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In barely 18 months, the identity of the Democratic challenger to President George W. Bush's 2004 re-election will have been determined. Democratic National Committee Chairman Terry McAuliffe's front-loading of the nominating process all but assures that the fight will be over before activists within the party and on its fringes have a chance to consider the candidates.

Thus, Americans who believe that the Democratic Party ought to offer a choice rather than an echo of the Bush administration's voodoo economics are already beginning to examine their options. Fortunately, the recent congressional votes on granting the Bush administration "fast track" authority to enter into secret negotiations toward the development of a sweeping Free Trade Area of the Americas offer a good place to begin the analysis.

This summer's fast track votes in the House and Senate presented congressional Democrats - a staggering number of whom are pondering presidential candidacies - with some stark choices. They could side with the Bush administration, multinational business interests and the Washington "think tanks" that are willing to go to war to defend American democracy and values - unless, of course, that democracy and those values pose a hindrance to nation-hopping corporations. Or they could side with the trade unions, environmental groups, farm organizations, consumer groups, churches and international human rights campaigners that represent the activist base not just of the Democratic Party but of the nation as a whole.

Saad Eddin Ibrahim prepared a statement to close his trial in front of the Egyptian Supreme State Security Court, but the judge sentenced him before he had a chance to read it.

Will the Pentagon wire up Henry Kissinger, Dan Quayle and Newt Gingrich--that is, submit them to lie detector tests? And do the same with all other members ...

After an often bitter, intensely ideological Michigan primary contest that pitted two of the most politically and personally distinct Democrats in Congress, U.S. Rep. John Dingell defeated U.S. Rep. Lynn Rivers Tuesday.

The result was a heartbreaker for women's groups, which poured time and money into the Rivers' campaign in an effort to maintain representation for women in the House. Rivers is one of just 60 women in a 435-member chamber.

The support from women's organizations such as Emily's List was not nearly enough, however, to overcome Dingell's fund-raising clout and powerful connections.

In a column from 2002, Robert Scheer takes a look back at the Bush Administrations's real motivation to go to war.

George W. Bush is crass.

Before heading to Texas for a month of vacation--longer than the average worker's--the President stopped at the local fire ...

Following the September 11 attacks, the federal government rounded up more than
1,000 people and detained them without revealing their identities.

If there is a point to having a Congress in a time of war, it has been made this week by the Senate Foreign Relations Committee hearings on whether the United States could, should or would want to launch a military attack on Iraq with the purpose of deposing Iraqi President Saddam Hussein.

Though this Congress has done a miserable job of overseeing the ill-defined "war on terrorism" that continues to cost an unconscionable number of Afghan lives and an unconscionable portion of US tax dollars, the hearings on Iraq actually saw senators approaching the prospect of an all-out assault on Iraq with at least a measure of respect for their constitutionally mandated responsibility to offer the executive branch advice and consent with regard to war-making.

Organized by Foreign Relations Committee Chair Joseph Biden, D-Del., a cautious player when it comes to challenging presidential war-making, the hearings were not nearly so revealing as the moment demanded. (Biden did not, for instance, demand that squabbling members of the Bush foreign policy, military and political teams appear to explain themselves. Nor did he call Scott Ritter, the former UN weapons inspector in Iraq who, as a self-proclaimed "card-carrying Republican," says of Bush administration sabre rattling regarding Iraq: "This is not about the security of the United States. This is about domestic American politics. The national security of the United States of America has been hijacked by a handful of neo-conservatives who are using their position of authority to pursue their own ideologically-driven political ambitions.The day we go to war for that reason is the day we have failed collectively as a nation.")

Like Pop-Up Video--one of the many things the movie-industry left
never anticipated--ancillary factoids keep imposing themselves on Paul
Buhle and Dave Wagner's Radical Hollywood:

1. When the oft-dubbed "revolutionary" Lew Wasserman (longtime MCA mogul) died this past June 3, obit writers made the old archcapitalist
sound like he'd been the happy end of a Bolshevik dream--the man who
finally took the power away from the studios and gave it to the people
(OK, very rich, well-placed people).

2. Wasn't it Ronald Reagan--"FBI collaborator," the man deemed "too
dumb" for membership in Hollywood's CP of the 1930s and the star of the
blacklisted screenwriter Val Burton's last movie (Bedtime for
Bonzo
)--who helped decontrol the studios' ownership of movie
theaters, i.e., the means of distribution?

3. Showing that memory is fleeting even among the most
progressive-minded people, the Stockholm International Film Festival of
1997 jumped the gun on the Academy Awards and hosted a retrospective of
work by friendly witness Elia Kazan--its organizers claiming, quite
convincingly, that they were completely unaware of the then-raging (sort
of) Kazan Kontroversy.

4. Showing that memory is as tenacious as the ego it's attached to,
Hollywood Ten member Ring Lardner Jr., honoree of the
screenwriter-centric Nantucket Film Festival of 1998, still had the
energy to rail against the system--although the preponderance of his
outrage was not over his HUAC-imposed prison time but the liberties
Joseph Mankiewicz and Louis B. Mayer had taken fifty-odd years before
with his script for Woman of the Year.

If there are unwritten messages within Radical Hollywood, one
might be that artistic vanity and general cupidity are neither exclusive
nor native to a particular political persuasion, nor even the movie
industry itself. And that nothing ever changes. Current cinephiles fear
and loathe the fact that in today's movie business, "business" takes
precedence over "movies." But by 1933, after the bankruptcies of Fox,
Paramount and RKO, the money men had already taken over. (As the authors
write, "Bankers were good at firing studio workers...but were notably
untalented at making films." Make it "lawyers" and it might be 2002.)
Back in 1919, Charles Chaplin, Douglas Fairbanks, D.W. Griffith and Mary
Pickford organized the first independent-of-the-studios Hollywood movie
company, United Artists--the DreamWorks of its time. Last year's
threatened strike by the Writers Guild--which, together with the strike
threat by the Screen Actors Guild, is still affecting studio production
schedules--was largely about credits, because they translate into
salaries; in 1933, meeting secretly, Hollywood's leading screenwriters
(including such leftist lights as John Howard Lawson, John Bright,
Samuel Ornitz and Lester Cole) gathered to organize, largely over the
issue of credits, and for the same reason. Variety, Hollywood
"bible" and noted mangler of the English language, played the game with
the mobbed-up craft union IATSE (International Alliance of Theatrical
Stage Employees) back in Depression-era Hollywood. It plays plenty of
games today.

And then (sigh) there's that oh-so-predictable outcry over pop cinema's
influence on/instigation of sociocriminal behavior--the knee-jerk
finger-pointing at Hollywood every time a Columbine happens (but never,
you may notice, a 9/11). This is hardly a newsflash either: The release
of such hard-nosed gangster thrillers as The Public Enemy,
Scarface and Little Caesar in the early 1930s helped lead
to the establishment of the Legion of Decency, the Production Code, the
Hays Office, the bluenosed rule of in-house censor Joseph Breen and
decades-long cultural prosperity for those who preferred their movie sex
infantilized and their view of America strained through fine mesh. How
the Christian right does long for those thrilling days of yesteryear.

The story of the left in Hollywood, in other words, is the story of
today in Hollywood; but if you're looking for correlations and parallels
you won't find many in Radical Hollywood. Not that parallels are
always what you need: As the blacklisted writer/director Abraham Polonsky (Force of Evil, Body and Soul,
Tell Them Willie Boy Is Here) told interviewer David Walsh a few
months before his death in 1999, "In the old days, if something like
this [the Kazan Oscar] was going on, you'd make a few telephone calls,
you'd have a thousand people there. No more. Nobody believes in
anything, except in the finance capitalist." Did anyone in the whole of
Hollywood--or the entire United States Congress, for that matter--make a
peep of support for the recent and quite reasonable California appellate
court decision on the Pledge of Allegiance? If they did, it was drowned
out by the sound of scuttling feet, heading for the political lifeboats.

