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Today's
Stories
October 9 /
10, 2004
Alexander Cockburn
"There
Are No Innocents"
October 8,
2004
Jennifer Loewenstein
The
Israeli Invasion of Gaza
Moshe Adler
Edwards' Gambit: He Hoped No One Would Notice the Similarities
David Swanson
Media Blackout: Press Continues to Ignore Labor's Opposition
to Iraq War
Dave Zirin
CounterPunch Contest: Let's Name the New DC Baseball Team!
Rep. Ron Paul
The Draft is a Form of Slavery
William S. Lind
Keeping Our SA Up
Samar Assad
Kerry v. Bush: No Difference When It Comes to Israel / Palestine
Jim Ingalls
and Sonali Kolhatkar
The Elections in Afghanistan
October 7,
2004
Dave Lindorff
All
Out of Volunteers: A Draft is in the Air
Masha Hamilton
Fear in Kandahar
Christopher
Brauchli
Master of Corruption: the Ripening Scandals of Tom Delay
Jason Leopold
Is There Still Time to Impeach Bush?
Bruce K. Gagnon
Bombing the Panhandle: Fighting the Pentagon in Rural Florida
Meredith Kolodner
Where
is the Urgency?: The Anti-War Movement's Election Year Challenge
October 6,
2004
Jeffrey St.
Clair
"Please,
Dude, Can I Take Them Out?": Targeting Civilians in Fallujah
Ron Jacobs
Going
Nuclear: the Ghost of Edward Teller Lives
Michael Colby
The National Flip-Flop: Suddenly Bush is Unfit to Lead?
Tarif Abboushi
More of the Same: Israel Wins the Debates
Matthew Behrens
Canadian Firms Profit from Iraqi Blood
Mike Whitney
Rethinking WMDs
John Pilger
Stealing Diego Garcia
Ben Tripp
Kerry's "Triumph"
Kevin McKiernan
Cheney's Poison Lab: Wrong Time, Wrong Target
Patrick Cockburn
Elections
Will Not End the Fighting in Iraq
Website of the Day
Is There an Islamic Problem?
October 5,
2004
Anthony Loewenstein
Rupert
Murdoch and the Marginals: "Personally Creating Outcomes"
Mark Clinton
and Tony Udell
The
Suicide of an Iraq War Veteran
Greg Bates
Trading
Idiots: an Open Letter to Eric Alterman
Dave Lindorff
What's
the Frequency, Karl?
Norm Dixon
Why Washington Won't Save Darfur Villagers
Larry Kearney
God Talk and Burning Children
Bill Linville
Dirty Politics in the Land of "Clean" Government
Gary Leupp
What
Edwards Should Ask Cheney
Website of
the Day
A Guide to Halliburton for Tonight's Debate
October 4,
2004
Diane Christian
The
Gates of Hell
Joshua Frank
An Interview with David Cobb
Doug Giebel
Incurious George: What If Bush Didn't Lie?
John Chuckman
Strange Victory: Sen. Obvious and the Pathetic Lump
Ramzy Baroud
Reverse the Picture: Anatomy of a Palestinian Outrage
Julia Stein
Remembering Mario Savio and the FSM
Sean Donahue
Outsourcing
Terror: Kerry and Special Forces
Website of
the Day
Mapping
Mt. St. Helens as She Rocks
October 2 /
3. 2004
Paul Wright
John
Kerry on Criminal Justice
Kathleen and Bill Christison
An Exchange with Israeli Historian Bennie Morris
Kathie Helmkamp
My Son Trent: a Marine Who Doesn't Want to Kill
Phillip Cryan
Indigenous Mobilization in Colombia
Lenni Brenner
The First Ex-Catholic Saint: Memories of Mario Savio
Fred Gardner
Pot Shots: In Case You Missed "Montel"
Ron Jacobs
It Did Happen Here: When Neo-Nazis Terrorized Olympia
Ben Tripp
Sticker Shock
William S.
Lind
The Grand Illusion: Iraqi Security Forces
Dave Zirin
The Swindle of the Century: Baseball Comes to DC
Dave Lindorff
Lies from the Great Debate
Luscon Pierre-Charles
Haiti's Elections: a High-Tech Sham is Underway
Zoe Moskovitz
& Sasha Kramer
Separating Lies from Truth About Haiti
Nelson P. Valdes
Habana Night vs. Latin American Scholars in Vegas: 61 Banned
Cuban Academics
Alan Farago
The "Ownership Society" and the End of the Everglades
Nancy Haley
What is the Historical Jesus Trying to Tell Us?
Alex Billet
Long Live The Clash: London Still Calling After 25 Years
Steve Fesenmaier
Save and Burn: The War on Libraries
Poets' Basement
Smith, Holt, Albert
October 1,
2004
Steve Breyman
Kerry's
Missed Opportunities
Rose Gentle
My
Son Died for a Lie
Lee Sustar
Iran
in the Crosshairs
Ralph Nader
What
We Didn't Hear at the Debate: Where's the Exit Strategy?
Walter Andrews
We Are Less Secure Now Than Ever
Mike Whitney
Pandora's
Government
Mickey Z.
Debate
This
Saul Landau
The
Iraq Invasion: Lessons from the Pinochet Cases
September 30,
2004
Ralph Nader
10
Ways to Beat Bush: a Gift to the Kerry/Edwards Campaign
Patrick Cockburn
The
Kidnap Capital of the World: Iraq's One Growth Industry
Gideon Levy
When You Have Breast Cancer in Gaza
Joshua Frank
Presidential Debates? Pass the Remote
Niranjan Ramakrishnan
I Dreamed They Had a Debate
Ali Khan
Dershowitz's
Jihad: Inventing Exceptions to International Law
Steve Perry
An Interview with Sibel Edmonds
September 29,
2004
Behrooz Ghamari
Playing
Politics with Nukes: A Collision Course with Iran?
Ray McGovern
More
Troops to Iraq...After the Election
Walter Brasch
Tinseltown
Traitors?: Applauding Only the Right Entertainers
Chris Floyd
The
Deceivers: Chronicle of a Quagmire Foretold
Stacey Reynolds
The Story of a Mercury-Poisoned American
M. Junaid Alam
Disrupting America's Fateful Non-Debate on the Roots of Terrorism
John L. Hess
They've Already Called It
Paul Craig
Roberts
Delusion
Rules: War, Outsourcing an Debt
September 28, 2004
Mike Whitney
Kerry's
Moral Compass
Fred Gardner
Pot
Shots: the Civics Teacher
Dan Meek
How Democrats Kicked Nader Off the Oregon Ballot
Greg Bates
Choking on Progressives for Kerry
Alan Farago
Jeanne in Haiti: Where is the World?
Lori Berenson
The Cajamarca Protest
Wayne Madsen
Where
is the Florida National Guard?
Robert Fisk
Why Have We Suddenly Forgotten Abu Ghraib?
