The International Red Cross has said that Israel's response in Lebanon violates the "proportionality" principle of the Geneva Conventions (see this for my views on proportionality). The group has also issued the following statement about the terrorist group Hezbollah:
Hezbollah fighters too are bound by the rules of international humanitarian law, and they must not target civilian areas.
I'm sorry, but what's the International Red Cross been smoking?
Earth to International Red Cross: Hezbollah is a terrorist organization. They exist to target civilians.
Furthermore, there's a general principle involved, one that should be readily apparent to anyone with a modicum of sense:
To be "bound" by a certain law, one (or both) of two things need to be true: (1) the "bound" entity has to agree to the authority of those administering the law; (2) the authority has to have the power of enforcement over that entity.
The International Red Cross has neither over Hezbollah at this point. The only way it would get that power--and it could never obtain #1, only #2--is by a military defeat of Hezbollah, a capture of its leaders, and the act of subsequently bringing them before an international tribunal.
And, of course, to defeat Hezbollah would require a response the International Red Cross already has already condemned as violating the principles of proportionality, since Hezbollah is well aware of the value of hiding behind civilians, and does so purposely and frequently. So, how in heaven's name would any international court ever get authority over Hezbollah, except to try them in absentia? And a fat lot of good that would do, except as meaningless theater.
I'm wondering: has any Islamic terrorist ever been successfully tried under international law for violating the Geneva Conventions? None comes to mind--the only trials I can think of, such as those of Richard Reid or the 1993 WTC bombers, are national rather than international. (I can't say, however, that I've done an exhaustive search, so please feel free to offer any such international cases in the comments section, if you can find them.)
The remark by the International Red Cross about Hezbollah being "bound" by the Conventions made me think of a popular comeback when I was a kid. When someone would say, I'm gonna make you do it, the usual retort was Oh yeah? You and what army?
Somehow I think that's exactly what Hezbollah would say.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Beating the heat while you sleep
Last night was the first night in I don't know how long that it wasn't beastly hot.
I'm one of those people--not all that rare in New England--who doesn't have air conditioning, so believe me, these things get my attention.
I live in an area where it doesn't get too hot too often. But every summer there are always a number of sweltering days and nights, although that number varies widely from year to year. My bedroom is distinguished by casement windows and something called awning windows (I had to look the term up to get it right), neither of which are particularly simpatico to the installment of an air conditioner. I've never gotten around to cutting a hole in the wall for one, either.
And really, most of the time there's no need. I have windows on three sides of the bedroom, so I not only have cross-ventilation, I have double-cross ventilation, as well as a large ceiling fan. In fact, when the windows are open on all three sides and it's a bit breezy outside, I find I don't have to sweep the floor--the dust just piles up of its own accord in whatever corner the wind happens to be blowing towards. Better than a Roomba.
But this past week there was no breeze to be had, except for the steamy air, weakly stirred by the feeble ceiling fan. Sweating was continual, perpetual, and copious (yes, I know; too much information).
I hear it's been that way throughout much of the country. So, for those of you who, like me, might be air conditioner-challenged, here are some tips for how to keep cool without AC on a hot summer night.
Absent among the suggestions is a traditional New England fixture, the sleeping porch. You can see them on big old houses here. They're usually attached to the second floor and adjacent to the bedrooms there, screened on all sides to let in the cooler night air and keep out the ubiquitous mosquitoes. But, since most of us lack sleeping porches, the fan and the ice cubes and the wet sheet and the wet socks might just do the trick.
I hope you sleep well tonight, and every night.
I'm one of those people--not all that rare in New England--who doesn't have air conditioning, so believe me, these things get my attention.
I live in an area where it doesn't get too hot too often. But every summer there are always a number of sweltering days and nights, although that number varies widely from year to year. My bedroom is distinguished by casement windows and something called awning windows (I had to look the term up to get it right), neither of which are particularly simpatico to the installment of an air conditioner. I've never gotten around to cutting a hole in the wall for one, either.
And really, most of the time there's no need. I have windows on three sides of the bedroom, so I not only have cross-ventilation, I have double-cross ventilation, as well as a large ceiling fan. In fact, when the windows are open on all three sides and it's a bit breezy outside, I find I don't have to sweep the floor--the dust just piles up of its own accord in whatever corner the wind happens to be blowing towards. Better than a Roomba.
But this past week there was no breeze to be had, except for the steamy air, weakly stirred by the feeble ceiling fan. Sweating was continual, perpetual, and copious (yes, I know; too much information).
I hear it's been that way throughout much of the country. So, for those of you who, like me, might be air conditioner-challenged, here are some tips for how to keep cool without AC on a hot summer night.
Absent among the suggestions is a traditional New England fixture, the sleeping porch. You can see them on big old houses here. They're usually attached to the second floor and adjacent to the bedrooms there, screened on all sides to let in the cooler night air and keep out the ubiquitous mosquitoes. But, since most of us lack sleeping porches, the fan and the ice cubes and the wet sheet and the wet socks might just do the trick.
I hope you sleep well tonight, and every night.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Terrorists and the nations that harbor them
Jihadi terrorists are not strictly bound to the confines of a state, and their calling cards are sometimes hard to read. That's one of their strengths; it makes it very difficult to strike back at them with weapons of conventional warfare.
But that doesn't mean they operate on their own without any state support (Austin Bay has written this must-read piece on how the terrorists exploit the system of states and failed states to their advantage).
Afghanistan was a relatively easy case, at least conceptually, because the state sponsoring of Al Qaeda in that country was clear and overt. The other heavy lifters in the promotion of terrorism around the globe are Iran and Syria, while Saudi Arabia has a leading role as well through Wahabism, which acts as a sort of carrier of terrorism.
Remember Bush's post-9/11 address to Congress and the nation on September 20, 2001? In that speech, he formulated some of the basic principles of dealing with state sponsors of terrorism, an early version of the Bush Doctrine:
The Taliban must act immediately. They will hand over terrorists, or they will share in their fate....Our enemy is a radical network of terrorists and every government that supports them...From this day forward, any nation that continues to harbor or support terrorism will be regarded by the United States as a hostile regime.
Although the present war in Lebanon is not being waged by the US, it's certainly an example of the application of this doctrine. The government of Lebanon has winked at terrorism, failed to root it out, given it safe haven--and even made a home for it in its Parliament, one-fifth of whom are Hezbollah members.
Why is this? Lebanon is a country that used to be one of the most stable in the region. But that all ended, starting with the arrival of the PLO in the late sixties and early seventies, after that group's violent expulsion from Jordan, where it was trying to topple the government. Lebanon was thereafter ravaged by civil war for several decades. During that time, Israel invaded at intervals to try to root out the terrorists that had taken hold, and Syria took control and rendered Lebanon its puppet state (the latter situation has only recently improved with the expulsion of the Syrians--although not the Syrian influence--in 2005).
It's interesting to contrast the response of Jordan's King Hussein to the terrorists who were in his midst and threatening his regime. "Black September", the name given to the day Hussein cracked down and expelled the PLO from Jordan, was an example of bitter Arab-on-Arab violence. It's estimated that, in the ten days of that action, between three and five thousand Palestinians in Jordan were killed, both PLO militants and civilians alike. This indiscriminate crackdown never elicited the sort of condemnation that would have occurred had it been performed by Western powers. What's more, it was effective; the PLO were routed from Jordan and relative stability returned.
After Black September, Jordan's loss was Lebanon's gain--or rather, we might say that Jordan's gain was Lebanon's loss. The PLO--and Yasser Arafat--relocated to Lebanon, and the country was never the same again.
The lesson is a harsh one. Harboring terrorists does not pay, and not just because of the Bush doctrine or the reaction of the Israelis. Terrorists take advantage of the conditions inherent in failed states, it's true. But the arrival of terrorists en masse can help to cause a state to fail. That didn't happen in Jordan because Jordan adopted harsh and somewhat ruthless measures against those terrorists. It happened in Lebanon because Lebanon either wouldn't or couldn't do the same effectively.
Now, over three decades later, Lebanon is still reaping the bitter harvest of harboring terrorists, this time Hezbollah. Whether it lacks the will or the ability to root them out, or whether it's a combination of the two, I don't know. But the truth is that terrorism is a blight on both the terrorist's targets and on those who give the terrorists refuge.
The Israelis are attempting in Lebanon to effect a somewhat kinder, gentler Black September (in this case, a Black July), and expel Hezbollah from Lebanon. Will they succeed? They haven't before; despite previous Israeli incursions into Lebanon for that purpose, Hezbollah has remained there. And, of course, driving Hezbollah from Lebanon would not mean the end of Hezbollah in the world.
But perhaps now the world climate has changed (including that of the Arab world), and it's understood how necessary this action is. Criticism of Israel in this conflict has been curiously muted, considering that it's Israel. Maybe the world has finally learned the lesson that terrorism is a blight on us all.
It shouldn't have had to take this long to understand that.
But that doesn't mean they operate on their own without any state support (Austin Bay has written this must-read piece on how the terrorists exploit the system of states and failed states to their advantage).
Afghanistan was a relatively easy case, at least conceptually, because the state sponsoring of Al Qaeda in that country was clear and overt. The other heavy lifters in the promotion of terrorism around the globe are Iran and Syria, while Saudi Arabia has a leading role as well through Wahabism, which acts as a sort of carrier of terrorism.
Remember Bush's post-9/11 address to Congress and the nation on September 20, 2001? In that speech, he formulated some of the basic principles of dealing with state sponsors of terrorism, an early version of the Bush Doctrine:
The Taliban must act immediately. They will hand over terrorists, or they will share in their fate....Our enemy is a radical network of terrorists and every government that supports them...From this day forward, any nation that continues to harbor or support terrorism will be regarded by the United States as a hostile regime.
Although the present war in Lebanon is not being waged by the US, it's certainly an example of the application of this doctrine. The government of Lebanon has winked at terrorism, failed to root it out, given it safe haven--and even made a home for it in its Parliament, one-fifth of whom are Hezbollah members.
Why is this? Lebanon is a country that used to be one of the most stable in the region. But that all ended, starting with the arrival of the PLO in the late sixties and early seventies, after that group's violent expulsion from Jordan, where it was trying to topple the government. Lebanon was thereafter ravaged by civil war for several decades. During that time, Israel invaded at intervals to try to root out the terrorists that had taken hold, and Syria took control and rendered Lebanon its puppet state (the latter situation has only recently improved with the expulsion of the Syrians--although not the Syrian influence--in 2005).
It's interesting to contrast the response of Jordan's King Hussein to the terrorists who were in his midst and threatening his regime. "Black September", the name given to the day Hussein cracked down and expelled the PLO from Jordan, was an example of bitter Arab-on-Arab violence. It's estimated that, in the ten days of that action, between three and five thousand Palestinians in Jordan were killed, both PLO militants and civilians alike. This indiscriminate crackdown never elicited the sort of condemnation that would have occurred had it been performed by Western powers. What's more, it was effective; the PLO were routed from Jordan and relative stability returned.
After Black September, Jordan's loss was Lebanon's gain--or rather, we might say that Jordan's gain was Lebanon's loss. The PLO--and Yasser Arafat--relocated to Lebanon, and the country was never the same again.
The lesson is a harsh one. Harboring terrorists does not pay, and not just because of the Bush doctrine or the reaction of the Israelis. Terrorists take advantage of the conditions inherent in failed states, it's true. But the arrival of terrorists en masse can help to cause a state to fail. That didn't happen in Jordan because Jordan adopted harsh and somewhat ruthless measures against those terrorists. It happened in Lebanon because Lebanon either wouldn't or couldn't do the same effectively.
Now, over three decades later, Lebanon is still reaping the bitter harvest of harboring terrorists, this time Hezbollah. Whether it lacks the will or the ability to root them out, or whether it's a combination of the two, I don't know. But the truth is that terrorism is a blight on both the terrorist's targets and on those who give the terrorists refuge.
The Israelis are attempting in Lebanon to effect a somewhat kinder, gentler Black September (in this case, a Black July), and expel Hezbollah from Lebanon. Will they succeed? They haven't before; despite previous Israeli incursions into Lebanon for that purpose, Hezbollah has remained there. And, of course, driving Hezbollah from Lebanon would not mean the end of Hezbollah in the world.
But perhaps now the world climate has changed (including that of the Arab world), and it's understood how necessary this action is. Criticism of Israel in this conflict has been curiously muted, considering that it's Israel. Maybe the world has finally learned the lesson that terrorism is a blight on us all.
It shouldn't have had to take this long to understand that.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Thoughts on a wedding
This weekend I went to the wedding of the daughter of a good friend. It's the first wedding I've attended of a contemporary of my own son, although probably not the last. The bride is someone I've known since she was two months old.
It's a cliché at a wedding to ask where all that time went--in fact, there's even a tearjerker of a popular song to that effect, "Sunrise, Sunset" ("Is this the little girl I carried..."). And I followed that cliche; for me, the wedding was pretty emotional. I teared up, although I managed not to cry.
It was a beautiful day--(although very hot!)--in a beautiful setting. Take a look--this is where the ceremony was actually held:
But the main source of emotion for me was that the bride and groom seemed so deeply in love. Knowing the bride's family very well, and knowing at least the history of the groom's, I'm aware that both have come from families where the parents had exceptionally bitter divorces that impacted heavily on both bride and groom, adding a burden of suffering that clouded their childhoods.
And yet, here they were, starry-eyed over each other. Is this merely the triumph of hope over experience, the naivete and beauty of youth, an example of denial? I don't think so. I like to think--in fact I sense, and I certainly fervently hope--that these two young people
have learned through their travails what to value, hard lessons that will help them through the inevitable conflicts in their own marriage.
An extra poignancy was added by the fact that all the previously-warring parents attended the ceremony, and all seemed more or less civil to each other. That, in and of itself, probably could not have happened without the passage of a great deal of time since the divorces, as well as strong motivation to make the day pleasant for their children.
Looking at the bride's parents--a couple I knew about twenty-five years ago, right before their very necessary divorce, but have not seen together since--I couldn't help but remember their former selves, hardly older than their own child is today. Now they're the mother and father of the bride, united for this day by that commonality. Their marriage was a disaster, but their child most definitely is not.
It's a cliché at a wedding to ask where all that time went--in fact, there's even a tearjerker of a popular song to that effect, "Sunrise, Sunset" ("Is this the little girl I carried..."). And I followed that cliche; for me, the wedding was pretty emotional. I teared up, although I managed not to cry.
It was a beautiful day--(although very hot!)--in a beautiful setting. Take a look--this is where the ceremony was actually held:
But the main source of emotion for me was that the bride and groom seemed so deeply in love. Knowing the bride's family very well, and knowing at least the history of the groom's, I'm aware that both have come from families where the parents had exceptionally bitter divorces that impacted heavily on both bride and groom, adding a burden of suffering that clouded their childhoods.
And yet, here they were, starry-eyed over each other. Is this merely the triumph of hope over experience, the naivete and beauty of youth, an example of denial? I don't think so. I like to think--in fact I sense, and I certainly fervently hope--that these two young people
have learned through their travails what to value, hard lessons that will help them through the inevitable conflicts in their own marriage.
An extra poignancy was added by the fact that all the previously-warring parents attended the ceremony, and all seemed more or less civil to each other. That, in and of itself, probably could not have happened without the passage of a great deal of time since the divorces, as well as strong motivation to make the day pleasant for their children.
Looking at the bride's parents--a couple I knew about twenty-five years ago, right before their very necessary divorce, but have not seen together since--I couldn't help but remember their former selves, hardly older than their own child is today. Now they're the mother and father of the bride, united for this day by that commonality. Their marriage was a disaster, but their child most definitely is not.
Monday, July 17, 2006
The rockets of Hezbollah: all the world's a stage, and all the civilians merely props
In line with the theme of some of my other posts today, we have this, about Hezbollah's tactics in the current conflict in Lebanon:
Hizbollah hid many of the rockets in private homes, and had teams that launched the rockets from next to these homes, forcing the Israelis to "attack civilians" if the launching effort was spotted and attacked with bombs or artillery.
This is a textbook and commonplace case of terrorist strategy.
It starts with utter contempt for the lives of civilians. It's no surprise, of course, that Hezbollah has contempt for the lives of Israeli civilians, and wishes their destruction. Katushas are not guided and "smart," they are the dumbest of dumb bombs, aimed only at a general vicinity--in this case, Israeli cities and the citizens therein.
