Roger opened his wallet."You just did!" Haley's hand darted out, grabbed a twenty, flipped down the pushcart's plastic tarp, and was halfway down the block before Roger was quite sure what had happened."Thanks, Dad!," breathed Chuchito, cross-legged on the sidewalk, happily re-acquainting himself with his Forbidden Book, "The Kid's Book of World Religions." Politics22680@blogcritics.org Sun, 28 Nov 2004 07:00:06 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/11/26/235434.php DuctapeFatwaHaley frowned at the mirror. Her nose was the problem. There was no makeup trick (and Haley knew them all) that could camouflage that nose. No clever earrings, or hat, or artfully designed spectacle frames had any effect. It was impervious to all that, resolutely, steadfastly, even proudly there, right in the middle of her face, jutting out defiantly, bump and all, dominating her profile.It was the only feature she had not been able to conquer. Haley sighed, and flipped out her blue contact lenses into their night-time bath, checked her honey-colored hair carefully for black roots, and smoothed pearl cream into her skin. Including the nose.She went over the figures again. No way she could afford surgery, and if she was forced to get a GoodJob, even less chance she would ever be able to.She had been pretty lucky, really. Only a couple of Security Forces had ever really noticed the nose enough to question it, and they seemed satisfied with her explanation of an Italian grandmother. Roman nose, she smiled at them.Incredibly, in all this time, it had apparently never occurred to Homeland Security to ask people to remove their contacts. Or maybe it had, but it was just a question of funding, since so many people had them, and black eyes alone added only a few points to the Score. One could always claim an African-American ancestor somewhere, and any Security Force personnel who challenged that would automatically trigger the lengthy and annoying process of Testing Detention, and in yet another HSA convolution, the Hero points would go to the testor, not the officer that sent the suspect in.Still, Haley worried about the nose. Since the last HSA procedural review, the Hero Points formula had been revised, and there was more pressure on Security Forces to increase their weekly General Detainee Production. As a General Detainee, testing would be recommended, but might not take place for months, even years, or never, since the only requirement for General Detainee was General Suspicion. It was not necessary to document what the suspicion was. The Wackenhut Provision, they called it, and it was expected to double the company's revenues in the first quarter alone. Acquisition of the behemoth Homeland Depot family of companies insured that streamlined Facility construction would keep up with growing demand.As an Informally Employed, Haley was not Protected, and was subject to everything from wand search to seizure on sight. Haley preferred to take her chances. She was an unreconstructed Ninetenner. At fifty-five, she simply could not think of GoodJobs as anything but slavery and imprisonment, nose or no nose."It's not so bad," her niece had told her at last month's Vacation Hour. "In lots of ways, it's better than before. I mean I don't have to worry about rent any more, or food. And as long as I keep up my Conduct Rating, I get to see Josh every Family Hour."Haley tried not to look at the remains of the Nutri-Loaf on Kristin's plate. Food? At least Josh and the other kids in the Family Friend Center got milk, veggies, a regular diet, Until they were 16.For many mothers, seeing their kids only an hour a month was a small price to pay for the knowledge that they would have food, and could not be Selected, even for a few years. Something will happen before then, they told themselves.Kristin's GoodJob was considered a plum. As a Wal-Mart Associate, she received a guaranteed bunk, a shower three times a week, one Nutri-Loaf for every eight hours worked, and treatment of minor injuries and ailments at the Health Center. Illness or injury that required hospitalization or more than 24 hours off work invalidated the contract, but most GoodJobbers were young and healthy - they had to be to pass the extensive medical workup required for acceptance, and as the company pointed out, the injury clause of the contract did double duty as an incentive for workers to maintain good safety practices. In return for her compensation of bunk, shower and Nutri-Loaf, Kristin worked "as needed." It averaged out to around 16-18 hours a day, usually, seven days a week, although occasionally she would be put on 36 on, 12 off for a couple of weeks. As a valued asset and member of the Wal-Mart family, Kristin's contract would be invalidated if she left the Associate Compound when off work, or left the Store while on duty, but the outside world had become a pretty dangerous place, so all in all, the Wal-Mart GoodJob was considered to be one of the better choices available for young people.The GoodJob Haley was trying to avoid was with OneBanc. Since the Bank of America-Wachovia Merger, and the resultant WachovAmeribank's subsumption into CitiGroup, OneBanc had become one of the foremost GoodJob providers to Golden Boomers. Most of the jobs were sedentary, and took advantage of the education most of Haley's generation had, before the No Child Left Behind Acts and privatization had streamlined the public schools into a sustainable and lean worker-processing machine. In just five