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How Bush Pushed Up Oil Prices
No newspaper has run the headline, “Bush to American drivers: drop dead!"It’s the biggest press failure since WMD. In fact Bush could easily cut oil prices in half. EXCLUSIVE to subscribers in our latest newsletter Michael Hudson lays out in detail exactly how the Great Oil Price scam works, and who’s benefitting. In 2003 he was on Don Rumsfeld’s bench urging war. Now he’s reinvented himself, yet again. Alexander Cockburn on the twists and turns of a pet intellectual of the Establishment, Fareed Zakaria. Copper, cobalt and zinc and villainy in the Congo: Colette Braeckman gives CounterPunchers the latest chapter in “the race for Africa". Get your copy today by subscribing online or calling 1-800-840-3683 Contributions to CounterPunch are tax-deductible. Click here to make a donation. If you find our site useful please: Subscribe Now! CounterPunch books and gear make great presents.
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Today's Stories July 30, 2008 William S. Lind July 29, 2008 Jeffrey St. Clair John Ross Peter Morici Alison Weir Gary Leupp David Macaray Brenda Norrell Marjorie Cohn Eric Ruder Website of the Day July 28, 2008 Dr. Bryant Welch Kathy Kelly Mike Whitney Peter Morici Christopher Brauchli Clifton Ross Stephen Lendman Website of the Day July 26 / 27, 2008 Alexander Cockburn Jeffrey St. Clair James G. Abourezk Joseph Nevins Uri Avnery Linn Washington, Jr. David Yearsley Binoy Kampmark Saul Landau Joshua Frank Brendan Cooney Jonathan Cook Robert Fantina Lee Sustar Michael Winship David Macaray Missy Beattie Robert Weissman Kim Nicolini Poets' Basement Website of the Weekend July 25, 2008 Harvey Wasserman Paul Craig Roberts Alan Farago Paul D'Amato Gary Leupp Niranjan Ramakrishnan Mike Whitney Paul Krassner Mike Roselle Website of the Day July 24, 2008 Greg Moses Andy Worthington James Bovard Joe Bageant George Wuerthner DC Larson William Willers David Macaray Website of the Day July 23, 2008 Winslow T. Wheeler Paul Craig Roberts Ralph Nader Mike Whitney Susie Day Website of the Day July 22, 2008 Nikolas Kozloff Patrick Cockburn Soldz, Olson, Reisner Arrigo and Welch Moshe Adler Martha Rosenberg Dan Bacher Harvey Wasserman Anthony Papa Binoy Kampmark Website of the Day July 21, 2008 Ishmael Reed Mike Whitney Andy Worthington Scott Pellegrino John Ross Robert Weitzel Mike Stark Website of the Day July 19 / 20, 2008 Alexander Cockburn Jeffrey St. Clair Dave Lindorff Saul Landau Ron Jacobs Uri Avnery Neve Gordon Roane Carey Robert Fantina Christopher Brauchli Fred Gardner David Macaray Richard L. Hutto Bill Moyers / Ronnie Cummins David Yearsley Alison McKenna Wajahat Ali Poets' Basement Website of the Day July 18, 2008 Corey D. B. Walker Mike Whitney Robert Bryce Mike Roselle Bouthaina Shaaban Eve Spangler Website of the Day
July 17, 2008 Paul Craig Roberts James G. Abourezk Ralph Nader Allan J. Lichtman Andy Worthington"Screwed Up" and"Abused": Omar Khadr's Interrogations at Gitmo Ronnie Cummins
July 16, 2008 Jeffrey St. Clair Paul Craig Roberts Conn Hallinan Dave Lindorff William S. Lind Christopher Brauchli Website of the Day
July 15, 2008 Michael Hudson Brian Cloughley Patrick Cockburn John Ross Howard Lisnoff Website of the Day July 14, 2008 Uri Avnery Paul Craig Roberts Trish Schuh Patrick Cockburn Mike Whitney Alan Farago Seth Sandronsky Phyllis Pollack Website of the Day July 12 / 13, 2008 Alexander Cockburn Jeffrey St. Clair James Abourezk Nicole Colson Stan Cox Ismael Hossein-Zadeh Wajahat Ali / John Stauber Alan Farago Missy Beattie Robert Fantina Rannie Amiri Gregory Kafoury Fran Shor Martha Rosenberg David Macaray Andrew Wimmer Ron Jacobs Farzana Versey Kim Nicolini Poets' Basement Website of the Weekend July 11, 2008 Kevin Alexander Gray Sasan Fayazmanesh Peter Morici Mike Whitney Manuel Garcia, Jr. Robert Weissman Ramzy Baroud Kelly Overton Adrian Burgos Website of the Day July 10, 2008 Brian McKenna Paul Craig Roberts Saul Landau Ron Jacobs Joshua Frank Peter Morici Alan Maass Robert Weissman William Blum Alan Farago Website of the Day July 9, 2008 Ismael Hossein-Zadeh Luis Rodriguez Sheldon Richman Fatemeh Keshavarz Chad Hanson Sen. Russ Feingold Niranjan Ramakrishnan Dave Lindorff Stanley Heller Philip Rizk Website of the Day July 8, 2008 Nikolas Kozloff Laura Carlsen Mike Whitney Andy Worthington Patrick Irelan Chellis Glendinning David Macaray Dave Lindorff John Chuckman Phillip Doe Website of the Day July 7, 2008 Patrick Bond Kathy Kelly Andy Worthington Clifton Ross Elizabeth Schulte Ralph Nader Dave Lindorff Binoy Kampmark Stephen Fleischman Website of the Day July 5 / 6, 2008 Alexander Cockburn Jeffrey St. Clair / Patrick Cockburn Mike Whitney Robert Fantina Binoy Kampmark Rannie Amiri Eric Ruder Brian Cloughley William Blum Frank Barat Christopher Brauchli David Yearsley Ron Jacobs Karim Makdisi Wendy Thompson / N. D. Jayaprakash Ramzy Baroud Kelly Overton Richard Neville Poets' Basement Website of the Weekend