But the contempt Hezbollah has for the lives of its own people is just as great, if not greater, because of the placement of the rocket launchers themselves. And yes, I know, it's not technically "its own people" Hezbollah is sacrificing here, because Hezbollah is Iranian in origin rather than Lebanese.
It's as though there's been a bank robbery, and the Lebanese people are being held hostage by Hezbollah, which hides behind them for protection. And, from its hiding place, Iran--hiding behind both the Lebanese people and the terrorist entity Hezbollah--commences a war both hot (the bombs themselves) and, more importantly, cold--the war for public opinion.
By hiding behind Lebanese civilians it's not even primarily protection Hezbollah craves, it's theater--as in Shakespeare's "all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players on it.". Hezbollah is well aware that if, by taking out the missile launchers, Israel kills Lebanese civilians--which is every bit as much Hezbollah's goal as the initial killing of Israeli civilians by the rockets themselves--then, as sure as day follows night, this fact will be reported heavily by the Western media (mostly without the all-important background context), flashed around the globe, and widely condemned. Civilians are not only expendable on the part of the terrorists, they are important and vital tools--stage props. And it's ironic that civilians are used by terrorists in this way to try to make the point that it's the others--the US and Israel--who are purposely targeting civilians.
The propaganda value is immense, and may be the most important part of the exercise in rocketry, as far as Hezbollah is concerned: free publicity against Israel, courtesy of the West itself.
This sort of theater has been going on for a long time, and not just in the Middle East--for example, it was part and parcel of the tactics of the Vietcong, in a strategy known as "clutching the people to their breast."
To paraphrase Winston Churchill: "some mother, some breast."
[Big Pharaoh makes a related point.]
Hizbollah hid many of the rockets in private homes, and had teams that launched the rockets from next to these homes, forcing the Israelis to "attack civilians" if the launching effort was spotted and attacked with bombs or artillery.
This is a textbook and commonplace case of terrorist strategy.
It starts with utter contempt for the lives of civilians. It's no surprise, of course, that Hezbollah has contempt for the lives of Israeli civilians, and wishes their destruction. Katushas are not guided and "smart," they are the dumbest of dumb bombs, aimed only at a general vicinity--in this case, Israeli cities and the citizens therein.
But the contempt Hezbollah has for the lives of its own people is just as great, if not greater, because of the placement of the rocket launchers themselves. And yes, I know, it's not technically "its own people" Hezbollah is sacrificing here, because Hezbollah is Iranian in origin rather than Lebanese.
It's as though there's been a bank robbery, and the Lebanese people are being held hostage by Hezbollah, which hides behind them for protection. And, from its hiding place, Iran--hiding behind both the Lebanese people and the terrorist entity Hezbollah--commences a war both hot (the bombs themselves) and, more importantly, cold--the war for public opinion.
By hiding behind Lebanese civilians it's not even primarily protection Hezbollah craves, it's theater--as in Shakespeare's "all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players on it.". Hezbollah is well aware that if, by taking out the missile launchers, Israel kills Lebanese civilians--which is every bit as much Hezbollah's goal as the initial killing of Israeli civilians by the rockets themselves--then, as sure as day follows night, this fact will be reported heavily by the Western media (mostly without the all-important background context), flashed around the globe, and widely condemned. Civilians are not only expendable on the part of the terrorists, they are important and vital tools--stage props. And it's ironic that civilians are used by terrorists in this way to try to make the point that it's the others--the US and Israel--who are purposely targeting civilians.
The propaganda value is immense, and may be the most important part of the exercise in rocketry, as far as Hezbollah is concerned: free publicity against Israel, courtesy of the West itself.
This sort of theater has been going on for a long time, and not just in the Middle East--for example, it was part and parcel of the tactics of the Vietcong, in a strategy known as "clutching the people to their breast."
To paraphrase Winston Churchill: "some mother, some breast."
[Big Pharaoh makes a related point.]
Iran, Iran, and Iran--and the West
It's becoming more and more clear that Iran is the prime mover right now in the Middle East. As columnist Mark Steyn points out:
...these territories [Gaza and Lebanon] are now in effect Iran's land borders with the Zionist Entity. They're "occupied territories" but it's not the Jews doing the occupying. So you've got a choice between talking with proxies or going to the source: Tehran. And, as the unending talks with the EU have demonstrated, the ayatollahs use negotiations with the civilized world as comedy relief...
Once upon a time, it would have been Egypt and Jordan threatening the Zionist usurpers. But these countries have been, militarily, a big flop against the Zionist Entity since King Hussein fired Sir John Glubb as head of the Arab Legion. So after '73 they put their money on terrorism, and schoolgirl suicide bombers -- the kind of "popular resistance" that buys you better publicity in the salons of the West. And one result of that has been to deliver Palestinian pseudo-"nationalism" away from Arab influence and into hard-core Iranian Islamist hands.
Omar at Iraq the Model connects the Iranian dots between what's been going on in Iraq and the current crisis in Lebanon, as well as the ways in which the international community has been "played"--and will continue to be played--by Iran:
The key point in this strategy is to keep the half-solution alive. This method proved successful in keeping the despotic regimes in power for decades and these regimes think this strategy is still valid. What makes them this way is their interpretation of international comments which came almost exactly as they always do; calls for restraint and urging a cease-fire which they (Iran and her allies) think will mean eventually going back to negotiations which they know very well how to keep moving in an empty circle.
The common denominater here is not just Iran. It's Iran and the cooperation of the "useful idiots" of the West--some of them well-meaning--who mysteriously fail to recognize the nature and goals of the Iranian regime.
...these territories [Gaza and Lebanon] are now in effect Iran's land borders with the Zionist Entity. They're "occupied territories" but it's not the Jews doing the occupying. So you've got a choice between talking with proxies or going to the source: Tehran. And, as the unending talks with the EU have demonstrated, the ayatollahs use negotiations with the civilized world as comedy relief...
Once upon a time, it would have been Egypt and Jordan threatening the Zionist usurpers. But these countries have been, militarily, a big flop against the Zionist Entity since King Hussein fired Sir John Glubb as head of the Arab Legion. So after '73 they put their money on terrorism, and schoolgirl suicide bombers -- the kind of "popular resistance" that buys you better publicity in the salons of the West. And one result of that has been to deliver Palestinian pseudo-"nationalism" away from Arab influence and into hard-core Iranian Islamist hands.
Omar at Iraq the Model connects the Iranian dots between what's been going on in Iraq and the current crisis in Lebanon, as well as the ways in which the international community has been "played"--and will continue to be played--by Iran:
The key point in this strategy is to keep the half-solution alive. This method proved successful in keeping the despotic regimes in power for decades and these regimes think this strategy is still valid. What makes them this way is their interpretation of international comments which came almost exactly as they always do; calls for restraint and urging a cease-fire which they (Iran and her allies) think will mean eventually going back to negotiations which they know very well how to keep moving in an empty circle.
The common denominater here is not just Iran. It's Iran and the cooperation of the "useful idiots" of the West--some of them well-meaning--who mysteriously fail to recognize the nature and goals of the Iranian regime.
Beware the open mic
I'm not so sure about Bush's use of the word "irony," but the rest of it seems spot on to me.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
The danger of "proportionality" in war
Now, how could proportionality in war be dangerous?
First, before I attempt an answer to that question, here's a great post by Betsy Newmark (via the Anchoress) on the widespread European international community's condemnation of Israel's response to the attacks from Hezbollah as "disproportionate."
She writes:
I wish that the next time some leader comes out and starts talking about Israel's "disproportionate response" that the journalists would ask them what their definition of a proportionate response would be if some terrorists were sending rockets into their own cities. Perhaps their own citizens might be interested in knowning how these intrepid leaders would respond if they were being attacked.
I'm not so sure many of their own citizens would even ask the question, since many may believe that their own relative chumminess with Iran and the Palestinians would guarantee them immunity. And perhaps their own knowledge that their country's leaders might not respond in an especially muscular manner to any attack on their own soil is what leads to the tactic of appeasement in the first place.
Sort of like paying hush money to the Mafia, in hopes that it won't target your business. I'd call it a vicious cycle of nonviolence.
But, leaving Europe aside for a moment, what is this larger idea of proportionality in war, anyway? Oh, don't misunderstand me (although of course some of you will). I'm not one of those people who advocates a truly disproportionate response, such as Israel nuking Tehran.
But I do wonder what's happened to the notion and definition and expectation of war. What am I talking about? It comes down--as so many things in life seem to--to the idea of responsibility, and of consequences (see here).
In the old days, the idea of fear of a nasty response from a well-armed power often acted as a deterrent (remember that word?) to attacking that country. In fact, that was one of the reasons countries had armies and weapons--not necessarily to use them, but to keep from having to use them very often; to keep themselves from being overrun and attacked, to defend its citizens. And the best way to defend them would be to not even have to defend them, but to just use the threat of a response in defense. And to be threatening, it helped if that threat was somewhat unpredictable in its force and scope.
In the olden days (which weren't so very long ago) responses were seldom (if ever?) discussed in terms of proportionality. Perhaps the beginning of the "proportionality" argument came with the invention of nuclear weaponry. For the first time, we had the ability to mount a truly disproportionate response to provocation, one that would threaten the entire world. So it became common sense to understand that not every attack would be met with the full panoply of weapons in the arsenal. And history has played out that way: the first time atomic weapons were used, Hiroshima/Nagasaki, was the last. So far, of course.
I'm not a student of military history, but it's not my impression that every attack was met with an all-out response even prior to nuclear weapons. But the limiting factor then was not the mouthing of platitudinous, self-serving advice from other nations; but, rather, the practical and strategic decisions of the attacked nation itself. Each nation would do what it determined necessary to end the threat--no more and no less. Sometimes it would miscalculate, of course. But the idea was that a sovereign nation had a right to defend itself to the best of its ability and its own judgment, and everyone knew that.
And that knowledge probably served to prevent many asymmetrical attacks. "The Mouse That Roared" notwithstanding, weak countries didn't tend to attack the strong; it would be suicidal. But asymmetrical warfare is now not only chic, but it's actively encouraged by this idea of "proportionality," which ties the gigantic Gullivers of the world (such as that mean old, bad old US and its vile mini-me, Israel) down with many tiny ropes.
It's in the interests of those with less power, and fewer arms, to advance the doctrine of "proportionality." This evens the playing field, something like a handicap in golf, and makes the game better sport for those with fewer skills. The concept of proportionality comes, no doubt, at least partly from fear of a truly disproportionate response; from some sort of concern for the weak. But it also comes from a disproportionate concern that weaker, third-world countries shouldn't be disadvantaged in any way because of their weakness, that they should be allowed to attack a stronger nation with relative impunity because, after all, they're weaker; and, after all, they're "brown;" and, after all, the West is imperialist and guilty; and, after all...and on and on.
But war is not a game of golf. And leveling the playing field doesn't make for more fun. It makes for the emboldenment of tyrants in the third world. It makes for lengthy, drawn-out conflicts that never seem to end or be resolved. It buys time for countries such as Iran to gain power and become contenders by acquiring the most disproportionate weaponry of all, the nuclear variety.
And, when Iran reaches that goal, I wonder whether it will listen to Europe's bleats about "proportionality." Somehow, I don't think so. After all, Iran has no western guilt to expiate.
[ADDENDUM: By the way, I'm aware that the concept of "proportionality" is traditionally part of Just War theory. Note (if you'll follow the link) the introduction, defining when Just War theory might or might not be applicable. Also, the definition of "proportionality" in any given circumstance depends, of course, on the eye--and politics--of the beholder.]
First, before I attempt an answer to that question, here's a great post by Betsy Newmark (via the Anchoress) on the widespread European international community's condemnation of Israel's response to the attacks from Hezbollah as "disproportionate."
She writes:
I wish that the next time some leader comes out and starts talking about Israel's "disproportionate response" that the journalists would ask them what their definition of a proportionate response would be if some terrorists were sending rockets into their own cities. Perhaps their own citizens might be interested in knowning how these intrepid leaders would respond if they were being attacked.
I'm not so sure many of their own citizens would even ask the question, since many may believe that their own relative chumminess with Iran and the Palestinians would guarantee them immunity. And perhaps their own knowledge that their country's leaders might not respond in an especially muscular manner to any attack on their own soil is what leads to the tactic of appeasement in the first place.
Sort of like paying hush money to the Mafia, in hopes that it won't target your business. I'd call it a vicious cycle of nonviolence.
But, leaving Europe aside for a moment, what is this larger idea of proportionality in war, anyway? Oh, don't misunderstand me (although of course some of you will). I'm not one of those people who advocates a truly disproportionate response, such as Israel nuking Tehran.
But I do wonder what's happened to the notion and definition and expectation of war. What am I talking about? It comes down--as so many things in life seem to--to the idea of responsibility, and of consequences (see here).
In the old days, the idea of fear of a nasty response from a well-armed power often acted as a deterrent (remember that word?) to attacking that country. In fact, that was one of the reasons countries had armies and weapons--not necessarily to use them, but to keep from having to use them very often; to keep themselves from being overrun and attacked, to defend its citizens. And the best way to defend them would be to not even have to defend them, but to just use the threat of a response in defense. And to be threatening, it helped if that threat was somewhat unpredictable in its force and scope.
In the olden days (which weren't so very long ago) responses were seldom (if ever?) discussed in terms of proportionality. Perhaps the beginning of the "proportionality" argument came with the invention of nuclear weaponry. For the first time, we had the ability to mount a truly disproportionate response to provocation, one that would threaten the entire world. So it became common sense to understand that not every attack would be met with the full panoply of weapons in the arsenal. And history has played out that way: the first time atomic weapons were used, Hiroshima/Nagasaki, was the last. So far, of course.
I'm not a student of military history, but it's not my impression that every attack was met with an all-out response even prior to nuclear weapons. But the limiting factor then was not the mouthing of platitudinous, self-serving advice from other nations; but, rather, the practical and strategic decisions of the attacked nation itself. Each nation would do what it determined necessary to end the threat--no more and no less. Sometimes it would miscalculate, of course. But the idea was that a sovereign nation had a right to defend itself to the best of its ability and its own judgment, and everyone knew that.
And that knowledge probably served to prevent many asymmetrical attacks. "The Mouse That Roared" notwithstanding, weak countries didn't tend to attack the strong; it would be suicidal. But asymmetrical warfare is now not only chic, but it's actively encouraged by this idea of "proportionality," which ties the gigantic Gullivers of the world (such as that mean old, bad old US and its vile mini-me, Israel) down with many tiny ropes.
It's in the interests of those with less power, and fewer arms, to advance the doctrine of "proportionality." This evens the playing field, something like a handicap in golf, and makes the game better sport for those with fewer skills. The concept of proportionality comes, no doubt, at least partly from fear of a truly disproportionate response; from some sort of concern for the weak. But it also comes from a disproportionate concern that weaker, third-world countries shouldn't be disadvantaged in any way because of their weakness, that they should be allowed to attack a stronger nation with relative impunity because, after all, they're weaker; and, after all, they're "brown;" and, after all, the West is imperialist and guilty; and, after all...and on and on.
But war is not a game of golf. And leveling the playing field doesn't make for more fun. It makes for the emboldenment of tyrants in the third world. It makes for lengthy, drawn-out conflicts that never seem to end or be resolved. It buys time for countries such as Iran to gain power and become contenders by acquiring the most disproportionate weaponry of all, the nuclear variety.
And, when Iran reaches that goal, I wonder whether it will listen to Europe's bleats about "proportionality." Somehow, I don't think so. After all, Iran has no western guilt to expiate.
[ADDENDUM: By the way, I'm aware that the concept of "proportionality" is traditionally part of Just War theory. Note (if you'll follow the link) the introduction, defining when Just War theory might or might not be applicable. Also, the definition of "proportionality" in any given circumstance depends, of course, on the eye--and politics--of the beholder.]
Friday, July 14, 2006
Zeno diplomacy
No, that's not a typo above. I didn't mean "Zero diplomacy," I meant "Zeno diplomacy."
What's Zeno diplomacy? It's described in this article by Robert Tracinski, a writer with whom I wasn't previously familiar but who appears to be an Ayn Rand proponent (see this).
The term apparently originated with Robert Kagan, who mentions it in his recent article appearing in the Washington Post. It's a reference to Zeno's paradox; remember, the one that was illustrated in your textbooks by the little drawings of the turtle and Achilles, advancing the seemingly logical but obviously incorrect argument that says the turtle will win the race against the warrior?
Here's another way to state the argument:
Suppose I wish to cross the room. First, of course, I must cover half the distance. Then, I must cover half the remaining distance. Then, I must cover half the remaining distance. Then I must cover half the remaining distance . . . and so on forever. The consequence is that I can never get to the other side of the room.