This last episode was certainly too late for inclusion or comment in
Radical Hollywood, but it points up both the stasis and mutation
in what we have to recognize, however reluctantly, as the cultural
capital of the country--and whose history is far more alive than this
book would imply. Encyclopedic in the most frightening sense, RH
is thorough and wide-ranging, and fairly exhaustive in ferreting out
every possible leftist association in any vaguely relevant movie
produced by Hollywood from the New Deal through the postwar Red Scare.
But the authors are also straitjacketed by their own theses: One, that
there was a leftist subtext imposed on many of the movies that
the right held in fear and contempt. (Who knew?) And two, that the
movies were simply superior during the more or less lefty days of
Hollywood.

They may be right. "The content of films was better in 1943 than it is
in 1953," Hollywood Ten-ster Dalton Trumbo is quoted as saying, and the
authors contend that "any reasonable calculation" would confirm what
Trumbo says. But reasonable calculation has nothing to do with the very
subjective business of judging art. One might as well reduce the entire
argument to a single question: What do you prefer? Movies with the
left-leaning Humphrey Bogart? Or movies with Ronald Reagan? It may not
seem to be a contest. But it wouldn't be an example of the scientific
process, either.

Despite their tabloidy subtitle--"the untold story behind America's
favorite movies"--Buhle and Wagner don't dabble much in the anecdote,
gossip or movie-set story that would have lubricated their prose or
perhaps even parted their sea of subordinate clauses. Still, famous
names abound. "As FBI reports suggested," Lucille Ball, Katharine
Hepburn, Olivia de Havilland, Rita Hayworth, Humphrey Bogart, Danny
Kaye, Fredric March, Bette Davis, Lloyd Bridges, John Garfield, Anne
Revere, Larry Parks (The Jolson Story), the wives of March and
Gene Kelly, and Gregory Peck's fiancée--to say nothing of the
scores of writers Buhle and Wagner profile and analyze, or their more
loosely affiliated or merely sympathetic directors and stars--were all
in or close to the Communist Party. Why? For one thing, the authors say,
because these were the people of 1930s and '40s Los Angeles who were
smarter, consequently more liberal, and enjoying a more egalitarian and
humanistic worldview than their constipatedly conservative counterparts.
But it was, they point out, also a result of Hollywood's (and America's)
bigotry and its effect on social life: The comically titled West Side
Writing and Asthma Club, an ostensibly nonpolitical alternative for Jews
barred from Los Angeles's beach clubs and marginalized in the better
restaurants, became a hotbed of anti-Nazi sentiment (which, of course,
made it politically suspect). Eventually, through the Asthma Club, even
one of the world's leading, albeit largely apolitical, Marxists
(Groucho) could channel donations to the Popular Front.

That the Communist Party in Hollywood was largely a "social agency," as
the authors call it, was what helped make the McCarthy-era hearings and
HUAC roundups so wide-ranging and terrifying, even if, after the
Hitler-Stalin Pact, the LA branch of the party "had died...but simply
not known it," as the exiled Carl Foreman (High Noon) put it. How
such screenwriters, who are Buhle and Wagner's principal subjects,
maintained their political principles while clawing their way up the
studio ladders is something left amorphous. Lardner, ever aware of the
contradictions in being a high-priced proletarian, said in his
autobiography I'd Hate Myself in the Morning (his famous response
to J. Parnell Thomas about why he wouldn't name names) that he picketed
Warner Bros. when Mussolini's son came calling, and told David O.
Selznick not to make Gone With the Wind because it was pro-Klan.
But he was an artist, too, a hungry one, and a man who knew the siren
song of fame and fortune never quite harmonized with "The
Internationale."

The authors exhibit a weakness for locating leftist content and
associations where they need to and and shoehorning certain movies into
their theses (their view of Universal's horror catalogue as anti-Wall
Street seems particularly windy). But by the time Radical
Hollywood
gets to the era of film noir--which they call "arguably
the only fully realized American 'art film' genre"--it feels as if the
rest of the book has been prologue. Clearly, the authors know and love
the period and what it did to American cinema in the aftermath of World
War II--countering the forced fairy tale of Hollywood with a new, frank,
sexually liberated, sexually sophisticated, sexually metaphorical take
on the dark view of postwar, postnuclear existence (although, strangely,
Radical Hollywood never analyzes noir via the A-bomb, despite the
celebrated apocalyptic imagery of such genre classics as Robert
Aldrich's Kiss Me Deadly). That noir also refashioned the
traditional portrayals of the sexes--at a time when, the authors point
out, the country's postwar recovery and strength were being
propagandized as dependent on the American male and his renewed sense of
self--made it one of the most important cultural developments of the
twentieth century, if not the nation's entire cultural history. No
wonder it fell victim to the strangling effects of creeping McCarthyism.

Radical Hollywood, whether or not it's "the untold story behind
America's favorite movies," certainly puts a new spin on those films,
especially for those already familiar with them--readers who,
unfortunately, will be those most distracted by the authors' rather
habitual way with the errant fact. Some are trivial: Edward G. Robinson
didn't say "Mother of God..." at the end of Little Caesar; he
said "Mother of Mercy," as any schoolchild knows (any schoolchild,
granted, with an unnatural obsession with movies). William Randolph
Hearst may have "attributed the 'subversive' label to anything that
smacked of egalitarian liberalism," but he didn't do it in the pages of
the Los Angeles Times, because he never owned the Los Angeles
Times
. In assessing the populist perspective of Destry Rides
Again
, Buhle and Wagner seem oblivious to the fact that James
Stewart's character is the son of the more famous Destry. The
famously Hungarian-born director Michael Curtiz (director of the
leftist-written Casablanca, among many others) is identified at
one point as a "German refugee." John Wayne's "first major screen role"
wasn't in 1938's Pals of the Saddle, but Raoul Walsh's 1930
The Big Trail. Warner Bros.' "self-serving prologue" at the
beginning of The Public Enemy may have been self-serving--it
mentions the social impact of the studio's own PE and Little
Caesar
while omitting UA's Scarface--but it wasn't on the
original 1931 print; it was added for a re-release several years later.

Jean Renoir's The Southerner marked William Faulkner's "only
notable screenplay contribution"? How about The Big Sleep?
Mildred Pierce? And let's not forget To Have and Have Not,
in which he rewrote Hemingway, by all reports to their mutual delight.
And Katharine Hepburn didn't lose the "box-office poison" appellation
after Holiday but after The Philadelphia Story, whose film
rights she bought because she knew it would remake her career.

But let's imagine this litany of errors is itself a metaphor for the
intrinsic unreality of the left in Hollywood. It's a subject that Buhle
and Wagner have attacked with energy and all the right intentions; the
reader may wish that he or she were given a bit more reason to stick
with the book through its thicker moments, but there's no denying the
authors' enthusiasm, erudition and engaging way of summarizing plot
lines and associations. Still, it's a weird tale they're telling. As
they relate early on, Polonsky recounted in his later years that one of
the oft-discussed issues among the Hollywood left wing was what, in
fact, they were all doing there. Should they be in Hollywood, making pap
and trying to inject it with a social conscience? Or secede from the
union and create film art independently? As Polonsky put it, the answer
was simple: "Filmmaking in the major studios is the prime way that film
art exists." And so it was. And is. And unfortunately--thanks to an
American indie movement that has lost its lure for youth, a dissipated
market for the once-hip foreign film and a general tendency toward
divorce between American art and American politics--so it is likely to
remain.

