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The
Dance of Lawlessness
Last
Tango in Baghdad
by
Jeffrey St. Clair
April
10, 2003
Then trample and dance, thou Oppressor!
For thy victim is no redressor;
Thou art her sole possesor
Of her corpses and clods and abortions--
they pave the path to the grave.
Hearest thou the festival din
Of death and destruction and sin,
And Wealth crying Havoc! within?
Tis the bacchanal triumph that makes
Truth dumb,
Thine Epithalamium.
Lines Written During the Castlereagh
Administration
-- Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1819
There's
a ritual scene in many westerns of the 50s. A drunken gunslinger picks out a
frail bar patron, bullies him into the street and barks, "Dance".
When the befuddled man doesn't respond immediately, the smirking gunslinger
fires his six-shooter at the feet of the unlucky dupe until he is forced to
dance a sadistic jig. The nervy townsfolk clap to the beat of the bullets.
They'd better.
So
it goes in Baghdad. Iraqis dance in the streets. Flowers are piled on top of
M-1 tanks. The bronze idols of a power maddened regime are smashed.
Is
it jubilation over the fall of Saddam? Or relief because the American bombs
have finally stopped falling? Is the outcry one of genuine gratitude for
liberation? Or a sensible attempt to ingratiate themselves with their
conquerors? Or a mixture of the above? Remember the Shia cheered the entry of
the Israelis into Lebanon.
The
war was a cakewalk after all: the path paved by the bodies of Iraqi civilians
and conscripts, who died defenseless against a storm of remote control bombs.
The
three week invasion offered barely a battle to speak of: a few small arms
firefights, a couple of wobbly Scuds launched harmlessly into the Kuwaiti
desert, an ambush or two. That was about the most the Iraqis choose (or could)
mount. Even the gurus of 4th Generation Warfare must feel cheated that the
much-ballyhooed asymmetrical street fight never really materialized. The
Americans killed nearly as many American and British soldiers as the Iraqis
did.
This
begs the question: if it was so easy, why was it necessary? How big of a threat
was the Beast of Baghdad, after all? Did his rusting army, even the supposedly
fearsome Republican Guard, really pose any kind of the threat to the US? Or
even the pampered sheiks of Kuwait?
The
relentlessly hyped arsenal Weapons of Mass Destruction were never used, if they
even existed in any militarily useful condition to begin with. The long-range
rockets were never launched. The oil wells and dams were never dynamited,
despite Rumsfeld's pompous claims about "environmental
terrorism"-surely one of the crudest hypocrisy yet uttered by this apex
hypocrite.
Why
was it necessary? Who benefits? What will happen once the military moves on?
These
are questions that will never get serious answer over here. Indeed, the
questions may even never be asked, in the scripted kabuki shows that are passed
off as Bush press conferences.
Too
bad. They are the only questions that really matter.
So
Bush and Blair wallow in their triumph, the Beevis and Butthead of the new
Imperium. Blair at least seems harried, a bit chastened by the bitter upheaval
against him in Britain and by acting as a hatchet man for the Dauphin from
Crawford.
Bush
drifts deeper and deeper in messianic stupor each day. He has assumed a new
pose: chin lifted, eyes fixed on the heavens as if waiting on his next
communication from God. Where is the Goya of Los
Caprichos when you need him most?
Meanwhile,
American war profiteers and fundamentalist preachers are poised to descend on
Iraq like carrion feeders. US troops have been instructed to pray before they
begin their daily routine of destruction and death-making. Army chaplains withhold water to
parched civilians in exchange for Christian baptisms. Franklin
Graham, minister to the President, hovers in Jordan, like a vainglorious
Rasputin, itching to unleash his robotic minions on the people of Iraq to
desecrate their religion and rack up conversions to his apocalyptic brand of
Christianity like a body count for the Lord.
Halliburton
executives are no doubt dejected that Saddam's men didn't torch more oil wells
in southern Iraq and must be pinning their hopes on errant smart bombs to make
up for the shortfall by doing damage to the northern oil fields outside Kirkuk.
Billions are at stake. The war must go on.