We don't need to worry right now about the flaw in Zeno's argument (although if you follow the link you'll find a good explanation); what we're dealing with today is a flaw in the argument of those who argue for diplomacy, and then some diplomacy, and then some more diplomacy, when dealing with those whose aim is not to come to a peaceful resolution, but to stall for time. Because stalling for time gives the enemy the means to choose to start a conflict at a time more favorable to him, rather than to us. And it's Tracinski's assertion that stalling for time with Iran (otherwise known as "diplomacy") has only given Iran the ability to strike in a way and time of its own choosing, as we see now in the current Mideast crisis.
Those who promote nearly endless diplomacy as a solution to situations in which conflict threatens to erupt often don't seem to see that diplomacy has its downside. After all, what could be bad about postponing a war by talking? Isn't that always good?
It would be good, I suppose, if the negotiations led to an actual resolution or defusing of the situation, if the passage of time led to the situation somehow becoming better and not worse. And, of course, without a functioning crystal ball, none of us can foretell the future; we can only do our best to predict it based on the best evidence we have in the present. That process, of course, is deeply flawed, but it's all we have.
One of my favorite quotations of all time is that of the New England abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison, who famously said:
With reasonable men, I will reason; with humane men I will plead; but to tyrants I will give no quarter, nor waste arguments where they will certainly be lost.
When I first heard the quote I misunderstood it for a moment, thinking Garrison was saying that tyrants always win arguments. No, what he meant by the phrase "they will certainly be lost" is "they will certainly be wasted."
So the key to winning arguments--or to get people to do what you want them to--is to tailor the approach to the problem and to the character of the person or people with whom one is dealing. Tyrants are tyrannical, and neither reason nor pleading will suffice to convince them.
The problem, of course, is in deciding who is that sort of a tyrant, and who is not. It's a bit like end of the first sentence of Niebuhr's well-known serenity prayer:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.
The wisdom to know the difference--yes, indeed! To distinguish when diplomacy has a chance of working from the times when it doesn't is not an easy task, but certainly not an impossible one. And I think it's safe to say that in North Korea and in Iran we are dealing with the sort of tyrants on whom words will certainly be lost.
That's not to say that some tyrants can't be appealed to by coercion or even persuasion that focuses on their own self-interest. That may be true of Iran. But be careful. Look what happened in North Korea, during the Clinton administration. Giving negotiated concessions to a tyrant for humanitarian reasons, ones that seem to be good for the people of the country at the time, can ultimately backfire and end up with the tyrant having bought time to become more aggressive.
It's an interesting balancing act. Tyrants desire power above all, and to get that power they need a country. However, that need for power may be the only reason they care about the welfare of their people at all--if the people disappear, the country disappears, and where would that leave the tyrant? But tyrants ordinarily consider large numbers of their people expendable, as long as enough people remain to maintain the tyrant's country and his power. So the welfare of their people as a whole is not necessarily so much of a bargaining chip.
And be careful even of the logical assumption that tyrants care about the existence of their country at all. Some tyrants are more or less mad--or they become so over time--and when their fortunes are on the wane they want to bring the entire country down with them, in a sort of murder-suicide impulse (Hitler, for example, wanted Germany and the Germans to perish with him when he finally realized that all was lost).
And that brings us to the Iranian mullahs. They've put a somewhat new twist on things, because they are the first tyrannical heads of a country (in modern times, at least) who appear far less concerned with the things of this world than with their vision of the world to come. Therefore all bets are off; their priorities may indeed be focused on the afterlife rather than on protecting their people in this one. This is what makes them especially bad candidates for negotiation, and especially good ones for the problems inherent in Zeno diplomacy.
[By the way, Pajamas Media has some very thorough roundups of breaking news and reactions in the current crisis.]
[ADDENDUM: In another case of psychoblogger unity, Dr. Sanity spotlights the same Tracinski article, although she discusses other aspects of it.]
What's Zeno diplomacy? It's described in this article by Robert Tracinski, a writer with whom I wasn't previously familiar but who appears to be an Ayn Rand proponent (see this).
The term apparently originated with Robert Kagan, who mentions it in his recent article appearing in the Washington Post. It's a reference to Zeno's paradox; remember, the one that was illustrated in your textbooks by the little drawings of the turtle and Achilles, advancing the seemingly logical but obviously incorrect argument that says the turtle will win the race against the warrior?
Here's another way to state the argument:
Suppose I wish to cross the room. First, of course, I must cover half the distance. Then, I must cover half the remaining distance. Then, I must cover half the remaining distance. Then I must cover half the remaining distance . . . and so on forever. The consequence is that I can never get to the other side of the room.
We don't need to worry right now about the flaw in Zeno's argument (although if you follow the link you'll find a good explanation); what we're dealing with today is a flaw in the argument of those who argue for diplomacy, and then some diplomacy, and then some more diplomacy, when dealing with those whose aim is not to come to a peaceful resolution, but to stall for time. Because stalling for time gives the enemy the means to choose to start a conflict at a time more favorable to him, rather than to us. And it's Tracinski's assertion that stalling for time with Iran (otherwise known as "diplomacy") has only given Iran the ability to strike in a way and time of its own choosing, as we see now in the current Mideast crisis.
Those who promote nearly endless diplomacy as a solution to situations in which conflict threatens to erupt often don't seem to see that diplomacy has its downside. After all, what could be bad about postponing a war by talking? Isn't that always good?
It would be good, I suppose, if the negotiations led to an actual resolution or defusing of the situation, if the passage of time led to the situation somehow becoming better and not worse. And, of course, without a functioning crystal ball, none of us can foretell the future; we can only do our best to predict it based on the best evidence we have in the present. That process, of course, is deeply flawed, but it's all we have.
One of my favorite quotations of all time is that of the New England abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison, who famously said:
With reasonable men, I will reason; with humane men I will plead; but to tyrants I will give no quarter, nor waste arguments where they will certainly be lost.
When I first heard the quote I misunderstood it for a moment, thinking Garrison was saying that tyrants always win arguments. No, what he meant by the phrase "they will certainly be lost" is "they will certainly be wasted."
So the key to winning arguments--or to get people to do what you want them to--is to tailor the approach to the problem and to the character of the person or people with whom one is dealing. Tyrants are tyrannical, and neither reason nor pleading will suffice to convince them.
The problem, of course, is in deciding who is that sort of a tyrant, and who is not. It's a bit like end of the first sentence of Niebuhr's well-known serenity prayer:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.
The wisdom to know the difference--yes, indeed! To distinguish when diplomacy has a chance of working from the times when it doesn't is not an easy task, but certainly not an impossible one. And I think it's safe to say that in North Korea and in Iran we are dealing with the sort of tyrants on whom words will certainly be lost.
That's not to say that some tyrants can't be appealed to by coercion or even persuasion that focuses on their own self-interest. That may be true of Iran. But be careful. Look what happened in North Korea, during the Clinton administration. Giving negotiated concessions to a tyrant for humanitarian reasons, ones that seem to be good for the people of the country at the time, can ultimately backfire and end up with the tyrant having bought time to become more aggressive.
It's an interesting balancing act. Tyrants desire power above all, and to get that power they need a country. However, that need for power may be the only reason they care about the welfare of their people at all--if the people disappear, the country disappears, and where would that leave the tyrant? But tyrants ordinarily consider large numbers of their people expendable, as long as enough people remain to maintain the tyrant's country and his power. So the welfare of their people as a whole is not necessarily so much of a bargaining chip.
And be careful even of the logical assumption that tyrants care about the existence of their country at all. Some tyrants are more or less mad--or they become so over time--and when their fortunes are on the wane they want to bring the entire country down with them, in a sort of murder-suicide impulse (Hitler, for example, wanted Germany and the Germans to perish with him when he finally realized that all was lost).
And that brings us to the Iranian mullahs. They've put a somewhat new twist on things, because they are the first tyrannical heads of a country (in modern times, at least) who appear far less concerned with the things of this world than with their vision of the world to come. Therefore all bets are off; their priorities may indeed be focused on the afterlife rather than on protecting their people in this one. This is what makes them especially bad candidates for negotiation, and especially good ones for the problems inherent in Zeno diplomacy.
[By the way, Pajamas Media has some very thorough roundups of breaking news and reactions in the current crisis.]
[ADDENDUM: In another case of psychoblogger unity, Dr. Sanity spotlights the same Tracinski article, although she discusses other aspects of it.]
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Tehran unmasked?
I'm not going to pretend to be an expert on the balance of power in the Middle East. But I do read, and I can think.
And what I read lately has convinced me that, in the current Middle East crisis--which has so far stopped short of full war but might lead to one--all roads lead to Iran, even those that seem to begin in Iraq, Lebanon, Syria, and Palestine.
See what Omar at Iraq the Model has to say on the matter. Not only is he convinced that Iran is a main mover and shaker behind instability in Iraq (and who isn't convinced of this? I think it's one of the few points on which the right and left tend to agree), but he wonders whether the recent abduction of the Israeli soldiers was planned by Iran as a tactic to distract attention from Iranian nuclear ambitions and the fallout (pun intended) from that.
Omar also writes:
Those extremists do not understand the language of compromise and they do not believe in negotiating even if they declare the opposite. They want a war and I think they're going to get one.
And Michael Ledeen--not surprisingly, since his bête noire has long been the Iranian government--agrees:
The important thing to keep in mind is that both the Gaza and northern Israel attacks were planned for quite a while, which means that Iran wanted this war, this way. It isn’t just a target of opportunity or a sudden impulse; it’s part of a strategic decision to expand the war.
For quite some time Ledeen's conclusion has been that there is no way to escape a showdown with Iran, and he predicts in this article that, the longer the delay, the more likely it becomes that the confrontation will be a military one--with, as he puts it, "terrible consequences."
Ledeen's solution? To bring down the regimes in Iran and Syria; he sees that as the task of the United States. But missing in his article is the answer to the question, "how is that to be accomplished, without a military confrontation and its 'terrible consequences?'"
Austin Bay sees some possible ways the Iranian mullahs could end up weakened and discredited as a result of recent events (though not without some military escalation), if the following scenario plays out:
The relative lack of western criticism of Israel is an indicator. Apparently Israel has an opportunity to hammer Iranian and Syrian proxies. Israel may also escalate by striking Syrian intelligence targets throughout the region–sending the message that supporting proxies can cost the supporter. Israeli escalation past a certain point escalation puts Tehran in a bind: if Tehran’s mullahs fail to react militarily they begin to look impotent. Promises of future bombs won’t suffice....
In the context of an on-going war with Iranian proxies in Lebanon, if Tehran’s mullahs threaten mass annihilation one too many times the Israelis could strike several Iranian nuclear facilities. This would not be a “pre-emptive strike” but a “deep strike” on Hezbollah’s deep pockets ally and supplier.
The diplomatic component of this scenario: the Israelis make the case that in the post-Saddam, post-Beirut Spring Middle East, proxy wars are no longer tolerated. The Iranians will not be able to respond to Israeli strikes in kind. They will be exposed as weak hotheads and they will have lost at least part of their nuclear investment.
As Bay points out, it's a risky game. Tigerhawk offers his views on just what that game might be about (read the comments section as well). His main thesis is that Iran wants to be seen as the hand behind this, wants to be seen as the locus of anti-Israel anti-Zionist power, and is gambling that Israel and the US are too weak to oppose its moves. Tigerhawk believes that Iran may have underestimated how much it has alienated Europe recently, and has miscalculated.
I'm not pleased with today's violence, and the possibility of worse to come. But a while back I came to the sorrowful conclusion that something of the sort may just be inevitable. Those of you who know my history can guess that I used to believe that negotiation alone could work to defuse the Israel/Palestine situation. But I see today's events as part of a long chain of failed negotiations and dashed hope; one that began with Oslo, led through the 90s to the collapse of Camp David, and then to the horrors of the Second Intifada, and ultimately to where we stand today.
Those (such as myself) who used to believe in the power of negotiations and "giving peace a chance" in the region remind me a bit of my relatives who were Soviet sympathizers back in the early days of the 20s and 30s, before all the wretched excesses of Soviet power became known, back when Communism could still be thought of as an experiment that might somehow work out, and capitalism (especially during the Depression) as the failure. It was relatively easy to believe in the promise of Communism then; much harder to believe it now, at a time when only diehards keep the faith.
And the same is true for negotiations in the Middle East. With the launching of the Second Intifada, the mask of diplomacy was torn off, and the face of the conflict--in particular, the depth of the violence and hatred on the Palestinian side, and the futility of negotiations--was made clear.
With the election of Ahmadinejad in Iran, the same is true of Iran. No more masks; we know where we stand--although there are always going to be those who don't believe that Ahmadinejad believes what he so clearly says.
I still profoundly hope there's a way out of this without total war, if the regimes in Damascus and Tehran can be weakened by one of the more limited scenarios already discussed, or by some other sequence of events short of a major conflagration. But there's no way out if it without force. And there's no way out of it if we don't see clearly that Iran and Syria are not seeking peace through negotiation, and if we don't recognize their aims in the region.
And now I read (via Israellycool) that a Hezbollah missile fired at Haifa on Thursday evening was of Iranian manufacture. Israellycool asks the question, "Are we [Israel] going to go after Iran?"
I wonder what the answer to Israelly's question will be, how much time will elapse before we find out, and what form such a "going after" might ultimately take.
And what I read lately has convinced me that, in the current Middle East crisis--which has so far stopped short of full war but might lead to one--all roads lead to Iran, even those that seem to begin in Iraq, Lebanon, Syria, and Palestine.
See what Omar at Iraq the Model has to say on the matter. Not only is he convinced that Iran is a main mover and shaker behind instability in Iraq (and who isn't convinced of this? I think it's one of the few points on which the right and left tend to agree), but he wonders whether the recent abduction of the Israeli soldiers was planned by Iran as a tactic to distract attention from Iranian nuclear ambitions and the fallout (pun intended) from that.
Omar also writes:
Those extremists do not understand the language of compromise and they do not believe in negotiating even if they declare the opposite. They want a war and I think they're going to get one.
And Michael Ledeen--not surprisingly, since his bête noire has long been the Iranian government--agrees:
The important thing to keep in mind is that both the Gaza and northern Israel attacks were planned for quite a while, which means that Iran wanted this war, this way. It isn’t just a target of opportunity or a sudden impulse; it’s part of a strategic decision to expand the war.
For quite some time Ledeen's conclusion has been that there is no way to escape a showdown with Iran, and he predicts in this article that, the longer the delay, the more likely it becomes that the confrontation will be a military one--with, as he puts it, "terrible consequences."
Ledeen's solution? To bring down the regimes in Iran and Syria; he sees that as the task of the United States. But missing in his article is the answer to the question, "how is that to be accomplished, without a military confrontation and its 'terrible consequences?'"
Austin Bay sees some possible ways the Iranian mullahs could end up weakened and discredited as a result of recent events (though not without some military escalation), if the following scenario plays out:
The relative lack of western criticism of Israel is an indicator. Apparently Israel has an opportunity to hammer Iranian and Syrian proxies. Israel may also escalate by striking Syrian intelligence targets throughout the region–sending the message that supporting proxies can cost the supporter. Israeli escalation past a certain point escalation puts Tehran in a bind: if Tehran’s mullahs fail to react militarily they begin to look impotent. Promises of future bombs won’t suffice....
In the context of an on-going war with Iranian proxies in Lebanon, if Tehran’s mullahs threaten mass annihilation one too many times the Israelis could strike several Iranian nuclear facilities. This would not be a “pre-emptive strike” but a “deep strike” on Hezbollah’s deep pockets ally and supplier.
The diplomatic component of this scenario: the Israelis make the case that in the post-Saddam, post-Beirut Spring Middle East, proxy wars are no longer tolerated. The Iranians will not be able to respond to Israeli strikes in kind. They will be exposed as weak hotheads and they will have lost at least part of their nuclear investment.
As Bay points out, it's a risky game. Tigerhawk offers his views on just what that game might be about (read the comments section as well). His main thesis is that Iran wants to be seen as the hand behind this, wants to be seen as the locus of anti-Israel anti-Zionist power, and is gambling that Israel and the US are too weak to oppose its moves. Tigerhawk believes that Iran may have underestimated how much it has alienated Europe recently, and has miscalculated.
