War – KensView

Gaza

Second message on Gaza (to White House 5-28-24):

Don’t keep getting pushed around by Netanyahu. He only wants to weaken and help DJT succeed and protect his butt from loss in Israel. Act more decisively not tactically. Americans appreciate decisiveness. Look how DJT keeps hold of his followers by acting tough. Act tough for Justice! Be decisive on the right side of history. No more offensive or dual-use weapons to Israel until they announce a real ceasefire. Take the initiative. Come up with your own peace plan. Bring in Arab, European, and other partners as guarantors. You may be criticized, but that comes with the territory and shows the leadership we need.

Publicly announce that only a two-state solution will resolve this issue. I suggest you propose a $200 billion fund (US, Europe, Arab countries, etc.) to finance the building of an international airport in the West Bank, a regional airport in Gaza, a seaport in Gaza, a rail connection if technically feasible between the West Bank and Gaza. Only this framework will make a Palestinian entity viable. I wish someone on your staff could give me a ring or start an email correspondence for further advice on issues.

Consider some sort of Fireside chat approach dealing with a few important issues to reach the greater public such as the Gaza crisis, preserve our democratic voting traditions, your fight to hold inflation down by calling out greedy actors, improving access to good healthcare, preserving Social Security and Medicare. We have to win and win decisively in November.

Arrogance

Bigheaded leaders, bloated with their pride,
Say they know best, hubris surging inside.
Xerxes sunk at Salamis
Blinded by self-centered, self-righteous ways,
They lead the country to its darkest days.
Alcibiades seduced by Sicily
Their egos are inflated, minds closed tight,
Refusing to receive reasoned insight.
Hannibal zapped at Zama
They march forward, with ignorance as shield,
Blithe to disaster presumption may yield.
Crassus crushed at Carrhae
Their regiments trapped as they reach for fame
With bombast ending in nothing but shame.
Cornwallis yanked at Yorktown
Wars they do wage and economies crash,
Based on their words so pretentious and brash.
Napoleon walloped at Waterloo
But in the end, their downfall does draw near,
As victims and foes no longer have fear.
Hitler stomped at Stalingrad
These cocky chieftains, delusions defied,
Met defeat when resistance turned the tide.
Putin kicked at Kiev…
May their downfall serve as lesson to all
Only vigilance will folly forestall.

Thus, arrogance does not a good plan make,
Nor bluster when a nation is at stake.

War: Nuclear Weapons

Putin’s threat to use nuclear weapons frighteningly reminds us of the necessity to ban all nuclear weapons immediately. No nuclear weapons, means no threat of mass destruction.

Suggestion:

Since this menace threatens the existence of all nations, the United Nations General Assembly should implement this disarmament with no veto being allowed from the Security Council. Any nation not complying would endure a complete trade blockade.

Going through the General Assembly is necessary because all five Permanent Members of the Security Council have veto power and possess nuclear weapons and have no interest in giving them up.

A further caution: The reaction of the joint Senate and House address by Zelenskyy (12/21/2022) was eerily similar to the vote to attack Iraq. Standing ovations are good but must be tempered with restraint to avoid MAD. So far, Biden has skillfully managed to walk the tightrope. Let’s hope this continues.

War: Afghanistan Withdrawal

Our mission in Afghanistan should have solely been to pursue Bin Laden and Al-Qaeda leaders and focus on ways to prevent future attacks. Instead, it morphed into a perceived anti-muslim occupation and a nation-building effort. We attempted a hearts-and-minds campaign that never could put any roots in a country that we never understood. The souls of Afghanistan are just too hardened as history attests. President Biden realized this and has acted appropriately, not easily. Waging the war was ugly and costly, ending it would be likewise. Nevertheless, we cannot keep making the same mistakes over and over again. Twenty years was too long. We have great difficulty improving the rights and livelihoods of our own citizens, let alone those of a distant nation. Now that we have left, it behooves future leaders to make earnest efforts to consult with and enlist our allies, nations in the region, and the UN. We need to create a framework to monitor and improve Afghanistan through aid and diplomacy effort to mitigate future threats, pressure Afghan leaders, and preserve social progress made during the intervention. In addition, we need to assess more accurately future threats and attacks before we act rashly to avoid long, blood-and-treasure-draining ventures.

Expecting the end

I’m just doing my rounds in my taxi
To support my dear wife and four kids,
When rockets crash and a Renault is hit,
The occupants trapped and left to burn.
I ask myself, “Is this really happening?”
As dirt and debris start pouring down.
Am I next?

At the crossroads, we check papers,
A unit of nine, three rifles and a grenade.
Rumors fly of the enemy encroaching,
We ditch our arms and hide nearby.
If found, we need some sort of story;
We’re just day workers homeward bound.
Am I next?

Shortly we are surrounded, unable to flee.
Fearing to speak, we text our loved ones;
An hour later the enemy breaks in.
Fierce beatings and shouted questions,
Mobile phones and shoes all taken away,
Captured, down the street we are paraded.
Am I next?

Each has one hand on the belt of next;
Sweating, we’re lined up against a wall.
The guards pause, grin, and play,
Taunting and stoking our dismay.
Soon they grow bored and cranky,
Yelling, “What’ll we do with them now?”
Am I next?

