Sunday, September 16, 2007

Sunday Sermon

Triumph of the Shill

"There are times of famine and poverty coming, for all the nation as well as for each one of us...for no matter what you say, it is upon the soul that the body depends. How then, without heeding it, can one expect to have everything go right?"
(...)
"The point is the time has come for us to save our native land; the point is that by now our country is perishing not because of any invasion by nations speaking twenty alien tongues, but because of our own selves; the point is that, outside of a legitimate government, another government has formed itself, far more powerful than any legitimate one."
--Dead Souls

" There may be honour among thieves, but there's none in politicians. And let's have no displays of indignation. You may not have known, but you certainly had suspicions. If we've told lies, you've told half-lies. And a man who tells lies, like me, merely hides the truth. But a man who tells half-lies has forgotten where he put it."
--Mr. Dryden, Lawrence of Arabia

The President speaks the truth. We have not failed in Iraq.
Beneath the political tumult over its outward contours, the endeavor proceeds as planned, if orders of magnitude over budget. What we have is less a failing war than a committed government enterprise experiencing cost overruns.

Despite an ever-rising cost and uncertain future, there has been no wavering from the mission to permanently occupy Iraq for the purposes of lifting the interwar sanctions on our terms, effectively privatizing its oil industry so we can get on with developing it, replacing our military presence vacated in Saudi Arabia ("putting the police station next to the gas station"), and the eventual subjection of Iran. We remain on plan, in fact at each pause digging deeper into the nation's wealth of blood, treasure, and international prestige to cover its perpetually rising cost.

We cannot level with ourselves over Iraq, entailing as it does only two choices: to acknowledge our goals as criminal and proceed, or to accept the limitations of justice and stand down. Accepting the same decent self-restraint we expect of others, becoming a nation limited in its rights and privileges, merely a nation, begins the end of our of global era. This we fear.

So we proceeded on a fiction. Not a conspiracy, wherein things might have gone better for us, implying as it does someone in charge. By willful negligence we deluded ourselves about Iraq, but worse, about ourselves. The delusion failed, which is to say the reality was not willed, and we are unable to explain not only why we're in Iraq but how we got there. Thus the surreality of it all. The neocons spiked America's apple pie with peyote and now she's come to, naked and disoriented in the desert, drawing a blank.

We dodged the question why before we acted. Those who understood and concealed this depended on that question going away, subsumed by a new reality willed into being through force and audacity. Iraq would be thankful, only too thankful to garrison our troops and welcome our oil expeditions. The world would recognize a debt to us. Well, perhaps we're not quite on plan.

We cannot "win" in Iraq precisely because we cannot acknowledge what that means. We are engaged in a conquest that must, by virtue of the modern electronic age submitting these questions to public sentiment (more sentiment than opinion, which implies a certain level of information and unemotional engagement), masquerade as an intervention. To accomplish this we have had to habituate ourselves into believing a lie.

We are burdened with the demands of colonialism but are denied its full means. Waging aggression disguised as liberation has rendered that aggression half-hearted. The result is not, sadly, less bloodshed but far more. Rather than a quick and brutal suppression of the nation followed by a return to a repressive authoritarian order (employing, of course, the successful methods of Saddam Hussein) Iraq's misery is prolonged as we submit it to the last four years of our play-acting (at this point one is to rhapsodize about purple fingers).

So the question why remains (in fact was still being asked with pathetic earnestness during the current hearings); and the ruse we assented to is the source of much of our troubles now. Because had the question been honestly asked, and the moral limitations implicit in its answer heeded, we wouldn't be here, in possession but not control of this foul, masquerading enterprise, trapped in the circular logic of the false language we've created.

*

Actions no longer have consequences. In the hands of a authoritarian elite skilled at its manipulation, reality is entirely subjective, malleable, and defined by power. The physical world is irrelevant. All is narrative, signification, and a human consciousness with no relationship to, and hence no limitations from, the natural world. Legality and convention the tools of a tyrannical elite, patriotism is kitsch to keep the masses in line. Morality, well, you know the rest. How ironic the anti-Gaullist neocons would bring to fruition the once crazy ideas of Foucault, Derrida, et al. This is an overstatement, not a misunderstanding.

