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Perle’s Confession

Why would Richard Perle spill the neo-con’s beans and acknowledge that the US invasion of Iraq was against international law? Perhaps to make official and legitimate the Bush administration’s private principle that it is above any law written by a human being. But then why do Dubya and Powell spend so much time inventing crackpot theories that prove the conquest of Iraq was a perfectly law abiding act?

Perle was in London with Bush, and the professor spoke at a meeting of the Institute of Contemporary Arts. His point was that getting rid of Saddam was desirable but illegal. So his gang went ahead and did it anyway.

How come the confession? Maybe Perle thinks the new world order requires that elite intellectuals be on the same page. Agree or disagree, the policy discussions that the brainiacs engage in, must transpire in a spin free environment. Those with souls of gold should not be fed from a Big Mac menu. Indigestion might drive them into the enemy camp.

But what about the rest of us? Surely we will rise up now that we know our nation has become a war god worshipping international outlaw. Don’t count on it. Just a few weeks ago a Rummy authored memo surfaced in which he admitted the US had no idea if it was winning or losing the war on terror. And then Cheney declared Saddam was involved in 9/11 and then Bush said he wasn’t. Nothing much happened. Bush continues making up the world in his hideous likeness, and the ruling pundits lament about the new hostile tone creeping into the expressions of his critics.

Truth or fiction doesn’t matter much anymore. A few years back the global wrestling promoter Vince McMahon admitted that the outcome of all his battles to the near death, were predetermined. That what he did for a living was sports entertainment. Pro Wrestling was strictly show business.

For decades the moguls of the mat world had insisted their product was a strictly legitimate sport. They reasoned that if the disillusioned fans knew it was all a fake, they would go on to the next tent. Maybe check out the sword swallower or the two headed gorilla and never spend another dollar on watching the lost art of grunt n’ groan.

Of course, the wrestling promoters lot was not an easy one. There were endless exposes in the press and occasional government investigations and demands for greater regulation of professional wrestling by the state athetlic commissioners. And then McMahon had his fantastic insight. Wrestling fans were in love with the spectacle of combat. In an age of video games and technologically spawned action movies, nobody really cared if the battles were actually real. And by calling his promotions entertainment, he would send those now blind athletic commissioners back to the showers.

In an age of spectacle does the average Joseph Six Pack really care if the last Presidential election was on the level. In a boring campaign, the rigged conclusion actually made for some exciting tube time. It was a lot more fun than Al Gore’s speeches.

So, like Vince McMahon, Richard Perle can from time to time tell the truth and Bush can keep lying and if the show remains lively and plays sufficiently on powerful emotions like rage and the never ending desire for power and revenge, citizens won’t much care if its all a pile of of bullshit. Like Californians they wont be able to tell the difference between a movie actor, the Terminator, and their governor.

It seems the only chance we have of busting the Bush gang’s hustle, is by laying waste to their particular corner of show business. Seizing the Bushies stage while they are in mid performance and putting banana peels under their feet, pinching their cheeks and throwing pies in their faces, this kind of audacious chutzpah will do a lot more good than just writing another leaflet. Telling the truth my be necessary but it is very far from sufficient.

Our imaginative disruptions should make the Bushies look like silly action figures, slipping in the mud of their own making. They are trying to look like super heroes and never mind that Bush is afraid of horses. Remember, it’s all a put-on anyway and nobody really cares, unless the fake gets obviously foolish or boring. Making that happen is our noble task.

STEW ALBERT runs the Yippie Reading Room. His memoir, Who the Hell is STEW ALBERT?, is forthcoming from Red Hen Press. He can be reached at: stewa@aol.com

 

 

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