years, America's public schools now produced graduates more than twice as likely as their grandparents to be functionally literate, and with the arithmetical skills necessary to enable them to operate simple calculators and cash registers, but without the massive loads of half-learned and forgotten trivia that they would be unlikely to need in order to be useful and profit-friendly assets to their employers.It was generally agreed by both Administration and Congress Committee that it was neither fair nor kind to subject most children to years of classes in subjects that would do neither them nor the companies that would one day employ them, as study after study had shown that this archaic practice had produced little but unrealistic hopes on the part of the children, and in many cases, their parents, which in turn led to rejectionism and insurgency that gobbled up HSA resources that could be put to much better use identifying genuine Suspects, and channel a robust stream of workers into GoodJobs.The quality of Post5 education had also improved remarkably as a result, and it was not at all uncommon for children of the affluent to graduate from college at age twelve, and medical school at 16, and while rumors of bribes and corruption were rife, as they are anywhere, anytime, 80% of medical workers were employed at GoodJob Health Centers, and there were few complaints from patients. (And even fewer from foreign medical centers, where the affluent Americans obtained all but the most rudimentary of their own health care).Haley put out the battery lamp and nestled in to her bed in the storage unit. Morning would come soon enough, and she would have to be up before dawn to secure a good spot on the street to get some morning sales before the Security Forces arrived to clean the area for the business lunchers.Her store was a very simple, but very functional pushcart, containing her wares - rare books. Most of them were on one or another of the No-Read lists, which enabled her to charge a premium for them, which the more adventurous Professionals were happy to pay for the little frisson of rebellion it offered. Few actually read the books, most of them were old enough to have done so before they were removed from market, and had as little interest in reading today as they had then, but they enjoyed having them on the shelves in their homes. "Look at this one! It just screams 'leftist dissenter!'" exclaimed her excited customer, a trial lawyer who occasionally wore a tiny vintage lapel pin that read "Kucinich." Most of his clients, and almost all of his worthy opponents arguing for the state thought it referred to a little-known vegetable. The lawyer was also known for his dissenting dietary practices."No Dairy!" he would shout to the boy at Starbucks, and he didn't care who heard him. He was more than ready to invoke the First Amendment if anyone objected.Haley gave him a friendly smile, pocketed the $500, and handed him the dog-eared, paper-back copy of "Chain of Command."Not bad, thought Haley. From this sale alone, she could pay another week on the storage shed, buy batteries and two day's food. No way could she live like this with a GoodJob. All she had to do now was get her cart out of the area before PreLunch Clean and she just might sell another book or two before SafeDown.It was her lucky day. A liberal security mom in a Hummerado V rolled down her tinted glass window a couple of inches to give Haley $200 for a copy of "The Handmaid's Tale." "Sorry it doesn't have the covers," Haley stood on tiptoe to pass the book through and take the money."No problem, sister," said her customer, eyes darting around, "I'm a progressive!," she hissed in a dramatic whisper as the window hummed back up and the massive vehicle sped away.Haley decided to call it a day. There was just enough time before SafeDown for a treat."Yo, Haley!" Rick shouted to his friend. Come on in hang a bit. Even when she had no money, Rick always gave her some tea, a bit of roti and raita, but today she was flush, and ordered a kebab and a large biryani."For your sunlamp treatments," Haley winked mischievously as she slipped an extra $20 into Rick's pocket. "I had a good day."Red-haired, green-eyed Rick, whose mother had named him Rahim over sixty years ago in Lahore had never once seen a sunlamp, but the alibi worked for him and millions of others whose skin Suspicion Level was beyond the power of pearl cream to rectify. "The things people will believe," he had remarked to Haley once. "Sometimes it works against you, sometimes it works with you." That was the closest they had ever come to discussing their shared coping strategy. No one had ever questioned Rick's assertion that his Pakistani accent was Swiss."Rick, you're an artist," Haley said, her mouth full. Rick smiled and switched on the TV. The perky CNN anchor was recounting the latest details of the latest sensational murder trial, the victim, a pretty blonde affluent newlywed found shot in her Carnival Cruise stateroom. The crawl line at the bottom of the screen informed them that while the US preferred to exhaust all diplomatic channels, the European Union's continuing strategy of denial and deception was wearing thin..The Four Notes interrupted both stories, and the Breaking News graphic filled the screen. "CNN has just learned that President for Life Jeb Bush will make an unannounced address to the nation from the Oval Office."Rick turned the volume up, and he and Haley watched as Bush repeated after his earpiece