September 27,
2004
Gary Leupp
The
Expulsion of Cat Stevens
Patrick Cockburn
As British Muslims Plead for Bigley's Life, US Airstrikes Pound
Fallujah
Sam Husseini
The Problem with Public Opinion Polls
Lee Sustar
Putting Bosses First: Latter Day Democrats and Labor
Dave Lindorff
A Progressive Case for (Gag) Kerry?
Norman Madarasz
Talking International: Contra Kerry
Kevin Pina
The Tragedy of Gonaives, Haiti
September 25
/ 26, 2004
Alexander Cockburn
C'mon
Ralph, You've Got Nothing to Lose
Dave Zirin
The Courage of the NBA's Etan Thomas:
"I Am Totally Against This War"
Saul Landau
The Reality of Empire and Campaign Rhetoric
Dave Lindorff
Our Heroic Baby-Killers
Brian J. Foley
Bush at the UN: the Sound of No Hands Clapping
William Blum
Progressives and the Election
Alan Maass
Why is Kerry Running Such a Lame Campaign? You Can't Blame It
All on Bob Shrum
Lucson Pierre-Charles
Haiti: Another Lost Story
Solange Echeverria
An Interview with Kevin Pina on the Floods in Haiti
Nicole Colson
What About the Supreme Court?
Justin Smith
The New Sparta
Joshua Frank
Iraq: From Clinton to Bush
Karyn Strickler
Momma, Don't Let Your Babides Grow Up to be Cannon Fodder
Michael Donnelly
Rather Disingenuous: "Remember in November"
Greg Bates
The Politics of Nader's Republican Support
Todd Chretien
Lesser Evilism: We Are Living in the Logical Conclusion
William Loren
Katz
Dire Warnings from the Past: From Wilson to Bush
Omar Barghouti
Americans, You've Lost Your Alibi!
Poets' Basement
Holt, Clarke, Albert, Laymon and Ford
Website of the Weekend
Carnival of Chaos
September 24,
2004
Dr. Teresa
Whitehurst
The
Value of One Life: Keeping Up Appearances and Leaving Hostages
to the Wolves
William S.
Lind
Destroying
the National Guard
Mike Whitney
The Bush Tent Show
Nancy Welch
What's
at Stake for Women in 2004?
Niranjan Ramakrishnan
Logical Limbo
Joshua Frank
Fear Mongering 101
Victor Kattan
An Interview with Afif Safieh
Ben Terrall
Kerry and Haiti: Will He Stand Up?
Kathleen and
Bill Christison
"Finally
It Broke My Heart": Random Impressions from Palestine
September 23,
2004
Patrick Cockburn
Why
Are They Still Holding "Mrs. Anthrax?"
Christopher Brauchli
Ashcroft's "Distressing Lack of Care": Hamdi and the
Phony War on Terrorism
Derek Seidman
Fighting for a Union at Starbucks: an Interview with Daniel Gross
Michael Neumann
Three
Years and Counting? How Time Flies
September 22,
2004
Patrick Cockburn
Zarqawi's
War: the Mysterious Sadist from Jordan
Neve Gordon
The
Wall, the Court and Sharon
Joshua Frank
History Repeating: New York, 1832 and Now
Ron Jacobs
Stormy Seas on the Citizen Ship
Jack Random
Defending Dan? Rather Not
Tarif Abboushi
Kerry's Final Straw: Confessions of a Despairing Voter
Mickey Z
Stupid White Guy Quiz
John L. Hess
Faking the Difference: a Serious Debate?
Jeffrey St.
Clair
High
Plains Grifter: The House Rules
September 21,
2004
Gary Leupp
"We
Are Not Secure": Kerry's "Unwavering Commitment"
to Securing a Middle East Realm
Robert Jensen
Large
Dams in India: Temples or Burial Grounds?
Elaine Cassel
Fourth Circuit to Moussouai: Ask Your Questions; Prepare to Die
Stanley Heller
Reagan and the Killing Fields of Lebanon
Adam Federman
America Will Disappoint the World, Again
David Whitehouse
What's Behind the Horror in Darfur?
M. Junaid Alam
How to Avoid Becoming an Anti-American
Paul Craig
Roberts
Attention
Deficit America
Website of the Day
True American War Heroes: the Iraq Refuseniks
September 20,
2004
Cockburn /
Buncombe
Get
Fallujah
David Price
Relying
on Phonies: What If The Problem with Phone Polls is That They
Are Phone Polls
Dave Lindorff
How
Dems Fight: Tigers Against Nader, Pussycats Against Bush
Harry Browne
Pre-Nup at Leeds: Talked Out, But Does IRA Give Up?
Mark Wesibrot
Bush's
Ownership Society: No Taxes for Owners, Only Workers
Karyn Strickler
The Keys to the White House v. the Shrum Curse?
Uri Avnery
The Temple Mount Bombers
September 18
/ 19, 2004
Alexander Cockburn
Forgeries,
Fingerprints and Forensic Fakery
Jeffrey St. Clair
High Plains Grifter: Bush's Mask of Anarchy
Patrick Cockburn
Into the Abyss: the Week Iraq's Dream of Peace Fell Apart
Fred Gardner
Pot Shots: Financial Torture (Asset Forfeiture)
Joe Allen
The Comrades Kerry Abandoned: the Real Story of Vietnam Vets
Against the War
George Corsetti
Poletown Revisited: Finally, Some Vindication
Scott Handleman
The Knock-Knock of a Sledgehammer: Sequestered in Nablus
Richard Ward
Two Weeks in Beit Arabiya
Conn Hallinan
Ashcroft and Indonesia
Lori Smith
Health Care in America: And Then I Got Sick...
Dave Zirin
Hold the Booyah!: SportsCenter Out of the Middle East
John L. Hess
Rather Will Take the Heat, As Bush's War Deteriorates
Brian J. Foley
W is for Wimp: So Why do Manly Men Love Him?
Mickey Z.
Pat Tillman and Osama bin Laden: Odd Juxtapositions
Poets' Basement
Vest, Landau & Albert
Website of the Weekend
Eye on the NYTs
Septemeber
17, 2004
Ray McGovern
Gossing
Over the Record
Patrick Cockburn
The New Iraqi Economy: Baghdad's Thriving Kidnapping Industry
Lee Sustar
The State of Working America: an Autopsy of the American Dream
Mike Whitney
John Kerry: 195 Lbs. of Political Helium, Not an Ounce of Sincerity
Victor Kattan
Black September
Ray Hanania
Israel's Demographics
Greg Bates
Nader's Victories: a Mid-Campaign Assessment
Website of
the Day
The Road to Hell
September 16,
2004
Landau / Hassen
Meet
the New Villain: Syria
Joanne Mariner
Inside
Darfur: a Photo Essay
Patrick Cockburn
US
Offers Conflicting Accounts of Baghdad Bloodbath
Greg Moses
Four Million Children Might Be News
Joshua Frank
Nader in the Battleground States
Christopher Brauchli
The Bush Drug Lottery Flops
David Himmelstein
Folke Bernadotte: a Rosh Hashonah Remembrance
Website of the Day
The Abu Ghraib Index
September 15,
2004
Patrick Cockburn
Hell
on Haifa Street
Ron Jacobs
Oppose War, Not Just Bush
David Lindorff
Blanking Out Dissent
Joanne Mariner
Talking About Darfur: Is Genocide Just a Word?