Women are a driving force behind reform in the Catholic Church.

One bubble burst, then another and another. Enron, Global Crossing,
WorldCom. The rectitude of auditors--pop. Faith in corporate CEOs and
stock market analysts--pop, pop. The self-righteous prestige of
Citigroup and J.P. Morgan Chase--pop and pop again. The largest bubble
is the stock market's, and it may not yet be fully deflated. These
dizzying events are not an occasion for champagne music because the
bursting bubbles have cast millions of Americans into deep personal
losses, destroyed trillions of dollars in capital, especially retirement
savings, and littered the economic landscape with corporate wreckage.
Ex-drinker George W. Bush explained that a "binge" is always followed by
the inevitable "hangover." What he did not say is that the "binge" that
has just ended with so much pain for the country was the conservative
binge.

Economic liberalism prevailed from the New Deal forward but broke down
in the late 1960s when it was unable to resolve doctrinal failures
including an inability to confront persistent inflation. Now market
orthodoxy is coming apart as a result of its own distinctive failures.
It can neither explain the economic disorders before us nor remedy them
because, in fact, its doctrine of reckless laissez-faire produced them.
The bursting bubbles are not accidents or the work of a few
larceny-prone executives. They are the consequence of everything the
conservative ascendancy sought to achieve--the savagery and injustice of
unregulated markets, the blind willfulness of unaccountable
corporations.

We will be a long time getting over the conservative "hangover." It may
even take some years before politicians and policy thinkers grasp that
the old order is fallen. But this season marks a dramatic starting point
for thinking anew. Left-liberal progressives have been pinned down in
rearguard defensive actions for nearly thirty years, but now they have
to learn how to play offense again. Though still marginalized and
ignored, progressives will determine how fast the governing ethos can be
changed, because the pace will be set largely by the strength of their
ideas, their strategic shrewdness and, above all, the depth of their
convictions. That may sound fanciful to perennial pessimists, but if you
look back at the rise of the conservative orthodoxy, it was not driven
by mainstream conservatives or the Republican Party but by those
dedicated right-wingers who knew what they believed and believed, most
improbably, that their ideas would prevail.

The new agenda falls roughly into three parts, and the first might be
described as "restoring the New Deal." That is, the first round of
necessary reforms, like the Sarbanes bill already enacted, must
basically restore principles and economic assurances that Americans used
to enjoy--the protections inherited from the liberal era that were
destroyed or severely damaged by right-wing deregulation and corporate
corruption of government. Pension funds, for instance, lost horrendously
in the stock market collapse and face a potentially explosive crisis
because corporate managers gamed the pension savings to inflate company
profits. Employees of all kinds deserve a supervisory voice in managing
this wealth, but Congress should also ask why corporations are allowed
such privileged control over other people's money. Broader reform will
confront the disgraceful fact that only half the work force has any
pension at all beyond Social Security and set out to create tax
incentives and penalties to change this.

Another major reconstruction is needed in antitrust law, to restore and
modernize the legal doctrine systematically gutted by the Reagan era
(and only marginally repaired under Clinton). The financial debacle
includes scores of companies concocted by endless mergers that pumped up
the stock price but added no real economic value. Others sought to build
the dominance of oligopoly and have succeeded across many sectors.
Spectacular failures include AOL Time Warner and the airline industry.
Skepticism of unlimited bigness needs to be renewed and should start
with the banking industry--reining in those conflicted conglomerates,
like Citigroup and J.P. Morgan Chase, created with repeal of the New
Deal's wise separation of commercial and investment banking.

New Dealers got a lot of things right, but the second dimension of new
progressive thinking requires a recognition that returning to the New
Deal framework is essentially a retrograde option (and not only because
the country is a different place now). Liberals ought to ask why so many
New Deal reforms proved to be quite perishable or why some of its
greatest triumphs, like the law establishing the rights of working
people to organize, have been perverted into obstacles for the very
people supposedly protected. In short, this new era requires
self-scrutiny and the willingness to ask big, radical, seemingly
impossible questions about how to confront enduring social discontents
and economic injustice.

Who really owns the corporation (clearly it's not the shareholders), and
how might corporations be reorganized to reduce the social injuries? Is
the government itself implicated in fostering, through subsidy and
tax-code favoritism, the very corporate antisocial behavior its
regulations are supposed to prevent? Congress, aroused by scandal, is
considering penalizing those companies that moved to Caribbean tax
havens yet still enjoy US privileges and protection. That's a good
starting point for rethinking the nature of government's corporatized
indulgences (old habits first formed in the New Deal) and perhaps
turning them into leverage for public objectives. To explore this new
terrain, we need lots of earnest inquiry, noisy debate and re-education
by a reinvigorated labor movement, environmental and social reformers
and ordinary citizens who yearn for serious politics, significant
change.

A third dimension for new thinking is the economic order itself. During
the past two decades, a profound inversion has occurred in the governing
values of US economic life and, in turn, captured politics and elite
discourse--the triumph of finance over the real economy. In the natural
order of capitalism, the financial system is supposed to serve the
economy of production--goods and services, jobs and incomes--but the
narrow values of Wall Street have become the master. The Federal Reserve
and other governing institutions are implicated, but so are the media
and other institutions of society.

The political system is, of course, not ready to consider any of these
or other big matters. One of the first chores is to bang on the
Democratic Party, which, despite some advances, has expressed its fealty
to corporate money by clearing the fast-track trade bill and bankers'
bankruptcy bill for passage. This amounts to selling out principle and
loyal constituencies before the election, instead of afterward. Of
course the politicians are hostile--what else is new?--but now it's the
left that can say, They just don't get it.

Reversing the nation's deformed priorities will be a hard struggle but
has renewed promise now that the stock market bubble and other New
Economy delusions have been demolished. People do not live and work in
order to buy stocks. People exist in complex webs of relationships with
family, work, community and many other rewarding adventures and
obligations. The larger purpose of the economic order, including Wall
Street, is to support the material conditions for human existence, not
to undermine and destabilize them. If that observation sounds quaint,
it's what most Americans, regardless of ideology, happen to believe. If
our progressive objectives are deeply aligned with what people truly
seek and need in their lives, the ideas will prevail.

The American Constitution at the very beginning of the Republic sought
above all to guard the country against reckless, ill-considered recourse
to war. It required a declaration of war by the legislative branch, and
gave Congress the power over appropriations even during wartime. Such
caution existed before the great effort of the twentieth century to
erect stronger barriers to war by way of international law and public
morality, and to make this resistance to war the central feature of the
United Nations charter. Consistent with this undertaking, German and
Japanese leaders who engaged in aggressive war were punished after World
War II as war criminals. The most prominent Americans at the time
declared their support for such a framework of restraint as applicable
in the future to all states, not just to the losers in a war. We all
realize that the effort to avoid war has been far from successful, but
it remains a goal widely shared by the peoples of the world and still
endorsed by every government on the planet.

