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Eternal war

Death by drone is so clean, it’s antiseptic. No doubt the best gamers gathered by the military splash some anti-bacteria lotion, sitting in airconditioned comfort, Coca Cola at the elbow before they diddle their joysticks to kill people half the planet away.

Drones might not seem strange if they  won wars. It is a safe bet that with all the collateral damage, American drones won’t win hearts and minds in the Land of the Beheaders. Since 1945, this nation hasn’t greeted a war it couldn’t wait to lose. The thing is, we do it time after time with such complete hubris.

We such a nation of war lovers: The Wall Street Journal’s op-ed page last week carried a piece in support of U.S. troops on the ground in Syria, presumably to dispatch beheaders to their eternal reward of 70-some virgins.

We are far removed from the argument once made on the floor of the U.S. Senate that all of Southeast Asia was not worth one American soldier’s life. Alaskan Ernest Gruening was one of two senators — Wayne Morse was the other — to oppose the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution. That little proclamation passed by the Senate on August 5, 1964, based on lies, gave Lyndon Johnson the authority to unleash the might of American power on the Democratic Republic of North Vietnam. It was called “escalation,” a murderous word that delivered defeat at a cost of more than 50,000 American lives.

The U.S. military learned one thing from Vietnam. Never, never, never depend on conscription to form a fighting force. Dump that draft. Buy the fodder. Lure them. Pay them well. Give them education money, guns and the understanding they may die or maimed.

There is a slow dance being played these days around the idea that there ought to be “American boots on the ground” in Syria. You have to admire that phrase. “Boots on the ground” is the distinction made between invading a sovereign nation via remote control 6,000 miles away or with flesh and blood bodies primed to kill or be killed.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if the United States left the rest of the world to its devices. It would be a humble policy one that recognized the limits of power. It’s worth considering given one of the premises in a new book written by Army General Daniel Bolger. It is titled: “Why We Lost: A General’s Inside Account of the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars.” Gen. Bolger wrote a piece in the September issue of Harper’s, a short summary of the book:

“Once it becomes clear that the external forces won’t stay past a certain date, the guerrillas simply back off and wait it out. Had America treated Afghanistan and Iraq from the beginning as the future fifty-first and fifty-second states, counter-in surgency theory offered a way to pacify them. Saddled with incomplete authority over Afghan and Iraqi internal affairs, inept host governments, and ticking clocks, we could not do it.”

Hence we lost in Iraq and Afghanistan because we did not prosecute a policy of war forever. Anything short of a forever war for an occupying army means defeat. One cannot imagine Americans being amenable to the idea that ought to be states of the union or colonies for that matter.

The Obama administration contends that the bad guys in Yemen have been mostly defeated by American drones. It may very well be. But one suspects time is on their side. That is, barring some groundswell of popular support in this country for Yemen’s statehood.

 

 

 

The boon in the Social Security earnings suspense file

I was amused by Gabriela Saucedo Mercer’s question to her congressional opponent, Raul Grijalva. Mercer is a Republican — they are modestly amusing most of the time, or to paraphrase Churchill, a modest political party with much to be modest about. Grijalva owns, and has owned, Arizona’s Third Congressional District by virtue of a majority of Democrats. So she will lose despite her loaded, anti-immigrant question posed to Grijalva in the Oct. 5 edition of the Arizona Daily Star:

How do you think unrestricted access to social services, health care, public schools and the job market of the state of Arizona by illegal immigrants is going to help the average Hispanic U.S. citizen?

Grijalva gave a good answer, saying the Senate-passed immigration reform bill would be economically beneficial.

The fact is illegal immigrants have contributed mightily by paying into the Social Security system. If you receive Social Security payments, be grateful to illegal immigrants. They have helped finance your government pension.

When undocumented workers come to this county, they sometimes obtain a Social Security card and number through illegal means. It enables them to get a job and a paycheck. They become the falsely or illegally documented. But they pay taxes withheld by law in their paychecks.

The Social Security Administration keeps an account of irregular Social Security numbers, mismatched names, duplicate numbers and other oddities. These payments are recorded in what is called the earnings suspense file (ESF). Right now there is no one to claim the benefits.

The Senior Citizens League reports that the amount paid into the system by illegal immigrants is $952.4 billion since 1990 with more than nine million social security numbers contributing to the ESF. The last estimate I saw was that the fund grows at the rate of about $6 billion a year.

The Senior Citizens League is scared poop-less that the law may permit immigrants to claim benefits if they somehow acquire amnesty or citizenship, which seems about as likely as Charles Koch becoming a LIBERAL.

Koch is one half of the infamous brothers who finance all manner of right-wing groups, causes, candidates and think tanks.

It will not seem odd that the Cato Institute, a bastion of libertarian thinking, is one of those tanks of thought financed by Koch. What is odd, however, is that Cato has long argued against barriers to immigrants, legal or otherwise, working in the United States. It was on the Cato website that I first heard of the ESF. But it makes sense, A free market, after all, calls for a dynamic workforce uninhibited by national borders or laws. By extension, one should recognize that however conservative Koch appears on other issues, he is a raving rabid liberal on immigration.