Enter the ambitious General Petraeus, an aspiring Augustus escorted by a virtual Praetorian guard of fetishistic sanctimony and hype. The merest suggestion that he has been compromised elicits more ironic, affected outrage than a sex scandal, despite the fact that he was promoted to his position by virtue of being the last man both standing and willing to tell the Administration what it wants to hear, and his open initiation into Cheney's Coven:
In a highly unusual political role for an officer who had not yet taken command of a war, Petraeus was installed in the office of Minority Leader Mitch McConnell in early February just before the Senate debated Bush's troop increase. According to a report in the Washington Post on February 7, senators were then approached on the floor and invited to McConnell's office to hear Petraeus make the case for the "surge" policy.
The drift from republic to partially militarized pseudo-democracy continues, as the weary, confused nation, conditioned by the mythologizing of the military that is a key element of our mass self-delusion, turns to one of its most corrupt and inept institutions, our military leadership. "The nation trusts the generals" read the headlines, comically unaware of the dire consequence of that (the headline begs for an exclamation point).

The generals have been generally very bad, and they have been bad largely because they have been politicized. Those who've spoken up--that is those who have showed this modicum of competence and responsibility--have been eliminated, ultimately to make room for the shill Petraeus, presented as an unquestionable moral authority. You have to admire the audacity of it.

(Among the more giddily absurd assertions: the General "risks his life every day for this country." We no longer have men literally on horseback, but we can still pretend. They would have us believe that the General is leading cavalry charges. Meanwhile, Guiliani humps the General's leg under the table while glaring at Hillary, who is giving him that testicle-shrinking look, white knuckled fist clutching her rolled-up focus group analyses.)

The General is the Administration's newest It Boy, hyping the disingenuous Iranian threat for which he offers no evidence (another inaccessible, vague Curveball-like character waits in the wings with remarkable credentials and tales vast and sordid--we can all sleep now), and a red herring regardless; getting caught like a schoolboy passing along the Administration's dissembling on troop withdrawals; brandishing charts too slick to be believed; and, as if momentarily rendered honest by exhaustion, admitting that he can't coherently describe where our strategy in Iraq is ultimately leading, nor say if the war makes America safer (I don't recall if the Senator then asked him if he could say if the war makes us less safe).

Petraeus, to embark on a Cesarean conquest that, in his fevered, ambitious imagination, begins in Iraq and ends in the White House, has in fact allied with the Administration against put-upon CENTCOM chief William Fallon, who is desperately trying to preserve the military the Administration's occupation is gutting. The outrage over criticism of the General is all the more disturbing because it appears to be earnest, suggesting that veteran U.S. legislators and a potential president haven't a clue about the nature of the government in which they serve.

The General is the Administration's latest convert to its cult of personal pride, where the prayers resemble pipe dreams: "...it became known as the Petraeus Plan, and would serve as the model for nation-building...The USS Petraeus...The Petraeus School of Counterinsurgency...the man who saved Iraq... President Petraeus..." The certain ignominy for which he is destined is little consolation, but it will be somewhat satisfying, years from now, watching him take his turn at a McNamara-like mea culpa.

But for the moment the mission advances, enshrining in place the permanent occupation of Iraq, with a gloss of perfunctory Congressional oversight.
Our representatives now dazedly negotiate the details of a permanent military occupation the nation never had the chance to challenge. So while the debate centers on whether some 9600 GIs get to come home by Christmas, and the shuffling of brigades, the ink dries on the sellout, and the occupation is ensured to survive into the next administration. Cue Dick Cheney's sinister laugh.

Consider that Congress, complicit in the original crime and brought to reason only by its horrific (political) consequences, and from the beginning in assent with plans for a permanent military presence, albeit much smaller and presumably at the invitation of a grateful government, is then in fact not so much lamenting that we are unable to bring our troops out of Iraq, but that keeping them there is proving so costly.

The Senate is reduced to a carnival lined on either side with barkers touting dubious games and elixirs: "do twice as much with half the effort, "redeploy" those aching troops with 'force protection' and 'peacekeeping!' "..."See our cockstrong-man Joe split a hostile nation into three neat pieces!"..."Who among you dares enter the ring against General Gargantua? You there, did you just insult General Gargantua?"; the freak shows, gruesome moral deformities: "we'll put the sluggard Iraqis on notice!"..."Maliiki has to go!", and a red light tent, enter around back: "psst, hey, flyboy, ever been to Iran?"

No conspiracy is required when most of a democratic populace and its representatives delude themselves. So the endeavor proceeds apace, including in all likelihood plans for Iran, and is only threatened by the fact that we eventually will simply run out of troops. Therein lies our next difficulty.