And yet, here we are, poised on the slippery precipice of a pre-emptive
war, without even the benefit of meaningful public debate. The
constitutional crisis is so deep that it is not even noticed. The
unilateralism of the Bush White House is an affront to the rest of the
world, which is unanimously opposed to such an action. The Democratic
Party, even in its role as loyal opposition, should be doing its utmost
to raise the difficult questions. Instead, the Senate Foreign Relations
Committee, under the chairmanship of Democratic Senator Biden, organized
two days of hearings, notable for the absence of critical voices. Such
hearings are worse than nothing, creating a forum for advocates of war,
fostering the illusion that no sensible dissent exists and thus serving
mainly to raise the war fever a degree or two. How different might the
impact of such hearings be if respected and informed critics of a
pre-emptive war, such as Hans von Sponeck and Denis Halliday, both
former UN coordinators of humanitarian assistance to Iraq who resigned
in protest a few years back, were given the opportunity to appear before
the senators. The media, too, have failed miserably in presenting to the
American people the downside of war with Iraq. And the citizenry has
been content to follow the White House on the warpath without demanding
to know why the lives of young Americans should be put at risk, much
less why the United States should go to war against a distant foreign
country that has never attacked us and whose people have endured the
most punishing sanctions in all of history for more than a decade.

This is not just a procedural demand that we respect the Constitution as
we decide upon recourse to war--the most serious decision any society
can make, not only for itself but for its adversary. It is also, in this
instance, a substantive matter of the greatest weight. The United States
is without doubt the world leader at this point, and its behavior with
respect to war and law is likely to cast a long shadow across the
future. To go legitimately to war in the world that currently exists can
be based on three types of considerations: international law
(self-defense as set forth in Article 51 backed by a UN mandate, as in
the Gulf War), international morality (humanitarian intervention to
prevent genocide or ethnic cleansing) and necessity (the survival and
fundamental interests of a state are genuinely threatened and not really
covered by international law, as arguably was the case in the war in
Afghanistan).

With respect to Iraq, there is no pretense that international law
supports such a war and little claim that the brutality of the Iraqi
regime creates a foundation for humanitarian intervention. The
Administration's argument for war rests on the necessity argument, the
alleged risk posed by Iraqi acquisition of weapons of mass destruction,
and the prospect that such weapons would be made available to Al Qaeda
for future use against the United States. Such a risk, to the scant
extent that it exists, can be addressed much more successfully by
relying on deterrence and containment (which worked against the far more
menacing Soviet Union for decades) than by aggressive warmaking. All the
evidence going back to the Iran/Iraq War and the Gulf War shows that
Saddam Hussein responds to pressure and threat and is not inclined to
risk self-destruction. Indeed, if America attacks and if Iraq truly
possesses weapons of mass destruction, the feared risks are likely to
materialize as Iraq and Saddam confront defeat and humiliation, and have
little left to lose.

A real public debate is needed not only to revitalize representative
democracy but to head off an unnecessary war likely to bring widespread
death and destruction as well as heighten regional dangers of economic
and political instability, encourage future anti-American terrorism and
give rise to a US isolationism that this time is not of its own
choosing!

We must ask why the open American system is so closed in this instance.
How can we explain this unsavory rush to judgment, when so many lives
are at stake? What is now wrong with our system, with the vigilance of
our citizenry, that such a course of action can be embarked upon without
even evoking criticism in high places, much less mass opposition in the
streets?

I don't know if it's some childhood image left over from Victory at
Sea
or from a book of pictures my uncle brought back from the
service, but when I think about the war in the Pacific, I see pink
cumulus clouds piled high, one upon another, on the decks of aircraft
carriers. It's not the iconic image of violent battle that usually represents the war, but my imagination seems to be
telling me that the iconic images aren't the whole story, that serenity
and beauty coexisted alongside the bloodshed and were a large part of
the day-to-day reality of the war.

It's for similar reasons that I think the nitty-gritty details of life
near Ground Zero as presented in one of the first theatrical responses
to 9/11, comic monologist Reno's Rebel Without a Pause, appeal to
me so. They provide relief from the media's iconic packaging, which has
been beamed at us ever since the attack on the Trade Towers and the
(rarely mentioned) Pentagon attack.

With a deluge of energy, Reno, who lived near the towers from 1981,
relates what it was like in lower Manhattan "that gorgeous day." She
recreates the clicking sound, like the noise an old machine gun would
make, that was the sound of the floors collapsing into one another. She
exhibits dismay at the total absence of Conelrad and the Emergency
Defense System. ("Maybe this wasn't enough of an emergency.") She
tells a story about finding her ATM emptied out at 9 am and the bank
refusing to open its doors so customers could get their money.

But mostly it's the human reactions to catastrophe that are so
wonderful, so wildly hilarious. The rumors that the terrorists are holed
up with machetes in a macrobiotic restaurant on Prince Street; people
rushing home to have their televisions validate what they'd just seen
with their own eyes; and what Reno calls the "hierarchical bragging
rights of pain and knowledge"--New Yorkers one-upping each other over
what they knew and what they'd suffered.

Reno's warnings about changes in constitutional protections make for a
very disturbing second half of her monologue, though she herself doesn't
seem to fear the new spy agency powers: She gives voice to her every
political thought, no matter how out there it is. She points out how
cheaply reporters have been won over by chummy Don Rumsfeld, and she
contemplates Henry Kissinger being arrested for war crimes. Reno even
suggests that Florida be allowed to float down to Uruguay, "where all
the other fascists are."

She also reveals some interesting facts, like ones you find in this
magazine but not in the major media. For instance, Hamid Karzai, the new
president of Afghanistan, used to work for Unocal. And this from Frank
Lindh, who saw the show the night before I did: FBI agents treated his
son kindly because even they knew "he was a hapless kid."

After a while, I began feeling the tingle of what I hope was just my own
paranoia (although as I learned the last time--when Watergate lanced the
Nixonian pustule--paranoia can be a very accurate predictor of reality).
Reno talks about what is being done to our civil liberties in the
context of Christian fundamentalist influence on this Administration. At
342 pages, the USA Patriot Act, she suggests, wasn't written in the days
after 9/11, and the Padilla case has clearly crossed the line of
innocent until proven guilty. She builds a picture of how really
extremist the Bush people are and how far to the right the President has
taken the country. So far, in fact, that Colin Powell is the "Communist
of this Administration."

Such points may be made with laughter, but Reno brings a fierceness to
her criticisms and an urgency to her concerns about the current
Administration that we are only beginning to see in the big world, and
then over financial wheeler-dealering and privilege, not civil liberties
and constitutional guarantees.

You will walk away from Reno with a clear sense that the changes aren't
minor, and they won't fall only on bad guys and enemies. It's a real
turning point: Democracy is up for grabs.

The San Francisco Mime Troupe's free summer show, Mr. Smith Goes to
Obscuristan
, likewise treats the aftermath of 9/11. In it,
Condoleezza Rice (Velina Brown) and Dick Cheney (Cheney lookalike Ed
Holmes) seek to sell the Bush presidency as an Administration that cares
about democracy, not profits, and so devise a plan to send 9/11
firefighter Jeff Smith (the always wonderful Michael Gene Sullivan) to
oversee the first free election in the Central Asian, formerly Soviet,
republic of Obscuristan. The winner of this contest is certain to be
warlord and privatizer Automaht Regurgitov (Victor Toman), since he is
the only candidate. That is, until the oppositionist Ralif Nadir (Amos
Glick) throws his hat into the ring, arguing that "people should vote
their hearts, not their fears." (Of course, had one or two percent of
Florida's Nader voters forsworn that advice, the Mime Troupe wouldn't
have a Bush Administration to satirize.)

(Or would they?)

Smith, who has been kept ignorant by outfits like SNN, the Selective
News Network, believes America wants freedom for everyone. He is,
however, disillusioned when it becomes clear that there is oil in
Obscuristan and that the Administration's real interest is that
Regurgitov win, since he will insure the atmosphere necessary for US
investment. Smith then sets out to prove that the ordinary American
doesn't want to screw Obscuristan over, and by the end of the day
rescues Nadir, who was kidnapped and branded a terrorist. He also helps
bring an SNN reporter and the US ambassador over to the side of a fair
shake for Obscuristan.