 

Let us now praise …

Football referees who call unsportsmanlike conduct penalties on strutting peacocks disguised as Oregon football players.

And Scooby Wright III, who should be coronated. Something or other, anything he pleases.

 

What does 10 million gallons of sulfuric acid look like?

CORRECTION: THIS PIECE ASSUMES THAT THE ORANGE RUNOFF IN THE PATAGONIA MOUNTAINS IS THE RESULT OF THE TOXIC SPILL IN CANANEA. IT IS NOT. THE ORANGE RIVER IS OF UNCERTAIN CONTENT BUT WAS THE RESULT OF HEAVY RAINS FLOWING THROUGH TWO MINES IN THE PATAGONIAS.

 

bout that “spill” of sulfuric acid from the big copper mine down in Cananea: We wonder what 10 million gallons of “spilled” sulfuric acid looks like. We understand spilled milk. But 10 million gallons? “Spill” doesn’t seem to be quite the right verb.

If you have ever spent time in and around the San Rafael Valley, these pictures from The Patagonia Resource Alliance will make you sick. We will be excused if we sound just a little skeptical about the view offered by Grupo Mexico, the owner of the Cananea mine, the Buena Vista del Cobre.

Last month Juan Rebolledo, a spokesman for Grupo Mexico, said: “The content of these acids is not toxic in itself.” He said there was “no problem, nor any serious consequence for the population, as long as we take adequate precautions and the company pours lime into the river, as it is currently doing.”

The website thinkprogress reported schools were closed because of the spill. People had no water. Evidently, lime did not resolve that problem.

A report from Forbes dated Sept. 29 says the spill of 10 million gallons of toxic chemicals is the worst environmental disaster in Mexico’s history. The story goes on to say that the owner of Grupo Mexico, German Larrea Mota Velasco, is worth more than $14 billion. And that’s very impressive, particularly in a country as impoverished as Mexico. The Forbes report also says Grupo has established a $151 million fund to clean up the mess caused by the toxic spill.

Meanwhile, Excelsior, the Mexico City newspaper, reported Aug. 25 a 240-ton sulfuric acid spill from a railcar in Nogales. This spill was near the Santa Cruz River. We should wonder if that spill will flow north. That is what happens because Nogales and the border region is at higher elevation than Tucson. The flow from the San Pedro and Santa Cruz Rivers is north to Tucson. The San Pedro flows to Benson and San Manual, skirting the Tucson area.

Arizonans have come to embrace the often-cited need for copper mines because they create jobs and make us all happy, very rich and prosperous. Moreover, we live quietly, if not comfortably, with the open pits they create — Morenci is a favorite — and the towering mountains of slag, particularly in and around Tucson. We all understand the importance of copper in the world, that is to say China, a country that is doing its best to subjugate and oppress the people of Hong Kong as this very moment.

As much as we revere copper, we wonder what all that orange liquid running through the streams of the San Rafael means? How will it affect flora, fauna and underground aquifers? What do you suppose will be done with the $151 million fund? You can buy only so much lime. And how come it’s $151 million?

After all that wondering, we will say this with some certainty: The San Rafael Valley is unique, one of the most beautiful spots in this or any state in the country, and to watch it suffer a major man-made environmental catastrophe is beyond painful.

Apparently we can only wonder what can be done about it.

Marching toward madness

It is a mistake to shield the world from videos of beheadings.

The Islamic group called ISIS beheaded American journalists James Foley and Steven Sotloff and a British aid worker David Haines. You and I have not been permitted to see these beheadings because the powers that be consider them too gruesome. Those powers want to protect our delicate sensibilities. There is truth to be discovered and understood in seeing and feeling the horror of seeing what humanity is capable of today. We are in Darwinian devolution. The world seems marching toward madness, murder and the Middle Ages in a thirst for blood.

We should see it; feel the threat as it is, not told to us. Clearly the ISIS warriors want us to tremble and faint with fear and trepidation in its pursuit of dominion. It’s doubtful it would accomplish that aim.

The best of humanity has fought to thwart man’s craven inhumanity toward man.

It was the power of photographs and videos that showed us what we were doing in Vietnam. It was the photographs and videos of Sheriff Bull Connor’s dogs in Birmingham that showed us truth of segregation and hate in the South.

We cannot afford the luxury of being shielded from the horrors of hate. We must see it, feel it to comprehend the full power of religious hate that seeks nothing short of our complete destruction.

 

 

Hail Mary

We missed this week’s Hail Mary performance by the University of Arizona football team. It did not play. We believe that the team has an established precedent and Hail Mary will be a standard event.

We look forward to next week’s performance as the team ventures to the Northwest to encounter the Ducks at the University of Oregon, a team alleged to harbor a certain prowess among its peers. It is suggested by some that victory over the Ducks may require more in the way of Hail Marys with perhaps some “Our Fathers” thrown in.