The original plan has survived the last four years of ever-increasing bloodshed and cost by working through the list of specious claims and bogeymen, reaching the end and beginning again at the start. Having gone this far, it stands to reason that it will attempt to survive the looming manpower crush by instituting a draft. It has already adapted to the draw on other resources, and every presidential candidate with even an outside shot has committed to increasing the size of the military to keep up with its new, aggressive mission.

This is where we are now.

The government and its allied media have come to believe the very fiction they perpetuate. They cannot see that they have rendered language meaningless, having only the gutted language itself with which to understand. There is no conspiracy--sadly, perhaps, as this would imply someone is in charge, and events will follow a predictable logic. But no one is really in charge. The language has been made into a harness for power. Events are in charge. The nation drifts. We have lost hold of reality, having habituated ourselves to misrepresenting it. We are wandering lost in the illusion we've created.

We've gotten lost, having detoured around the question, why. There is a way home. But we have to reverse direction on the path of hubris that brought us here, back toward decency. From this end the journey also begins with a question, only we see it is the same question, never really dodged or willed away, and the belief that we could do that is the real illusion. The question's been at our side the whole time like a phantom, and it, like the nation, has been altered some by the journey, now weary and disillusioned beneath the weight accrued along the way. What will we do, America, about our sins?

Sunday, September 02, 2007

Bathrobe Wisdom

Here Sara Silverman steals an old National Lampoon bit for use as a promo (I don't know if that makes it better or worse) for her show. I refer of course to the classic 1973 "If you don't buy this magazine we'll kill this dog" cover. In Silverman's version, she is wearing a princess costume, petting a small dog; "watch my show or I'll kill my dog" she says. Perhaps there's a reference in there, or a statute of limitations on material over thirty years old.

Another classic. (By way of explaining the joke to the kids, Volkswagen used to run ads highlighting the Bug's buoyancy--they were said to float) This one was written by Anne Beatts, maybe the only woman on the masthead of the pioneering magazine.

What was great about the National Lampoon of the seventies, beside such work as this (which at the time was downright ground-breaking satire), was that it was a sort of underground publication--for WASP men. They were far more "politically incorrect" (before the term was coined) than the most foul-mouthed, falsely "edgy" (a faint tremor up the back of the neck ["douche chill"] at having to write the word) comedian now. Suffer through two hours of Chris Rock pacing the stage sweating and shouting hoarse cliches at you, and then go pick up a copy of the National Lampoon dated in the seventies, and decide for yourself who's "keeping it real"--and if we are really more frank about all things now than we were thirty years ago.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

INTERIOR, AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, TWILIGHT
A room of dark leather and mahogany, sectioned by odd angles and shadow. Bright sunlight and the dim echoes of a large celebration leak in around the edges of the drawn blinds. TENET is standing, hat in hand, in front of the VICE PRESIDENT, who is seated behind his desk, toying with something with one cupped palm over another; we can't quite see what is in his hands, it's about the size of a fist, velvet black. LIBBY stands discretely off to the side.

VP
But let's be frank here: you never wanted my friendship. You were afraid to be in my debt.

TENET
I didn't want to get into trouble.

VP
I understand. You found paradise at the Agency. The Administration protected you, and there was rule of law. A constitution. You didn't need a friend like me.
(he leans forward out of shadow, as if purposely effecting the glint of light from one glassy eye and his momentarily exposed row of lower teeth approximating a smile)
And there's the party circuit.
(he slips back into the dark)
But now your administration is gone. And this.

CLOSE SHOT: A folder on the desk, visible in a slant of light, being withdrawn into shadow.

VP
In all these years have I ever once been invited over to the Agency? You don't think I would have appreciated that? You don't think to call me Mr. Vice President. All this time: not one sheet of useful information came my way.
(sounding hurt)
I've been unwelcome.
But now you say, Mr. Vice President, save me. Help me retain my position. If you had been my friend, these bastards would be suffering right now. And they would fear you. As they fear me. Just as the world will soon fear us all.

Setting down the mystery object in his hand, which then skitters out of sight, the VP rises from behind his desk. Turning to a refrigerator-sized safe behind the desk, he opens it, revealing a sickly red light. He puts the folder in the safe with a motion that seems careless, merely holding it out briefly. In the dark it's hard to see, but the folder seems to be drawn from his hand, pulled into the safe. He comes around and stands directly in front of Tenet; straight, almost at attention, addressing him with his posture.

TENET
(meekly, chastened)
Be my friend?

VICE PRESIDENT
the VP shrugs, affecting embarrassed modesty, then, extending his ringed hand, which Tenet takes up and kisses:
Good.
Don't worry George. I think the President is going to like you.