The Mime Troupe hits many of the right points: that energy sources are a
major factor in our involvement in Central Asia, for instance, and that
much of the weaponry in the area was originally supplied by the CIA. And
they raise questions about just how free our own elections are. Given
that, I was left pondering why Mr. Smith seemed so tepid and not
particularly funny compared with Rebel Without a Pause. It's
doubly strange given that the Mime Troupe brought in the usually very
funny monologist, independent filmmaker and former Nation intern
Josh Kornbluth (Red Diaper Baby and Haiku Tunnel) to help
write the script.

The difference is, I think, that Reno articulates things you hadn't
thought about, or says things you may have thought a lot about, but in
ways that create the old shock of recognition. As when she says, "The
people of Missouri were so worried about Ashcroft making decisions, they
voted for the dead guy."

There are moments like that in Mr. Smith. Barbara Bush (Ed Holmes
again, this time in a gray wig and pearls) explains the rules of the oil
game to George W., and the whole facade of her Betty Crockerdom smacks
right up against her tough capitalist intelligence. This is a Barbara
Bush who says, "Never send a member of the working class to do an
aristocrat's job." But such moments are rare. For the most part, the
Mime Troupe's most incisive statements, such as "Only an American would
confuse a fixed election with a real one" or "Welcome to democratic
nations like Saudi Arabia who protect human rights," simply restate our
perceptions or are so bitterly ironic that a lot of the laughter I heard
was sniggering.

Given that the source of the satire is Capra's populist classic, Mr.
Smith Goes to Washington
, I think the Mime Troupe missed a real
opportunity to have us question ourselves by asking, Who is Mr. Smith
and what is he about? In the mythos of Mime Troupe plays, the ordinary
American is decent and fair, and in every respect there's a lot of
daylight between him and the ruling class, and therefore between us and
what our government does in our name. The Mime Troupe believes that like
Jeff Smith, the ordinary American has been kept in ignorance by the
media, and that if he only knew what was really going on, he would rise
up and change things.

That conveniently ignores the fact that ordinary Americans are of many
minds, and that many of us do understand that our comfort is based on
the deprivation (and worse) of people in other parts of the world. So
then, you have to ask whether we feel we can't do anything about it or
whether we don't want to. How much is the ordinary American willing to
give up to see people elsewhere get a larger slice of the pie?

And what is the usefulness of a mythos of unquestioned fairness and
decency, and in this play, as in other Mime Troupe efforts, of a sellout
who regains her soul and of a decisive victory over the people's
enemies? It's positive, but does it send us out of the park feeling
hopeful and intent on action? Or do we feel that a lot of what we
witnessed was too simple and fantastic?

The appeal in Mr. Smith is ultimately to idealism, to looking out
for the other guy and doing the right thing. Reno, on the other hand,
talks about self-interest: that we are losing our rights and that some
of us were slaughtered. "The [US] government," she says, "created the
mujahedeen that came to my town and killed us." That seems a much
stronger motive for action.

Mr. Smith Goes to Obscuristan will be performed through Labor Day
in various Northern California locales (415-285-1717 or www.sfmt.org).
Rebel Without a Pause played a week at the Brava Theater Center
in San Francisco in June and went on to an extended run at the Lion
Theater on 42nd Street in New York City.

Who says the good guys never win? California's new global warming law is
a bona fide big deal. Signed into law by Governor Gray Davis on July 22,
the global warming bill requires that the greenhouse gas emissions of
all passenger vehicles sold in the state be reduced to the "maximum"
economically feasible extent starting in model year 2009. It doesn't ban
sport utility vehicles, but it does the next best thing: It forces
automakers to design them as efficiently as possible. Hybrids and
hydrogen, here we come!

If the bill survives a promised legal challenge from the auto industry,
it will rank as the most significant official action against global
warming yet taken in the United States. It also ranks as the biggest
environmental victory of any sort scored during George W. Bush's
presidency. What's more, the behind-the-scenes story of the bill offers
valuable lessons for how environmentalists and progressives in general
can win more such victories in the future.

§ Lesson 1: Pick a target that matters. "Once the election
was decided and Bush and [Chief of Staff] Andrew Card were in the White
House, it was clear Washington was a dead end for progress on auto fuel
efficiency or global warming," says Russell Long, executive director of
the Bluewater Network, which initiated the California bill. "But
California is the fifth-biggest economy in the world." California is
also the single most important automotive market. It not only accounts
for 10 percent of all US new-auto sales, it has historically led the
nation in auto regulation. Unleaded gasoline, catalytic converters,
hybrid cars--all appeared first in the Golden State.

How so? In 1967 California's air quality was so noxious it was granted
the right to set its own air standards; other states have had the option
to choose California's (tougher) standards or the federal government's.
In short, change the law in California and you can tip the entire
national market. "You can't make one car for California and another car
for Washington, DC," explains Eron Shosteck, a spokesman for the
Alliance of Automobile Manufacturers. Since transportation accounts for
33 percent of America's greenhouse gas emissions, the ultimate impact of
California's example could be huge.

§ Lesson 2: Embrace radical ends but flexible means.
Corporate lobbyists love to portray all environmental regulations as a
"command and control" form of economic dictatorship, as in the old
Soviet Union. That's a canard, of course, but the authors of the
California bill defanged that argument by omitting any specific
directions for how automakers are to achieve these unprecedented
greenhouse gas reductions. The bill empowers the California Air
Resources Board to decide what is feasible (by 2005, subject to the
legislature's review), but it explicitly prohibits such political
nonstarters as banning SUVs or raising gas or vehicle taxes. How to get
there from here will be left to the auto industry's engineers.

§ Lesson 3: Unite grassroots pressure with insider muscle and
celebrity clout.
This part was tricky. Early backers of the bill
included the Bluewater Network and the Coalition for Clean Air, but
support from the larger national environmental groups only came later.
"They saw this bill as too extreme for their agenda, and they had other
things on their plate," said one legislative aide in Sacramento who
insisted on anonymity. "But once they saw it had traction, they got on
board and helped a lot." That traction came from dogged lobbying by the
bill's sponsor, freshman Assemblywoman Fran Pavley. A Democrat and
longtime activist from the Los Angeles area, Pavley apparently didn't
care that the bill was a long shot. Her aide Anne Baker says, "I've
worked in Sacramento a long time. If we hadn't had an outside group and
a freshman member, this [bill] probably wouldn't have been tried in the
first place."

What the Sierra Club and the Natural Resources Defense Council
eventually brought to the fight was lobbying experience, vast membership
rolls and contacts with luminaries like Robert Redford and John McCain,
who telephoned wavering legislators at crucial moments. "The Latino
caucus also was a strong supporter," recalls NRDC lobbyist Ann Notthoff.
"We have cooperated with them on toxics and air pollution issues before,
and that gave us credibility on this issue."

§ Lesson 4: Remember, the bad guys make mistakes too. In the
end, the bill passed the Assembly without a single vote to spare, and
only because the industry overplayed its hand with a wildly misleading
million-dollar-plus advertising blitz. "They didn't think they could
lose," explains V. John White, a consultant who lobbies for the Sierra
Club. "We ended up splitting the business caucus, largely because the
auto industry was so shrill and arrogant. They wouldn't negotiate,
wouldn't compromise--they were just against the bill. So that left
members with a simple choice between the industry and us." Since polls
showed that 81 percent of Californians favored the bill, even
traditionally probusiness members felt safe bucking the auto industry.
It also didn't hurt that the bill was backed by a wide range of groups,
from city governments and water agencies to church leaders and Silicon
Valley entrepreneurs.

