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Nature & Politics
by Alexander Cockburn
Say, Waiter, Where's the Blood on My Margarita Glass?
The new year promises a rich manure of hypocrisy and bad faith. Take the
current tumult here in the US about the UN high command and the
oil-for-food imbroglio, which right-wing columnists are gnawing on with
relish. There are no good guys here, just vistas of corruption and bad
faith stretching into the distance.
Certainly, weep not for Kofi Annan, whose servility toward the imperatives
of Empire was comically revealed in the very same press conference where a
pertinacious journalist extorted from the reluctant Secretary General the
grudging admission that the war on Iraq was illegal. Later on, Annan
offhandedly invoked "our allies," a term that should be alien to the lips
of any UN Secretary General, but that accurately reflects political realities.
The private dealings of the Annan family may well be fragrant with
corruption, but it's hard to get too excited about alleged skims off the
oil-for-food deals, against so vivid a backdrop as hundreds of thousands of
Iraqi civilians, many of them infants, being starved to death or dying for
lack of suitable medicines under the UN sanctions commanded by the United
States.
On one calculation by Jude Wanniski, if sanctions had been lifted in 1991
Iraq would have collected $126 billion in oil revenues in the fourteen
years thereafter, thus paying off its international debts and feeding its
population. PR-wise for the United States, the sanctions were dire enough
in terms of killing defenseless Iraqis that the oil-for-food program was
installed in 1996, benefiting, among others, the Kurds, who have fine
representation in Washington and who were to get a big slice of the oil
revenues.
From his side, Saddam was able to organize oil-revenue kickbacks to the
Iraqi government from some customers which weren't filched by the program's
supervisors in New York. So what? Any capable leader in the same situation
would have done likewise. But of course the neocon lobby here, through such
willing conduits as Senator Norm Coleman, the New York Sun and that diva of
drivel from the Wall Street Journal's editorial page, Claudia Rosett, have
hyped the oil-for-food "scandal" as a way of somersaulting the war lobby
past the great disaster of 2004, the nondiscovery of WMDs.
The second rule of propaganda is that when the first Big Lie explodes,
immediately make up another one. Vigilant students of last October's report
from the US government's Iraq Survey Group, headed by Charles Duelfer, on
the nonexistence of WMDs noted that Duelfer tried to shift attention from
the embarrassment of nonapparent WMDs by suggesting that they were not only
eternally immanent but also imminent as long as Saddam Hussein led Iraq,
because he might well have used revenues from the oil-for-food program to
ramp up his old WMD programs. Of course, the Bush Administration pounced on
this morsel, and the neocon press has been chewing on it ever since.
It would take the brush of Hieronymus Bosch to do proper justice to the
moral darkness prevailing in the New York residence of Richard Holbrooke,
as the man who vied with Joseph Biden to be John Kerry's Secretary of State
assembled a posse to rub Annan's nose in the UN's woes, and proffer Mark
Malloch Brown as the savior. Brown, whose private lobbying roster has
included such clients as the ineffable and unlamented Gonzalo Sanchez de
Lozada of Bolivia, will now return to UN HQ as US-designated commissar at
Annan's elbow, just in time to prompt the Secretary General to acclamations
for whatever result issues from the elections in Iraq at the end of January.
On the topic of the Beast of Baghdad, January's Esquire brings an
interesting article by Sara Solovitch reporting her discovery that Jumana
Hanna's accounts of rape and torture at the hands of Uday Hussein don't
appear to have the intimate connection to reality trumpeted by the Bush
Administration and by such reporters as Peter Finn of the Washington Post,
who promoted her in the Post in July of 2003.
Hanna poured out her story to many eager ears belonging to Finn; Bernard
Kerik (surely an expert in mendacity); a New Jersey Superior Court Judge
called Donald Campbell, who was the coalition's top legal adviser; Paul
Wolfowitz; Hanna's shrink, Paul Linde; and finally Solovitch, who was hired
to co-write Hanna's story. Solovitch says she began to entertain some
doubts when pondering Hanna's claim to have received an MA in accounting
from Oxford, but somehow put off making a simple phone call to Oxford till
she had spent a lengthy period of presumably well-paid toil checking other
aspects of Hanna's story.
I could have saved the publishers a wad of money. In atrocity stories there
are some things that don't ring true, even when dealing with such
well-credentialed butchers as Saddam and his sons. Take the story,
subsequently identified as one concocted by a Western intelligence agency,
that Uday had put some of his victims through a wood chipper. Anyone using
these chippers knows the damn things jam if inconvenienced by anything with
a diameter larger than that of a stick of asparagus, let alone an Iraqi
human, however scrawny. Uday's chipper, whose origin can probably be traced
to a scene in the movie Fargo, just didn't pass muster, same as the
incubator story from the first Gulf War, first identified in this column as
intrinsically preposterous.
Among the horrors of Uday's boudoir divulged by Hanna to many, including
Solovitch, was the following:
"She was raped for days. A virgin when she entered, she heard the guards
ask 'Master Uday' what he wanted to do with her blood. He ordered them to
sprinkle it around the rim of his whiskey glass like salt on a margarita."
That's the point at which any person equipped with minimal power to suspend
willing belief should have said, "Oh, come on!" No call to Oxford would
have been necessary. But then, there's no ear more credulous than the one
that yearns to believe.
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