War on Terror is the West's New Religion

But all the crusading and invading simply plays into al-Qa'ida's hands

by Robert Fisk            Independent/UK                   February 24, 2013
Endless war. "They seek him here, they seek him there, those Frenchies seek him everywhere …" But who, exactly? The leader of which particular groupuscule of al-Qa'ida-inspired gunmen in Mali? Indeed, our lords and masters seem to have not the slightest idea who they are talking about. A few weeks ago, when many of us didn't even know the name of the Malian capital – admit it, O readers – we were all under the impression that al-Qa'ida's resurgence was in Iraq, where it's back to almost daily suicide bombing against Shias.

Thank heavens  that we have Arab writers such as Abdel Bari Atwan – who knew the real Bin Laden better than any other journalist – with his volume After Bin Laden: Al-Qa'ida, the Next Generation. Atwan has structured exactly how al-Qa'ida metamorphosed after Bin Laden's execution and recalled how in 2005 he received by email a document entitled "Al-Qa'ida's strategy to 2020", which contained seven "stages" towards a world Islamic caliphate.

Stage one was to "provoke the ponderous American elephant into invading Muslim lands where it would be easier for the mujahideen to fight it". Stage two: The Muslim nation wakes from its long sleep and is furious at the sight of a new generation of crusaders intent on occupying large parts of the Middle East and stealing its valuable resources. "The seeds of the hatred towards America that al-Qa'ida was banking on," Atwan says, "were planted when the first bombs dropped on Baghdad in 2003." In fact, as I outlined after the invasion, an oblique message from Bin Laden just before the Bush adventure – typically ignored by the CIA – actually urged al-Qa'ida members to co-operate with the hated Baathists against US forces. This was the first call from al-Qa'ida to collaborate with other groups – hence the plague of al-Qa'ida units which are fighting alongside other rebel organizations in Iraq, Yemen, Libya, Algeria, Mali and now Syria.

Stage three is a NATO-al-Qa'ida conflict in a "triangle of horror … in Iraq, Syria and Jordan". In part four, "Al-Qa'ida becomes a global network that … makes enfranchisement exceptionally easy". In part five, the US military budget "is crashed into bankruptcy and economic meltdown ensues". The sixth stage is the "overthrow of the hated Arab dictators. Finally, "the ultimate clash of civilizations and a mighty, apocalyptic battle". Al-Zawahiri, by the way, is always quoting the Yale historian Paul Kennedy's The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers, which sees economic collapse as the basis for the collapse of empires.

So why not stop spraying bombs and depleted uranium shells on the people of the Middle East? And stop sending our wretched armies to occupy Muslim lands – which is exactly what al-Qa'ida wants us to do – and stop bribing Arab leaders to crush their own people. Instead, can we not visit these sad lands with justice? Justice for the Palestinians, justice for the Kurds, justice for the Iraqi Sunnis, justice for the people of southern Lebanon, justice for the people of Kashmir. If the West put its mind to this real "crusade", al-Qa'ida would disappear. The people who live in the Muslim world can then decide on their own "caliphate".

However, our lords and masters still wish to govern the world, and there is not the slightest chance that they would risk their status, their reputations, their political futures, their lives on such an odd concept. "War on terror" remains the new religion of the West – and why not when the French Interior Minister declares that "there is an Islamic fascism rising everywhere"?

Saddest of all is that we did not read the obvious message: that al-Qa'ida largely failed to hijack the Arab awakening; no picture of Bin Laden and no al-Qa'ida flag graced those millions who marched through the streets of Arab capitals. But no, now we peddle the myth that elected Islamist parties are subterfuge al-Qa'idas, that – deep down – the Islamic world really is in an eternal "clash of civilizations" with us, that we must fear them, hate them.

And so the war goes on. What was it the splendid Leon Panetta – my favorite US Defense Secretary – said in Kabul 18 months ago? "We're within reach of strategically defeating al-Qa'ida." And in London a few days ago? He called for "relentless pressure" on the group. Did al-Qa'ida's press office write this stuff for him? Or is there some dark, unspoken knowledge shared by both us and al-Qa'ida? That we both, in our souls, want the war to go on.

© 2013 Independent/UK       http://www.commondreams.org/view/2013/02/24-2                  [Abridged]

The premises and purposes of American exceptionalism

Glenn Greenwald              Guardian/UK                      18 February 2013

Last week, North Korea tested a nuclear weapon, and the US - the country with the world's largest stockpile of that weapon and the only one in history to use it - led the condemnation (US allies with large nuclear stockpiles, such as Britain and Israel, vocally joined in).