What's next? The automakers will sue, claiming that federal
fuel-efficiency law pre-empts the California measure. But that's the
lawyers. In their design and marketing departments most companies are
already accelerating their pursuit of green technologies. Thanks to
California, the writing is on the wall.

With the drumbeat for war on Iraq growing louder in Washington by the
day, the latest United States-backed Iraqi opposition group--the Iraqi
Military Alliance--was established with great fanfare in London in
mid-July by some eighty former Iraqi officers. If this was an attempt at
priming the Iraqi opposition pump as a prelude to overthrowing the
regime of Saddam Hussein, holding a much-hyped press conference seemed
an odd way to proceed.

An incisive comment came from an independent-minded Iraqi lawyer. "The
American policy-makers believe that if you scare Saddam and threaten
him, he will yield," he said. "They think this high profile meeting in
London will ruffle his feathers. Also, it gives a military dimension to
the predominantly civilian Iraqi National Congress." But Saddam does not
scare so easily. In his televised address to the nation on July 17, he
asserted that "evil tyrants and oppressors" would not be able to
overthrow him and his regime. "You will never defeat me this time," he
declared.

Behind this bravado lies Iraq's well-tailored policy of reconciliation
with its neighbors, which its foreign minister, Naji Sabri, has been
following doggedly for the past several months. A Christian and former
professor of English literature at Baghdad University, the smooth and
sophisticated Sabri started the year with a groundbreaking trip to
Teheran to resolve the prisoners-of-war exchange issue with Iran. The
following month he flew to Ankara, where he expressed flexibility on
renewed UN inspections. At the Arab summit in Beirut in March, Iraq
recognized Kuwait's border and promised to discuss the issue of Kuwaiti
POWs. "We have instructed our media to avoid any references which may
annoy the State of Kuwait," said Sabri after the summit. Since then he
has sought the assistance of his Qatari and Omani counterparts to
improve Baghdad's relations with Kuwait.

The strategy seems to be paying off. Sheikh Jaber Mubarak al Sabah, the
Kuwaiti defense minister, said in late July that his country would
approve a US attack on Iraq only if it is done under the auspices of the
United Nations. "Kuwait does not support threats to strike or launch an
attack against Iraq." Baghdad's relations with Saudi Arabia have
improved, too. Riyadh has reopened its border with Iraq at Arar, and
Saudi companies are doing business in Iraq within the framework of the
UN oil-for-food scheme. The desert kingdom has refused to allow the
Pentagon use of the Prince Sultan air base at Al Kharj in case of war
against Iraq.

Hence the US pressure on Jordan to allow its air bases to be used
instead--a prospect that sent a tearful King Abdullah rushing to a
European leader to complain about the US plan to attack Iraq from his
kingdom at a time when Arab frustration with the stalemate on the
Israeli-Palestinian front is rising by the day. (That was before
Israel's widely condemned dropping of a one-ton bomb in Gaza, killing
fifteen and injuring 160.)

King Abdullah's European interlocutor was certainly sympathetic to the
monarch's plight. All the European countries except Britain are urging
Washington to construct a coalition for Israeli-Palestinian peacemaking,
not for warmaking in Iraq. In this effort they have the backing of
Turkey, a neighbor of Iraq and a NATO member that allows the use of its
Incirlik air base by US and British warplanes monitoring the northern
Iraqi no-fly zone.

In his July 21 interview on state television, Turkish Prime Minister
Bulent Ecevit said the United States should consider alternatives to
military action against Baghdad. "There are other measures to deter the
Iraqi regime from being a threat to the region," he said. "Iraq is...so
developed technologically and economically despite the embargo that it
cannot be compared to Afghanistan or Vietnam." What is more, Ecevit
warned that it would not be possible for America to "get out easily"
from Iraq. Such a prospect was outlined by Sir Peter de la Billiere, who
commanded the British troops in the 1991 Gulf War. Discussing the
prospect of US, British and French troops capturing Baghdad, he wrote in
his Storm Command: A Personal Account of the Gulf War, "Saddam
Hussein...would have slipped away into the desert and organized a
guerrilla movement.... We would then have found ourselves with the task
of trying to run a country shattered by war, which at the best of times
is deeply split into factions.... Either we would have to set up a
puppet government or withdraw ignominiously without a proper regime in
power."

Little wonder that among the questions European and Turkish leaders are
asking the Bush Administration now is: Is America willing to stay in
Iraq for ten years to safeguard the post-Saddam regime from
subversion--and possibly an attack--by an alliance of Iran and Syria,
which have been strategic allies since 1980?

On July 23 Iran's President, Muhammad Khatami, declared that Washington
did not have the right to choose the leadership for the Iraqi people.
Noting that war against Iraq was being promoted in Washington on an
unprecedented scale, he warned that military action against Iraq by the
Pentagon could seriously threaten regional stability. Iranian leaders
reckon that once the Bush Administration has overthrown Saddam, it will
target Iran for regime change--fears fueled by its late-July
announcement that it is officially ending its policy of "playing
factions" in Iran in favor of direct appeals to the Iranian people.
Meanwhile, a bipartisan group of lawmakers in Congress called for a
resolution in favor of regime change in Iran. Mainstream Iranian
politicians would rather forge an alliance with Baghdad now than wait
for the ax to fall on them in the post-Saddam period.

US war plans clearly pose numerous dangers to the region. But whether
that will deter the hawks in Washington from pressing home their
strategy of ousting Saddam by force remains to be seen.

Concerning the impending or perhaps imminent intervention in Iraq, we now inhabit a peculiar limbo, where the military options are known while the political and moral options are not.

ELITE ONLY NEED APPLY

The story made the front page of the New York Times and other
papers. The director of admissions at Princeton was caught sneaking into
a special website set up to let Yale applicants know whether they'd been
accepted. Although the Princeton official's motives were not revealed,
the break-in was thought to be an academic Watergate, an illicit attempt
to filch information on what the competition was up to. It touched off
furrowed-brow effusions on "heightened craziness about admissions
decisions" and "frantic" competitiveness. The fuss about two elite Ivy
League colleges drew national press, but another story on higher
education was far more disturbing to those who care about democracy in
America. This was a report issued by the Advisory Committee on Student
Financial Assistance, which found that nearly 170,000 high school
graduates who were the brightest in their classes would have to forgo
college next fall because they can't afford rising tuitions and fees. A
major reason they can't is a lack of adequate financial aid because of
stagnation or cutbacks in need-based state aid programs and federal Pell
grants.

FRIENDS OF BOSCH

Jane Franklin writes: Governor Jeb Bush has appointed an open
supporter of terrorism to the Florida Supreme Court. His choice, Raoul
Cantero III, is a right-wing Cuban-American of impeccable
lineage--grandson of dictator Fulgencio Batista and son of an
intelligence officer in Batista's Bureau for the Repression of Communist
Activities. Not that he should be judged by his father and grandfather;
rather, his own record shows he continues to support terrorism against
the Cuban people. This was evident in the way he allied himself with
Orlando Bosch, a notorious anti-Castro terrorist, who was cited in FBI
and CIA reports for his "willingness to cause indiscriminate injury and
death," including thirty acts of sabotage here and in Cuba, Puerto Rico
and Panama from 1961 through 1968. He was charged with the 1976 bombing
of a Cuban passenger jet that exploded in midair, killing seventy-three
people. In 1989 he was ordered deported, but George Bush Sr. endorsed a
campaign to reverse the order, and Bosch was soon out on the streets of
Miami. Cantero III was one of Bosch's lawyers and a prominent defender
of his actions. The St. Petersburg Times found a radio-show tape
on which he calls Bosch a "Cuban patriot" and describes one of Bosch's
capers--firing a bazooka at a Polish ship docked in Miami--as a
"political statement" that "didn't hurt anybody and it didn't cause any
damage." Is Cantero going to condone terrorist acts of Bosch and others
who come before him? And are the Democratic candidates currently vying
to run against Jeb Bush in the gubernatorial election going to ask the
Governor about his own prominent role in the campaign to free Bosch?