I'm not pleased with today's violence, and the possibility of worse to come. But a while back I came to the sorrowful conclusion that something of the sort may just be inevitable. Those of you who know my history can guess that I used to believe that negotiation alone could work to defuse the Israel/Palestine situation. But I see today's events as part of a long chain of failed negotiations and dashed hope; one that began with Oslo, led through the 90s to the collapse of Camp David, and then to the horrors of the Second Intifada, and ultimately to where we stand today.
Those (such as myself) who used to believe in the power of negotiations and "giving peace a chance" in the region remind me a bit of my relatives who were Soviet sympathizers back in the early days of the 20s and 30s, before all the wretched excesses of Soviet power became known, back when Communism could still be thought of as an experiment that might somehow work out, and capitalism (especially during the Depression) as the failure. It was relatively easy to believe in the promise of Communism then; much harder to believe it now, at a time when only diehards keep the faith.
And the same is true for negotiations in the Middle East. With the launching of the Second Intifada, the mask of diplomacy was torn off, and the face of the conflict--in particular, the depth of the violence and hatred on the Palestinian side, and the futility of negotiations--was made clear.
With the election of Ahmadinejad in Iran, the same is true of Iran. No more masks; we know where we stand--although there are always going to be those who don't believe that Ahmadinejad believes what he so clearly says.
I still profoundly hope there's a way out of this without total war, if the regimes in Damascus and Tehran can be weakened by one of the more limited scenarios already discussed, or by some other sequence of events short of a major conflagration. But there's no way out if it without force. And there's no way out of it if we don't see clearly that Iran and Syria are not seeking peace through negotiation, and if we don't recognize their aims in the region.
And now I read (via Israellycool) that a Hezbollah missile fired at Haifa on Thursday evening was of Iranian manufacture. Israellycool asks the question, "Are we [Israel] going to go after Iran?"
I wonder what the answer to Israelly's question will be, how much time will elapse before we find out, and what form such a "going after" might ultimately take.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Neo-neocon at war
It's confession time.
My name is neo-neocon, and I'm a warmonger. Not only have I declared war, but I'm deriving some pleasure from killing.
But don't get me wrong. It's not total war; I'm saving the big guns for when I might really need them. After all, in all-out, total war, everybody loses.
This is a war with that transcends issues of race (although some might argue it has aspects of class); this battle has inter-species connotations. The enemy: the Japanese beetle.
I know it's really summer when they arrive. Their numbers are legion; the proverbial hordes. I know that spraying (otherwise known as total war) would be most effective, but I'm liberal enough and ecology-minded enough to not want to foul my own nest with pesticides unless absolutely necessary.
So, over the years, I've tried other methods.
Those pheromone-based lures are attractive--and not just to the beetles, but to me. Using their own sexual drives to entice them into traps seems a bit diabolical, but has the advantage of being harmless to the environment. And the technique works, in a way--as soon as I would set out a bag, I'd invariably catch about a pound of the critters (and believe me, a pound is a lot of beetle for the money).
But the lures seemed to attract as many as they killed. The beetles just kept coming and coming (and I know, I know; those who criticize the entire neocon endeavor would say that the same thing is happening in Iraq).
In the last couple of years I've fastened on my present approach.
I fill a jar with alcohol,
and stealthily approach the favored, already slightly decimated, feeding grounds:
or the alternative, but still somewhat popular, rest and recreation grounds:
The beetles are lazily, happily feeding (or procreating?), blissfully unaware of the fate that awaits them. They are slow in the midday sun, heavy and lethargic, and all it takes is a little bit of pressure on the plant with my free hand as the other holds the jar into which the happy beetles plop.
Death, I'm glad to say, is instantaneous. I've experimented with different concentrations of alcohol/water, and I've found that only the pure stuff keeps them from writhing and squirming for many long seconds. I have no wish to make them suffer; I just want them gone.
Wish me well. Wish them ill.
My name is neo-neocon, and I'm a warmonger. Not only have I declared war, but I'm deriving some pleasure from killing.
But don't get me wrong. It's not total war; I'm saving the big guns for when I might really need them. After all, in all-out, total war, everybody loses.
This is a war with that transcends issues of race (although some might argue it has aspects of class); this battle has inter-species connotations. The enemy: the Japanese beetle.
I know it's really summer when they arrive. Their numbers are legion; the proverbial hordes. I know that spraying (otherwise known as total war) would be most effective, but I'm liberal enough and ecology-minded enough to not want to foul my own nest with pesticides unless absolutely necessary.
So, over the years, I've tried other methods.
Those pheromone-based lures are attractive--and not just to the beetles, but to me. Using their own sexual drives to entice them into traps seems a bit diabolical, but has the advantage of being harmless to the environment. And the technique works, in a way--as soon as I would set out a bag, I'd invariably catch about a pound of the critters (and believe me, a pound is a lot of beetle for the money).
But the lures seemed to attract as many as they killed. The beetles just kept coming and coming (and I know, I know; those who criticize the entire neocon endeavor would say that the same thing is happening in Iraq).
In the last couple of years I've fastened on my present approach.
I fill a jar with alcohol,
and stealthily approach the favored, already slightly decimated, feeding grounds:
or the alternative, but still somewhat popular, rest and recreation grounds:
The beetles are lazily, happily feeding (or procreating?), blissfully unaware of the fate that awaits them. They are slow in the midday sun, heavy and lethargic, and all it takes is a little bit of pressure on the plant with my free hand as the other holds the jar into which the happy beetles plop.
Death, I'm glad to say, is instantaneous. I've experimented with different concentrations of alcohol/water, and I've found that only the pure stuff keeps them from writhing and squirming for many long seconds. I have no wish to make them suffer; I just want them gone.
Wish me well. Wish them ill.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Bombs away: why India?
By now you've probably read about the train bombings in India (and here's an excellent roundup on the subject from Pajamas Media, by the way).
Over a hundred people dead and counting, and this is just one incident in a long line of recent similar ones in India--as well as a more ancient history, including a bloody eighth-century conquest and an exceptionally violent partition.
Why India? Well, why not? There's the long history already mentioned, and the still-unresolved question of Kashmir. But perhaps there are other reasons.
Mitch at Shot in the Dark speculates:
Indian Moslems live in a relatively (and relatively new) liberal democracy; they have the rule of law, democratic elections, a constitution descended from that of the UK, and perhaps most importantly of all, economic freedom and the prospects that an open economic playing field bring to people....India's moslems, in short, have a stake in the modern world.
And I'd bet that there's at least a small stake on Al Quaeda's part in stirring that up, if only by provoking a reaction against India's moslems, something that'll devalue that interest in the liberalism (small-l) that has helped quell so many of India's problems.
Stirring up Hindu-Moslem violence in India could certainly be a motive. But, was this attack perpetrated by global jihadists such as Al Qaeda, as Mitch seems to think, or more local Kashmiri separatists? And, as Allahpundit wonders at Hot Air, "is there a distinction any more?"
I submit that there's a distinction. And yet there's a link, and the link is a vital one.
Before 9/11, I saw the terrorist violence around the world as piecemeal. Each event was disconnected from the others. Even though I knew a disproportionate number were indeed perpetrated by Arabs or other Moslems, that fact seemed to be somewhat irrelevant. The causes were the usual ancient hatreds, border disputes, impoverishment, and unknown factors as well.
The events of 9/11 didn't function for me as some sort of instant illumination, but rather (as I've written here) as a catalyst for much reading and research on my part. And that reading indicated the existence of a coherent philosophy underpinning what previously seemed to have been disparate and unconnected events. That belief system has come to be known to me as Islamist totalitarianism.
Yes indeed, there have been other violent--and even terrorist--separatist movements. The IRA comes to mind, of course, and is often cited as an example that this sort of thing is hardly exclusive to Islam. But I'm not asserting it's exclusive to Islam; rather, that it's become rampant in a certain subset of Islamic thought. And, unlike localized groups such as the IRA, this movement has been widely promoted around the Islamic world, which means around most of the world itself This phenomenon has caused the vast majority of recent terrorism, violence that has escalated mightily within the past decade, increasing in both scope and magnitude.
The usual disclaimer--that most Moslems aren't jihadis--is certainly true. But it doesn't take "most;" it just takes "many." And "many" there are. ('Tis enough, 'twill serve.)
9/11 was a watershed for many reasons, but there were two overriding ones: its scope, and its location in the heart of the West in an America that hadn't previously known a large terrorist attack on civilians on its own soil. From our initial reaction to that event, the jihadis may have learned not to awaken the sleeping giant any more; let him start snoozing again. (Maybe not, of course; a new attack here is always possible.)
But India and other third-world countries, as well as Arab countries such as Egypt, are good targets of opportunity. Easy to move around in and plan, and less fear of massive retaliation. Maybe they did it there mostly because they could.
Over a hundred people dead and counting, and this is just one incident in a long line of recent similar ones in India--as well as a more ancient history, including a bloody eighth-century conquest and an exceptionally violent partition.
Why India? Well, why not? There's the long history already mentioned, and the still-unresolved question of Kashmir. But perhaps there are other reasons.
Mitch at Shot in the Dark speculates:
Indian Moslems live in a relatively (and relatively new) liberal democracy; they have the rule of law, democratic elections, a constitution descended from that of the UK, and perhaps most importantly of all, economic freedom and the prospects that an open economic playing field bring to people....India's moslems, in short, have a stake in the modern world.
And I'd bet that there's at least a small stake on Al Quaeda's part in stirring that up, if only by provoking a reaction against India's moslems, something that'll devalue that interest in the liberalism (small-l) that has helped quell so many of India's problems.
Stirring up Hindu-Moslem violence in India could certainly be a motive. But, was this attack perpetrated by global jihadists such as Al Qaeda, as Mitch seems to think, or more local Kashmiri separatists? And, as Allahpundit wonders at Hot Air, "is there a distinction any more?"
I submit that there's a distinction. And yet there's a link, and the link is a vital one.
Before 9/11, I saw the terrorist violence around the world as piecemeal. Each event was disconnected from the others. Even though I knew a disproportionate number were indeed perpetrated by Arabs or other Moslems, that fact seemed to be somewhat irrelevant. The causes were the usual ancient hatreds, border disputes, impoverishment, and unknown factors as well.
The events of 9/11 didn't function for me as some sort of instant illumination, but rather (as I've written here) as a catalyst for much reading and research on my part. And that reading indicated the existence of a coherent philosophy underpinning what previously seemed to have been disparate and unconnected events. That belief system has come to be known to me as Islamist totalitarianism.
Yes indeed, there have been other violent--and even terrorist--separatist movements. The IRA comes to mind, of course, and is often cited as an example that this sort of thing is hardly exclusive to Islam. But I'm not asserting it's exclusive to Islam; rather, that it's become rampant in a certain subset of Islamic thought. And, unlike localized groups such as the IRA, this movement has been widely promoted around the Islamic world, which means around most of the world itself This phenomenon has caused the vast majority of recent terrorism, violence that has escalated mightily within the past decade, increasing in both scope and magnitude.
The usual disclaimer--that most Moslems aren't jihadis--is certainly true. But it doesn't take "most;" it just takes "many." And "many" there are. ('Tis enough, 'twill serve.)
9/11 was a watershed for many reasons, but there were two overriding ones: its scope, and its location in the heart of the West in an America that hadn't previously known a large terrorist attack on civilians on its own soil. From our initial reaction to that event, the jihadis may have learned not to awaken the sleeping giant any more; let him start snoozing again. (Maybe not, of course; a new attack here is always possible.)
But India and other third-world countries, as well as Arab countries such as Egypt, are good targets of opportunity. Easy to move around in and plan, and less fear of massive retaliation. Maybe they did it there mostly because they could.
Monday, July 10, 2006
"Tough love" in the Arab world
Richard Fernandez of Belmont Club applies his thoughtful and complex mind to the question of the pace of attitude change in the Arab world.
Fernandez offers evidence that one of the side-effects of the Iraqi war--and have no doubt of this, it was an intended effect--is that many of the Iraqi people are starting to think in fresh ways, rather than to march in lockstep with the propaganda rife in their part of the world.
He bases some of his assertions on a fascinating post at Iraq the Model, which points out how Iraqi opinions on Hamas and the Palestine/Israel question differ from those of their neighbors:
The reactions I gathered were posted on an Arabic forum on the BBC Arabic website. About three dozens of comments were made by Iraqis both inside Iraq and in exile and all these comments were supportive of Israel or at least against Hamas as far as the topic is concerned except for only three comments; that's a 10:1 ratio while as you probably have guesses, the opposite ratio is true about the comments by the rest of Arabs.
Fernandez believes that the experience of taking responsibility for one's own political life has had the ripple effect for Iraqis of enhancing their ability to make objective judgments. I would caution that, in the particular instance of Iraqi attitudes towards Palestine and Israel, one other factor is operating: during the Saddam years Palestinians were encouraged to come to Iraq and were resented for having been given special privileges by the hated regime
But I still believe Fernandez is onto something. It's true in family life, as well: taking responsibility for oneself, bearing the consequences of one's decisions, is a good way to enhance learning and encourage more thoughtful future decision-making. Every parent knows that, although it can be very hard to let a child start doing this. But eventually, it's necessary.
Ah, but what if the decisions made are wrong, wrong, wrong? When to step in? What if a child is doing drugs, for example, or prostituting him/herself? How to prevent tragedy? Can one prevent tragedy? These decisions are hard enough in the relatively simple case of the family.
But countries are not children. And tough love has even larger consequences in the international arena than it does in the more personal environment of the family. In Palestine--a country that's never really been a country, and that for years has been treated as a sort of child by the international community--the Hamas victory is a case that might be likened to a dose of "tough love" after decades of a combination of enabling (Palestinians being on the perennial UN dole) and tyranny (the Arafat regime as harsh parent). In the last election, the Palestinian people were encouraged to take charge of their own destiny. The results, unfortunately, seem to have enhanced their tendencies for destruction, both of themselves and of others.
I wrote earlier that there was some evidence that, in that Hamas election, many Palestinian voters didn't take their responsibility as seriously as they might have, and voted for Hamas as a sort of protest and a game, not ever thinking the group could actually win. When all the possibilities in an election seem deeply flawed (and what election isn't like that, if you think about it?), that's a danger, and not just in Palestine. But in Palestine the flawed options were, unfortunately, far more deeply flawed than in most other countries, due to its especially sad history and deep marination in hatred, dependence, and tyranny.
The alternative to democracy in the Arab world so far has been dictatorship, tyrannical or at times relatively benign. Every dictatorship is a sort of infantalizing of its people, whether the parent be cruel or kind.
The Iraq war set up an experiment in something very different. Like all experiments, the outcome is as yet unknown. Democracy was initially an experiment in this country as well, although the special circumstances of its birth favored a good outcome. The birth pangs in Iraq have been bloody, but, along with Richard Fernandez, the brothers at Iraq the Model, and Michael Yon, I am encouraged by signs that the Iraqis may indeed be--as Fernandez puts it--engaged in "constructing a future for themselves, which...will eventually be rational and intelligent."
Or, as rational and intelligent as one can hope for when we flawed specimens, human beings, are involved.
Fernandez offers evidence that one of the side-effects of the Iraqi war--and have no doubt of this, it was an intended effect--is that many of the Iraqi people are starting to think in fresh ways, rather than to march in lockstep with the propaganda rife in their part of the world.
He bases some of his assertions on a fascinating post at Iraq the Model, which points out how Iraqi opinions on Hamas and the Palestine/Israel question differ from those of their neighbors:
The reactions I gathered were posted on an Arabic forum on the BBC Arabic website. About three dozens of comments were made by Iraqis both inside Iraq and in exile and all these comments were supportive of Israel or at least against Hamas as far as the topic is concerned except for only three comments; that's a 10:1 ratio while as you probably have guesses, the opposite ratio is true about the comments by the rest of Arabs.
Fernandez believes that the experience of taking responsibility for one's own political life has had the ripple effect for Iraqis of enhancing their ability to make objective judgments. I would caution that, in the particular instance of Iraqi attitudes towards Palestine and Israel, one other factor is operating: during the Saddam years Palestinians were encouraged to come to Iraq and were resented for having been given special privileges by the hated regime
But I still believe Fernandez is onto something. It's true in family life, as well: taking responsibility for oneself, bearing the consequences of one's decisions, is a good way to enhance learning and encourage more thoughtful future decision-making. Every parent knows that, although it can be very hard to let a child start doing this. But eventually, it's necessary.
Ah, but what if the decisions made are wrong, wrong, wrong? When to step in? What if a child is doing drugs, for example, or prostituting him/herself? How to prevent tragedy? Can one prevent tragedy? These decisions are hard enough in the relatively simple case of the family.
But countries are not children. And tough love has even larger consequences in the international arena than it does in the more personal environment of the family. In Palestine--a country that's never really been a country, and that for years has been treated as a sort of child by the international community--the Hamas victory is a case that might be likened to a dose of "tough love" after decades of a combination of enabling (Palestinians being on the perennial UN dole) and tyranny (the Arafat regime as harsh parent). In the last election, the Palestinian people were encouraged to take charge of their own destiny. The results, unfortunately, seem to have enhanced their tendencies for destruction, both of themselves and of others.
I wrote earlier that there was some evidence that, in that Hamas election, many Palestinian voters didn't take their responsibility as seriously as they might have, and voted for Hamas as a sort of protest and a game, not ever thinking the group could actually win. When all the possibilities in an election seem deeply flawed (and what election isn't like that, if you think about it?), that's a danger, and not just in Palestine. But in Palestine the flawed options were, unfortunately, far more deeply flawed than in most other countries, due to its especially sad history and deep marination in hatred, dependence, and tyranny.
The alternative to democracy in the Arab world so far has been dictatorship, tyrannical or at times relatively benign. Every dictatorship is a sort of infantalizing of its people, whether the parent be cruel or kind.
The Iraq war set up an experiment in something very different. Like all experiments, the outcome is as yet unknown. Democracy was initially an experiment in this country as well, although the special circumstances of its birth favored a good outcome. The birth pangs in Iraq have been bloody, but, along with Richard Fernandez, the brothers at Iraq the Model, and Michael Yon, I am encouraged by signs that the Iraqis may indeed be--as Fernandez puts it--engaged in "constructing a future for themselves, which...will eventually be rational and intelligent."
Or, as rational and intelligent as one can hope for when we flawed specimens, human beings, are involved.
More bumper stickers
My most recent post was on the subject of bumper stickers (or, rather, bumper sticker). In one of those blogosphere coincidences that aren't really all that coincidental--after all, there's a finite number of subjects on which mostly-political bloggers opine--the always-interesting Varifrank has a written a much longer exploration of recent examples of the genre.
Which reminds me of another one I saw here recently that caught my eye, and expresses something about how New Englanders view the rest of the country, "We don't care how you look at it in California."
Which reminds me of another one I saw here recently that caught my eye, and expresses something about how New Englanders view the rest of the country, "We don't care how you look at it in California."
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Meditation on a bumper sticker
And, speaking of friends--
Here's a bumper sticker seen yesterday on a parked car in my very liberal town:
Someone's idea, no doubt, of humor, based on the slogan "Friends don't let friends drive drunk."
But it doesn't seem all that funny to me, not by a longshot. Although it's ostensibly being said tongue-in-cheek, there's a certain hardnosed sentiment behind it, one I've encountered way too many times. It's a sentiment that--although espoused by a person who no doubt would identify him/herself as a liberal--embodies the opposite of traditional liberal thought.
What an interesting idea of friendship, that it must march in lockstep, belief matching belief. What an interesting idea of Republicanism; that it's something pernicious and dangerous, something from which friends must be protected. What an interesting idea of voting; that it's something you "let" or "don't let" someone do.
Yes, I know: lighten up, neo, it's just a joke. But jokes take certain forms for certain reasons; underneath, they express serious ideas that drive people. What is this particular idea? At heart, it's one of thought control, intolerance, and demonizing of the opposition.
And now--out I go to be with some friends. And I think I'll "let" them vote however they please.
Here's a bumper sticker seen yesterday on a parked car in my very liberal town:
Someone's idea, no doubt, of humor, based on the slogan "Friends don't let friends drive drunk."But it doesn't seem all that funny to me, not by a longshot. Although it's ostensibly being said tongue-in-cheek, there's a certain hardnosed sentiment behind it, one I've encountered way too many times. It's a sentiment that--although espoused by a person who no doubt would identify him/herself as a liberal--embodies the opposite of traditional liberal thought.
What an interesting idea of friendship, that it must march in lockstep, belief matching belief. What an interesting idea of Republicanism; that it's something pernicious and dangerous, something from which friends must be protected. What an interesting idea of voting; that it's something you "let" or "don't let" someone do.
Yes, I know: lighten up, neo, it's just a joke. But jokes take certain forms for certain reasons; underneath, they express serious ideas that drive people. What is this particular idea? At heart, it's one of thought control, intolerance, and demonizing of the opposition.
And now--out I go to be with some friends. And I think I'll "let" them vote however they please.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Friends: who needs em?
Recently Dr. Helen, another psychoblogger, wrote this interesting essay exploring the topic of modern-day friendship.
It's funny; we talk and think (and sing!) a lot about love--how to get it, how to keep it, what goes wrong with it, what it means to us--but not so much about friendship.
It's a topic I've thought a lot about, though, perhaps because I've moved quite a bit in my life and most of my old friends live far away, and I've had to make new ones in new communities several times over. I'm one of those people to whom friends mean a great deal. Dr. Helen mentions that perhaps extroverts are more likely to be interested in friendship:
People affect people differently--if you are energized by people and feel pleasure in being with others (a typical extrovert), then friendships can be postive, but if you tend towards introversion, then people can sometimes exhaust you and make you feel blue instead of energized--perhaps more boundaries are needed to maintain your emotional health. However, even an introvert may need other people--even one person who you can talk with and share some of yourself in ways that feel safe.
I don't think I'm a "typical" anything; I'm definitely some strange chimera, either an extroverted introvert or an introverted extrovert. That is, I'm very contemplative and have a need for solitude, but I also love being around people and talking to them. I don't spill my guts easily, but I have a stable of friends to whom I can confide in a pinch or a crisis; perhaps six or seven of them (friends, not crises!), carefully gleaned and cultivated over time. And I try to follow the old adage, "To have a friend you must be one." I'm a good listener, as well, and I think my friends know that.
Perhaps that's why it was so painful for me to come out politically and have so much friction with people, and even to lose a couple of friends (including one long-term one) over that. But, for the most part, my friendships have weathered the storm, although not without some work.
Long ago, I used to think my need for friends, and the number of them that I had, was typical of most people (perhaps that's a subset of the common misperception that whatever we happen to feel or want is what everyone feels or wants). But as I got older I realized that wasn't so. One thing I learned as a general rule--although, of course, as with most rules, exceptions abound--is that women tend to have more friends than men. Or, at least, they tend to do different things with them; rather than be activity-oriented (golf, baseball, hunting), women's friendships tend to be talk-oriented (problems, relationships, feelings).
I have some friends I've known since I was a little girl, and some I've kept since college. Some of the former might be people with whom, if I met them today, I wouldn't be especially friendly. But the long history we share is worth a lot, and gives us a commonality that almost feels as though we're relatives at this point.
The college friends are still some of the best I have; I think there are certain times in life that are especially ripe for forming fast and firm friendships, and that's one of them. Another, especially for young mothers, is the period when they're at home with the babies or the toddlers, and about to lose their minds if they don't have some adult companionship; I've got quite a few friends from that period of life, as well.
The commonality is that these are times or transition and stress, and the bonds forged among those who share the experience can be very strong indeed. Even if they move away--and many of them have; as, in fact, have I--we talk on the phone, and when we meet, often the years fall away and we experience that wondrous cliché , "it's as though we last saw each other just yesterday."
I've lost some friends, too, and not just to politics: to death. That happens more and more as one grows older. Mercifully, it's been few so far, but I know as time passes the numbers will inevitably increase. And two of my very best friends have had extremely life-threatening cancers, a very sobering and disturbing momento mori.
When I look back, I think some of my expectations about friendship were formed by my parents--no surprise, I suppose. They were both born, grew up, and lived their entire lives in a single tight-knit community (well, for my mother, not quite her whole life, since she moved from New York to New England in 2002 to be near me--but by that time, she was eighty-eight.)
Their community was an exceptionally social one, social in a way few are today. Not only did my parents grow up there, but almost everyone they knew did, as well--and they knew hundreds, if not thousands, of people. As a child, when I would walk down the street, complete strangers constantly recognized me from my powerful resemblance to my father and would come up to talk to me (another thing that wouldn't happen today!), saying that they knew him and could tell I was his daughter. As a teenager, I wasn't allowed to wear jeans when I went out into the community, because it would reflect badly on the family (and remember, my parents were liberals--oh, how the times they have a-changed!)
My parents, and all their friends, used to party. Not as in "get blasted," but as in "have a lot of fun." It was not unusual for them to get together with friends four or five times a week--card games, volunteer work, cake and coffee, and full-fledged parties. They often vacationed with from four to eight couples as a group. They took ballroom dancing lessons in their basements.
And they talked--oh, how they talked! As a child one of my strongest memories is of evenings spent up in my bedroom, trying to do my homework, while the siren song of loud and animated conversation wafted invitingly towards me.
Often, I would give in and go down there, to where the adults sat around the large dining room table, eating pastry, drinking coffee, and talking. Arguing, too, at times. Over local things and larger things, including politics and the world. Nor did they shun the opinions of a child; I was welcome at the table, and I was allowed speak up. My parents didn't monitor my homework--perhaps because they knew I was conscientious enough and driven enough so that they didn't have to--and so I was allowed to make my own judgments about how much time I would spend partaking of the conversation.
I always thought when I grew up I'd have friends like that. Alas, I don't--that is, I don't have a large group of friends who all know each other and get together regularly. They're scattered, as my life has been scattered, as well; with different eras and varied venues, as well as different groups of friends and individual friends.
I've come to consider that what my parents had then was at least somewhat exceptional, even for the time, although it used to be far more common than now. Such a phenomenon seems very rare nowadays, especially in urban areas.
But I value it. And sometimes I think it set the tone for my attraction to blogging, which is a sort of virtual recreation of my parents' coffee hours. And here I am, still speaking up.
So here, friends, have some coffee cake on me:
It's funny; we talk and think (and sing!) a lot about love--how to get it, how to keep it, what goes wrong with it, what it means to us--but not so much about friendship.
It's a topic I've thought a lot about, though, perhaps because I've moved quite a bit in my life and most of my old friends live far away, and I've had to make new ones in new communities several times over. I'm one of those people to whom friends mean a great deal. Dr. Helen mentions that perhaps extroverts are more likely to be interested in friendship:
People affect people differently--if you are energized by people and feel pleasure in being with others (a typical extrovert), then friendships can be postive, but if you tend towards introversion, then people can sometimes exhaust you and make you feel blue instead of energized--perhaps more boundaries are needed to maintain your emotional health. However, even an introvert may need other people--even one person who you can talk with and share some of yourself in ways that feel safe.
I don't think I'm a "typical" anything; I'm definitely some strange chimera, either an extroverted introvert or an introverted extrovert. That is, I'm very contemplative and have a need for solitude, but I also love being around people and talking to them. I don't spill my guts easily, but I have a stable of friends to whom I can confide in a pinch or a crisis; perhaps six or seven of them (friends, not crises!), carefully gleaned and cultivated over time. And I try to follow the old adage, "To have a friend you must be one." I'm a good listener, as well, and I think my friends know that.
Perhaps that's why it was so painful for me to come out politically and have so much friction with people, and even to lose a couple of friends (including one long-term one) over that. But, for the most part, my friendships have weathered the storm, although not without some work.
Long ago, I used to think my need for friends, and the number of them that I had, was typical of most people (perhaps that's a subset of the common misperception that whatever we happen to feel or want is what everyone feels or wants). But as I got older I realized that wasn't so. One thing I learned as a general rule--although, of course, as with most rules, exceptions abound--is that women tend to have more friends than men. Or, at least, they tend to do different things with them; rather than be activity-oriented (golf, baseball, hunting), women's friendships tend to be talk-oriented (problems, relationships, feelings).
I have some friends I've known since I was a little girl, and some I've kept since college. Some of the former might be people with whom, if I met them today, I wouldn't be especially friendly. But the long history we share is worth a lot, and gives us a commonality that almost feels as though we're relatives at this point.
The college friends are still some of the best I have; I think there are certain times in life that are especially ripe for forming fast and firm friendships, and that's one of them. Another, especially for young mothers, is the period when they're at home with the babies or the toddlers, and about to lose their minds if they don't have some adult companionship; I've got quite a few friends from that period of life, as well.
The commonality is that these are times or transition and stress, and the bonds forged among those who share the experience can be very strong indeed. Even if they move away--and many of them have; as, in fact, have I--we talk on the phone, and when we meet, often the years fall away and we experience that wondrous cliché , "it's as though we last saw each other just yesterday."
I've lost some friends, too, and not just to politics: to death. That happens more and more as one grows older. Mercifully, it's been few so far, but I know as time passes the numbers will inevitably increase. And two of my very best friends have had extremely life-threatening cancers, a very sobering and disturbing momento mori.
When I look back, I think some of my expectations about friendship were formed by my parents--no surprise, I suppose. They were both born, grew up, and lived their entire lives in a single tight-knit community (well, for my mother, not quite her whole life, since she moved from New York to New England in 2002 to be near me--but by that time, she was eighty-eight.)
Their community was an exceptionally social one, social in a way few are today. Not only did my parents grow up there, but almost everyone they knew did, as well--and they knew hundreds, if not thousands, of people. As a child, when I would walk down the street, complete strangers constantly recognized me from my powerful resemblance to my father and would come up to talk to me (another thing that wouldn't happen today!), saying that they knew him and could tell I was his daughter. As a teenager, I wasn't allowed to wear jeans when I went out into the community, because it would reflect badly on the family (and remember, my parents were liberals--oh, how the times they have a-changed!)
My parents, and all their friends, used to party. Not as in "get blasted," but as in "have a lot of fun." It was not unusual for them to get together with friends four or five times a week--card games, volunteer work, cake and coffee, and full-fledged parties. They often vacationed with from four to eight couples as a group. They took ballroom dancing lessons in their basements.
And they talked--oh, how they talked! As a child one of my strongest memories is of evenings spent up in my bedroom, trying to do my homework, while the siren song of loud and animated conversation wafted invitingly towards me.
Often, I would give in and go down there, to where the adults sat around the large dining room table, eating pastry, drinking coffee, and talking. Arguing, too, at times. Over local things and larger things, including politics and the world. Nor did they shun the opinions of a child; I was welcome at the table, and I was allowed speak up. My parents didn't monitor my homework--perhaps because they knew I was conscientious enough and driven enough so that they didn't have to--and so I was allowed to make my own judgments about how much time I would spend partaking of the conversation.
I always thought when I grew up I'd have friends like that. Alas, I don't--that is, I don't have a large group of friends who all know each other and get together regularly. They're scattered, as my life has been scattered, as well; with different eras and varied venues, as well as different groups of friends and individual friends.
I've come to consider that what my parents had then was at least somewhat exceptional, even for the time, although it used to be far more common than now. Such a phenomenon seems very rare nowadays, especially in urban areas.
But I value it. And sometimes I think it set the tone for my attraction to blogging, which is a sort of virtual recreation of my parents' coffee hours. And here I am, still speaking up.
So here, friends, have some coffee cake on me:
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Told you so: the New York Times reliving its glory days
About ten days ago I wrote this post, in which I speculated about the motivation of the NY Times in publishing its recent national security revelations. My answer to the question of what the Times editors were really trying to do by their actions was that they were hoping to relive the paper's own "top of the world, Ma!" days, the heady era of their victory in the Pentagon Papers lawsuit of 1971, when the Supreme Court ruled in their favor.
And now I'm only more certain that I may have been onto something. Why? This piece by LA Times editor Baquet and NY Times editor Keller, appearing in the July 1 NY Times, appears to say as much. They refer to the Pentagon Papers case prominently and early in the article, a clear indication to me that the case represents some sort of inspiration for them.
The piece reads as though we are meant to feel sorry for the editors and the terrible anxiety they experienced when making what they refer to as "excruciating choices" in whether or not to cover these stories. Poor dears; sounds dreadful.
Their article is entitled "When Do We Publish a Secret?" and their answer (which could be paraphrased as "whenever we feel like it"), is expressed this way:
There is no magic formula, no neat metric for either the public's interest or the dangers of publishing sensitive information. We make our best judgment...It is not a responsibility we take lightly. And it is not one we can surrender to the government.
Isn't that reassuring? It's awfully good to know that the unelected editors of the MSM are the final arbiters of which secrets to publish, and when, and that they don't even seem to have guidelines about it, or feel the need to respect the wishes of the experts in national security who advise them on the matter. After all, that's "the government," and we all know better than to trust them right? They never have our best interests at heart and, after all, what do they know? Far better to trust Baquet and Keller, our national security gatekeepers.
And now I'm only more certain that I may have been onto something. Why? This piece by LA Times editor Baquet and NY Times editor Keller, appearing in the July 1 NY Times, appears to say as much. They refer to the Pentagon Papers case prominently and early in the article, a clear indication to me that the case represents some sort of inspiration for them.
The piece reads as though we are meant to feel sorry for the editors and the terrible anxiety they experienced when making what they refer to as "excruciating choices" in whether or not to cover these stories. Poor dears; sounds dreadful.
Their article is entitled "When Do We Publish a Secret?" and their answer (which could be paraphrased as "whenever we feel like it"), is expressed this way:
There is no magic formula, no neat metric for either the public's interest or the dangers of publishing sensitive information. We make our best judgment...It is not a responsibility we take lightly. And it is not one we can surrender to the government.
Isn't that reassuring? It's awfully good to know that the unelected editors of the MSM are the final arbiters of which secrets to publish, and when, and that they don't even seem to have guidelines about it, or feel the need to respect the wishes of the experts in national security who advise them on the matter. After all, that's "the government," and we all know better than to trust them right? They never have our best interests at heart and, after all, what do they know? Far better to trust Baquet and Keller, our national security gatekeepers.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
The Pied Pipers of Palestine
Children are being actively recruited by the Palestinians into the cult of martyrdom, which encompasses both the extreme of suicide bombing and other, "milder" activities such as acting as shields for adult fighters.
These children do not get the idea to do this all on their own. Martyrdom is not a natural youthful aspiration, but the plasticity and vulnerability of the very young can be exploited to mold many of them in just that direction, much in the way advertising works to form habits.
There is a concerted effort in many parts of the Arab world--and, most particularly, among the Palestinians--to glorify martyrdom in such a way that it specifically appeals to children. There's nothing subtle or hidden about this campaign, which uses modern media tools in a most effective manner. It's another example of the pernicious power of the wedding of new technology with a medieval mindset.
Here, for example, is the transcript of a recent children's program (June 15, 2006) aired on Egyptian TV. The text is about as far from "Sesame Street" or "Mr. Roger's Neighborhood" as it can be:
...when a child is brought up in a good home, and receives proper education in faith, he loves martyrdom, which becomes like an instinct for him. He can never give it up.
Augean Stables has a discussion of the phenomenon among the Palestinians, and notices a recent uptick in frequency. An article from the Jerusalem Post is quoted (which I will quote at some length because I think it's necessary to get the full flavor of the message, and its enormous and powerful appeal to children):
As Israel enters the northern Gaza Strip, there are signs that the Palestinian Authority plans to renew the tactic of sending children to the front lines as human shields to obstruct the IDF.
PA TV is again broadcasting music videos designed to brainwash young children into seeking death as shahids - martyrs for Allah. Shahada-promoting music videos were first broadcast thousands of times on Palestinian TV from 2000 through 2004.
One of the most sinister of these clips was broadcast twice last week, according to our research after a three-year absence. The clip features a child actor playing the most famous Palestinian child martyr, Muhammad al-Dura - whose death in a crossfire was broadcast to the entire world - calling to other Palestinian children to literally follow him to Child Martyrs’ Heaven.
“I am waving not to part but to say, ‘Follow me,’” is Dura’s invitation on the TV screen.
The children watching this video are then shown what awaits them if they join Dura in death. The video follows the child actor - “Dura” - joyously frolicking in heaven. He romps on the beach, plays with a kite and runs toward a Ferris wheel.
The children are being told that death in conflict with Israel will bring them into a child’s paradise. Muhammad al-Dura is already in this paradise, tranquil and fun-filled.
This call to children to seek death, coming from the child who has turned into a Palestinian hero, and broadcast to their children by PA TV, is one of the most odious examples of exploitation of children witnessed on PA TV.
THE WORDS sung by the popular singer Aida are as insidious as the pictures. The earth is described as yearning for the children’s death - “its thirst quenched by the gush of blood flowing from the youthful body.”
I would hope that even the strongest proponents of the Palestinian cause would recognize the vileness and moral bankruptcy of this particular campaign. My guess, though, is that some of them will not, and will instead find ways to excuse it and/or blame it on Israel.
(And, by the way, the evidence is nearly overwhelming that al-Durah, the child martyr exploited in these abominable ads, was either killed by Palestinian forces, or that the entire al-Durah incident was faked. Although that's important, it's also irrelevant to the subject at hand, which is undoubtedly true: the purposeful recruitment of children into active participation in the cause.)
Movements have often tried to indoctrinate children, and even sometimes used them as traps. In recent memory, this was done during the Vietnam War by the Vietcong, to great effect. Recruiting children is not only a tool for using scarce resources, but a sort of moral jujitsu; a way to turn the "softness" of the opposition--i.e., soldiers' reluctance to cold-bloodedly kill children--into a way to cause them to feel remorse when they are tricked into doing so against their will (or, if that fails, into appearing as though they've killed children, as with al-Durah).
Here's a description of the way it worked for the Vietcong:
A member of the Viet Cong would later confirm that: "Children were trained to throw grenades, not only for the terror factor, but so the government or American soldiers would have to shoot them. Then the Americans feel very ashamed. And they blame themselves and call their soldiers war criminals." It was not rare for small children to wave an American patrol into a booby trap or minefield. Additionally, the Viet Cong would use women and children as lethal ploys or ruses to lead Americans into deadly ambushes.
I haven't been able to discover how these children were recruited. But I doubt it was the same sort of slick media blitz that's occurring with the Palestinians. One has to reach far back into medieval times to something like the Children's Crusade to find a campaign approaching this one, and even then the comparison is not really apt. The children there were merely responding to the general call for rescuing the Holy Lands, not one specifically aimed at and targeting children. And in fact, the Children's Crusade was actually a sort of grass-roots mass movement led by children themselves, all apparently under twelve.
At any rate, that was in the year 1212. Most assuredly, television was not involved, nor did the Children's Crusade have the blessing of the Catholic Church. But current-day calls in the Arab world to children to become martyrs to the cause are on government-run and sanctioned media, purposely orchestrated and planned by adults (the adult in the Egyptian excerpt linked above is identified as "a preacher at the Egyptian ministry of religious endowment," for example).
As I was reading all of this, some sort of memory, some association, began stirring within me. Something from literature? Folklore? Poetry? History? Then it came to me, and it turned out the answer is "all of the above:" the story of "The Pied Piper."
As a child, I'd heard the tale, as did most of us. I also owned a comic book based on the famous Browning poem on the subject, and it became one of my favorites. I read it over and over, charmed by the rhymes, but frightened by the disturbing, ambiguous, and powerful ending. Folktales and fairy tales are often dark, but this seemed one of the very darkest of all. There was no redemption at the conclusion, just children disappeared into the side of a mountain, and devastated and bereft adults left to grieve.
Do you remember the story of the Piper (and see this for speculation about the historical incident of 1284--including, among other things, whether a children's crusade might have been involved--that inspired it)?
It goes like this: leaders of the medieval town of Hamelin, plagued by rats, hire a magical piper to rid the city of the pests. But when he succeeds in seductively using his music to lead the vermin into the sea, where they drown, the people of Hamelin renege on their deal and fail to "pay the piper." In anger, he takes revenge on the townfolk, and what a revenge it is! The Piper plays his pipe again--a different tune--and this time lures the all the children in the town to a door in the side of a mountain that mysteriously opens up and closes behind them. They are never heard from again. Only a few handicapped children survive to tell the tale; in my comic book version it was a lame boy on crutches who couldn't catch up with the others.
One of the ambiguities of the story is what actually happens to the children. It's clear that the Piper's music is a sweet song, promising wonderful and glorious experiences if the children follow him. The fact that this is a lie, and that they are following him to death, is implied but never unequivocally stated, and as a susceptible child myself I puzzled over the conundrum and the mystery. Would I, too, have followed? Was the little lame boy blessed or cursed in not having gone with the others?
As an adult, I think the answer is clear that the Piper was up to no good. But as a child, I wasn't quite sure, and I was well aware of the seductive power of the Piper's promise.
Many parts of Browning's poem are funny, particularly the earlier passages, and the rhyme scheme is inherently light. But this part chilled me then, and it chills me still--his description of the way the beautiful music called the children, and what it spoke to them:
...Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,
And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,
Out came the children running.
All the little boys and girls,
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter....
When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side,
A wondrous portal opened wide,
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;
And the Piper advanced and the children followed,
And when all were in to the very last,
The door in the mountain-side shut fast.
Did I say all? No! One was lame,
And could not dance the whole of the way;
And in after years, if you would blame
His sadness, he was used to say,--
"It's dull in our town since my playmates left!
I can't forget that I'm bereft
Of all the pleasant sights they see,
Which the Piper also promised me.
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
Joining the town and just at hand,
Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,
And flowers put forth a fairer hue,
And everything was strange and new;
The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,
And their dogs outran our fallow deer,
And honey-bees had lost their stings,
And horses were born with eagles' wings:
And just as I became assured
My lame foot would be speedily cured,
The music stopped and I stood still,
And found myself outside the hill,
Left alone against my will,
To go now limping as before,
And never hear of that country more!"
The similarities, I think, are clear, even in the prominent use of music in present-day Palestinian child recruitment videos. And I think it's no coincidence that, in the one featuring the child actor playing al-Durah, he is shown saying, Pied Piper-like "Follow me."
How to stop the Pied Pipers of Palestine? The first step is to recognize, publicize, and condemn what they are doing. This is my small part in that effort.
These children do not get the idea to do this all on their own. Martyrdom is not a natural youthful aspiration, but the plasticity and vulnerability of the very young can be exploited to mold many of them in just that direction, much in the way advertising works to form habits.
There is a concerted effort in many parts of the Arab world--and, most particularly, among the Palestinians--to glorify martyrdom in such a way that it specifically appeals to children. There's nothing subtle or hidden about this campaign, which uses modern media tools in a most effective manner. It's another example of the pernicious power of the wedding of new technology with a medieval mindset.
Here, for example, is the transcript of a recent children's program (June 15, 2006) aired on Egyptian TV. The text is about as far from "Sesame Street" or "Mr. Roger's Neighborhood" as it can be:
...when a child is brought up in a good home, and receives proper education in faith, he loves martyrdom, which becomes like an instinct for him. He can never give it up.
Augean Stables has a discussion of the phenomenon among the Palestinians, and notices a recent uptick in frequency. An article from the Jerusalem Post is quoted (which I will quote at some length because I think it's necessary to get the full flavor of the message, and its enormous and powerful appeal to children):
As Israel enters the northern Gaza Strip, there are signs that the Palestinian Authority plans to renew the tactic of sending children to the front lines as human shields to obstruct the IDF.
PA TV is again broadcasting music videos designed to brainwash young children into seeking death as shahids - martyrs for Allah. Shahada-promoting music videos were first broadcast thousands of times on Palestinian TV from 2000 through 2004.
One of the most sinister of these clips was broadcast twice last week, according to our research after a three-year absence. The clip features a child actor playing the most famous Palestinian child martyr, Muhammad al-Dura - whose death in a crossfire was broadcast to the entire world - calling to other Palestinian children to literally follow him to Child Martyrs’ Heaven.
“I am waving not to part but to say, ‘Follow me,’” is Dura’s invitation on the TV screen.
The children watching this video are then shown what awaits them if they join Dura in death. The video follows the child actor - “Dura” - joyously frolicking in heaven. He romps on the beach, plays with a kite and runs toward a Ferris wheel.
The children are being told that death in conflict with Israel will bring them into a child’s paradise. Muhammad al-Dura is already in this paradise, tranquil and fun-filled.
This call to children to seek death, coming from the child who has turned into a Palestinian hero, and broadcast to their children by PA TV, is one of the most odious examples of exploitation of children witnessed on PA TV.
THE WORDS sung by the popular singer Aida are as insidious as the pictures. The earth is described as yearning for the children’s death - “its thirst quenched by the gush of blood flowing from the youthful body.”
I would hope that even the strongest proponents of the Palestinian cause would recognize the vileness and moral bankruptcy of this particular campaign. My guess, though, is that some of them will not, and will instead find ways to excuse it and/or blame it on Israel.
(And, by the way, the evidence is nearly overwhelming that al-Durah, the child martyr exploited in these abominable ads, was either killed by Palestinian forces, or that the entire al-Durah incident was faked. Although that's important, it's also irrelevant to the subject at hand, which is undoubtedly true: the purposeful recruitment of children into active participation in the cause.)
Movements have often tried to indoctrinate children, and even sometimes used them as traps. In recent memory, this was done during the Vietnam War by the Vietcong, to great effect. Recruiting children is not only a tool for using scarce resources, but a sort of moral jujitsu; a way to turn the "softness" of the opposition--i.e., soldiers' reluctance to cold-bloodedly kill children--into a way to cause them to feel remorse when they are tricked into doing so against their will (or, if that fails, into appearing as though they've killed children, as with al-Durah).
Here's a description of the way it worked for the Vietcong:
A member of the Viet Cong would later confirm that: "Children were trained to throw grenades, not only for the terror factor, but so the government or American soldiers would have to shoot them. Then the Americans feel very ashamed. And they blame themselves and call their soldiers war criminals." It was not rare for small children to wave an American patrol into a booby trap or minefield. Additionally, the Viet Cong would use women and children as lethal ploys or ruses to lead Americans into deadly ambushes.
I haven't been able to discover how these children were recruited. But I doubt it was the same sort of slick media blitz that's occurring with the Palestinians. One has to reach far back into medieval times to something like the Children's Crusade to find a campaign approaching this one, and even then the comparison is not really apt. The children there were merely responding to the general call for rescuing the Holy Lands, not one specifically aimed at and targeting children. And in fact, the Children's Crusade was actually a sort of grass-roots mass movement led by children themselves, all apparently under twelve.
At any rate, that was in the year 1212. Most assuredly, television was not involved, nor did the Children's Crusade have the blessing of the Catholic Church. But current-day calls in the Arab world to children to become martyrs to the cause are on government-run and sanctioned media, purposely orchestrated and planned by adults (the adult in the Egyptian excerpt linked above is identified as "a preacher at the Egyptian ministry of religious endowment," for example).
As I was reading all of this, some sort of memory, some association, began stirring within me. Something from literature? Folklore? Poetry? History? Then it came to me, and it turned out the answer is "all of the above:" the story of "The Pied Piper."
As a child, I'd heard the tale, as did most of us. I also owned a comic book based on the famous Browning poem on the subject, and it became one of my favorites. I read it over and over, charmed by the rhymes, but frightened by the disturbing, ambiguous, and powerful ending. Folktales and fairy tales are often dark, but this seemed one of the very darkest of all. There was no redemption at the conclusion, just children disappeared into the side of a mountain, and devastated and bereft adults left to grieve.
Do you remember the story of the Piper (and see this for speculation about the historical incident of 1284--including, among other things, whether a children's crusade might have been involved--that inspired it)?
It goes like this: leaders of the medieval town of Hamelin, plagued by rats, hire a magical piper to rid the city of the pests. But when he succeeds in seductively using his music to lead the vermin into the sea, where they drown, the people of Hamelin renege on their deal and fail to "pay the piper." In anger, he takes revenge on the townfolk, and what a revenge it is! The Piper plays his pipe again--a different tune--and this time lures the all the children in the town to a door in the side of a mountain that mysteriously opens up and closes behind them. They are never heard from again. Only a few handicapped children survive to tell the tale; in my comic book version it was a lame boy on crutches who couldn't catch up with the others.
One of the ambiguities of the story is what actually happens to the children. It's clear that the Piper's music is a sweet song, promising wonderful and glorious experiences if the children follow him. The fact that this is a lie, and that they are following him to death, is implied but never unequivocally stated, and as a susceptible child myself I puzzled over the conundrum and the mystery. Would I, too, have followed? Was the little lame boy blessed or cursed in not having gone with the others?
As an adult, I think the answer is clear that the Piper was up to no good. But as a child, I wasn't quite sure, and I was well aware of the seductive power of the Piper's promise.
Many parts of Browning's poem are funny, particularly the earlier passages, and the rhyme scheme is inherently light. But this part chilled me then, and it chills me still--his description of the way the beautiful music called the children, and what it spoke to them:
...Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering,
And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,
Out came the children running.
All the little boys and girls,
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter....
When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side,
A wondrous portal opened wide,
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;
And the Piper advanced and the children followed,
And when all were in to the very last,
The door in the mountain-side shut fast.