Nobody can reasonably dispute that North Korea is governed by a monstrous regime and that it would be better if they lacked a nuclear weapons capability.  What interests me here is that highlighted claim: that the US "is the greatest country in world history", and therefore is entitled to do that which other countries are not. The desire to believe it is so strong, the need to proclaim one's own unprecedented superiority so compelling, that it's hardly controversial to say it, despite how nonsensical it is. The opposite is true: it has been vested with the status of orthodoxy.

What I'm always so curious about is the thought process behind this formulation. Depending on how you count, there are 179 countries on the planet. The probability that you will happen to be born into The Objectively Greatest One, to the extent there is such a thing, is less than 1%. As the US accounts for roughly 5% of the world's population, the probability that you will be born into it is 1/20. Those are fairly long odds for the happenstance of being born into the Greatest Country on Earth.

It's certainly true that Americans are justifiably proud of certain nationalistic attributes: class mobility, ethnic diversity, religious freedom, large immigrant populations, life-improving technological discoveries, a commitment to some basic liberties such as free speech and press, historical progress in correcting some of its worst crimes. But all of those virtues are found in equal if not, at this point, greater quantity in numerous other countries. Add to that mix America's shameful attributes - its historic crimes of land theft, genocide, slavery and racism, its sprawling penal state, the company it keeps on certain human rights abuses, the aggressive attack on Iraq, the creation of a worldwide torture regime, its pervasive support for the world's worst tyrannies - and it becomes not just untenable, but laughable, to lavish it with that title.

This is more than just an intellectual exercise. This belief in America's unparalleled greatness has immense impact. It is not hyperbole to say that the sentiment is the overarching belief system of the US political and media class, the primary premise shaping political discourse. Politicians of all types routinely recite the same claim. This eagerness to declare oneself exempt from the rules to which others are bound, on the grounds of one's own objective superiority, is always the animating sentiment behind nationalistic criminality. Here's what Orwell said about that in Notes on Nationalism:

"All nationalists have the power of not seeing resemblances between similar sets of facts. A British Tory will defend self-determination in Europe and oppose it in India with no feeling of inconsistency. Actions are held to be good or bad, not on their own merits, but according to who does them, and there is almost no kind of outrage — torture, the use of hostages, forced labour, mass deportations, imprisonment without trial, forgery, assassination, the bombing of civilians — which does not change its moral colour when it is committed by 'our' side . . . The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, but he has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them."

Preserving this warped morality, this nationalistic prerogative, is, far and away, the primary objective of America's foreign policy community, composed of its political offices, media outlets, and (especially) think tanks. What Cooke expressed here - that the US, due to its objective superiority, is not bound by the same rules as others - is the most cherished and aggressively guarded principle in that circle. Conversely, the notion that the US should be bound by the same rules as everyone else is the most scorned and marginalized.

In sum, think tank "scholars" don't get invited to important meetings by "national security professionals" in DC if they point out that the US is committing war crimes. They don't get invited to those meetings if they argue that the US should be bound by the same rules and laws it imposes on others when it comes to the use of force. One gets invited to those meetings only if one blindly affirms the right of the US to do whatever it wants, and then devotes oneself to the pragmatic question of how that unfettered license can best be exploited to promote national interests. The culture of DC think tanks, "international relations" professionals, and commentators breeds allegiance to these American prerogatives and US power centers.

This belief in the unfettered legal and moral right of the US to use force anywhere in the world for any reason it wants is sustained only by this belief in objective US superiority, this myth of American exceptionalism. And the results are exactly what one would expect from an approach grounded in a belief system so patently irrational.     [Excerpts only]

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2013/feb/18/american-exceptionalism-north-korea-nukes

Think there's no alternative? Latin America has a few

Seumas Milne                         Guardian/UK                       19 February 2013

Ever since the crash of 2008 exposed the rotten core of a failed economic model, we've been told there are no viable alternatives. As Europe sinks deeper into austerity, governing parties of whatever stripe are routinely rejected by disillusioned voters – only to be replaced by others delivering more welfare cuts, privatisation and inequality. So what should we make of a part of the world where governments have resolutely turned their back on that model, slashed poverty and inequality, taken back industries and resources from corporate control, massively expanded public services and democratic participation – and keep getting re-elected in fiercely contested elections?

That is what has been happening in Latin America for a decade. The latest political leader to underline the trend is the radical economist Rafael Correa, re-elected as president of Ecuador at the weekend with an increased 57% share of the vote, while Correa's party won an outright majority in parliament.