BIG PHARMA GREASES PALMS

Ouch!, a bulletin (www.ouch.org) issued by Public Campaign, the
finance reform group, notes that George W. Bush ostentatiously thanked
Robert Ingram for his fine work chairing a fundraising dinner that
garnered $30 million for the Republican Congressional Committee.
Ouch! further notes that Ingram is CEO of GlaxoSmithKline, which
markets Lanoxin, a drug widely used by seniors to avert congestive heart
failure. Lanoxin's price has risen 58.1 percent since 1997, or almost
five times the rate of inflation. The rising cost of drugs is the reason
a prescription drug benefit should be added to Medicare, yet the Bush
Administration opposes such legislation. So do Glaxo and the other big
pharmaceutical companies, and they've contributed $11.3 million to the
2002 election--three-fourths of that to the Republicans--to make sure it
doesn't happen. Follow the $$$.

PEACENIK ADDRESS CORRECTION

The correct web address for Brit Tzedek v'Shalom (Jewish Alliance for
Justice and Peace) is www.brittzedek.org.

THE YEARS WITH HITCH

Twenty years ago this month there appeared in this magazine a column called "Minority Report," by Christopher Hitchens. At that time
our stable of columnists numbered exactly one--Calvin Trillin. Already a
frequent Nation contributor from Britain, Christopher moved to
the United States and, after a short stint in New York, settled in Washington to launch his new column.
Salud, comrade!--valued contributor and burr under the nation's
(and The Nation's) saddle.

CAMP WO-CHI-CA

New York lefties of a certain age may remember Camp Wo-Chi-Ca, a
progressive, interracial children's camp in New Jersey from 1935
through 1954. Some may even have enjoyed a summer there and listened to
Claude McKay read poems or danced with Pearl Primus or heard Paul
Robeson boom out "Shenandoah." In the fifties, McCarthyite thugs
attacked the camp as communistic. Now June Levine and Gene Gordon have
written a history of Camp Wo-Chi-Ca (stands for Workers Children's Camp), which
is a delight (e-mail wochica@msn.com for info).

NEWS OF THE WEAK IN REVIEW

While the market was seriously tanking, Treasury Secretary O'Neill was
tracked down in Kyrgyzstan. Asked why he wasn't at his post in
Washington, O'Neill said, "I'm constantly amazed that anybody cares what
I do."

If Canadian writer Yann Martel were a preacher, he'd be charismatic,
funny and convert all the nonbelievers. He baits his readers with
serious themes and trawls them through a sea of questions and confusion,
but he makes one laugh so much, and at times feel so awed and chilled,
that even thrashing around in bewilderment or disagreement one can't
help but be captured by his prose.

That's largely why I took such pleasure in Life of Pi, Martel's
wonderful second novel, which playfully reworks the ancient sea voyage,
castaway themes of classics like Defoe's Robinson Crusoe, Swift's
Gulliver's Travels, Coleridge's The Rime of the Ancient
Mariner
, Melville's Moby-Dick and (in some of its more
fantastical aspects) Homer's The Odyssey, to explore the role of
religion in a highly physical world. What's more, it's a religious book
that makes sense to a nonreligious person. Although its themes are
serious and there are moments of awful graphic violence and bleak
despair, it is above all a book about life's absurdities that makes one
laugh out loud on almost every page, with its quirky juxtapositions,
comparisons, metaphors, Borgesian puzzles, postmodern games and a sense
of fun that reflects the hero's sensual enjoyment of the world. Although
Martel pays tribute to the past by using the typical castaway format
(episodic narrative, focus on details of survival, moments of shocking
violence and reflections on God and nature), his voice, and the fact
that his work is more fantastic, more scientifically sound and funnier
than that of his predecessors, infuses the genre with brilliant new
life. If this century produces a classic work of survival literature,
Martel's novel is surely a contender.

Life of Pi is the unlikely story of a 16-year-old Indian boy, Pi
Patel, adrift in a boat with a hungry tiger after the ship carrying his
zookeeper father, mother, brother and many animals sinks in the middle
of their journey from India to Canada. (It's the mid-1970s and Pi's
father decides to emigrate after Prime Minister Indira Gandhi starts
jailing her enemies and suspending civil liberties.) Pi is at once a
Hindu, Christian and Muslim (echoes of the pacific Mahatma Gandhi here)
who believes that all religions are about "love." But having grown up
among animals, he's also practical and grounded. Early in the book, his
three religious teachers meet, and Pi gets his "introduction to
interfaith dialogue," a big argument that ends only when he is asked for
his opinion. He quotes Gandhi, "All religions are true," adding, "I just
want to love God," which floors them all. Then he goes out with his
parents for ice cream. Most of the rest of the book is a challenge to
Pi's simple faith, as this sweet yet unsentimental hero experiences a
situation where, it would seem, survival is everything. Aside from the
detailed descriptions of hands-on survival techniques that almost rival
Ishmael's whaling lore in Moby-Dick, the book poses the
questions: Can faith survive in the face of doubt and suffering? Can the
love of God and one's fellows remain pure in an angry, violent world?

Despair sets in from the beginning. Not only does Pi lose his parents,
but he is facing life on the ocean wave with a tiger (named Richard
Parker), a zebra, an orangutan and a hyena. Pi watches them kill each
other, with Richard Parker finishing off the hyena. The boat is littered
with animal carcasses. As the days go by, Pi, a vegetarian, learns how
to kill with his bare hands, batter turtles to death and eat uncooked
flesh. He weeps. He is "dumb with pain and horror." But he survives,
marking his territory with his urine, as animals do, to keep Richard
Parker at bay, feeding him and finally teaching the tiger (by using a
whistle) that he, Pi, is master here.

It's true that his three faiths recede to a whisper on the boat. He
confesses that it is Richard Parker, and the practical matter of
avoiding being eaten by him, that gives him "purpose," even "peace" and
perhaps "wholeness," and thus keeps him alive. "If he died, I would be
left alone with despair, a foe even more formidable than a tiger.... He
pushed me to go on living." Pi keeps up with his religious rituals, but
he finds his faith wavering. In one funny scene, he yells out his
beliefs to make them more real. "I would touch the turban I had made
with the remnants of my shirt and I would say aloud, 'THIS IS GOD'S
HAT!'" Then he points at Richard Parker and says, "THIS IS GOD'S CAT!"
The boat is "GOD'S ARK!" The sea, "GOD'S WIDE ACRES!" The sky, "GOD'S
EAR!" But, he says, "God's hat was always unravelling," and "God's ear
didn't seem to be listening."

You might say he's trying to persuade himself. But it's clear that he
continues to appreciate the beauty of the sea and sky, and the sparse
life around him, in which, as a Hindu, he sees his connection to God.
There are wonderful poetic descriptions of the fish around the boat as a
little city, of Richard Parker's beauty and of a dorado fish that, as it
dies, begins to "flash all kinds of colours in rapid succession. Blue,
green, red, gold and violet flickered and shimmered neon-like on its
surface as it struggled. I felt I was beating a rainbow to death." Even
when his journey is "nothing but grief, ache and endurance," it is
"natural," he says, that he "should turn to God."

