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CounterPunch
October
1, 2002
Things Related
and Not:
Rumsfeld,
Code Orange and
a Duck-billed Platypus
by
CAROL NORRIS
"Go massive.
Sweep it all. Things related and not."
This is some of what Donald Rumsfeld was noted as saying to his
subordinates after the 9.11 attacks.
As I thought about this for a while I
got out my old book on Surrealism. It says, in part: "Surrealism
combines seemingly unrelated elements and smashes them together
with a demented sense of humor."
Rumsfeld, a Surrealist. I had no idea.
But I think he is influenced by more
than just Surrealism. He's got some nihilism and intentional
irrationality in the mix it seems to me, so I feel sure he's
part Dadaist. And then there's the Absurdism - no need to elaborate
there. Gosh, if you add a healthy dose of smugness and more than
a smidgen of belligerence you could have yourself a whole new
movement: Rumsfeldism. And to think, Surrealism and Dadaism were
both a response, in part, to the despair of WWI and its atrocities.
How ironic.
In a way, it was a relief hearing about
the instructions Rumsfeld gave. Yes, I know, ordering one's minions
to sweep "things related and not" - ruining the lives
of innocent people, undoing hard-won civil liberties, endangering
the future of entire countries - regardless of whether they are
related to terrorism or even to anything questionable - and sweeping
them into a giant self-serving dragnet is unbelievably repugnant,
greedy, ineffective, cruel and shortsighted; but still a relief.
At least now I know they know a lot of
what they are doing in the name of combating terrorism or protecting
national security or promoting "free and open societies"
as stated in new document The National Security Strategy of the
United States is, in fact, unrelated, try as they might to spin
it otherwise. For a minute there I thought they were drunk from
their speechwriters' words, buying into their own BS. Now that
I know I'm living under deliberately surreal and irrational dictates,
I can stop trying to make sense of things.
It's just Rumsfeld playing his Surrealist
parlor games, like I used to do in grad school, cutting up words
from a newspaper, putting them in a hat, pouring them out and
then pasting them together in the helter-skelter order they fell,
creating an often hilarious, bizarre new world. Only Rumsfeld
and Company are playing for real. His parlor is our planet. And
it isn't so funny. The powers that be are tearing apart people's
lives like pages of a newspaper; haphazardly spewing out orders,
bombs, and policy as fast as they can be disgorged; creating
color-coded, media-sustained fear:
Give those pesky law-abiding dissenters
a tax audit here, put a non-violent protesting nun in jail there,
create a new class of American Disappeareds, bomb Afghan weddings,
generate unilateral foreign policy resolutions that include embarrassingly
transparent euphemisms such as "distinctly American internationalism."
IT'S CODE ORANGE, FOR GOD SAKES. GO! GO! GO!
And in the end We The People are all
left to sort ourselves out and, if we are lucky enough to find
all the pieces, paste ourselves back together again with a little
oil and spilled blood.
I figure with all that massive, indiscriminate
lumping and sweeping Rumsfeld might be a little confused at this
point about what things, in fact, are related to terrorism/war
on Iraq/national security/etc. and what are not. So, I've come
up with a little Surrealist game of my own.
I call it: Connecting the Nots. And it
looks something like this:
Characters:
Thora: A woman (who looks surprisingly
like me) in a General's uniform, only it is skin-tight leather
and she has on 3-inch, spike-heeled boots and is wielding a rather
significant whip (with first strike capabilities).
Rumsfeld: He is in a giant Duck-Billed
Platypus costume, looking all-too natural dressed as one of the
world's most primitive mammals.
Setting:
Stark grade school classroom. Thora is
swinging on a large swing at the front of the class before a
large blackboard. Instead of a clock there is an old woman sitting
cross-legged on the floor in the corner wearing a large button
that reads: 'Condi Rice: Any Woman Who Has Had an Oil Tanker
Named After Her Is Alright with Me.' She is ticking off the seconds
by beating the war drum in her lap. She marks the hour by shouting
out: 'One hour closer to supreme American military and corporate
world domination.'
There is a schoolroom loudspeaker, microphone
and a very small camera behind Thora on the wall. A glaring light
bulb is dangling from a wire directly above Rumsfeld who in full
platypus drag is sitting at a lone grade-school desk, trying
to appear self-satisfied as he clumsily attempts to grasp a pencil,
which is proving to be quite difficult as he has four webbed
feet.
Tone:
The Manchurian Candidate meets a segment
on Sesame Street with a little A Clockwork Orange thrown in.
"It's very simple, Donnie. I'm using
your very own words to make it easier. Look at the board, I've
written it all down," Thora says in her best Loving Teacher
Gone Bad voice. "Take your piece of paper and divide it
into two columns. Label the first column: "Things Related"
and label the second: "Not." I will now read out two
groups of items and you will write them in the correct column,
depending on whether they are related to one another or not.