Angela Godfrey-Goldstein
An Open Letter to Madonna: Please Don't Support Israeli Apartheid
Dave Zirin
Is the NFL Ready for Us?
Yigal Bronner
"They
Are Building Walls Around Us"
September 14,
2004
Gary Leupp
The
Problem of Chechnya
Jennifer van
Bergen
What's
Wrong with Torture?
Stan Goff
Wake Up and Smell the Jungle Rot
Patrick Cockburn
The
Punishment of Fallujah: US Precision Strickes...on Ambulances
Anis Memon
Nader
in Michigan
Michael Donnelly
The Nuance Comes Off: Former Naderites Beg for Kerry Votes
Werther
Zell Miller: the Peckerwood Pericles
Website of
the Day
Osama Bin Forgotten?
September 13,
2004
Gabriel Kolko
Elections,
Alliances and the American Empire
Phillip Cryan
How Do You Say "Death Squad?": Language in Colombia's
War
Patrick Cockburn
One of Baghdad's Bloodiest Days: "I'm a Journalist! I'm
Dying! I'm Dying"
Noah Leavitt
The War on Civil Liberties
Robert Jensen
Highjacking Catastrophe: Bush, the Neo-Cons and 9/11
Mike Whitney
Alan Greenspan: Fed-Master to the Wealthy
John Chuckman
Stop Talking About the "Election"
Mike Burke
Kerry/Edwards Website Censors Discussion of Israel/Palestine
Issues
CounterPunch
Wire
The Quotations of David Cobb: "I Don't Care How Many Votes
I Get"
Website of the Day
Keep It In Your Pants: the Bush Plan to Combat Teen Promiscuity
September 11
/ 12, 2004
Alexander Cockburn
Swatting
at Flies
Fred Gardner
Yet Another Prozac Scandal
Saul Landau
When Our Assassins Go Free
Jennifer Van Bergen
How to Beat Bush: a Simple Strategy for the Average American
Roger Burbach
/ Jim Tarbell
The Real Dead Enders: Iraq and the Crisis of Empire
Christopher Reed
9/11 in an Historical Context: a Minor Event When Compared to
Worldwide War Casualties
Francisc Catalin
An ABC of American Interventions
Carl Estabrook
Big Science and Government Terror
Bernard Chazelle
Anti-Americanism: a Clinical Study
Sharon Smith
Third Party Blues
Dave Lindorff
Perhaps This Time We're the Silent Majority
Mike Whitney
Fallujah: an Iraqi Beslan?
Frederick B.
Hudson
Their Sons Perished in the Flames, But Not Their Faith
Mickey Z.
Round Up the Usual Suspects: a Look Back at 9/11
Ron Jacobs
Redneck Music for the New Century
Greg Moses
Soap Opera Moments in Texas School Funding Trial
Benjamin Dangl
/ Andrew Kennis
An Interview with Leslie Cagan
Poets Basement
Del Papa, Albert, Gelman
September 10,
2004
Patrick Cockburn
Disappointment
at Samarrah?
Michael Donnelly
Democrats v. Democracy
Alan Farago
Mosquitoes in a Hurricane
Doug Giebel
Karl Rove's Terror Playbook
Mike Whitney
Bob Graham's Political Tsunami
David Domke
God's
Will, According to the Bush Administration
September 9,
2004
Joe Bageant
Karaoke
Night in Bush's America
Ed Kinane
Abducted in Baghdad
Peter Bohmer
The Cuban Revolution: Present and Future
Todd May
The Emerging Case for a Single-State Solution
Jeremy Scahill
The New York Model: Indymedia and the Text Message Jihad
Joshua Frank
Green House Party Gasses
Fran Shor
The Crisis in Public Dissent: When Protest is Considered a Terrorist
Act
Patrick Cockburn
Welcome
to the Dirtiest City in the World: Despair in Baghdad
Website of
the Day
Liberty Street Protest: No to War at Ground Zero
September 8,
2004
Patrick Cockburn
This
Doesn't Smell Like Victory: A War on Two Fronts in Iraq
Dave Lindorff
Bush Confuses; Kerry Mute: Spinning 1000 Dead
Bulent Gokay
Russian and Chechnia After Beslan
Lisa Viscidi
Land Reform and Conflict in Guatemala
Niranjan Ramakrishnan
Byrd's Eye View
Mike Whitney
Afghanistan: American's Drug Colony
Stan Goff
Body
Count: 1001
Website of
the Day
Bush and the Love Doctors
September 7,
2004
Diane Christian
Hostage Tactics: a Game of Mortal Poker
Joshua Frank
Greens
Unravel from Within
Patrick Cockburn
Fallujah
Erupts Again: US Death Toll in Iraq Nears 1000
Ron Jacobs
Bush and Putin: "We're Not Girlie Men"
Chris Floyd
Cry Havoc: Bush's Own Personal Janjaweed
Dr. Carol Wolman
No Blood for Oil at Paul Bunyan Day Parade
John Ross
The
Politics of Darkness North / South
September 6,
2004
Alexander Cockburn
An
Anti-Labor Day That Lives in Infamy: How Many Democrats Voted
For Taft-Hartley?
Ralph Nader
The
Cruel Legacy of Taft-Hartley: a Labor Day Call for Rights for
Working People
Lee Sustar
What's Driving the Attack on Pensions?
Kathleen and
Bill Christison
Dual
Loyalties: the Bush Necons and Israel
September 4-5,
2004
Alexander Cockburn
Elephants
and Gramsci
Ted Honderich
The
Way Things Are
Sasan Fayazmanesh
The
Holy Empire: Who We Are and What We Do
Douglas Valentine
What the World Should Know About Guantanamo
Patrick Cockburn
New Iraqi Police State Flexes Its Muscles
Gary Leupp
Neo Cons Under Fire
Fred Gardner
Pot Shots: the Hempstead T-Shirt
William A.
Cook
The
Day of the Lemming
Dave Zirin
Kobe Bryant and the Price of Freedom
John Chuckman
The Day the World Ended
Karyn Strickler
God Save the Endangered Species Act
Vanessa Jones
Bad Day with an Ikea Cup
Mike Whitney
Kerry: the "Better" War Candidate
Mark Donham
Dear John (Kerry): Start Explaining and Fast
Mickey Z.
McBypass Nation: Feeling Clinton's Pain
Alan Farago
Can the Everglades be Fixed?
Poets' Basement
Landau and Albert
September 3,
2004
Jeffrey St.
Clair
High
Plains Grifter: Jesus Told Him Where to Bomb
Rahul Mahajan
Bush's RNC Speech: an Annotated Response
Carl Estabrook
The
Book of Slaughter and Forgetting
Joshua Frank
The Florida of the Northwest: Oregon Dems Sabotage Nader Again
Gary Leupp
Music to My Ears: Sunday's March
James Hollander
Deja Vu in Manhattan: Assisted Political Suicide?
Mark Engler
Republicans
Among Us: a Week at the RNC, Inside and Out
Jesse Sharkey
Making Students and Teachers Pay for the Crisis in Education
Jane Stillwater
Calling the Cops on Your Own Kid
Stephen Green
Serving
Two Flags: the Bush Neo-Cons and Israel
September 2,
2004
Jeffrey St.
Clair
High
Plains Grifter: Part 3: More Pricks Than Kicks
Max Gimble
Et Tu, Menchu? Extrajudicial Killings and Clandestine Graves
in Guatemala
James Petras
President Chavez and the Referendum: Myths and Realities
Christopher
Brauchli
Bush and the Afghan Electoral Model: "If They Want to Vote
Twice, Let Them"
Todd Chretien & Jessie
Muldoon
Will the Democrats Expel Zell Miller?
Jack Random
Spite and Venom Day: the Turncoat and the Profiteer
Alan Maass
The Real Vietnam
Christa Allen
Contre Bush
Website of
the Day
[Redacted]
September 1,
2004
Alexander Cockburn
The
Stench of Doom
Kathleen and Bill Christison
Poor Larry Franklin
Dave Lindorff
Kerry's Litmus Test
Josh Frank
Protest in White: Not All of New York Rises Up
John L. Hess
Moles, Scoops and Flip Flops
Mike Whitney
Deconstructing Arnold
Jack Random
Kindergarten Night at the RNC
Andrew Wilson
War on the Pachyderms: Why Do Elephants Hate Us?
Jeffrey St.
Clair
High
Plains Grifter: Part Two: Mark His Words
August 31,
2004
Joseph Nevins
Escapism
and Global Apartheid: The Dominican Republic & the NYTs
Matt Vidal
Beyond
Bush's Rhetoric on the Economy
Neve Gordon
Kerry and the Middle East
Dave Lindorff
Bush
the Peace Candidate?
Mike Whitney
NPR Leads the Charge for War Against Iran
Jack Random
Opening Night: Playing the War Card
Jeffrey St.
Clair
High
Plains Grifter: the Life and Crimes of George W. Bush (Part One)
CounterPunch Photo of the Day
Pete Seeger in NYC
August 30,
2004
Justin Podhur
The
Disappeared Mayor
Shaun Joseph
The
Hypocrites at TheNaderbasher.com
Mike Whitney
Israeli Moles in the Pentagon: What More Could They Possibly
Want?
Ron Jacobs
Live, From New York: the Majority of Protesters Claimed No Candidate
David Lindorff
Sunday in Manhattan: the Sound of Marchin', Chargin' Feet, Boy
Dave Zirin
USA Basketball: The Team White America Loved to Hate
Sam Husseini
Israeli Spying on the US: a Long History
August 28 /
29, 2004
Alexander Cockburn
Zombies
for Kerry
Patrick Cockburn
Najaf Ceasefire Good for Iraq, But Weakens Allawi and US
Ray McGovern
Blowing Smoke on Intelligence
Dr. Juan Romagoza
From El Salvador to Abu Ghraib: Reflections of Torture Survivor
Ray Hanania
An Israeli Spy in the Pentagon? Ridiculous!
Fred Gardner
Eddie Lepp Busted by DEA: Facing Life for Growing Medical Pot
Diane Christian
Big Men: the Better Leader Lets You Live
William S. Lind
The Desert Fox
Paul D'Amato
The Left Takes a Dive for Kerry
Joshua Frank
Greens at the Crossroads
Mickey Z.
Media Declares War on Anti-War Protests
Winslow T. Wheeler
Sen. McCain's Pork Chops: an Exchange
Justin E.H.
Smith
The New Age Racket and the Left
Thomas St. John
Burning Slaves at the Stake: On "Sinners in the Hands of
an Angry God"
Ali Tonak
Help the NYPD?
Mark Engler
New York Says "No"
Justin Felux
Haiti: the Attica of the Americas
Poets' Basement
Gelman, Albert, Ford and Hamod
August 27,
2004
Gary Leupp
Neocon
Musings
Robin Cook
The
Ghosts of Abu Ghraib
Diane Christian
Disarming
Michael Donnelly
Situational Democracy: the Show Me the Green Party?
Jack Random
4F and Other Heroes: an Army of War Resisters
Mike Ferner
"To the Swift Boats!"
Mazin Qumsiyeh
7000 Palestinian Political Prisoners
Veronza Bowers, Jr.
"You Won't Be Leaving Tomorrow"
August 26,
2004
M. Shahid Alam
The
Clash Thesis: a Failing Ideology?
Diane Christian
War
Rules: Bush is No Sun Tzu
Derek Seidman
"They're As Bad As Wal-Mart:" Starbucks Workers Get
Organized
David Lindorff
Court to RNC Protesters: Drop the Rally
Christopher
Brauchli
Signs of Dissent: the Bush in the Bubble
Stew Albert
Reporting Suspicious Activity
Mark Donham
Judgement in Athens: Give the Koreans Their Day in Court
Saul Landau
Pinochet:
the Al Capone of the Southern Cone
Website of
the Day
The Kerry 527 Ad You'll Never See
August 25,
2004
Amelia Peltz
Can
I Have 9.8 Seconds of Your Time?
Noah Leavitt
Defining and Redefining Torture
Ron Jacobs
Takin' It to the Streets: It's Not About the Election, It's About
Democracy
James Brooks
Coronado Crosses the Jordan
Akiva Eldar
How to Win the Jewish Vote: Turn Gaza into a "Mini-Afghanistan"
Gemma Araneta
Chavez's New Brand of Populism
Philip Cryan
Uribe's Boys: the Death Squads of Colombia
CounterPunch Wire
Cheney Opens the Closet Door
August 24,
2004
Jeremy Scahill
John
Kerry: the Warchurian Candidate
Gary Leupp
"We
Want Them to Go Away"
David Domke
God
Willing: an Echoing Press and Political Fundamentalism
William Loren Katz
The Meaning of Hugo Chávez: Black and Indian Power in
Venezuela
Jonah Gindin
With Chavez? Reading the International Private Media
Fran Schor
Denying Atrocities: From Vietnam to Fallujah
Joe Bageant
Driving
on the Bones of God
Website of the Day
The Great America Lockdown: a Primer for the RNC
August 23,
2004
Winslow Wheeler
Don't
Mind If I Do: Porkbarrel and the War on Terror
John Pilger
Bush
May Be the Lesser Evil
Stan Goff
Swift
Boat Dogfight
Bill and Kathleen
Christison
Notes
from the West Bank: Build, Demolish, Rebuild
Mike Whitney
The Unraveling of Afghanistan
William Blum
Brave
New World of Iraqi Sovereignty
Ralph Nader
A Letter to the Washington Post: a Shameful and Unsavory Editorial
August 21 /
22, 2004
Cockburn /
St. Clair
"They
Want Blood:" The Bi-Partisan Origins of the Total War on
Drugs
Landau / Hassen
Failing
the Mission? Form a Commission
Brian Cloughley
The
Bush Team in Iraq: Moral Cowardice, as Practiced by Experts
Josh Frank
Nader as David Duke? The ADL Wants You to Think So
Mike Whitney
Reincarnating Mengele: the Torture Doctors of Abu Ghraib
Ron Jacobs
Day Labor Blues
Mickey Z.
Shooting at Whales: 40 Years After Tonkin
Fred Gardner
Dr. Wolman Comes Out: The Cannabis Consultants
Dave Zirin
Uprising in Athens: Iraqi Soccer Team Gives Bush the Boot
Josh Saxe
Witnessing Police Brutality in LA
Yanar Mohammed
Letter from Baghdad: a Democracy of Killings and Bombings
Helen Williams
Ali's Story: a Taste of Reality from Baghdad
Michael Donnelly
Elemental and NaturalForests, Fire and Recovery
Elizabeth Schulte
The Crisis in Affordable Housing
Poets' Basement
Adler, Albert, Virgil, Ford and Krieger
Hot Stories
Alexander Cockburn
Behold,
the Head of a Neo-Con!
Subcomandante
Marcos
The
Death Train of the WTO
Norman Finkelstein
Hitchens
as Model Apostate
Steve Niva
Israel's
Assassination Policy: the Trigger for Suicide Bombings?
Dardagan,
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Weekend Edition
October 9 / 10, 2004
A Dramatic
Monologue in One Act
The
Agony of Colin Powell
By
WILLIAM A. COOK
NOTE: This one act play is
a work of fiction. The Protagonist and the characters he presents
on screen are fictional characters as well even though they are
named after living persons currently holding positions in the
government of the United States. No attempt has been made to
accurately penetrate the inner thoughts or feelings of the living
man, Colin Powell. Indeed, Colin Powell may not be able to do
that although he is in a much better position than I to attempt
such a feat. The Colin Powell in this play is a representative
character, not unlike Everyman, who must face his inner self,
having lived a life contrary to the values, principles, and morals
that had governed his behavior before his ascent to the pinnacles
of power. The Colin Powell in the Bush administration has appeared
at times to openly confront the decisions that drive this administration,
yet has always backed down, accepted the necessity of the acts,
or remained silent in acquiescence of them. That behavior gave
rise to the intent of the play as it seemed to eloquently represent
an individual in crisis -- duty versus self. The play is a fictitious
portrayal of a person in spiritual and emotional agony confronting
his dark night of the soul. --WAC
The
Agony of Colin Powell
Scene: A five star hotel suite
close to the UN building in NYC. The room opens from the main
double doors at the rear of the stage. The entrance offers a
crescent table to the right of the entrance and a door to the
bedroom on the left. A few steps from the door there is a step
into the main room. It offers a large "L" shaped couch
set, end tables with elegant lamps, a credenza with appropriate
liquor bottle and glasses and a lounge chair. There is a desk
of some size to the left with a desk chair, a computer, phone,
etc. A huge TV screen is visible on the sidewall. A full length
mirror hangs next to the entrance doors facing the audience.
Faint elevator music can be heard riding quietly over the set.
As the curtain parts, a shuffling
of feet and muffled voices can be heard outside the door. The
door opens with a flourish as Powell comes into view. He's dressed
in formal overcoat and scarf; he carries an attaché case.
As he enters the room, he appears to dismiss someone with a rapid
gesture of his free arm. He grabs the doorknob as he moves through
the opening and slams the door fiercely, muttering as he enters,
visibly upset. As he utters the words below, he has moved toward
the desk on which he hurls his attaché case, throws his
coat over the chair, and moves to the lounge chair pulling at
his scarf as he goes. He's dressed in full business suit, but
tears at his tie and collar as though he's ridding himself of
a prison uniform or slave's rags.
POWELL:
GOD damn! God DAMN! Won't this
ever end?
What madness am I mired in? What slough is this?
What lures me to this swamp, this pit of despond?
Where I drown in hopeless depression?
Alone! Oh, so alone!
Would that I could
Slough off this role that smothers me,
Hides me from me, for God's sake,
And I become a buffoon, a comic player
Mouthing the words of idiots, fools,
That mock those they claim to serve.
[He rises from the chair, shirt
now open to the waist, and prances in imitation of Bush's strutting
as he mocks his Pretend Texas drawl exaggerating Bush's sense
of superiority as he plays the "common man."]
"Now, you know what the
man wants, Powell,
I mean, you know what he wants ta he'ar.
He wants you to tell him its OK to kidnap...
Well, maybe not kidnap, maybe, help Aristide
Get safely out a Haiti, to save his life,
You know, 'cause we're the good guys!
We need you there, Colin, cause you's
The black guy that knows what's good for them.
And if you say it's OK, then it's OK!"
[He returns to his own voice,
and in fury speaks the following lines.]
Mouthing the words of idiots;
the fool
That plays his part, then departs to play
The fool again to the plaudits of the powers
That pull the strings that make me twitch
[He suddenly grabs at his chest
as a real pain hits. He stops talking and lets the moment pass.
Then he speaks the following lines in a subdued meditative reflection.]
Where have I buried everything I longed to be?
What road led me to this barren place?
Why do I do what I do when I can see
That it has blackened my soul and whitened my face?
Have I succumbed to such hypocrisy
That I can no longer trace
The roots that hungered to be free,
That gave purpose to my being and to my race?
[He grabs the remote and turns
on the TV to find the evening news. He watches in silence as
the anchorman turns to the UN story of the flight of Aristide
out of Haiti. No one seems to know where he has gone or why,
just a desperate flight to safety done with American aid. The
cameraman turns to his interview with Powell, the administration's
spokesman on the issue. He explains how Aristide's life and those
of his family were in danger and the US offered him a flight
out of the country. He explains that Aristide had signed a letter
of resignation and the US was acting in a true humanitarian spirit
to help the beleaguered President. He shuts off the TV and tosses
the remote on the couch]
[Mocking himself.]
That is the most influential
"Oreo" in the Nation!
Colin, "Oreo," Powell! Black
On the inside, white on the outside,
The inside-out cookie, baked in a white oven!
[He reverts to dialect as he
responds to his own image on the screen.]
'Who is dat man? How come he look like me?
He sound like me, but he not be me!'
Oh, how I wish that were so,
That I might rest in the black night
Knowing I had deserved the sleep
That crowns those who fought the good fight.
But sleep eludes me, escapes my grasp
As though it were a convict on the loose,
And I the Pink Panther's stumbling fool
That follows the rule to its inevitable end,
An ironic ridicule of reason and civility.
The face before the camera, quiet, assured,
The very cadence of civilized man
Explaining the unexplainable in measured
Tones that none would dare to question
Lest they appear the fool!
[He moves to the desk, opens the attaché case and rummages
inside pulling papers and disks from its innards. He appears
to be searching for a specific disk. He locates it, turns to
the computer and inserts the disk. The images come on the big
screen. He lands in the desk chair. It has wheels so he can move
around on the upper floor and he enjoys this mobility.]
Ah! Got it!
Fools caught in the act!
[He gleefully points the remote
at the screen.
Cheney's face appears.]
Here, here's the Iago with
infernal sneer,
Tilted head, and varnished voice;
The asp in the ear of the mannequin,
That slips its hateful venom
Into that vapid space, unknown
To a mind grown dull in time,
Doltish from drugs and drink.
What demonic demands does
He inject into that dummy?
What mind possesses such scorn
For the common man called to slaughter?
What evil ego glows so deep
In the cauldron of his soul
That he can send the innocent
To their death without remorse
Even as he slides guiltlessly
Beyond the killing fields he creates?
This! This face must I face
Each day, feign joy
In its presence, bestow my obsequiousness
Like some sheepish lapdog
On this grotesquerie that leers
At the world from behind its
Sadistic mind, sick with desire
To control, aye control not
Just a man, but the Goddamn world!
To this I bow, the house nigger
That ties his fortune to white power
Cause he knows the whip's sting
Awaits should he turn against
Those who gave him entrance
To the hollowed halls that control all!
How high do I rise!
Ah, so far, the cries of those in chains
So long ago are but whispers now,
No longer the lingering lamentations
Of kindred souls searching for one
To right the wrongs they endured.
That was me when I was young,
Full of vinegar pulsing through my veins,
Afraid of none, hero to all!
I lived the Goddamned dream!
Naive perhaps? No! No! Ignorant!
Stupidly believing it was there for me;
A dream for whitey only,
Dressed in lies, wearing a black face,
Mocking my every step as I crept
Up the ladder, rung by agonizing
Rung, and lost my soul!
[He lurches for the remote and desperately points to the screen
for another picture. Cheney disappears and the screen goes blank.]
Enough of this gargoyle
Whose slimy thoughts drip
Over his protruding tongue
And fall like acid drops below.
Another, I'll have another
To sooth my smoldering anger.
But first, I need an elixir
To drown this gnawing pain
That strains at my gut
Like some knife of shame,
A two edged blade bloodied
By deeds done in silence
And lies told to hide the truth.
It twists inside cutting honor
As deeply as it does my heart.
[He lifts himself from the
rolling chair, and as he does so he instinctively grabs his gut
as if in pain, and makes his way to the decanter where he pours
a tall glass into which he tosses a couple of ice cubes. He takes
a long drink letting the liquor slide smoothly down his throat.
He moves silently and dejectedly to the "L" shaped
couch and points the remote.]
Now! Now there's a face!
[Wolfowitz' face comes on the
screen. He leans forward looking intensely at the face.]]
Conceited, conniving, coarse,
No! More! Warped, obsessed;
Ah, yes, obsessed and diabolical,
The Rasputin of our noble court!
Out of his pen pours prejudice
Garbed in learned jargon,
Absolute in its oblique assertions
That turns the simple mind
That rules this misguided nation.
That, too, must I bow before,
Lest I offend the ass to which
His nose is hooked, browned
By years of cowering subservience
To hold the pants of those in power!
If I grovel, how much more does he?
But I know it; he cares not
For he has no morals, nothing
But the void beneath that face.
What evil has he perpetrated
And forced on a beguiled nation!
What deceit lives behind those eyes,
A veritable nest of maggots
That lives on lies,
Yet he greets
The world in fawning smiles,
The very image of the candy man
Who brings hope to all,
When in fact, he is the Iceman!
God, what a bloody crew
Of blind men leads this country
Down the path to the ditch of doom.
I grow morose and cynical;
There must be laughter
To quell these doldrums
Or I go mad!
[He gets more and more animated
as the following lines are spoken and rises from the chair moving
around the room.]
What fool
Can I beckon to my cause?
Whose image presents itself?
I feel like Faust
In the fulness of his power
As he summoned Mephistopheles
To raise the radiant Helen
Before his eyes.
Here, here is my
Demon on call, a plastic remote
That summons the radiance of, Rumsfeld!
Now, there is grace, comeliness,
charm!
A smile to bedevil the gods,
Eyes squinting in the glare,
Of his own brilliance that shines
Forth from his eloquent mouth
In phrases picked from the Tree of Knowledge
Before the gates of heaven slammed shut.
Or so he believes in his gut.
So sad how an ego can pluck
Sense from the mind of men.
How he beguiles the press,
Who prance before his podium
Like homeless waifs in old England,
Awaiting the proffered pence
From the hands of the blessed chosen.
He regales them with known knowns,
Known unknowns, and unknown unknowns
And they scribble these pearls of wisdom
Onto their notepads like obedient children,
Ignorant of their sense while he
Loses the horror of war and terror
In jazzy riffs of obfuscation,
And they, befuddled by his merriment,
Forget the death and destruction
He came to announce to the nation.
Oh, how many talking fools
bob
Before the multitudes on fluid screens,
Chortling with glee this clown's
Distortions of truth,
Fed things
That haven't happened, could not
Have happened had they sense.
They have mesmerized the people,
Who sit in silent acceptance
Of fallacies only an O'Reilly or Rush
Could conjure as certitude,
Minds made infallible by ignorance
And ego.
To think I knew them,
Knew them all before, yet yielded
To their feigned entreaties to join
The team to make "America great."
And, "Yes!" "Yes," I would have
Total control of State, free
To assert a direction and design;
The fulfillment of a dream deferred,
The mark of the oppressed visible
To all at last as I guided the ship of State.
What a joke! What ignorance propelled me?
What made me think power
Would be handed to a nigger?
Did I think the true thought
Evaporated when the word was expunged?
Have I joined the Hollow men:
Heartless, cruel, vengeful, cursed?
Shall I ride this frightful hearse
To its ineluctable end,
Or shall I pluck myself free,
And pray I can salvage eternity?
If there is one face that epitomizes
This ship of fools, it is this!
[He points the remote and Rumsfeld
disappears. In a moment, Karl Rove's face covers the screen.
He moves close to the screen drinking in the features of this
man. Now subdued by some hidden force, grasping his temples as
if in pain, he turns toward the audience and mutters the following.]
This, this is not a face of
flesh.
There is no person here, no form
That grew in time from the mewling child;
Rather this is the face of heaven cursed
To wander the earth forever;
Lucifer incarnate in our shape,
Vengeance made palpable,
Searching the destruction of God's creation;
The Mariner damned to repeat his crime
Day after day, to live its horror
Before all mankind, alone and barren,
Bereft of human kindness and love,
A pitiless wandering form without substance
Without conscience, without compassion, without remorse.
Power and control propel this
monster;
Oblivious to pain and suffering
Since he cannot die again;
His life is everlasting death.
Damned to wander through the world's
Byways witness to the weeping
Mothers and children who cling
To each other despite the devastation;
He sees the love that binds, a love
He cannot share though he knows
It alone is life's fulfillment.
Such is the power that plays
with this putty!
[He points the remote to the
screen and blanks out Rove; in his place appears that of Bush.
As he continues his litany of fools, he changes the picture of
Bush to depict the points he's making. Bush in uniform, Bush
in a Ranger baseball jacket, Bush with a hard hat, Bush leering,
Bush sneering, Bush walking the Texas walk, i.e. like someone
walking through a field of corn stalks.]
Here is true comedia dell'arte,
The mask presented to the people,
And the voice that speaks through the mask,
Personified evil in the form of Rove.
America hears the self-mocking fool
And loves his bumbling manner;
But neither the fool nor the people
Know the source of his mindless banter.
This Lucifer ties two threads
of fate
With magnificent dexterity:
The neo-cons' sugar-coated hate
And God's gift to humanity,
As sold by the righteous marketers
Who coat the hearts and minds
Of their idolaters with fear and prophecy.
Oh, I should raise the specters
Of all his evil horde this night,
To haunt my dreams and drive my despair
As I grope in blindness to confront
What comfort I have conferred on this crew,
That does the bidding of Beelzebub,
Casting the naive and innocent to their doom.
I can't let them escape this
catalogue of hate
That spreads their images before my mind,
As they spread their lies and deceit before
The people they vowed to protect,
Images of hypocrisy garbed in the gowns
Of God's chosen;
Prophets as real
As the storied Patriarchs that predicted God's
Reign of wrath threatening his creatures
With the sword of fire to destroy those
He came to save!
Their names
Must be emblazoned on the forehead of time,
A monument to their everlasting crime:
Falwell, Graham, Robertson, and Hagee,
The Dominionists, End-timers, and Lindsey,
All who presumed to know the word of God,
Using fear, not love, to drive their ambitions!
These deceivers drove the frightened
And afflicted to give aid and comfort
To terrorists who plagued the poor Palestinians,
Finding justice in the horror of God's
Armageddon that gave right to might
As it blessed the lies of these dissemblers.
I saw them come and go,
And met them in their temples of gold,
But said not a word of dissent;
What stubborn will kept me silent?
Why could I not speak, why not cry
To the very heavens how they betray
The compassionate Christ they claim to love?
Where have I buried my sinful soul?
[He turns to point to Bush's image on the screen, flicks to one
that shows him humbly bowed in prayer, in church, eyes closed.
He turns toward the audience as though to continue his meditation
but shows in a grimace the pain inside. After a moment, he begins.]
There bows the born again Christian,
Self-righteous in his indignation of those
Who question his declaration of who is evil,
And who is blessed by God to lead his mission
Of salvation against the infidels that threaten
His dominion throughout the world!
In his humble hands lies the fate
Of humankind. Does he believe these myths?
Is he an imposter, a fraud, blind, or delusional?
Does the deception reside in Rove's artifice
Or do I serve a man of infinite deceit?
Certainly I am to blame for
this.
[He uses the remote to bring
up a picture of Bush in his guard uniform.]
I chose to serve the chicken
hawks,
The very image of those I once decried,
Cowards who send the young and poor
To serve in their staid, whole bodies
Used as organs to salvage the rich!
What images come to mind
Of Cheney's snarl, face to face
With the sergeants' call to pushups!
Wolfowitz and Perle bedecked in ribbons
That flow over their protruding guts,
While Junior wades through fields of mud
On his way to the local pub!
What visions of security they portray!
Perhaps it's better they not serve,
But rather salute real men in battle array.
Yet to him and to them I pay
homage,
To Hollow men come to life;
No longer the forgotten images
Of Eliot's barren waste, but
Bones fleshed in cynicism and hate.
[He shuts off the remote, and
in quiet dejection moves across the room to the full-length mirror.
His face reflects the pain that flares up from time to time throughout
the monologue. He turns to look at himself in the mirror, back
now to the audience, though they can see his front in the reflection.
He begins to speak in a quiet but deeply meditative manner.]
Eyes I would not dare to meet
In death's dream kingdom,
I greet in full obeisance,
Like some Mas'sr of old,
With shifting feet and eyes to the ground,
The invisible man shuffling around
Lest I be flung from these citadels
That I breached these many years ago.
Oh, God, what years I have
devoted
To duty and dedication that it should
Come to this night of reparation,
Where I confront myself, defeated
And alone, like some aged penitent
That shambles toward the confessional,
Trembling and terrified that absolution
Will be denied and death will not come;
But morning will, and every store window
Will tell of deeds done in silence
Truths not told, defiance put on hold.
I stand here before the only
face
That must confront the faces it has met,
That must judge itself, not them,
For they are but ghosts of my own decisions
Or indecisions that have wrought the chaos
That plagues me this night.
Now must I play priest and
penitent,
Conjure up points in time that
Pricked my soul as I capitulated
To those who held my future
By a tether, like Edward's spider over the flame,
Ready to drop me into the perdition
Of lost opportunity and advancement,
To breach the walls of whitey's fortress,
After four hundred years of sweat,
Of humiliation and defeat, to subvert
From within the very system that controlled
The oppressed and determined their fate.
That was the dream that turned to nightmare.
[He wanders before the mirror,
weaving back and forth as he unfurls these lines, stopping to
look at himself, sometimes with an expression of deep depression,
sometimes pain, physical pain that finds visibility in his breast
or temples. It is as though he is mirroring his emotional state
in the deterioration of his body.]
I know the day and hour of
my defeat!
It was a sin of omission, of known
Horror untold, of cold bodies
Buried beneath the clay of My Lai.
I knew and said nothing, and learned
That silence has its own rewards
For those in power, who control others
By controlling what they know.
That omission earned me stars,
And forged the first link in my chain
That grew like Morley's day by day
Until I was fettered as solidly as any
Of my forebears who served as chattel
For that civil society that shackled the slave.
[He stands before the mirror
and buttons up his shirt, straightens his collar. He stands at
attention, shirt tucked in, belly pulled in, looking at himself
and imagining his early years in uniform.]
I cut a pretty picture then,
A useful tint to present to the public,
Carefully manicured in my ribbons and stars,
The perfect image for the Party of the people.
Used, used as only Patricians
use the slave:
I dressed out their dining hall,
I stood, impassive and pressed, beside
Their elegantly dressed wives bedecked
With pearls and diamonds and gleaming smiles.
I knew my place and kept it well,
Adding, day by day, a new link
To the chain that choked my conscience,
Shutting out the air of reason and right,
As I crawled home each night
To seek solace in darkness,
Ah, yes, to crawl out of the light!
[He slumps down on his knees,
head bowed like the penitent.]
How corrupt have I become?
Do I act now without regard
For right or wrong?
Do I
Instill my desires on my own kin?
Do I link them to my chain, prisoners
Of my foibles, victims of "duty's" excuse
That releases me from judgment to acquiesce
To those who pull my chain?
Oh, I am not Prince Hamlet,
in deed,
A pun as corpulent as my dejected mood;
I'm not even Lord Procrastinator,
Who has at least the prospect of becoming;
I have forgone all, lost the chance to act.
I have become the victim of Cheney's venom,
Just another mannequin to be placed
In his window, dressed to do his bidding,
[He rises from his knees and
goes for another drink. As he stands at the credenza, his hand
begins to shake and the liquor spills. He grabs at his breast.
Puts the glass down hurriedly, and stumbles to the couch edge.
A little time passes and then he begins the following gaining
momentum as he speaks.]
Why, if I am content to be
his lackey,
Do I suffer so?
I tried, I tried to stop
The first slaughter that ended
In the Highway of Death, that graveyard
Of bleached skulls and seared skin,
Our everlasting memorial
To that glorious little war,
That made me a household name.
But once started, I did nothing to stop it.
No, that's not true, I did do something;
I supported it, lying to myself
That duty required I obey;
The pitiful lie all must use
Who follow the bloody trail
Their master takes.
That lie
They knew I would tell myself,
And so I became both Master and slave!
What irony rules a life
That turns the whip upon itself.
That blackness in evil seals my fate!
Shackled to duty I abhor,
Champion of slaughters demanded
By those I hate, the loathsome horde
That guides this benumbed state!
That time passed, and I pushed
My guilt deep inside that I might hide
It from myself.
But it festered there;
It haunts me now; it grows a cancer
In my breast and taunts my being.
It metastasises, for God's sake,
Because it multiplies each day I
Live in this den of vipers who
Entwine their lies like serpents in a nest,
Strangling my will, my desires, my soul.
[He is circling the stage at
this point as though tracked by some unseen fury. He grasps his
temples at times, desperate to flee the torment he is recalling.]
How I gagged when Rumsfeld
shoved
Those sheets of deception before me;
Page upon page of distortion and invention,
Equivocation and evasion, presented as truth
To beguile the world by this Charlatan,
Who coquettishly delivered the Judas kiss
To those he admired, the very diplomats
That cried out against the Machiavellian
Antics of this Satanic crew!
Then, too, I objected when I threw
Those sheets against the wall,
Demanding they give me evidence,
Not concoctions hatched by sick minds,
That, once delivered, makes me their Pharisee.
Yet Pharisee I became,
Presenting their law before
The world's court, mouthing their lies
As truth, while my innards burned!
Had I then stood against their
will,
The very heavens would have given thanks!
And the chains, the chains that bind
Even now would have fallen
From my heart and sunk like lead
Into the swollen sea.
And, blessed God,
I would be free!
But now I walk the world a
clown,
Bush's buffoon, believed by none!
Pushed around the globe to justify
Neo-con hypocrisy, a roving dummy
Doomed to drive an agenda of destruction.
Ah, what self-hate sits like
ice in my breast,
Freezing my heart against the pain
I witnessed in Jenin, as Sharon's siege
Laid waste the destitute and helpless;
People oppressed, damned by indifference
And deceit to suffer in the sun's glare
The cruel savagery of these fiends.
I, I live their pain, captive of these same
Demons, and I suffer with my brother.
Yet I did a dastardly thing
When I circled their plight,
Taking unnecessary flight to Egypt,
That Sharon have time to ravage their homes,
And massacre the mothers and children
Who could not flee the terror of his wrath.
The whole world cried in despair
As I crawled slowly to the carnage
That I let happen for their sake,
Adding still more dead to the links
That I drag weeping into eternity.
Why can I not act?
What makes me cow to those I loath?
What force drives this shame?
For force it is that compels me to live
In a cauldron of self-hate, yet go forth
Each day to build another crime
More hideous than the last,
To approve the wall that stands
A monument to racist hate, encircling
Those held captive by murderers and thieves;
To cry foul when the world court
Condemns the ethnic imprisonment of people
Unable to defend themselves against oppression;
To proclaim as justified the stealing
Of Palestinian land negating by my act
The declared will of nations united in voice
Against this insidious betrayal.
Good God, what reparations
must I make?
To whom do I make them now?
Have I a soul to save?
I have lived this dark night
In fear and dread having cast
My lot this day with tragic irony
As I stood alone, the bumbling Patsy
For this pathetic crew, escorting
Democracy out of Haiti!
Kidnaping it
In the dead of night, a tragicomic Knight,
Destined to be mocked and derided,
A figure of infinite ridicule and scorn!
How fitting this end to this
ignoble career.
What message does it send?
Am I at least an example that can teach
The folly of impregnable duty,
Of deeds done in silence that corrupt,
Of deceit made truth that corrodes
The decency we've been taught,
Of dreams deferred and lost?
When pride rides its phantasm
steed,
Seeking the golden apple of greed
And gain, and power, believing it
The elixir of life, time intrudes
To erase the mirage, leaving only
A residue of lost hope and desire.
Oh, God, I would I were dead!
[He collapses on the lounge
chair, arms spread, head on chest as the curtain closes.]
William Cook is a professor of English at the University
of La Verne in southern California. His new book, Psalms
for the 21st Century, was just published by
Mellen Press. He can be reached at: cookb@ULV.EDU
Weekend
Edition Features for September 18 / 19, 2004
Alexander Cockburn
Forgeries,
Fingerprints and Forensic Fakery
Jeffrey St. Clair
High Plains Grifter: Bush's Mask of Anarchy
Patrick Cockburn
Into the Abyss: the Week Iraq's Dream of Peace Fell Apart
Fred Gardner
Pot Shots: Financial Torture (Asset Forfeiture)
Joe Allen
The Comrades Kerry Abandoned: the Real Story of Vietnam Vets
Against the War
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Poletown Revisited: Finally, Some Vindication
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The Knock-Knock of a Sledgehammer: Sequestered in Nablus
Richard Ward
Two Weeks in Beit Arabiya
Conn Hallinan
Ashcroft and Indonesia
Lori Smith
Health Care in America: And Then I Got Sick...
Dave Zirin
Hold the Booyah!: SportsCenter Out of the Middle East
John L. Hess
Rather Will Take the Heat, As Bush's War Deteriorates
Brian J. Foley
W is for Wimp: So Why do Manly Men Love Him?
Mickey Z.
Pat Tillman and Osama bin Laden: Odd Juxtapositions
Poets' Basement
Vest, Landau & Albert
Website of the Weekend
Eye on the NYTs
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