July 4, 2008 Kathy Kelly Dave Lindorff Paul Krassner Jackie Corr Laray Polk Dan Bacher Walter Brasch Charles Modiano Website of the Day July 3, 2008 Sharon Smith Andy Worthington Laura Carlsen Peter Morici Ramzi Kysia Martha Rosenberg Anne Landman Dave Zirin Kristin Bricker Website of the Day
July 2, 2008 Patrick Irelan Vijay Prashad Brian Cloughley Ralph Nader Robert Fantina Dave Lindorff Parvez Ahmed Robert Bryce Website of the Day July 1, 2008 Alexander Cockburn Mike Whitney Douglas Macgregor Steven Higgs Andy Worthington Binoy Kampmark Dave Lindorff Roger Burbach Richard W. Behan Gary Leupp Website of the Day |
July 30, 2008 Day Dawns in Wicked CityAgainst Bike LanesBy DAVID KER THOMSON Dufferin Grove watershed, Toronto. “You should be in the bike lane,” he told me. I looked from the car with its American logo to the lad with the green logo, but said nothing, suspecting irony. The car was blocking the bike lane. “I’m just loading some stuff,” he said. “I won’t be long.” It was near sunset. I scanned the area for more irony, but detected none. It seemed safe to proceed. I permitted myself a final arched eyebrow at the car/tree juxtaposition, but as I squeezed my bike past the car I had to admit to myself that it was even worse than the young man had thought. Even if he hadn’t been blocking the bike lane, I might not have used it. I’ve noticed that there are two kinds of users of these spillways, the kind who pretend that they aren’t perfectly positioned for parked cars to swing doors into, and those who don’t. The non-pretenders are fewer in number, but as they inch across the city, they imagine a thousand deaths, and so move from disaster to disaster and become, with such a hesitant manner, something of a traffic hazard themselves. It’s hard not to compare the confident ones and the whimpy ones to the righteous and the wicked in the book of Proverbs. “The wicked flee when no man pursueth,” says the good book, “but the righteous are bold as a lion.” Of this select group of wicked ones I count myself a member. We slouch awkwardly through the city, looking for love in all the wrong places—in the street till we can bear no longer the thought of our own deaths, on the sidewalk till we can brook no longer the muttering and looks of contempt. We lurk in alleys, park our bikes too far from our destinations and walk the rest of the way. Free at last from the shackles of our bicycles, we come out onto the sidewalks of the boulevards and admire the righteous, their prim clusterings at red lights even when there is no cross traffic, their gallantry and confidence in the bike lanes reminiscent of the Charge of the Light Brigade or something equally valiant, their willingness to imagine bike lanes even when the lanes fade in and out, as they do every few blocks, their swank little bells like the ones on children’s tricycles, which they deploy to let the cement trucks know that they, like the cement truckers, are legal and bold and righteous. This is a city that used to be called “The Good.” Goodness is still rife. My first time in the city, arriving from smokier and badder lands abroad, a whiff of brimstone lingering about me, I saw a quiet tableau of seven righteous bikers stopping two lanes over from a streetcar as a passenger boarded, and the righteous looked neither to the left, nor to the right, but held firm in their resolve, and I knew I was among the pure in spirit, and I fell onto my knees. That time it was because I had tripped on a pigeon while craning my neck to look at the bikers, but truly the air of sanctity is a marvel, and there is so little discord between the righteous bikers and the people in the American cars you’d almost think that they were the best of friends. And indeed when I talk to the