the same thing about the EU, denial and deception, and announced that he had just signed an Executive Decree authorizing the Selection of GoodJobbers' children aged eleven and over."In authorizing this unprecedented Selection," the President for Life went on, "I am conscious of the brave sacrifices the nation now asks of both the young people and their parents, and as evidence of the transparency and honesty of our Democracy, I also acknowledge that there were those in the Cabinet who presented very sound arguments for lowering the Selection age to seven, but America is a nation that loves our children, they are our future, and we owe them a happy normal childhood."Haley recalled the blank eyes of her friend Anna's son, a Selectee returned as Honorably Unusable. His burns and the loss of his legs had earned him Hero points good for three months' worth of pain relievers. He had taken the last weeks' worth at once, and cried when it didn't work. The Motivational Supplements Centcom had given him during his Service had left him with a tolerance for drugs that would have been unusually high in a large adult man. Scotty was a little fellow, only fourteen. He had hung himself the next week. No one knew how he did it, or if he had had help, and no one asked. The nature of the duties assigned to Juvenile Selectees required the Motivational Supplements, even the ones who had been through the full Know the Enemy course. Selectees who survived Service were usually warehoused, permanent custodial care, even if they had all their limbs. "Permanent" in this case meant a year. Studies had shown that it took a year for the family to adjust, the visits to drop off, and the news that the Honorably Unusable had passed away peacefully came as a relief, more often than not."...the Highest Form of National Service," Jeb finished, "in the words of my brother's worthy opponent in America's second Fair and Free election, and what better gift can we give these young people, our future, than the privilege of that Service in the Liberation of Europe, the continent that gave us our past."Haley and Rick looked at each other. Finally Haley spoke."So," she said, "Do you suppose they'll be rounding up people with European appearance for Protective Detention?" Politics22657@blogcritics.org Fri, 26 Nov 2004 23:54:34 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/11/26/173759.php DuctapeFatwaIt's a great book. Un-put-downable, and written with the big screen in mind, and that screen will be on your mind on every page. It is in effect, the book version of the movie-to-be.Whether you are interested in theology or not, and regardless of your religious bent or lack thereof, you will enjoy the story, and if you do happen to be one of those benighted souls who knows who Mithra is, and for whom a wild par-tay is likely to involve a long-winded Rabbi, a couple of dueling Imams, and at least one drunken Jesuit and the obligatory smirking Zoroastrian, you will heartily enjoy this book, and find in it ample fuel for future nights of fine Burgundy and fragrant hookahs.I have no intention of joining the chorus of those who claim to separate fact from fiction in this book. The separation is obvious to those familiar with the material, and a matter of faith for those who are not.That said, it is reasonable to assume that the historical person of Jesus was not a bachelor, as to have been one within the historical and cultural context of the time and place in which he lived would have caused more of a stir than his preaching did. It is also true that all sacred texts were written by human beings; whether as a result of divine inspiration is again, a matter of faith, but the Nicean council is neither fiction nor myth, nor are those texts which the Council chose not to include in the Bible.The same can be said of the Koran. Some time after the Prophet's death, a group of human beings, relying on human memory, wrote down for the first time, the Koran.In ancient times, as now, religion and politics were intertwined and interdependent, and then as now, were kept so for the equally intertwined and interdependent, though quite secular, causes of war and wealth.And it is that cause and effect relationship between war and wealth, combined with the science of human biology, that has made oppression of women the most effective method of social control throughout history, surpassing even religion, though religion is a most honorable runner-up for the prize, and for that reason, has won the honor of being itself intertwined and interdependent with the oppression of women.Within that context, the insistence on assigning a male gender to a non-human Supreme Being makes sense, and because when religion and culture collide, culture always wins, it also makes sense to leave a vent - Mary, mother of Jesus is venerated by at least some Christians, and is mentioned more in the Koran than in the Bible. For more back-story, those interested can google Asherah. To return to the DaVinci code, I cannot present any credible evidence to dispute its basic premise. On the contrary, the Koran says that it is not at all certain that Jesus was crucified. Even if he was, he was 33 at the time and would in all probability have already reproduced several times and would have had at least one or two grandchildren. However, without taking away the remarkable politico-religious achievements of Constantine and his quintessential stage-mom, Helena and the rapidity with which Christianity and Europe overtook