| Monday, December 13, 2004 |
 | It could just be my ongoing abuse of Half Life 2, but thinking about the US now makes me think of sinister, masked stormtroopers directing a bewildered populace through mazes of fences to some cloudily unpleasant end. Rarely has an administration worked so swiftly - the election was less than two months ago, remember - to impoverish its own citizens.
Of course, there's always Rummy. Stuck out on a limb with Defence, Rummy doesn't usually get actually to unzip and give the American citizenry a taste of the magical firehose. As such, the opportunity to express indifference, face to face, to an army specialist forced to forage for scrap metal and shattered bulletproof glass to bulk up his vehicle's inadequate armour must have been like Christmas.
That is, of course, unfair. I'm sure Rummy sincerely believes that he is working hard in the best interests of his country, and, as he says:
It’s necessary for the Army to hear that, do something about it and see that everyone is treated properly.
This is well and good, except for the part where he is the Defence Secretary. Ultimately, what the US Army does or fails to do is happening on his watch, and this faintly avuncular approach to the job seems a bold move away from accountability. This is old news - I've mentioned it once before myself - but the fact that Rumsfeld looks like he's going to Blunkett his way onwards suggests that loyalty is not only necessary to have a seat at the Bush table, it may be the only relevant qualification.
Meanwhile, back at the old homestead, plans are afoot to protect Americans from time-distort Tennessee Williams sex-abuse.
What should we do with US classics like Cat on a Hot Tin Roof or The Color Purple? "Dig a hole," Gerald Allen recommends, "and dump them in it." Don't laugh. Gerald Allen's book-burying opinions are not a joke.
I think our big question on this one has to be whether burying books is better for the environment than the more traditional burning. I know you can burn stubble to refresh the soil, but it has implications for air quality, and I suspect a mass conflagration of The Invisible Man, Giovanni's Room and shortly thereafter Clock Without Fucking Hands might lead to fears of being turned gay/black/abolitionist by inhalation. Burying is quieter and probably provides nourishing food for worms, but leads to the risk of gay crops.
We must not talk to goblin men,
We must not eat their fruits.
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry, thirsting roots?
Note also that Allen is portraying "American family values" as endangered on the basis of no evidence whatsoever. If the Devil's greatest triumph was convincing man he did not exist, the greatest triumph of the politically dominant, massively wealthy, influential and well-organised American right wing was convincing itself that it was some sort of heroic, oppressed group fighting an uphill battle for what is in absolute terms right.
Still, on the plus side, red-blooded agronomists can be comforted by the knowledge that the influx of potentially dangerous compost is to be limited, as from now on US companies are prohibited from publishing works by dissidents in "countries under sanction" without the permission of the small, stripped-down, non-interventionist federal government so many of those who voted Republican profess to want.
What I like best about this - and there is a whole lot to like - is the punishment structure:
Violations carry severe reprisals -- publishing houses can be fined $1 million and individual violators face up to 10 years in prison and a $250,000 fine.
They're making this up as they go along, aren't they? That's a page straight out of the Dr Evil guide to policymaking...
- Hey, guys, you know that vague idea we had about how Iranians shouldn't be allowed to threaten the national interest with unexploded words? -
- You mean, when Bobby said he wished he could get Satanic Verses on the old Ayatollah's ass after the third pitcher in Hooters? -
- Yeah. That's a policy document now. How do we enforce it? -
- Wow, put me on the spot, why don't you? OK... how about... 10 years in prison for individuals? -
- Like it. Nice round number. -
- And for the publishers, a fine... a fine of... one meeeeelion dollars! -
- Bob, I love your impressions. You're so funny. -
- Why, thank you. -
(Pause)
- But seriously, why not? -
- Sounds firm but fair. Let's do it. -
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