He leads him to the door

TENET
What's he like?

VP
He's a very agreeable man. You two are going to hit it off just fine.
Now: some day, and that day may never come, I may ask you to do a favor for me.

He passes Tenet off to Libby. Just as Libby closes the door behind Tenet a commotion from outside becomes audible. The VP goes to the window and peers out the blinds.

VP
He's here. Miller's here.

EXT: SAME
A group of middle-aged revelers, typical Party types, presses around DENNIS MILLER. He's smiling, soaking it all in.

VP
I told you he'd come.

LIBBY
He probably needs to lose another transvestite prostitute.

VP
He's alright. May be of some use.
(absently to himself)
But God, that act.

LIBBY
(venturing delicately)
There's one more thing.

VP
(sighs)
What?

LIBBY
Limbaugh's here.

VP
What? Does this have something to do with the buffet?

LIBBY
He wants to thank you. He didn't expect to be invited.

VP
Is this necessary?

CUT TO
EXT: SAME
LIMBAUGH is sitting on a picnic bench, as revelers move past and about in the foreground, rehearsing his address to the VP, in between eating cannoli from a tray on his lap. He chokes for a moment, dislodges the food in his throat with one strenuous but expert heave, instantly flushing red with the effort; he resumes chewing, pats his sweating forehead with his handkercheif, takes a long draw from a pitcher of wine, and begins again.

CUT TO
INT: SAME
Dennis Miller is slumped on the corner of the Vice Presidents desk, staring into a drink in his hands. He is weeping openly.

MILLER
I don't know what to do.

The VP storms around the desk; he slaps Miller suddenly, shakes him by the shoulders like a rag doll; he thunders:

VP
You can act like a man, that's what you can do!
(he engages in a ridiculous caricature of a crying jag, shaking his palms in the air)
What am I gonna do? Everyone in Hollywood is out to get me now! I can't get work! The damn Daily Show!

CUT TO:
Libby, suppressing a smile. Over his shoulder we see the PRESIDENT enter, adjusting his sleeves and collar.

MILLER
(sniffling, he whimpers)
F-f-fucking show oughta pay me royalties...

VP
(erupting)
Shut-up!

ALTERNATE ANGLE
Close shot of VP. He's facing and speaking to Miller, but addressing the President, who we see in the background.

You spend time with your family?

MILLER
Are you kidding me?
(goes into his act)
I took the kids to Disney World this year. What sort of Leary-esque, Peter Max meets Frida Kahlo and Norman Rockwell's love child is this place? I mean, my kids were as oversensated as a high school football team on Viagra in a strip club...

The VP winces and, holding the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, quickly motions to Libby; Libby takes Miller, still talking, by the elbow and shoulder and guides him to the door; as Libby closes the door behind him the VP lets out a reptilian sounding sigh through a mucous-thickened throat, delicately touching his brow, as if to note the passing of a minor crisis and return to normal.

VP
Now if there's nothing else, I don't want to miss the first beheading.

FADE

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Impotence in the Summer of Love, 2007

“When we catch you playing a nonconstructive role, there will be a price to pay.”
--President Bush, to Iran, in a news conference last Thursday.

"Your name's Lebowski, Lebowski...You're not dealing with morons here."
--dim thug;
"It's a complicated case, Maude. Lotta ins. Lotta outs. And a lotta strands to keep in my head, man. Lotta strands..."
--The Dude, The Big Lebowski

"You run it because people think you run it. Once they stop thinking it, you stop running it."
-- Miller's Crossing

"Good. Bad. I'm the guy with the gun."
-- The Army of Darkness

Can I be forgiven for wondering if that creepy chill wind on the back of my sun-burnt neck was a time-traveling echo of the approaching Fall, or the Administration taking advantage of the summer idyll to quietly set the premise for war with Iran? At this point I half expect that when President Bush announces the bombing campaign later this month he will muffle his words by coughing into his fist.

The unfortunate debate-corrupting effect of the presidential campaign (and the presumptive Democratic nominee's inconvenient complicity in the same catastrophic foreign policy that promises to deliver the White House, and her desire to signal to certain interested bureaucracies that she can be reasoned with—what the Pentagon's firing across the bow of the HMS Hillary, and the glee with which Clinton contrasted herself with Obama's callow enthusiasm for diplomatic promiscuity is all ultimately about, perhaps) produces a Congress for whom discretion is the better part of power.