But religion is only one element of the book's exploration of faith.
Martel is also interested in the faith of his readers. He wants them to
believe his story. He has his narrator pose a larger, Keatsian "beauty
is truth" argument against the glorification of reason, "that fool's
gold for the bright." It's as if he were suggesting that storytelling is
a kind of religious experience because it helps us understand the world
in a more profound way than a just-the-facts approach (or by
implication, dogma, fundamentalism and literalism). Two passages that
some reviewers have picked out as the least convincing (for their lack
of literal accuracy!), I find illustrate Martel's attempt to show the
power of storytelling at its best. Fantastic, yes, but utterly
convincing. The first is Pi's encounter with a blind, cannibalistic
Frenchman whom Pi runs into at the exact moment he too has gone blind
for lack of nourishment. Their obsessive conversation about food is one
of the funniest and most farcical moments in the book. The second is
Pi's sojourn on a flesh-eating island, which is one of the most chilling
symbolic illustrations of evil I have read. (If the pious Swiss Family
Robinson finds utopia, the religious Pi finds dystopia!)

Good postmodernist that he is, Martel wants to use the very telling of
the tale--multiple narrators, a playful fairytale quality ("once upon a
time" and "happy ending" are mentioned in passing), realistically
presented events that may be hallucinations or simply made up--to push
at the limits of what's believable, yet still convince the reader of his
literary, not literal, veracity. He wants to prove that it's possible to
remain curious about and connected to the world, yet to accept that
there are always going to be aspects of life (and literature) that
remain mysterious.

Pi's doubts about his faith are mirrored by the seeds of doubt Martel
sows in the mind of the reader throughout the narrative. Every moment of
certainty is undercut by the potential for disbelief, and that's when
Martel seems to ask: Am I convincing you now? He sifts the story through
various narrators, beginning with an author-narrator that at first one
thinks is Martel himself but is only Martel-like, introducing the story
as if it were true. Martel has said in interviews that some of this
information is factually accurate. Like his narrator, he was trying to
write a novel about Portugal that wouldn't come alive when he got the
idea for Life of Pi on a trip to India. Martel also briefly
acknowledges his special debt to Brazilian Jewish writer Moacyr Scliar,
whose novella Max and the Cats also has a hero who survives the
sinking of a ship filled with zoo animals and spends days at sea in a
boat with a large cat, in this case a jaguar. Scliar's is the
mini-version that Martel fleshes out with more lyrical language and the
fruits of zoological research.

But there reality stops. There's the whiff of an old-fashioned quest or
allegorical tale in the introduction, for the Martel-like narrator first
learns the story from Francis Adirubasamy, a family friend of Pi's, who
tells him that Pi's story will make him "believe in God." And he plays
with the reader's sense of reality when he has Adirubasamy talk about Pi
as "the main character" whom the narrator proceeds to track down in
Canada. And just how believable is Pi? Now in his 40s, Pi apologizes for
his memory and tells the story as a series of out-of-sequence
events--jumping back and forth between his early childhood, his teenage
years and his time at sea. He can barely remember what his mother looks
like, but he appears able to recall whole conversations from his
childhood. He even asks the narrator to "tell my jumbled story in
exactly one hundred chapters, not one more, not one less." (He does.)
One begins to wonder if Pi made up Richard Parker. Despite his knowledge
that people anthropomorphize animals because of their "obsession" with
putting themselves "at the centre of everything," Pi seems
disproportionately haunted by the fact that when the boat hits Mexico,
Richard Parker takes off without a backward glance. Perhaps the loss of
the tiger symbolizes the greater loss of his family, or of his own
innocence. Perhaps Pi invented the tiger to keep himself sane. The
reader is left to decide.

In a final test of the reader's faith in the narrative, Martel has Pi
tell an alternate, allegedly more believable version of the story at the
end--lacking not only Richard Parker but also the humor, poetry and
detail of the tiger story--to please a couple of doubting Japanese
shipping officials. He asks them which they think is the "better" story.
Of course, the tiger story is the finer, more thoughtful literary
creation and therefore (Martel suggests) has a truth more lasting than
the second, more journalistic version, with its "dry, yeastless
factuality."

Even if one accepts the twists and turns of the narrative, one faces the
further challenge of tracking down clues hidden in a warren of allusions
for more definitive answers to questions about Pi's religious faith, and
whether the narrator (and the reader) will be persuaded of the story's
original premise that it will make one believe in God. That symbolism is
important in this book is made clear at first by the most obvious symbol
of Pi's name, self-chosen because it's the short version of his real
name Piscine (after a family friend's favorite Parisian swimming pool),
and he is inevitably called "Pissing" by classmates. Nothing could be
grittier. In contrast, Pi is like ¼, what mathematicians call an
"irrational number," that is, 3.14 if rounded off, but with endlessly
unfolding decimal places if carried out. Martel couples this mysterious
abstraction with a concrete image--"And so, in that Greek letter that
looks like a shack with a corrugated tin roof, in that elusive,
irrational number with which scientists try to understand the universe,
I found refuge"--to show that, as a boy, Pi is in harmony with things as
they are as well as with his sense of the unknowable.

That Pi's attitude to religion may have changed after his ordeal is
buried in the hidden symbolism hinted at by Pi's college studies in
religion and zoology, described on the opening page as if to emphasize
their importance as a key to the story. (This is after the lifeboat
comes to shore in Mexico, and Pi goes to Canada to start a new life.)
His specialties are the sixteenth-century Jewish mystic Isaac Luria and
the sluggish three-toed sloth (symbol of the Trinity?) whose miraculous
capacity to stay alive, he says, "reminded me of God." (An echo of his
own survival, perhaps? A hint that God seems more elusive these days?)
More important, Luria's cabalistic ideas may hold the key to Pi's
experience at sea. His philosophy (Luria thought the secrets of the
universe lay in numbers) echoes the symbolism of ¼, and the formula
for figuring out the dimension of a circle and its radius (connecting
perimeter and center). Luria believed that God's light contracted from
the center of the universe, purging itself of evil elements, leaving an
empty space (a circle) in which human life developed. But God also sent
down a ray of light (like a radius) so that the few remaining divine
sparks could reconnect with Him. To achieve this fusion with God, and by
implication eliminate evil from the world, Luria believed, people must
live an ethical life. The original divine contraction is called
variously tzimtzum, zimzum or simsum. It's no
coincidence that Martel called the sinking ship Tsimtsum. Thus Pi at sea
was experiencing his own void (or withdrawal of God), in which elements
of evil fight with the instinct to do good. Richard Parker saved his
sanity, and Pi's goodness kept Richard Parker (and perhaps his own
faith) alive. By introducing this strain of mystical Jewish thought,
Martel not only further illustrates Pi's contention that all religions
are essentially the same in that they stem from love but he also uses
mysticism to underscore the profound ways in which literature can
present life's truths. Skeptics, however, might see Pi's study of Luria
as a move away from his earlier, purer faith toward a more structured
mysticism. That would explain his comment at the end of the book, when
he confesses his need for "the harmony of order."

Though one can read Life of Pi just for fun, trying to figure out
Pi's relationship to God makes one feel a bit like the castaway hero
wrestling slippery fish into his lifeboat for dinner. An idea twists and
turns, glittering and gleaming, slaps you in the face with its tail and
slips away. Did the story really happen? Does it make one believe in
God? What kind of God? