bob's blog

The black satchel.

The NOW moment in the United States is ubiquitous. The unfolding of every event of significance happens from the Atlantic to the Pacific coast, from the 49th parallel to the Rio Grande without regard for time zones and distance. Information is instantaneous. It wasn’t always so. At first, the East Coast had the advantage of sunrise which established the pulse of every day, and the West Coast of sunset, the final tally of the significance of all that transpired that day.

The point on the East Coast that marked the beginning of each day was theoretically in downeast Maine, at Cadillac Mountain, though in reality, like a tree falling in the forest, not very often was anyone there to make a conscious record of the passing of the moment that signals the start of a new dawn. The spot that pragmatically mattered most on the East Coast began at Plymouth in the early days of the Republique Moderne, moved to Jamestown, to Philadelphia, to Washington and came to rest in New York. The symbolic point today lies in Times Square. The very name signifies that here at the bowtie where Broadway intersects with Eternity is where the heart of the US emits its inexorable tick. This is where men mark the time.

Times Square has a throbbing, pulsing rhythm that is palpable. The facades of all the buildings facing the square are animated by lights and sounds that comes as close to delivering pure uncensored information as you can get anywhere on the planet. The message the moment delivers is bigger than life. One hundred stories the length of an entire city block proclaiming BRAND. It could be someone’s face, their torso, a product or simply the space between the words and symbols. Sometimes that black space delivers the strongest message.

Teco and Taco were there, experiencing the feeling of immediacy that it delivers, sauntering through the throngs that seem to not be able to stay away, despite the obvious danger, catching one last glimpse of that spot. Before its obliteration. It was a farewell trip. A chance to say good bye to this the pinnacle of the achievement to capture fire and harness its power in the form of light, heat and power. Teco couldn’t help but focus on the spaces between the lights. They weren’t stationary spaces, they moved along with the light, but their stark contrast pointed to the power they symbolized. Along with the light, the darkness moved through the scene with its own energy and foreboding. Light and dark, inseparable.

“Taco”, he spoke, “where are the police”? Taco looked around quickly, did the mental calculation and answered. “Teco, there can be but one answer. There, in the spaces between the lights, they have eyes.” “I thought so”, Teco said. “How else could all this function so flawlessly?”

There was no question. The light was the driving force, but in the dark, the control. No one, not a single individual challenged their being there. In spite of the black bag. Teco would set it down occasionally as he took his photos or simply to extend his arm and point at a feature, here or there, of the evolving message emerging from the cables, wires and crystals that turned brilliant light into information. “Look at that, and that, and over there.” Teco pointed to the hotel. “That spot, eighty eight feet from the street. The glass wall. That’s where we must go”.

And so, Teco and Taco, black satchel in hand, draped with cameras as tourist always are, advanced to the hotel. No one gave them a second glance. Not the doorman, not the lone mounted policeman seated on a horse at the entrance to the parking structure, not the chauffeurs waiting by their limos. They walked past the information desk to the bank of elevators in the center of the hotel lobby, and summoned their free ride to the eighth floor.

The eighth floor had a commanding view of Times Square. Here you could see both ends and the middle. An unobstructed wall of glass was the only boundary between inside the hotel and outside in the moment. The only difference was the lack of sound. You could hear your own breathing, and see it as well, fogging the glass if you stood too close.

Teco placed the satchel on a table near the man with the cigar reading his morning news. He glanced around the room. No one was moving toward him. He opened the satchel, reached in for an instance, adjusted the contents and closed it again. He brought his camera to his eye and took one final picture. He then placed the satchel under the table, turned to Taco and spoke. “My friend, our work here is done. Make the phone call.”

Teco unfolded his phone, moved his thumb across the keypad and held it to his ear. When the voice answered he spoke. “Allah is great”.