Did I say all? No! One was lame,
And could not dance the whole of the way;
And in after years, if you would blame
His sadness, he was used to say,--
"It's dull in our town since my playmates left!
I can't forget that I'm bereft
Of all the pleasant sights they see,
Which the Piper also promised me.
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
Joining the town and just at hand,
Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,
And flowers put forth a fairer hue,
And everything was strange and new;
The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,
And their dogs outran our fallow deer,
And honey-bees had lost their stings,
And horses were born with eagles' wings:
And just as I became assured
My lame foot would be speedily cured,
The music stopped and I stood still,
And found myself outside the hill,
Left alone against my will,
To go now limping as before,
And never hear of that country more!"
The similarities, I think, are clear, even in the prominent use of music in present-day Palestinian child recruitment videos. And I think it's no coincidence that, in the one featuring the child actor playing al-Durah, he is shown saying, Pied Piper-like "Follow me."
How to stop the Pied Pipers of Palestine? The first step is to recognize, publicize, and condemn what they are doing. This is my small part in that effort.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
More on the knotty question of assimilation
Yesterday I offered some thoughts on immigration and assimilation.
I always try my best to make myself clear. But as is often the case, some commenters seemed to think I was saying something I was not (see the comments section of yesterday's post if you don't know what I'm referring to). But I've become resigned to this, because--as Gerard Van der Leun of American Digest quotes Karl Popper as saying, "It is impossible to speak in such a way that you cannot be misunderstood."
Indeed. And it's especially true if people are determined to set up strawman arguments in order to make a certain point they want to make, whatever I may be saying. But here's my attempt at clarification of the admittedly complex issue of assimilation, nonetheless.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I celebrate cultural diversity. You can see that if you actually read my previous post carefully. Ethnic food? Love it. I not only have no desire to take away the cous cous and the kim chee and the baba ganoush and the chow fun and the coriander and the curry, I revel in them.
So, celebrate your holidays and dress up in national costume at times, more power to you. Continue to speak your ancestral tongue; I wish I knew more of mine. But don't let that stop you from integrating the values and customs of your new country, the US, into your lives in a deep and meaningful way. As a key path to that goal: learn English, and learn it as quickly and as well as possible.
As commenter J.H. Bowden wrote here, "Becoming an American isn't embracing a culture, but embracing a set of ideas." That might be one of the more singular aspects of this country as opposed to more homogeneous nations. A Frenchman is a Frenchman by virtue of birth and ancestry, but that's much less true of Americans, who are meant to be united by the ideas expressed in the Constitution, which are in turn based on the principles of the Enlightenment.
The French themselves have been experiencing the problems inherent in assimilation--or, rather, the difficulties associated with its lack, or its partial application--in their country. The vast numbers of Moslem immigrants to France are mostly from North Africa, and they have remained for the most part in poverty-stricken enclaves, encouraged in many ways to keep key elements of their own culture that clash with those of the French. Some of this French discord and confusion has been played out in the furor about French laws banning the wearing of religious symbols and garb in the schools, for example, customs which are seen as violating the separation of church and state in a nation wary of church influence on the educational system.
The question about assimilation is where to draw the line, and how? What are the consequences of a failure to adopt and adapt to the mores of the prevailing culture--especially if one has customs that run counter to principles of that culture?
We have a tradition of respecting the rights of minorities--that's part of the reason so many immigrants want to come to this country, and do. There are even groups who have been here quite a long time who have continued to isolate themselves from the mainstream in many aspects of culture and dress--the Amish are a good example of this, as well as the Mennonites (see this for a discussion of their beliefs and origins).
So, have these groups "assimilated?" Not exactly. But the ways in which they are in accord with the basic belief system of this country are more important than surface differences in dress or the use of the automobile. They are peaceful and respectful of the rights of others. They may speak another language at home, but they are all fluent in English and use it with outsiders. They are dedicated to religious tolerance, both for themselves and for others--that's why they originally came here, in fact.
However, it's interesting that there are restrictive aspects of Amish life that would appear to violate some of our beliefs, such as, for example, the fact that education for Amish children only goes up to the eighth grade. I suppose that this might be more controversial if it were more widely known, or if the Amish themselves were seen as a threat to anyone, rather than a quaint and harmless group.
In researching the Amish for this post, I ran across the following fascinating tidbit:
Some Amish groups practice a tradition called rumspringa ("running around"). Teens aged 16 and older are allowed some freedom in behavior. It is a interval of a few years while they remain living at home, yet are somewhat released from the intense supervision of their parents. Since they have not yet been baptized, they have not committed to follow the extremely strict behavioral restrictions and community rules imposed by the religion. They may date, go out with their friends, visit the outside world, go to parties, drink alcoholic beverages, wear jeans, etc. The intent of rumspringa is to make certain that youth are giving their informed consent if they decide to be baptized. About 80% to 90% decide to remain Amish.
This indicates to me that, despite the restrictions of Amish life, and their differences from the mainstream, they retain a surprising amount of dedication to freedom of choice and belief which is in line with principles for which this country stands.
The major problem with lack of assimilation lies when there's a clash with such principles, and yet a concomitant demand for protection for such a belief system. This yields the contradiction involved in tolerating the intolerant.
Tolerating the intolerant; it's a conundrum I've written about before:
Tolerance applied without any distinction can become a trap. That way lies madness--not to mention the seeds of the destruction of tolerant societies themselves.
I always try my best to make myself clear. But as is often the case, some commenters seemed to think I was saying something I was not (see the comments section of yesterday's post if you don't know what I'm referring to). But I've become resigned to this, because--as Gerard Van der Leun of American Digest quotes Karl Popper as saying, "It is impossible to speak in such a way that you cannot be misunderstood."
Indeed. And it's especially true if people are determined to set up strawman arguments in order to make a certain point they want to make, whatever I may be saying. But here's my attempt at clarification of the admittedly complex issue of assimilation, nonetheless.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I celebrate cultural diversity. You can see that if you actually read my previous post carefully. Ethnic food? Love it. I not only have no desire to take away the cous cous and the kim chee and the baba ganoush and the chow fun and the coriander and the curry, I revel in them.
So, celebrate your holidays and dress up in national costume at times, more power to you. Continue to speak your ancestral tongue; I wish I knew more of mine. But don't let that stop you from integrating the values and customs of your new country, the US, into your lives in a deep and meaningful way. As a key path to that goal: learn English, and learn it as quickly and as well as possible.
As commenter J.H. Bowden wrote here, "Becoming an American isn't embracing a culture, but embracing a set of ideas." That might be one of the more singular aspects of this country as opposed to more homogeneous nations. A Frenchman is a Frenchman by virtue of birth and ancestry, but that's much less true of Americans, who are meant to be united by the ideas expressed in the Constitution, which are in turn based on the principles of the Enlightenment.
The French themselves have been experiencing the problems inherent in assimilation--or, rather, the difficulties associated with its lack, or its partial application--in their country. The vast numbers of Moslem immigrants to France are mostly from North Africa, and they have remained for the most part in poverty-stricken enclaves, encouraged in many ways to keep key elements of their own culture that clash with those of the French. Some of this French discord and confusion has been played out in the furor about French laws banning the wearing of religious symbols and garb in the schools, for example, customs which are seen as violating the separation of church and state in a nation wary of church influence on the educational system.
The question about assimilation is where to draw the line, and how? What are the consequences of a failure to adopt and adapt to the mores of the prevailing culture--especially if one has customs that run counter to principles of that culture?
We have a tradition of respecting the rights of minorities--that's part of the reason so many immigrants want to come to this country, and do. There are even groups who have been here quite a long time who have continued to isolate themselves from the mainstream in many aspects of culture and dress--the Amish are a good example of this, as well as the Mennonites (see this for a discussion of their beliefs and origins).
So, have these groups "assimilated?" Not exactly. But the ways in which they are in accord with the basic belief system of this country are more important than surface differences in dress or the use of the automobile. They are peaceful and respectful of the rights of others. They may speak another language at home, but they are all fluent in English and use it with outsiders. They are dedicated to religious tolerance, both for themselves and for others--that's why they originally came here, in fact.
However, it's interesting that there are restrictive aspects of Amish life that would appear to violate some of our beliefs, such as, for example, the fact that education for Amish children only goes up to the eighth grade. I suppose that this might be more controversial if it were more widely known, or if the Amish themselves were seen as a threat to anyone, rather than a quaint and harmless group.
In researching the Amish for this post, I ran across the following fascinating tidbit:
Some Amish groups practice a tradition called rumspringa ("running around"). Teens aged 16 and older are allowed some freedom in behavior. It is a interval of a few years while they remain living at home, yet are somewhat released from the intense supervision of their parents. Since they have not yet been baptized, they have not committed to follow the extremely strict behavioral restrictions and community rules imposed by the religion. They may date, go out with their friends, visit the outside world, go to parties, drink alcoholic beverages, wear jeans, etc. The intent of rumspringa is to make certain that youth are giving their informed consent if they decide to be baptized. About 80% to 90% decide to remain Amish.
This indicates to me that, despite the restrictions of Amish life, and their differences from the mainstream, they retain a surprising amount of dedication to freedom of choice and belief which is in line with principles for which this country stands.
The major problem with lack of assimilation lies when there's a clash with such principles, and yet a concomitant demand for protection for such a belief system. This yields the contradiction involved in tolerating the intolerant.
Tolerating the intolerant; it's a conundrum I've written about before:
Tolerance applied without any distinction can become a trap. That way lies madness--not to mention the seeds of the destruction of tolerant societies themselves.
For the Fourth: on liberty
[This is a repeat of an old post.]
I've been visiting New York City, the place where I grew up. I decide to take a walk to the Promenade in Brooklyn Heights, never having been there before.
When you approach the Promenade you can't really see what's in store. You walk down a normal-looking street, spot a bit of blue at the end of the block, make a right turn--and, then, suddenly, there is New York.
And so it is for me. I take a turn, and catch my breath: downtown Manhattan rises to my left, seemingly close enough to touch, across the narrow East River. I see skyscrapers, piers, the orange-gold Staten Island ferry. In front of me, there are the graceful gothic arches of the Brooklyn Bridge. To my right, the back of some brownstones, and a well-tended and charming garden that goes on for a third of a mile.
I walk down the promenade looking first left and then right, not knowing which vista I prefer, but liking them both, especially in combination, because they complement each other so well.
All around me are people, relaxing. Lovers walking hand in hand, mothers pushing babies in strollers, fathers pushing babies in strollers, nannies pushing babies in strollers. People walking their dogs (a prepoderance of pugs, for some reason), pigeons strutting and courting, tourists taking photos of themselves with the skyline as background, every other person speaking a foreign language.
The garden is more advanced from what it must be at my house, reminding me that New York is really a southern city compared to New England. Daffodils, the startling blue of grape hyachinths, tulips in a rainbow of soft colors, those light-purple azaleas that are always the first of their kind, flowering pink magnolia and airy white dogwood and other blooming trees I don't know the names of.
In the view to my left, of course, there's something missing. Something very large. Two things, actually: the World Trade Center towers. Just the day before, we had driven past that sprawling wound, with its mostly-unfilled acreage where the WTC had once stood, now surrounded by fencing. Driving by it is like passing a war memorial and graveyard combined; the urge is to bow one's head.
As I look at the skyline from the Promenade, I know that those towers are missing, but I don't really register the loss visually. I left New York in 1965, never to live there again, returning thereafter only as occasional visitor. The World Trade Center was built in the early seventies, so I never managed to incorporate it into that personal New York skyline of memory that I hold in my mind's eye, even though I saw the towers on every visit. So, what I now see resembles nothing more than the skyline of my youth, restored, a fact which seems paradoxical to me. But I feel the loss, even though I don't see it. Viewing the skyline always has a tinge of sadness now, which it never had before 9/11.
I come to the end of the walkway and turn myself around to set off on the return trip. And, suddenly, the view changes. Now, of course, the garden is to my left and the city to my right; and the Brooklyn Bridge, which was ahead of me, is now behind me and out of sight. But now I can see for the first time, ahead of me and to the right, something that was behind me before. In the middle of the harbor, the pale-green Statue of Liberty stands firmly on its concrete foundation, arm raised high, torch in hand.
The sight is intensely familiar to me--I used to see it almost every day when I was growing up. But I've never seen it from this angle before. She seems both small and gigantic at the same time: dwarfed by the skyscrapers near me that threaten to overwhelm her, but towering over the water that surrounds her on all sides. The eye is drawn to her distant, heroic figure. She's been holding that torch up for so long, she must be tired. But still she stands, resolute, her arm extended.
I've been visiting New York City, the place where I grew up. I decide to take a walk to the Promenade in Brooklyn Heights, never having been there before.
When you approach the Promenade you can't really see what's in store. You walk down a normal-looking street, spot a bit of blue at the end of the block, make a right turn--and, then, suddenly, there is New York.
And so it is for me. I take a turn, and catch my breath: downtown Manhattan rises to my left, seemingly close enough to touch, across the narrow East River. I see skyscrapers, piers, the orange-gold Staten Island ferry. In front of me, there are the graceful gothic arches of the Brooklyn Bridge. To my right, the back of some brownstones, and a well-tended and charming garden that goes on for a third of a mile.
I walk down the promenade looking first left and then right, not knowing which vista I prefer, but liking them both, especially in combination, because they complement each other so well.
All around me are people, relaxing. Lovers walking hand in hand, mothers pushing babies in strollers, fathers pushing babies in strollers, nannies pushing babies in strollers. People walking their dogs (a prepoderance of pugs, for some reason), pigeons strutting and courting, tourists taking photos of themselves with the skyline as background, every other person speaking a foreign language.
The garden is more advanced from what it must be at my house, reminding me that New York is really a southern city compared to New England. Daffodils, the startling blue of grape hyachinths, tulips in a rainbow of soft colors, those light-purple azaleas that are always the first of their kind, flowering pink magnolia and airy white dogwood and other blooming trees I don't know the names of.
In the view to my left, of course, there's something missing. Something very large. Two things, actually: the World Trade Center towers. Just the day before, we had driven past that sprawling wound, with its mostly-unfilled acreage where the WTC had once stood, now surrounded by fencing. Driving by it is like passing a war memorial and graveyard combined; the urge is to bow one's head.
As I look at the skyline from the Promenade, I know that those towers are missing, but I don't really register the loss visually. I left New York in 1965, never to live there again, returning thereafter only as occasional visitor. The World Trade Center was built in the early seventies, so I never managed to incorporate it into that personal New York skyline of memory that I hold in my mind's eye, even though I saw the towers on every visit. So, what I now see resembles nothing more than the skyline of my youth, restored, a fact which seems paradoxical to me. But I feel the loss, even though I don't see it. Viewing the skyline always has a tinge of sadness now, which it never had before 9/11.
I come to the end of the walkway and turn myself around to set off on the return trip. And, suddenly, the view changes. Now, of course, the garden is to my left and the city to my right; and the Brooklyn Bridge, which was ahead of me, is now behind me and out of sight. But now I can see for the first time, ahead of me and to the right, something that was behind me before. In the middle of the harbor, the pale-green Statue of Liberty stands firmly on its concrete foundation, arm raised high, torch in hand.
The sight is intensely familiar to me--I used to see it almost every day when I was growing up. But I've never seen it from this angle before. She seems both small and gigantic at the same time: dwarfed by the skyscrapers near me that threaten to overwhelm her, but towering over the water that surrounds her on all sides. The eye is drawn to her distant, heroic figure. She's been holding that torch up for so long, she must be tired. But still she stands, resolute, her arm extended.
For the Fourth: the Great Escape
[This is a repeat of an old post.]
I was thinking about memorable Fourth of Julys (Fourths of July?), and the first thing that came to mind was the Fourth of July celebration scene in the movie "The Great Escape," featuring the incomparable Steve McQueen, James Garner, and I-don't-know-who (help, anyone?). I consider it astounding that I could locate a still of the scene--isn't the Internet great?
Anyone who hasn't already seen the classic 1963 action movie should rent it and settle in with some popcorn for the long haul. I was a teenage girl in 1963 when I saw it on the widescreen, a stirring combination of male pulchritude (not a female in the cast, and what a cast!), suspense, wit, ingenuity, and tragedy. It's long, but not overlong, and the score is memorable, too.
Amazingly enough, although the film merges a number of actual people into single characters, and takes a few liberties with time (and invents the fabulous motorcycle chase in which McQueen gets to strut his stuff), it is historically accurate in the extreme, especially for a Hollywood flick. Oliver Stone, it ain't--fortunately. The makers of the film were dedicated to making it as true to actual events as possible. The screenwriter had been a prisoner of war in a Japanese camp, and a former prisoner and expert tunneler from the actual prison camp depicted in the movie worked as an advisor to the director. Follow the link to read just how much of the film was actually true to life.