and devoured each other, I am more inclined to think that Jesus, and his children did not go to France, but stayed right where they were, and his contemporary descendants, if any, are at this very moment dodging missiles and suffering humiliation at checkpoints - in Palestine. Books22646@blogcritics.org Fri, 26 Nov 2004 17:37:59 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/11/21/091223.php DuctapeFatwaOn a widely-watched morning news show, the sidekick of the popular morning host called for the murder of all Israelis.A couple of rights groups issued press releases, but other than that, there were no outcries of outrage in the media, on the internet, on the street. The press releases were resoundingly ignored.The view expressed was so compliant with mainstream opinion that it made not a ripple?How is such a thing possible? That in the United States, on a major cable network, an open call to genocide is issued, and left to stand, go unnoticed save for a couple of minor non-profits whose mission is essentially limited to sending out press releases when something is offensive to Israelis?Unbelievable, huh?And now that you know about it, I bet you are going to write, fax, and call MSNBC and every one of their sponsors, and demand that all in any way complicit or responsible apologize and never work in television again, aren't you?Maybe you can organize your office, your church, or book club, to send a letter of apology to Israel. Maybe it should be a bigger project than that. Your whole town. Your state.At the very least, a citizen boycott of MSNBC sponsors until every single commentator on there apologizes. And offers free advertising to Israeli companies.How is it possible that there is so reaction to this?Well, it's unbelievable because it didn't happen.Nobody on MSNBC called for killing all Israelis.Maybe it was Mexicans. No, Vicente Fox would have the Ambassador on the carpet and there would be massive demonstrations in several major cities.African-Americans. There was a call to kill all African-Americans on MSNBC.Hm, hard to think that would go unnoticed and unremarked.Oh, yeah, I remember now.The call was to kill all Palestinians. Here's the transcript:DON IMUS: They're (the Palestinians) eating dirt and that fat pig wife of his is living in Paris. COLLEAGUE: They're all brainwashed, though. That's what it is. And they're stupid, to begin with, but they're brainwashed now. Stinking animals. They ought to drop the bomb right there, kill 'em all right now... IMUS: Well, the problem is we have (reporter) Andrea (Mitchell) there; we don't want anything to happen to her. COLLEAGUE: Oh, she's got to get out. Andrea, get out and then drop the bomb and kill everybody... COLLEAGUE: Look at this. Animals. Animals!link to full story Politics22462@blogcritics.org Sun, 21 Nov 2004 09:12:23 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/11/18/214101.php DuctapeFatwaMaybe it's just me, but I am getting a sense that some Dems are not 100% down with their candidate's message.Maybe they should be.Magical thinking and Secret Plans someone's kitten just knows Kerry had to do a 180 on the main issues that will decide the future of your (and his) grandchildren aside, whether people voted for Kerry or for Bush, they voted for a lot of the same things, the most relevant to events outside the US involving US-funded gunmen, torturers and sexual predators marauding around the globe doing what the US taxpayers pay them to do.While it is my opinion that the question should not be who can do it better, or describe it in more palatable (to Americans, not the victims) terms, but whether "it" should be done at all, the number of people who think that way is very small. Very very small. Most Americans, whether they consider themselves Democrats or Republicans, left or right, liberal or conservative, do not strongly oppose US policy.And as events unfold, the number of those who do will get smaller.If this many millions have been willing to go along to get along throughout the invasion of two countries, the slaughter of nobody knows how many thousands, the Abu Ghraib photos, (and all that just in the last few years) and STILL parrot the memes and schemes that pour out from centcom, how far down is that number going to shrink as the stakes get higher, as it becomes costlier to oppose the regime, even in only the smallest, most symbolic ways?The window has closed. The choices have been made, the die cast, and surprisingly, I am not about to insult Americans with insinuations that they did not weigh the cost, and decide that whatever the consequences, for whatever reasons they may have, it is not without consideration that they have concluded that the consequences are worth it. It is their feelings, their choice, their values. The candidate has pointed out the way. He has illuminated it with his pragmatism.Go into the light. Politics22386@blogcritics.org Thu, 18 Nov 2004 21:41:01 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/11/13/055051.php DuctapeFatwaIn a bombed out ruin, the Palestinian people built a shrine, a mausoleum.In a day.Much of the work was done by hand. Ramallah, some of you may recall, has been under quite a brutal occupation for some time. Available technology and raw materials are somewhat limited.Throughout the day, throughout the night, they worked. They did not sleep. During the day, they did not eat, or even drink water. It was, some of you may recall, still Ramadan.It is a simple shrine, a simple mausoleum, a temporary resting place for the diminutive man in the black and white khaffiyeh, draped into his own fashion statement for almost half a century, the indestructible, indefatigable little General who shouted and fought and scrapped and almost died a thousand times, so that the world would know Palestine, would know the Palestinians, so that no one would ever again dare to say that they do not exist, that Palestine does not exist, that it is not a nation, not a State.They did it to allow Arafat the dignity of a burial, somewhere, and in quiet acknowledgement that the gangsters in Tel Aviv have so long passed that line that divides men from brutes. To expect dignity, or even decency, from that sector is not realistic.Rich men would have lost nothing were Abu Amar laid to rest in Jerusalem to begin with, as opposed to his inevitable move there. The gangsters and their hangers-on could still have told one another that it is not the capital of Palestine.But the zeal to dishonor a man even in death, dishonor a people even in the raw freshness of grief, proved stronger than the frail threads of civilization with which the west, some of you may recall, claims to have been experimenting the last few centuries, though it is clear that they did not inhale.The Palestinian people looked at one another, shared a moment of collective lack of amazement, and silently went to what is left of the Mukata and began to build a shrine, a mausoleum.In a day.France did the minimum that the gangsters did not have the decorum to do, allowing the coffin of the Father of Modern Palestine to be loaded onto the Cairo-bound aircraft with at least a semblance of the solemnity that civilized people accord a fallen head of state.Only brief glimpses of this were shown to American audiences, none of them live, lest the viewers get the wrong idea.The kept eunuchs of the Arab League put their dollar bought and perpetually dollar paid for heads together and agreed with Washington's whispered suggestion that Abu Amar's Cairo "funeral" be handled discreetly. A quiet and private affair, lest the Egyptian public get the wrong idea, and to spare the eunuchs, including Hosni himself, the humiliation of seeing what real popular support looks like, the kind of mass outpouring of chanting and grief that neither trinkets nor coins nor the threat of torture can buy.While the Palestinians wept and built a mausoleum, the Americans took time out from gushing over their latest panoply of spectacular war crimes to vilify Arafat in death more than they had in life, surprising anyone who had not believed such to be possible.With characteristic American black-is-white Orwellian knockoff, the one moment of his post-guerilla life that could be called noble was held aloft and crowned as his worst failure: namely that in the year 2000, he had flatly refused the cajoling of a charming western politician who wished him to renounce the Right of Return in exchange for an archipelago of prison camps with a flag over them, not unlike what they are "offered" today, by a warlord consortium that knows full well, even if its serfs do not, that the land is not the warlords' to offer. Quite the contrary. If by some miracle the planet survives long enough, and men of goodwill ever sit at the table, negotiations will begin from the truth, and not the construct of wealthy moguls with oil that needs guarding.Although to his detriment, Arafat had at that point spent the past decade or so teasing western politicians with coy hints that he might let them have their way with him, and had thereby collected an impressive array of nosegays and filled dance cards as well as a big necklace from Norway, when the confident suitor reached out to claim his prize, Arafat leapt from the carriage and fled.It may be wishful thinking to suppose he acted out of conscience as opposed to the more mundane and pragmatic desire to avoid being assassinated by his own people; since there were so many people already trying to assassinate him, perhaps he merely felt their efforts would be superfluous, and was motivated by sheer abhorrence of inefficiency and duplication of effort, but in the spirit of generosity and courtesy offered by civilized people to the newly dead, let us once again call it his noblest hour, and for it, honor his memory, and those who honor it with us, they who built a shrine, a mausoleum.In a day.If you feel you cannot weep for Arafat, weep instead for Abdel Salam Samren, for Abdul Rahman Jadallah, Raghda Alassar, for Imam Al-Hams, names few of you will recall. Go to google, and type the words "Palestinian child shot," hit search, and weep at what you see.Yasser Arafat represented Palestine, including every one of those thousands of children. Like him, their bodies are gone from this earth.Like him, they will live forever.If you feel you cannot praise Arafat, praise the images that Americans were allowed to see, live, probably because of the scant likelihood that they would comprehend what they were seeing.What looked like an uncontrollable mob grasping at a coffin was in reality the fulfillment of Arafat's promise, his triumph, his fateh: a State.Out of the ashes, out of the ruins, out of grief, a people who can build, in a day, a shrine, a mausoleum out of love and tears and sand and suffering, can and will greet you and pray with you one day in Jerusalem, the capital of Palestine, in the spirit of the Prophets, the spirit of Peace, that shall not pass away. Politics22191@blogcritics.org Sat, 13 Nov 2004 05:50:51 EST