righteous they assure me that they are working for a common good, and I understand that they hope soon—in 2013, I think—to be rewarded for their excellent behavior by being given still more bike lanes in which to express their gallantry. It’s such a chummy vision of politicians and citizens in unison that it seems ungenerous to point out that bike lanes, like their disastrous parent democracy, are a form of institutionalized anarchy. Democracy was founded in, and flourishes amongst, slave-holding societies. Here’s how to be a democratist today: take an American car, give your soul away in Faustian bargains to American military adventures and backroom corporate deals to get it, fill it (the soul, the car) with gas obtained from other implicit concessions to the American Sixth Fleet in a process called “being a close friend and ally” (exchange a “good” war in Afghanistan for a bad one in Iraq), drive to get food which has been delivered to the store in a truck which parks in the bike lane, spew cancerous fumes on the children on the way, flatten a squirrel or two to let the children know they shouldn’t play hockey in the street, park your car, open your door into the bike lane and don’t check your mirror. If anything goes wrong you can be shocked—shocked—at the bicyclist who comes out of “nowhere.” This nowhere, where does it begin? Is this not a nowhere, now here, of our own devising? The China-helmeted democratist righteous biker, fresh from nowhere, glued to the inside of an American car door. Can you think of a better icon of democracy in action? A wash-and-wear action figure to accessorize your basic Detroit box. In nowhere, a place too depleted to have a capital ‘n’, live the laborers who make our clothes and the gimcracks and gewgaws we got so cheaply at Walmart. We cannot pay them properly now, but if they are good, we will give them democracy, starting in China. Then they can be like us, righteous, and bold enough to send their anarchy elsewhere. And they can have righteous cities like ours, where if everyone stays in his or her proper place, one day almost two percent of the open spaces will be for people and the space for cars will drop from 99% to 98. Perhaps even then people won’t know what those two long thin things that hang from our buttocks are for, but we will know how to vote, and how to send someone waddling off to the capitol to do stuff for us, and then we can continue not having to do it ourselves. Each generation of democratists threatens the next with the folly of not doing their bit, as if this having done a bit to bring slightly less ruinous politicians, and therefore ratifying the ruinous system itself, were not the greatest of follies. Time long past for the gentle wicked. Leave anarchy and radicalism for the anarchist radicals in Washington. This is my neighborhood, my shit to take care of. Now is the hour of gentle wickedness and love, slow bikes on sidewalks, pedestrians stalled in X-walks to admire birds, more and bigger potholes, potholes big enough for trees, children sprung from daycare playing in the street. Time to admit how many “pedestrians” are actually drivers getting to their cars. The delivery trucks and the cars can’t take back the bike lanes, because they already own them, both physically and spiritually. Let the bikerighteous and the cementers have as many bike lanes as they want. Perhaps today we’ll pick up litter in the parks and place it in its appropriate receptacle, the lair of the righteous. Drivers love bike lanes, because such official marginalia acknowledges the right of drivers to dominate the city. We acknowledge no such right. We are the wicked, and there is a wicked heart in each of us who has hungered to walk simply beneath the cope of heaven. One day this, one day that. That’s bike lane talk. But in the real city, there is no “one day,” only the now, this moment. And in this moment the city is already ours. Democratists interlope, Detroitist detritus comes and goes, but we are here right now. Sun’s coming up in the city. What kind of day is it going to be? David Ker Thomson (Ph.D. Princeton) is in the Centre for Comparative Literature at the University of Toronto, where he teaches graduate courses on cities and ethics. He is finishing a book on traveling in England with his family entitled, View from a Kettle.
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