Donald Pleasence, who played the going-blind forger Blyth, had been a prisoner of war in a German camp. Hannes Messemer, the German actor who managed to bring an extraordinary humanity to the role of the Kommandant of the camp (a person who in real life was apparently well-liked and respected by the prisoners), had been a prisoner of war in a Russian camp, as had several of the other German actors in the film (these facts are to be found here).
"The Great Escape" was one of the first films I ever saw that defied my expectations. There was so much humor in it, so many likeable characters, and so much Hollywood-type action that I assumed it would have a Hollywood-type ending, too, in which all turned out well. It doesn't.
But the Fourth of July scene is delightful. Watch McQueen and Garner and that other nameless guy, the only three Americans in the camp, drink the booze they've distilled, react appropriately, and then celebrate (with a bunch of mostly Brits) that long-ago American victory over the Brits. Apparently, all is forgiven, but not forgotten.
I was thinking about memorable Fourth of Julys (Fourths of July?), and the first thing that came to mind was the Fourth of July celebration scene in the movie "The Great Escape," featuring the incomparable Steve McQueen, James Garner, and I-don't-know-who (help, anyone?). I consider it astounding that I could locate a still of the scene--isn't the Internet great?
Anyone who hasn't already seen the classic 1963 action movie should rent it and settle in with some popcorn for the long haul. I was a teenage girl in 1963 when I saw it on the widescreen, a stirring combination of male pulchritude (not a female in the cast, and what a cast!), suspense, wit, ingenuity, and tragedy. It's long, but not overlong, and the score is memorable, too.
Amazingly enough, although the film merges a number of actual people into single characters, and takes a few liberties with time (and invents the fabulous motorcycle chase in which McQueen gets to strut his stuff), it is historically accurate in the extreme, especially for a Hollywood flick. Oliver Stone, it ain't--fortunately. The makers of the film were dedicated to making it as true to actual events as possible. The screenwriter had been a prisoner of war in a Japanese camp, and a former prisoner and expert tunneler from the actual prison camp depicted in the movie worked as an advisor to the director. Follow the link to read just how much of the film was actually true to life.
Donald Pleasence, who played the going-blind forger Blyth, had been a prisoner of war in a German camp. Hannes Messemer, the German actor who managed to bring an extraordinary humanity to the role of the Kommandant of the camp (a person who in real life was apparently well-liked and respected by the prisoners), had been a prisoner of war in a Russian camp, as had several of the other German actors in the film (these facts are to be found here).
"The Great Escape" was one of the first films I ever saw that defied my expectations. There was so much humor in it, so many likeable characters, and so much Hollywood-type action that I assumed it would have a Hollywood-type ending, too, in which all turned out well. It doesn't.
But the Fourth of July scene is delightful. Watch McQueen and Garner and that other nameless guy, the only three Americans in the camp, drink the booze they've distilled, react appropriately, and then celebrate (with a bunch of mostly Brits) that long-ago American victory over the Brits. Apparently, all is forgiven, but not forgotten.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Fourth of July weekend: assimilation at the park
I've written before (here and here) about the park near my house, where I so often walk.
Fourth of July weekend is a big holiday there, especially when the weather is lovely, as it has been this year (and, after all the rain we've had lately, it seems almost miraculous). Not only is it a beautiful vista--ocean and rocks and lighthouses and waves and boats and islands--but there are picnic tables and spots to barbecue, and the park is big enough that it never really seems very crowded, even on holidays.
Saturday I was walking there, and when I got to the picnic area I saw that there were at least seventy people there, an unusual but not-unheard-of number. I couldn't tell whether they were all part of one big group or whether they represented a series of unrelated groups. But almost every picnic table was in use, and there were fires going in the grills and the luscious smell of cooking wafted across my path as I fast-walked by, making me want to stop, sit down, and beg for a bite.
I noticed that all the people there seemed to be foreign, but not all from the same country or even area of the world. There were vaguely Mideastern-looking people, a well as some who seemed to be from Eastern Europe; others undoubtedly hailing from Africa, as well as Asians of different persuasions. I could hear language after language, none of them recognizable to me, and the smells of the grilling meat contained spices and herbs that seemed especially exotic and alluring.
And children--lots and lots of children. There were bikes and frisbees, laughter and shouting, smiling parents watching fondly, older teenagers looking standoffish and cool. As I passed the younger people, I noticed they were all speaking unaccented English, and even their body language was different than that conveyed by their parents--less constrained. You might say they seemed more free. Of course, part of that is the difference between children and adults. But part of it seemed to be something more.
Who were these people, and why were they all here at the same time? Was it a coincidence, or had they been bused in together, members of some society for immigrants? I have no idea, but it struck me that the group was an especially appropriate one for Fourth of July weekend.
We're a nation of immigrants, as it's often said. Lately, immigration has become far more controversial, but we forget that it's often been so. Each new wave encountered some antagonism, especially beginning in the latter part of the nineteenth century, when the country was getting more crowded and there was increasing arrivals from countries that seemed especially "foreign" to the predominantly Western Europeans who were the earlier settlers.
In those days, immigrants faced the dilemma of assimilation, as they do today. But back then most people who came to this country were eager to assimilate--or at least they thought they were. The process might have been difficult, and they didn't like all the changes that occurred when their children dropped the old ways and became Americans, but it's my impression that there was a certain widespread acceptance that this was almost inevitable.
The parents didn't always manage to learn English all that well--in most families, we know of tales of children translating for parents who never really did make the full transition. And the older generation had to deal--sometimes with great difficulty--with the intermarriage of the children, and their dropping of the old ways.
I remember an incident I observed many years ago. I was sitting in an Indian restaurant, waiting for my food, and noticed a family group nearby. The parents were clearly from India--I could tell by their accents--but the two children seemed to have been born in this country. There was a girl of about six and a boy of about eight. The boy was wearing his baseball mitt on one hand and throwing a ball into it with a little repetitive thwack! with the other while he waited for his food.
When the dinner finally came, he started whining. "I don't like this stuff!" he said, although I must say the restaurant was fabulous and the food especially delicious. "I want a hamburger!"--the refrain of the American-born child of immigrant parents.
And this age-old process of acculturation and assimilation continues apace. I could see it in the park the other day. But it seems to me that, for many immigrants lately, it's been arrested and stunted by programs intending to respect cultural diversity that discourage the transition to a new language by making it too easy to cling to the old.
There's another relatively new factor, as well. Although I'm not aware of any statistics on the matter, it appears that more of today's immigrants (and/or illegal aliens, who are growing in number) consider their move to this country to be either temporary or conditional or both. The goal is not necessarily assimilation at all, but sometimes the establishment of a sort of "separate but equal" enclave in which the cultural mores (and even traditional dress) are retained intact at the same time the economic benefits of being in this country are reaped.
You might say that was always the case--new immigrants would cluster in certain neighborhoods when they first arrived, and stick to their own. But it's my impression, at least, that it used to be considered more of a practical and temporary situation, and not the ultimate goal of the immigrant experience.
If I were to have taken a poll of that group on the grass and under the tall shade trees at the park the other day, I wonder what I would have found. How many of the adults were in basic acceptance that their children would become part of American culture? How many were hoping--and taking strong steps to ensure--that their children would resist? How many of the adults were determined to learn English? How many were legal, how many illegal; how many expected a temporary stay, how many a permanent one? How many were happy to be here, how many not?
I don't know the answers. What I do know is that they looked happy--but of course, it was a lovely day, and a vacation time at that--and the children were all speaking unaccented English. And I know that the vista, to me at least, was a pleasant one, and part of what I consider to be the age-old American dream, on this Fourth of July weekend.
Fourth of July weekend is a big holiday there, especially when the weather is lovely, as it has been this year (and, after all the rain we've had lately, it seems almost miraculous). Not only is it a beautiful vista--ocean and rocks and lighthouses and waves and boats and islands--but there are picnic tables and spots to barbecue, and the park is big enough that it never really seems very crowded, even on holidays.
Saturday I was walking there, and when I got to the picnic area I saw that there were at least seventy people there, an unusual but not-unheard-of number. I couldn't tell whether they were all part of one big group or whether they represented a series of unrelated groups. But almost every picnic table was in use, and there were fires going in the grills and the luscious smell of cooking wafted across my path as I fast-walked by, making me want to stop, sit down, and beg for a bite.
I noticed that all the people there seemed to be foreign, but not all from the same country or even area of the world. There were vaguely Mideastern-looking people, a well as some who seemed to be from Eastern Europe; others undoubtedly hailing from Africa, as well as Asians of different persuasions. I could hear language after language, none of them recognizable to me, and the smells of the grilling meat contained spices and herbs that seemed especially exotic and alluring.
And children--lots and lots of children. There were bikes and frisbees, laughter and shouting, smiling parents watching fondly, older teenagers looking standoffish and cool. As I passed the younger people, I noticed they were all speaking unaccented English, and even their body language was different than that conveyed by their parents--less constrained. You might say they seemed more free. Of course, part of that is the difference between children and adults. But part of it seemed to be something more.
Who were these people, and why were they all here at the same time? Was it a coincidence, or had they been bused in together, members of some society for immigrants? I have no idea, but it struck me that the group was an especially appropriate one for Fourth of July weekend.
We're a nation of immigrants, as it's often said. Lately, immigration has become far more controversial, but we forget that it's often been so. Each new wave encountered some antagonism, especially beginning in the latter part of the nineteenth century, when the country was getting more crowded and there was increasing arrivals from countries that seemed especially "foreign" to the predominantly Western Europeans who were the earlier settlers.
In those days, immigrants faced the dilemma of assimilation, as they do today. But back then most people who came to this country were eager to assimilate--or at least they thought they were. The process might have been difficult, and they didn't like all the changes that occurred when their children dropped the old ways and became Americans, but it's my impression that there was a certain widespread acceptance that this was almost inevitable.
The parents didn't always manage to learn English all that well--in most families, we know of tales of children translating for parents who never really did make the full transition. And the older generation had to deal--sometimes with great difficulty--with the intermarriage of the children, and their dropping of the old ways.
I remember an incident I observed many years ago. I was sitting in an Indian restaurant, waiting for my food, and noticed a family group nearby. The parents were clearly from India--I could tell by their accents--but the two children seemed to have been born in this country. There was a girl of about six and a boy of about eight. The boy was wearing his baseball mitt on one hand and throwing a ball into it with a little repetitive thwack! with the other while he waited for his food.
When the dinner finally came, he started whining. "I don't like this stuff!" he said, although I must say the restaurant was fabulous and the food especially delicious. "I want a hamburger!"--the refrain of the American-born child of immigrant parents.
And this age-old process of acculturation and assimilation continues apace. I could see it in the park the other day. But it seems to me that, for many immigrants lately, it's been arrested and stunted by programs intending to respect cultural diversity that discourage the transition to a new language by making it too easy to cling to the old.
There's another relatively new factor, as well. Although I'm not aware of any statistics on the matter, it appears that more of today's immigrants (and/or illegal aliens, who are growing in number) consider their move to this country to be either temporary or conditional or both. The goal is not necessarily assimilation at all, but sometimes the establishment of a sort of "separate but equal" enclave in which the cultural mores (and even traditional dress) are retained intact at the same time the economic benefits of being in this country are reaped.
You might say that was always the case--new immigrants would cluster in certain neighborhoods when they first arrived, and stick to their own. But it's my impression, at least, that it used to be considered more of a practical and temporary situation, and not the ultimate goal of the immigrant experience.
If I were to have taken a poll of that group on the grass and under the tall shade trees at the park the other day, I wonder what I would have found. How many of the adults were in basic acceptance that their children would become part of American culture? How many were hoping--and taking strong steps to ensure--that their children would resist? How many of the adults were determined to learn English? How many were legal, how many illegal; how many expected a temporary stay, how many a permanent one? How many were happy to be here, how many not?
I don't know the answers. What I do know is that they looked happy--but of course, it was a lovely day, and a vacation time at that--and the children were all speaking unaccented English. And I know that the vista, to me at least, was a pleasant one, and part of what I consider to be the age-old American dream, on this Fourth of July weekend.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Making a mockery: terrorism in Iraq
Today there was a car bomb attack in Iraq characterized as the largest terrorist act there since May, when the new government took office. Over sixty people were killed in the blast, which occurred in a street market located in the troublesome and poverty-stricken Shiite area of Baghdad known as Sadr City.
This is just business as usual for the terrorist "insurgents" of Iraq. And no one should be the least bit surprised, for it's been said time and again that these attacks will continue for a very long time.
What struck me--other than the tragic human cost of the ongoing struggle to set up a relatively democratic government in Iraq--is the fact that attacks of this magnitude used to be much more common. That seems to represent progress, although I have no illusions that the situation couldn't reverse itself. The truth is that car bombs are relatively easy to set and difficult to intercept. The fledgling government and security forces in Iraq are up against a group that is not going to go gentle into that good night; and so we can expect more of this. I say "we" but, of course, it's the Iraqi people who suffer.
Terrorists themselves know that the odds are in their favor as far as successfully mounting an attack: those who defend against terrorism have to be lucky (and smart) all the time, and terrorists only have to get lucky once, or occasionally. That's one of the appeals of terrorism, and one of the reasons it's called asymmetrical warfare. And it doesn't take a giant brain to figure that out.
Those who would fight against terrorists have to--they must--keep this in mind. But when I read the linked Reuters article that began this post, I wondered about what the journalists at Reuters are keeping in mind when I saw the following sentence [my emphasis], "No one claimed responsibility for the attack but it had the stamp of al Qaeda and made a mockery of a three week-old security clampdown in Baghdad."
The increase in the sort of editorializing represented by the phrase "made a mockery," occurring in a straight news article, is one of the reasons many of us criticize the MSM, including Reuters. And it's not just that the statement seems out of place; it seems unintelligent and simplistic, at best. A security clampdown in the sort of atmosphere that is present-day Baghdad is, by definition, not going to be perfect, and anyone who expects it to be is naive and unrealistic.
Yes, it would be wonderful if no bombs were ever to kill innocents in Iraq again. But to call this particular attack a "mockery" of security efforts is precisely the sort of thing the terrorists are aiming at, and represents an almost hysterical overreaction that, unfortunately, makes a mockery of coalition and Iraqi efforts to reverse the situation--efforts that have been showing some slow, difficult progress lately.
This is just business as usual for the terrorist "insurgents" of Iraq. And no one should be the least bit surprised, for it's been said time and again that these attacks will continue for a very long time.
What struck me--other than the tragic human cost of the ongoing struggle to set up a relatively democratic government in Iraq--is the fact that attacks of this magnitude used to be much more common. That seems to represent progress, although I have no illusions that the situation couldn't reverse itself. The truth is that car bombs are relatively easy to set and difficult to intercept. The fledgling government and security forces in Iraq are up against a group that is not going to go gentle into that good night; and so we can expect more of this. I say "we" but, of course, it's the Iraqi people who suffer.
Terrorists themselves know that the odds are in their favor as far as successfully mounting an attack: those who defend against terrorism have to be lucky (and smart) all the time, and terrorists only have to get lucky once, or occasionally. That's one of the appeals of terrorism, and one of the reasons it's called asymmetrical warfare. And it doesn't take a giant brain to figure that out.
Those who would fight against terrorists have to--they must--keep this in mind. But when I read the linked Reuters article that began this post, I wondered about what the journalists at Reuters are keeping in mind when I saw the following sentence [my emphasis], "No one claimed responsibility for the attack but it had the stamp of al Qaeda and made a mockery of a three week-old security clampdown in Baghdad."
The increase in the sort of editorializing represented by the phrase "made a mockery," occurring in a straight news article, is one of the reasons many of us criticize the MSM, including Reuters. And it's not just that the statement seems out of place; it seems unintelligent and simplistic, at best. A security clampdown in the sort of atmosphere that is present-day Baghdad is, by definition, not going to be perfect, and anyone who expects it to be is naive and unrealistic.
Yes, it would be wonderful if no bombs were ever to kill innocents in Iraq again. But to call this particular attack a "mockery" of security efforts is precisely the sort of thing the terrorists are aiming at, and represents an almost hysterical overreaction that, unfortunately, makes a mockery of coalition and Iraqi efforts to reverse the situation--efforts that have been showing some slow, difficult progress lately.
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