But Ecuador is now part of a well-established pattern. Last October the much reviled but hugely popular Hugo Chávez, who returned home on Monday after two months of cancer treatment in Cuba, was re-elected president of Venezuela with 55% of the vote after 14 years in power in a ballot far more fraud-proof than those in Britain or the US. That followed the re-election of Bolivia's Evo Morales, Latin America's first indigenous president, in 2009; the election of Lula's nominated successor Dilma Rousseff in Brazil in 2010; and of Cristina Fernandez in Argentina in 2011.

Despite their differences, it's not hard to see why. Latin America was the first to experience the disastrous impact of neoliberal dogma and the first to revolt against it. Correa was originally elected in the wake of an economic collapse so devastating that one in 10 left the country. Since then his "citizen's revolution" has cut poverty by nearly a third and extreme poverty by 45%. Unemployment has been slashed, while social security, free health and education have been rapidly expanded – including free higher education, now a constitutional right – while outsourcing has been outlawed.

And that has been achieved not only by using Ecuador's limited oil wealth to benefit the majority, but by making corporations and the well-off pay their taxes (receipts have almost tripled in six years), raising public investment to 15% of national income, extending public ownership, tough renegotiation of oil contracts and re-regulating the banking system to support development.

Correa's government has also closed the US military base at Manta (he'd reconsider, he said, if the US "let us put a military base in Miami"), expanded gay, disability and indigenous rights and adopted some of the most radical environmental policies in the world. But what is happening in Ecuador is only part of a progressive tide that has swept Latin America, as social democratic and radical socialist governments have attacked social and racial inequality, challenged US domination and begun to create genuine regional integration and independence for the first time in 500 years. And given what's already been delivered to the majority, it's hardly surprising they keep getting re-elected.

Of course, Latin America's left-leaning governments have no shortage of failings, from corruption to crime. There is also a question whether the momentum of continental change can be maintained now that Chávez, who spearheaded it, is expected to stand down in the next few weeks. Latin America's transformation is nevertheless deeply rooted and popular, while a discredited right has little to offer. For the rest of the world, it makes a nonsense of the idea that five years into the crisis nothing can be done but more of the same. True, these are economies and societies at a very different stage of development, and their experiences can't simply be replicated elsewhere. But they have certainly shown there are multiple alternatives to neoliberal masochism – which win elections, too.          [Abridged]        https://www.google.co.nz/search?q=Milne+Think+no+alternative&hl=en&biw=1366&bih=

Twitter: @SeumasMilne        

God as Symbol

by Ian Harris                    Otago Daily Times                 8 Feb. 2013

Symbols are not to be sniffed at. They carry meaning with an allusive edge. They are charged with what psychologist Carl Jung called psychic energy. They have consequences for the way a person lives and, when widely shared, for the way a culture is expressed. They are much, much more than static tokens, signs, emblems, logos, computer icons or trademarks.

The word comes from the Greek symbolon, meaning “throwing things together” so as to create an imaginative association between them. In psychology and religion, symbols do this in such a way as to cast light on human experience. Humans are very good at making these links. Dreams are full of symbols. So is poetry.
 

For theologian Paul Tillich, a symbol points beyond itself to something sensed but not bounded or precisely defined. A symbol, he says, gives access to deeper layers of reality which are otherwise inaccessible. A country’s flag is more than a fluttering cloth – it’s a symbol of nationhood and identity. The kiwi conjures up New Zealand, the lion England, the unicorn Scotland.

Actions can be symbols. In Christianity, the breaking of bread and pouring of wine in communion are symbolic of Jesus’ life-giving death on the cross. In Judaism, observance of the Sabbath and lighting the candles on the seven-branched menorah affirm Jewish identity, belonging and faith. It should be obvious, then, that to call “God” a symbol is not to denigrate or dismiss God, but to give the concept a foremost place in human experience.

The way people think about God should evolve and grow as they mature. Looking back, I can identify three major stages in the way I thought about God. All of them seemed complete and worthy at the time, but now I see them as stages on a journey.

In the first phase, God was an actual being, a heavenly father, all-wise, all-powerful, all-loving, ready to guide me and to intervene in my life as he willed. This was the “God out there” of traditional theism.

In the second phase the focus broadened beyond me and my life to the God who was active in history. This was God in the midst of society and of nations, God in events, God the Other with whom we had to reckon. Though still a theistic God, the emphasis was now on discerning this God as the life force in the swirling changes of the times, beckoning towards a better future for the whole of humanity.