One
of the other corporate sponsors of the Iraq invasion is Fluor-Daniel, the
southern California-based company staffed by former Pentagon and CIA officials.
Fluor is a front-runner in the quest to get the $600 million contract to
rebuild Iraq's roads and public buildings. It has a financial stake in
wide-spread looting.
Fluor
bills itself as an environmental services company though its track record is
more harrowing than Dow Chemical's. In the mid-90s, Fluor took over the
management of the Hanford Nuclear Reservation in Washington state, arguably the
most polluted site in North America. Aggressive cost-cutting measures and
radioactive waste don't mix, as the people of the Pacific Northwest discovered
to their horror when Fluor's mismanagement of the site nearly caused an
explosion that would have spewed radioactive debris from Spokane to Portland.
Fluor's flirtation with a real dirty bomb makes Saddam's nuclear program look
like a high school chemistry lab.
But
it gets worse. Fluor's tactics are as vicious as any American company since the
days of Anaconda Copper. In a lawsuit filed last week, a lawyer for South
African workers details how Fluor brutalized and exploited its black workers.
"This company has a long history of human rights violations in South Africa,"
says John Ngcebetsha, a lawyer for the workers. "It cares nothing about
the society's in which it works and its involvement in Iraq would be
disastrous."
The
lawsuit claims that Fluor hired former members of the South African secret police
to work as security guards and then dressed them up in Ku Klux Klan robes to
smash a strike by workers protesting meager wages and horrid working
conditions. Good morning, Baghdad: Let freedom ring.
Over
at the Pentagon, Rumsfeld and his loathsome henchman Paul Wolfowitz busily plot
a new round of threat inflation and target other recalcitrant regimes. Lately,
the talk has been of smashing Syria and the old whipping boy, Qaddafy, in
Libya. Iran and North Korea are already on the hit list as part of the infamous
Axis of Evil. One wonders what lesson they've taken from all this? Will
preemptive wars send a "use it or loose it" message to Pyongyang and
Teheran. Does it make a nuclear strike on South Korea or Japan a near
certainty?
Also
watch for the war-plotters to shift the crosshairs back closer to home, back to
the other obsession of the Reagan era: Central and South America. Of course,
they've never really stopped.
The
Pentagon's proxy war continues unabated in Colombia. In Venezuela, the CIA tried
to topple Chavez once and failed. They will try again. Bolivia is becoming
unruly. Lula must be taught a lesson. And, in a regime fixated on settling old
scores, the biggest prize of all sits only 90 miles away: Castro's Cuba,
another nation emaciated by a cruel embargo. Already there are reports of
renewed CIA mischief in Havana. Rest assured, the Bush gang doesn't want Castro
to die in power. His toppling would be their ultimate glory.
Early
on I held out some hope that the fatuous Rumsfeld might be forced out as a
result of his incessant meddling with the war plan. But now he preens in
triumph, like Scipio Africanus overseeing the final humiliation of Carthage.
His mania has only been whetted. Rumsfeld is a man of overweening vanity. He
publicly relishes each big blast, scoffing as the corpses pile up in rotting
mounds in the morgue at Al-Kindi Hospital, like the Vincent Price character in
Roger Corman's darkly prescient masterpiece, The Masque of the Red Death.
Rumsfeld's rationalizations for war are a facile game of three card monte.
Why
did Rumsfeld make the assassination- by-bunker- buster-bomb of Saddam and his
family such an unyielding obsession? The bungled hits cost tens of millions
each, put US pilots at risk and slaughtered dozens of nameless innocents. It
seems obvious that the Bush gang desperately wants to avoid a war crimes trial,
where the legitimacy of their invasion might be put to a fatal legal test.
Official
lawlessness is the new order of the day and corporate looters roam the globe,
packing cruise missiles as their dance card.
So
heed to the music and step fast. The dance of death has only just begun.
Jeffrey St.
Clair's new book, Been Brown So Long, It Looked Like Green to Me: The
Politics of Nature, will be published in September by Common Courage Press.
He is co-editor of CounterPunch with Alexander Cockburn, the nation’s finest
muckraking newsletter, where this article first appeared (www.counterpunch.org). He can be
contacted at stclair@counterpunch.org