Congress can't or won't act. Not by repealing the effected-through-deception Iraq War Resolution; not by de-funding the resulting fraudulent war; not by impeaching the President and Vice President for their astonishing culpability and incompetence.
The Democrats will be content to nip about the edges of the Bush Administration's colossal failure just enough to redeem this effective co-operation for a term in the White House. This is unmistakably a Republican war, but those additional casualties sacrificed to the Democrats' craven discretion represent yet another shameful misappropriation of American blood (and of the civilian innocents who will be sacrificed to the next Clinton Administration, well, even I, here in full puffed-up outrage mode, haven't the stomach to consider the brutality of that).
But I wouldn't detain you to bring your attention to the obvious.

The Iraq War was an "expression of power as its own justification."
The possession of unparalleled military might by the world's greatest democracy, under challenge by Islamist reaction, radically changed the political and moral calculus. The confident and bold application of overwhelming military force by this enlightened power, followed by the speedy introduction of Western governance, would so swiftly improve life for so many that when compared against the cost of inaction it is revealed as a moral responsibility. This then justified a radical break with custom and law, a re-figuring of the nation-state system.

Folderol from front to back, of course. More important is where this sort of thought originates. This heady talk, this swooning before military might, is entirely a product of that military might. It serves it. The mirage of absolute military primacy lures the intemperate into these delusions of grandeur.

Of course the swagger and confidence had to be backed up by holding down Iraq. Needless to say we have failed to deliver the much-hyped AmericaWorld franchise, thwarted by a handful of networks of the world's most heavily armed neighborhood toughs. George Bush adds the protection racket to his resume of failure. Pimpin' ain't easy, George.

And still there is no one to hold us to account. Except us. In the world community we come to increasingly rely on intimidation. But the reality of Iraq, plain to the world--of just how horribly wrong we were, and are, remains. The American media maintains the fiction that we're still a virgin, physical evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. Summer. Equestrian Camp. Yeah.

So twice we trump decency with power. First for the fraud of the invasion, and now for incompetence of the occupation. Consequences await. Out there, in the future, waiting to take form. Oh the things you'll see...

We are unable to pacify Iraq, but capable of expanding the effort into neighboring Iran. Indeed, the failure in Iraq will provide the pretext. In a disturbing suggestion that we really have crossed over into something altogether new, our response is not to recognize the error of Iraq and the failure of force to deliver as promised, and to stand down with as much dignity and order as possible, but to indict neighboring nations in our failure as a pretext to expand the war. To expand our domain of chaos. The disaster of military riches that lured us past the bounds of common decency now strands us there.
America the unstoppable force is checked in Iraq not by an immovable object, but absorbed by a black hole into which our effort disappears to no effect.

We are powerful and powerless at once. Remarkably, we don't see it yet. We still operate on the assumption of absolute moral authority--having discarded morality and failing to establish authority. We throw our weight around, oblivious to our rapidly eroding relevance. The world's resentment will outlast our brittle military strength.

The Iranians, for their part, share a border and a recent war with Iraq. Still, we expect them to sit still for the chaos we've created on their frontier, even as the MEK, an organization we ourselves have designated as terrorist, uses Iraq (with our support and against Iraqi wishes) as a base of operations that include collecting intelligence to be used in building a case for war against them. The Iranians are, as well, expected to content themselves with our official policy of undermining their government and funding its political opposition.

As we arm Sunni "allies" opposed to the Shi'ite government (ahead of an almost certain civil war), we characterize Iranian arming and training of Shi'ite militias as sinister. Yet these militias enjoy more popular support than the bunkered government, and are not armed against it, as are the previously mentioned Sunnis.

We would appear to be working against ourselves, backing factions that oppose the government we've spent so much to preserve on one hand, complaining of Iranian involvement in the south but cultivating our own relationship with Iranian-originated Sciri and its leader Abdul Aziz al-Hakim on the other.

Muktada al-Sadr opposes the American military presence; al-Hakim has proven more malleable abut this and the all-important oil law. Words may have been rendered meaningless by our postmodern revolutionaries, but the course of real interest and power as it plays out reassures us that reality still holds. The oil law will be the last piece of Iraq we leave behind.

Perhaps the ultimate irony is that after playing the farce of an Iraqi threat to the United States, we now threaten the country with the most to legitimately fear from Iraq (where's Iranian gratitude, you say?--welcome to the city, kid).