Over time, however, I became aware of a growing unease about that understanding of God, in both myself and others. After 400 years of exponentially expanding knowledge, God no longer seemed to relate so readily to the world as we experience it today. Could there be a way of thinking about God that might attract, energise, and provide a sense of meaning and purpose in a secular world – and, importantly, help bring our western Judaeo-Christian heritage through to the present? I think there is, as long as people are willing to see the word “God” as a symbol. And what it symbolises matters supremely.

God as symbol points to what is best and highest and deepest in human experience. Chief among those experiences are faith, hope and love, where faith is a trusting orientation to the future and its possibilities for good; hope keeps people attuned to whatever is life-affirming in any situation, even the grimmest; and love is the steady direction of the will toward the lasting good of another.

God as symbol gathers up what is central to one’s understanding of life, what people sense as ultimate and non-negotiable in the values they live by. Every religion teaches a set of values, with compassion at their core. Each undergirds them and expresses them out of its own distinctive heritage. For Christians, this is supremely demonstrated in Jesus’ life and ministry. In him, God becomes a verb.

God as symbol also provides a focus of coherence for everything people experience. It gives them a bearing relevant to every situation they encounter, a reference point for whatever they plan, think, or do. But that is all cerebral till that God is experienced inwardly, and becomes part of the fabric of a person’s everyday life. Experienced inwardly, but expressed outwardly in relationships with other people in every situation, and increasingly in relation to the planet that sustains us.

When that happens, God as symbol opens into a living reality in human experience – even and especially in our brave new secular world.

The key to forgiveness is the refusal to seek revenge

The problem with our retributive model of justice is that it can easily serve to perpetuate violence and hatred

Giles Fraser                               Guardian/UK                                  8 February 2013



Brighton bomber Patrick Magee and Jo Berry, whose father, Sir Anthony Berry, was killed in the 1984 blast.

He was a short, plumpish academic-looking man in his 60s, with a neat beard and walking stick, clearly uncomfortable among the prawn canapes of a trendy Soho hotel. In this world of peacocks and poseurs, he stood out by not standing out. Quietly spoken, with a Belfast brogue softened by a childhood in East Anglia, he drew little attention to himself. Which was, no doubt, why Patrick Magee could pass unnoticed as he toured the country in 1978, planting 16 bombs in various cities and, then again, in 1984, when he blew up Brighton's Grand Hotel during the Conservative party conference, killing five people.

Among his victims that night was Tory MP Sir Anthony Berry. His daughter Jo was also at the party, sipping wine and chatting to the inquisitive crowd. The body language between them was awkward but not overtly hostile. On first-name terms, they had clearly spent quite a bit of time in each other's company since they first met in 2000, often at events like this one: last month's launch of the documentary film, Beyond Right and Wrong, exploring the subject of forgiveness. Magee did 14 years in prison, released in 1999 under the terms of the Good Friday agreement. Some continue to feel that this punishment was not enough; that, on some level, he got away with it.

It is a similar uneasy feeling one can have with forgiveness itself, that it undermines the basic logic of proportionality that underpins most moral thinking – that the scales of justice require some sort of balance. Crime needs to be offset by a proportionate amount of punishment. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Forgiveness ignores all of that, which is why it exists beyond right and wrong.

Yet the problem with the retributive model of justice, constructed as it is upon the moral instinct for proportionality, is that it can easily serve to perpetuate violence and hatred – one act of violence leading to another in response, which can provoke yet another, and so on. The blood feud that can exist between families is the most striking example of how answering violence with violence can be a potentially endless business, with old hatreds forever spawning new ones.

Politicians who support amnesty arrangements such as the Good Friday agreement are often upbraided. But what Jo Berry is interested in is how the instinct for revenge can easily become a betrayal of the future. Her forgiveness of Patrick Magee is quite extraordinary, taking huge courage and emotional poise. And she admitted to me that she sometimes goes for a walk on the beach in north Wales and smashes rocks against each other in frustration. This is a safe detonation of the anger she feels inside. She says that for all to move on and reclaim a more peaceful future, these feelings have to be left on the beach.

Too often, forgiveness is construed as miraculously having positive feelings towards the person who had harmed you. This understanding is, I suspect, an impossible fiction. But what is not impossible is the refusal of revenge, the refusal to answer back in kind. Beyond Right and Wrong examines powerful stories of ordinary people in Rwanda and Israel/Palestine who have let go of perfectly natural punitive instincts in the name of a brighter tomorrow, one not trapped by the hatreds of the past. One might also note that, in Christian terms, it is this same sacrifice that puts the good into Good Friday.

Twitter: @giles_fraser