Nonetheless, we shall keep the faith as has been our wont lo these many decades. It takes time, sometimes, for prayers to be answered.

YOU SHOULD CHECK OUT THIS SHOT OF THE CATALINAS

 

A proud primary

I am — how you say? — a registered Independent voter. I am delighted that I annoyed the GOP state leaders because I asked for a Republican ballot in the primary. I did so to afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted and poke a stick up the arses of a couple predatory plutocrats.

The Arizona Republican Party is a lamentable organization notable for its absence of ideas and disdain for helping others. I asked for its ballot to do it damage. I belong to a disappearing tribe of Americans who believe government’s function should be to help people, not screw them. Increasingly, the hallmark of the ’Zona GOP is the latter.

It is a happy happenstance that two of the state’s biggest and best people screwers will no longer endure in their respective offices. I believe Independents decided to handout brass pineapples to Tom Horne and John Huppenthal and force them to sit and spin on them. Horne is the lame duck attorney general and Huppenthal the lame duck superintendent of public instruction. We Independents voted against them and for whomever was running against them. At least I take credit.

So today they are limp ducks.

I’m very proud.

 

Murder with impunity

At first I started to write a letter to the editor of the Star. I wanted to ask whether the paper would follow up on an article in today’s edition on page A2 written by Kimberly Matas about the murder last May of  31 year-old Jose Luis Arambula. Arambula was killed by Border Patrol agent Daniel Marquez. The agent was cleared of  wrong doing in a letter written by the chief criminal attorney for Pima County Kelli Johnson and released this week.

I realized a letter would be a waste of time. Nobody cares if Border Patrol agents murder Mexicans or other Hispanics. It’s done with impunity.

According to Matas’ report, Arambula was fleeing from his Jeep, which contained marijuana. He was in a pecan grove down in Green Valley.  Arambula had no weapon, but twice turned toward the BP agent, formed a shape of a gun with his hand. You know, they way kids do.

According to Johnson the county attorney’s mouthpiece, Arambula’s mime act, shooting his hand, would persuade a jury that the BP agent was justified in killing Arambula. The jury would, as Johnson was quoted in the Star, “conclude that Agent Marquez reasonably believed that deadly force was immediately necessary to protect himself from Mr. Arambula’s apparent attempt to use deadly physical force.” (Love that phrase “deadly physical force.” It’s so bureaucratically redundant, as though there might be such a thing as “deadly nonphysical force,” maybe “maybe “deadly mental force”?)

BP agent Marquez fired his weapon nine times at the hand jive deadly force exhibited by the fleeing Arambula. For heaven sake, nine times? At somebody’s back? One of the nine shots landed behind Arambula’s ear. Nine shots? For a guy who has no weapon? And a jury will conclude, according to the county attorney, that it’s just fine and dandy — shoot him dead, blow him away, he aimed his hand at you.

None of this makes sense. Wave your gun hand, and you die. The Star story didn’t say whether Arambula was a U.S. citizen or where he was from.

Doesn’t matter. He had dark skin. Nobody gives a shit.

It’s what this country has come to. Just forget about it, and keep your hands to yourself.

Or they will kill you.

 

Swept away

I have a plastic dust pan with a great crack from tip to handle. When the trash was leaden, which is more often than not, I would remind myself I must replace this worthless tool for one made of metal. But as I wandered the endless warehouse aisles of Home Depot, Lowe’s and Ace, I found, alas,  only plastic dust pans. The answer was the web. I found one metal pan at a reasonable price. It arrived today. I am grateful that the manufacturer saw fit to include this so as not to contribute to great dearth of instruction in this world:

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A little grandmotherly poetry

By Tony Hoagland, from his book “Sweet Ruin.”

(Thanks to Addie Rimmer for introducing me to his poetry.)

 

You’re the Top

Of all the people that I’ve ever known
I think my grandmother Bernice
would be best qualified to be beside me now

driving north of Boston in a rented car
while Cole Porter warbles on the radio;
Only she would be trivial and un-

politically correct enough to totally enjoy
the rhyming of Mahatma Ghandi
with Napoleon brandy;

and she would understand, from 1948,
the miracle that once was cellophane,
which Porter rhymes with night in Spain.

She loved that image of the high gay life
where people dressed by servants
turned every night into the Ritz:

dancing through a shower of just
uncorked champagne
into the shelter of a dry martini.

When she was 70 and I was young
I hated how a life of privilege
had kept her ignorance intact

about the world beneath her pretty feet,
how she believed that people with good manners
naturally had yachts, knew how to waltz

and dribbled French into their sentences
like salad dressing. My liberal adolescent rage
was like a righteous fist back then

that wouldn’t let me rest,
but I’ve come far enough from who I was
to see her as she saw herself:

a tipsy debutante in 1938,
kicking off a party with her shoes;
launching the lipstick-red high heel
from her elegant big toe

into the orbit of a chandelier
suspended in a lyric by Cole Porter,
bright and beautiful and useless.