When you get an answer right, I'll feed you a handful of yummy
insect larvae, a favorite of the platypus. And, if you get enough
answers wrong, we will use some of the tactics used at Guantanamo
Bay to help you get back on track.
Rumsfeld is visibly shaken. "Are
you kidding? That's...that's inhumane."
"What? Too much? Okay, then how
about if we give away all of your estimated worth of between
$62.1 and $115.8 million dollars to various peace and justice
movements. Just think of it: you could help significantly advance
the justice efforts of, say, Global Exchange or you could make
a massive anti-globalization rally possible.
He shudders. "Okay, okay. Bring
on the electrodes."
"No, I think I like the funding
idea. And because you've so enjoyed being the Little Media Darling
of The War on Terror, we think you'll be particularly pleased
to know we'll have a special seat for you up on the stage at
any and all peace/anti-globalization rallies with you in full
platypus regalia. You may as well get used to that bill and tail
because I have a feeling you are going to be your new lower-mammalian
self for a long while. Not to worry, it's a good look for you.
Really." Rumsfeld looks momentarily flattered.
Speaking of the media, right now your
image and voice are being simulcast over the Internet via the
microphone and camera behind me. This simulcast is being hosted
by none other than Mr. Colin Powell who at this very moment is
living in an underground bunker as part of his reparation for
his participation in your massive sweep. He was just about to
leave when he saw our shadow government in the bunker next to
his, so he'll have to stay in there at least six more weeks.
Throughout our little visit Mr. Powell, at his whim, will be
making an assortment of emasculating comments to you.
"Are you there, Colin?"
"Yes, audio and visuals are working
well," says Powell over the loudspeaker.
"Strangely, I think he was really
quite eager for this part of his reparation. Hmm...why might
that be, Donald?" Donald is busy trying to smooth down his
fur for the camera and doesn't hear.
"Anyway, as you are writing, please
sing your answer to the tune of my choosing so we can all know
what you've written. Do you understand?"
"NO, I DO NOT," Rumsfeld says
indignantly.
"Wonderful. Now you know how the
rest of us feel. Let's begin."
"War on Iraq: Saddam as a credible
threat to the U.S.," sung to the tune of 'Love Will Keep
Us Together' by The Captain and Tennille."
"Things Related," he half sings
and half coughs.
"You'll really have to sing out
if you ever want to see your opposable thumbs again."
"Things Related," he sings
at full volume.
"Lovely delivery, really it was.
Has anyone ever told you, you sound remarkably like Jim Neighbors?
But, come, come, Donald you know and I know there is no real
evidence that these two things are related. Next category...
"Cheney, Halliburton, Bush's Axis
of Oil Pals, Daddy Bush's Old Vendetta, Carlyle Group: War on
Iraq, sung to the tune of '99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.'"
"The Carlyle Group? I'll have you
know George Bush Sr. and John Major are distinguished members
of that group."
"Unh, unh, unh... you aren't singing.
And don't tell me you've gone the way of the president and his
pal, Kenny Boy, forsaking Frank Carlucci. You can't forget Frankie
Boy; he's your very best friend and he heads up the Carlyle group.
I think that might hurt his feelings, don't you? Related or Not?"
"Not," he snorts.
"I'm sorry. It's endearing that
you are trying to protect your best pal and your boss' father
and all their investment interests. After all, they do stand
to gain a hell of a lot of money."
"That's ridiculous and even it wasn't,
it's not illegal, by the way."
"Ridiculous? If only it were. Does
the Crusader artillery system with its two billion in advance
government contracts ring a bell? Legal, perhaps, but hmmm...
I wonder if there is any conflict of interest? Sorry, but upon
hearing the case, even my six year old niece would insist that
you move these in the Things Related column. Here, use my eraser
to change your answer."
Thora jumps off her swing and moves towards
Rumsfeld forcefully. She cracks her whip next to his chair. Powell's
voice comes over the loudspeaker. "Noooooo..."
"Don't worry, Colie, I'll be restrained."
"No...I mean...let me, let me, let
me."
"Now, now, Colie, all in due time,
all in due time." Rumsfeld then produces an eraser.
"You have your own? Ah yes, of course,
I see the vestiges of The Bill of Rights on it. You must share
this eraser with John Ashcroft. Sharing. How nice. I'll be seeing
Mr. Ashcroft next. He is being fitted for his Lady of Justice
garments now. It seems the sash doesn't fit him properly. He's
larger than we thought and I'm afraid one of his breasts will
be exposed. I hope he won't find that too disquieting. We opted
not to give him the Scales of Justice because we figured he doesn't
use those much anyway. Instead, we will have him hold a large,
Calico cat. I've heard our top lawmaker thinks they are the sign
of the devil.
"I digress. Where were we? Ah yes:
Making the War on Terrorism the big political issue: Keeping
the Democrats, who are less trusted with international policy,
in a minority position."
"Politics is not part of the proposed
war."
"Your answer?"
"Not." Thora moves her face
directly in front of Rumsfeld's and smiles sweetly.
"Now, Don, how can we have any sort
of healthy relationship if you won't be honest with me? Let's
try another, shall we? One reason the powers that be disapprove
of the new UN Weapons Inspectors: Old Weapons Inspectorate UNSCOM
closing down after the US used some of the inspectors as spies.
And now there are new rules in place making it harder for the
US to control the new inspectors."
"Not," he quips.
"Donnie. Kitten. Haughtiness does
not befit one in your current position." Thora turns and
looks at the loudspeaker. "Colin..."
"Your...your tail is crooked,"
stammers Powell, unprepared for his big moment. Thora grimaces.
Rumsfeld rolls his eyes as he shifts in his chair trying to straighten
his tail. "Ah, your heart was in the right place, Colin.
But, I was hoping for something a bit thornier. Maybe you can
ask audience members to email some suggestions."
"Ah, c'mon," he whines. "That's
not fair. Nobody ever listens to me anymore. I never get to do
anything. Never. Let me try again. Pleeeeease."
"Very well. Next time."
And so Thora goes, hammering out topic
after topic, hour after hour until in the early morning hours
finally, Rumsfeld cracks.
"In 1982 while Hussein was moving
toward a biological warfare program, despite that this was known
to the US intelligence community, Iraq was taken off the state-sponsored
terrorists list. And in 1983, Don, you gave Hussein a hand-written
letter from Ronald Reagan resuming diplomatic relations with
Iraq. Three years later the CIA gave Saddam intelligence that
helped him more accurately target mustard gas attacks on Iranian
troops. So, you helped resume relations with Saddam and then
helped him use biological weapons more effectively. And now you
use the fact that he might use said biological weapons again,
which you know is highly improbably at this point as it would
be all but suicide for him (unless he is backed into a corner
and has nothing to lose), as a part of the argument for perhaps
sacrificing the lives of thousands of US soldiers and more probably
thousands upon thousands of innocent Iraqis, spending millions
upon millions of US taxpayers' money to fund it all and alienating
a great majority of our allies around the world. That is related
to...well, that's a lot to explain. Why don't you tell us how
that all relates to things, Don."
"Okay, OKAY. All right already.
Enough. Conflict of interest? Obviously there is conflict of
interest. The whole goddamn government is rife with conflict
of interest, Republicans and Democrats alike. And of course I
know Code Orange isn't related to any real threat. And of course
Saddam isn't militarily remotely what he used to be. Good God,
what do you think I am, an idiot? But the guy is sitting on a
hell of a lot of oil...and then we have to distract the American
people from Cheney's incredible Halliburton mess and from who
Bush sold his Harken stock to...and from how just about everyone
Bush has surrounded himself with - Carl Rove, Lawrence Lindsey,
Thomas White are all so deep in the Enron thing, it's ridiculous...and
from the other corporate scandals and...and the economy... and
from the fact that we have almost completely moved from a democracy
to a corporate plutocracy...and from the fact that we haven't
found that goddamned bin Laden and that was supposed to be the
whole point of invading Afghanistan in the first place, at least
I think it was, I can never keep that one straight...and we needed
to stir up a little fear and pro-Republican sentiment with the
elections coming up...and, we have a war to sell, damnit! But,
thank God for those toothless Democrats because they've made
it all a hell of a lot easier. Even still, do you think all of
that has been easy? HUH? DO YOU?? YOU TRY IT SOMETIME."
He then pulls out the US's unratified
copy of the International Criminal Court treaty, tucked away
in the webbing of his feet to try and sop his sodden brow. But
again, he can't reach. He begins to weep. Defeated, he drops
to his knees - well, technically he has no knees as he is now
pretty much a full-time Duck-Billed Platypus - but he drops,
and momentarily aware of the camera and the millions who now
know the truth, he weighs out the political advantages of being
contrite, but despite himself tears roll off his big duck-bill.
He then begins rocking back and forth, singing softly to himself
"Conflict of Interest" to the tune of "God Bless
America."
"Not so tough now are you, you big
bully?!" Powell says with conviction.
"Beautifully said, Colin. Beautifully
said."
Postscript: No actual Defense Secretaries
were costumed against their will or harmed in any way in the
writing of this piece.
Carol Norris
can be contacted at writingforjustice@hotmail.com.
She wants you to ponder the fact that when she typed in the word
"Rumsfeld" the first suggestion her spellchecker gave
was "Rusted."
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