I bid final goodbyes to my neighbors,
The last to my daughter’s godfather.
He runs for it but stumbles and falls,
Inciting the enemy to spray out their fire.
A sharp, sudden sensation bursts through
That I feel pierce and sear my insides.
Am I next?

They check the bodies to make sure
And shoot once more if any sign of life.
One exclaims, “That one’s still alive!”
Bleeding from the gash on my right,
I think they are talking about me;
I brace myself for the final blow.
Am I next?

My wound is agonizingly painful,
But crying out would mean my end.
For now, I must lie among the fallen.
And be as still as a stiff block of ice.
“Oh, he’ll die by himself!” He utters
As his shot strikes somebody else.
Am I next?

Silence, I sense they have departed;
The alleyway is now empty of life.
I risk a glance from under my jacket;
Then though with flash and thundering noise,
Shells explode and tremble the ground,
Cold, drained I barely can keep aware.
Am I next?

My wound has healed; summer arrived.
I have found refuge for my family,
Begun a new job; and we now live secure.
But especially at night, when a door slams,
It rouses memories of lost comrades,
The remorse of the one who survived.
How was I not next?

Great Philosophers

Two great philosophers crossed paths
in a menacing Philippine jungle,
both serving in the Leyte campaign,
each not perceiving of the other.
Before an attack on a strategic ridge,
a company chaplain assured one that
God guides our bullets at the Japs,
while steering theirs from us.
The other saw troopers jump from above,
and armed with only a 90mm AA gun,
he cried for them while he aimed,
their body parts raining from heaven.
One dropped his religion
and devised “A Theory of Justice.”
The other never had it, but taught
me to respect and be fair to all.

righteousness

american
christian soldier
lost in “freedom”
trained to kill godless foes
only to return
and fall
by own hand

Nuked

Born with the specter of mushroom clouds,
As the world raced toward Armageddon.
We were children of the Atomic dawn,
When siren wails filled all with alarm.

The playground echoed a hidden dread,
Innocence and evil grimly interbred.
We played hopscotch on the brink of fate,
Counting squares like numbered days.

The blowing winds tasted of the uncertain,
As if each breath held an ominous toxin.
Laughter was suppressed by distant tests,
Man-made sunrises in desert Southwest.

Bedtime tales struggled to allay fears—
Duck-and-cover drills and radiation suits.
As somber refrains foretold destruction,
Sunday prayers begged divine intervention.

I grew up in this Twilight Zone of paradox,
Picnics on lakes, building of bomb shelters,
An upbringing straddling hope and horror,
Synchronized to ticks of a Geiger counter.

Yet I managed to cope with this outlook,
Trading baseball cards and comic books,
Imagination soaring on cosmic plumes,
Dreaming of a world beyond the gloom.

But now though with Cold War unfrozen,
A restiveness still lingers—a silent fallout.
Thus, at times when I regard the horizon,
I half-expect a bright flash to burst out.

Andersonville Cemetery

Outside the gate I regretfully stand
Late at the Andersonville marble field
As the setting sun breaks through the gentle Georgia rain
Petal by petal fall the mournful tears of mothers and children
The wails and cries, the blood and guts
The Sacred bones of young men lying a century long
Are scattered as peach blossoms on a field of stones
Reminders of what should never have been
Iron now blocks me from my brothers
I can only turn and go my way

Who stole it?

Is it greedy presidential hacks
Or those barbaric Pentagon rats?
My Uncle Sam proclaims he wants me
But what really chases me up this tree?
IRS comes knocking for some tax
I comply for fear of seeming lax:
Vietnam, Chicago still on fire
But I stay at home with no desire
Newspapers decry crime on the streets
As nightly I hide beneath my sheets
Midnight specials for Russian roulette
It seems there is no other outlet
I quietly sit sipping my tea
While Tricky Dick spouts shit on TV
But when I cry “Civic Robbery”
I see that I stole myself from me.

War Is Not the Answer

I came to Paris to flee the war gods,
and their cynical words and cruelty,
each day viewing a decade of destruction
in the news from distant rice fields.

Tonkin Gulf, Tet Offensive, My Lai,
napalm and carpet bombing,
a naked child’s run down a road,
there were no good reasons for their lies.

As Nixon crows Hearts and Minds
and sprays Cambodia with Agent Orange,
some ask why so many have to die
while the war crawls on and goes nowhere.

Today began cold, wet, and gloomy
as I stand in front of the Hotel Majestic
encircled by Hanoi and Vietcong flags
and hard-nosed, head-bashing security.

First Madame Binh approaches
dressed up in a traditional Ao Dai,
then comes South Vietnam’s Lam
followed closely by the North’s Trinh.

Last in the solemn procession
is Secretary of State Rogers
hissed and jeered at by protestors
as his car warily nears.

There comes the signal of completion
followed by a rousing round of cheers
signaling that the fighting is over,
a futile conflict with nothing but loss.

But observing such a ruckus,
I feel alone at the curbside
only now fully realizing
the extent of my country’s defeat.