The question isn't, is Iran responsible for arming Shi'ite militias against us in Iraq?, but why is the War Party pushing this question? The contingency plan to maintain the expansion of the war into Iran involves repeating this question with enough volume and frequency that the public will be fooled into over-estimating its relevance. It is a red herring.
Americans now must be fooled into thinking that their most exigent concern is Iranian involvement in Iraq, just as they once thought of Iraqi WMD (don't you just cringe a little with embarrassment when you read it now?). Be angry at the thought of American blood on Iranian hands, but remember, Iranian weaponry in the hands of Iraqis have killed far fewer Americans than Saudi money, Arab jihadis, and, sadly, our own weapons and money diverted through incompetence and corruption into the hands of insurgents, or given outright by us in our haste to stand up Iraqi armed forces that later faded into the chaos.

The proposed executive order floated on Tuesday, seemingly designed as much to thwart our own diplomatic efforts as to further pressure Iran, moving the bulk of Iran's army and virtually all of its intelligence apparatus into the terrorist category, combines the stupidity of leaving our adversary without an exit with the madness of leaving ourselves without one. The Administration quietly burns another ship.

Ironic, how the current president, always making such a show of "faith", proved tragically unable to recognize the real thing, when and where it has consequences. Bush's retail-outlet redemption is so cheaply purchased and pawned ("Mr. President, what role does faith play in your life?"), shamelessly minting and re-minting the base coin of conspicuous religiosity--that it not only fails to check but fortifies our hero's catastrophic pride.
The President is now capable of nearly anything, even pulling the trigger on Iran to stick it to his political opponents at home. Pride, thy name is Bush.

Meanwhile, we still operate on the assumption that we have both moral authority and material control. The American media maintains the fiction for us, and we all manage to avoid the obvious question: how would we judge our actions if they came from another? How then will history judge us?

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

The Ever-Expanding Expansionist Compact

One reason why a democracy cannot survive empire, and why empires are increasingly short-lived things, is that citizens of conquered and occupied nations, and cultures, half a world away, thereby become people to whom the leadership of the imperial power is answerable, in one way or another:
“The Americans know everything, they can do everything, they can repair the space shuttle without touching it, why do they let these things happen here in Iraq?” said Abu Muhammad, 55, one of the custodians of the bombed Khalani Mosque.
Good question, and one for which the man has the right to an answer. Mr., or Mrs., (future) President, meet one of your constituents. He has a few problems he'd like to bring to your attention.

Monday, June 11, 2007

The Deep Pockets of Denial

Owing to the difficulties with America, no progress has been made in developing the oil...If we remain, shall we not be answerable for defending their frontier? How are we to do this if the Turk comes in?
--Winston Churchill, writing to David Lloyd George, September 1922

When we have made Mesopotamia a model state there is not an Arab of Syria and Palestine who wouldn’t want to be part of it.
--British colonial official

More oil, ever more oil.
—Henry G. Berenger, director, Comite General du Petrol, Nov. 21, 1917

The questions of morality and practicality that, if our society was in full command of its faculties, would normally focus our attention in response to the Administration's recent introduction of plans for the long term occupation of Iraq, despite any legal or sensible justification for same, will be granted a brief airing in the mainstream media, before fading to the sound of the sputtering Rovian political machine assessing the paltry yield of data acquired thereby.

Much energy will be pointlessly wasted debunking the "Korean" and "Japanese" models (as we continue to abuse the historical analogies one after another until the very device of historical analogy is discredited--we really must stop humoring people), as if we aren't already painfully aware of the unmentionable obviousness: East Asians are not Arabs are not Europeans (and we wouldn't be entangled in the Middle East if they were).
All of this when we should be stripping away that part experience tells us is always disingenuous with this administration, the characterization, and recognizing the reality it's designed to mute: previously disavowed plans for the indefinite, large-scale occupation of Iraq.
Well, this is our world.

Perhaps the question of cost could at least be delicately broached:
"Taking both immediate and long-term factors into account, the overall past and future costs until year 2016 to the USA for the war in Iraq have been estimated at $2,267 billion."
Can we simply ask what we are getting for our money beyond Churchill's "ungrateful volcano out of which we are in no circumstances to get anything worth having"?
Obviously our guys still think that something "worth having" can be salvaged of the war; I don't think it's a model democracy and even they can't be foolish enough to think that preserving a "central front" fighting a stateless enemy for ground neither we nor they can hold is worth the cost.

Sanity Fair

"Antifascist" demonstration Portland, Oregon. August 17, 2019.  The two sides squared off across a field, defined by police cord...