Posted by Bob at 12:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I see another Bay of Pigs unfolding. What shall we call this one? Operation Sucking Sound? That vast inhaling of human souls as the Grim Reaper knocks down wave after wave of infantry, airborne and cavalry soldiers trying to establish a beachhead on Iraqi soil. Kurds rushing into combat with revolvers and Springfield rifles against a toxic cloud of nerve agents and anthrax spores. Women with pitchforks and meat cleavers attacking armored columns. All so we can fail to establish our “New Shah” in Iraq. The “Military” option of removing a head of state that we cannot prevent by diplomacy, sanction or isolation.

Having failed to remove Castro by every conceivable means at the disposal of our covert and overt agents, we somehow think that Saddam is vulnerable. That “our” guy can be propped up and supported long enough to make the Iraqi people whole once again. That we would ultimately be doing the Iraqi people a favor by selecting their next leader with guns instead of medicine.

There is no end of otherwise intelligent people advising the Killing Machine that it is feasible to “take out” a head of state. Others, of course, contemplating such moves against our head of state are “assassins”. Is this the twenty first century version of what Civilized men do in the world? Allende all over again?

Containment is not effective against the Chinese Leadership. There are simply too many Chinese who are perfectly happy, thank you, with the social fabric of their culture. Having recognized this we developed a sane policy of exchanging scholars, goods and information to “nudge” them toward a more representative governing structure. A place and time where dissent is not a death wish. The difference is, of course, we don’t need the Iraqi market in the same way we need the Chinese market.

We tried to contain Iraq. The world would not cooperate. The net effect is a lot like waging war against the most vulnerable of the Iraqi people while their leadership eats caviar. We can prevent medicine and food from newborns and the ailing elderly. We can’t prevent oil and gas from our hungry fuel tanks.

We need a foreign policy. One that says we understand that Organized Criminals are running your country, but we shall not increase your burden by denying medicine to your sick babies.

Reasonable people, hoarding nuclear devices, threatening the world with economic and military might, need to be reminded that other cultures will allow leaders with mean streaks to rule for thirty years. Then those rulers will die of natural causes. Iron fisted rulers cause pain and suffering. Alleviating pain and suffering in spite of bad rulers will make us the hope of humanity.

We have options. We need to explore the options that foster trust, compassion and healing. Things you can’t do with guns, germs and steel.

Bob

Posted by Bob at 04:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Struggling with Deck Chairs.

As the people who vowed to protect us begin to rearrange the deck chairs in their Titanic struggle against small bands of dedicated zealots dispersed over the Casbahs and Agoras of distant lands, .....we, the freedom and peace loving Americans on the home front must question some of the fundamental assertions. Is it truly possible that an organized international policing bureaucracy can prevent another incident of destructive terror? Can they infiltrate that many cells operating with quiet whispers in Urdu and Pashto, spread over an entire sub-continent? How many are speaking now in general terms about that day of justice when the American juggernaut is brought to its knees? How much is mere idle chatter over the afternoon tea?

They, whom we dutifully did not vote to elect by such a slim margin, who failed so miserably to discern the very real message in the tea leaves, are claiming for themselves ever greater power to wage an undeclared war against unknowable enemies. The chill that descends over our rights and liberties makes not a single American feel comfortable in their everyday lives. Frequent issues of vague threats from the Bunkers around the beltway of dirty bombs and biological agents serve what purpose other than weaken our resolve to go about the business of attending to our virtues?

Is this the justification for relinquishing our Republic? In the police state that is about to dawn across the land, will heads roll at the top when boiler number two explodes? Boiler number three? Did anyone at the helm issue an apology for boiler number one?

I don’t for a minute expect that a new powerful centralized secret police can erect walls to prevent terror. Or for that matter to maintain the walls and prevent their collapse from a unique form of political gravity. What it can do is make us all conscious of the dots we leave unconnected, as we travel the bookstores and libraries of a once proud democratic republic. Will anyone speak to the freedom we lost at the hands of twenty pirates operating with impunity? Will anyone speak to the freedom that is at risk now, the freedom to debate proposals to use crisis management as an excuse to erode the fundamental premise of government of the people?

There is a method and a course of action that will make America safe from those who live without hope. That course of action is not to grant covert agents unlimited powers to disrupt the functioning of normal civil organizations. It is just the opposite.

Bob

Posted by Bob at 07:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)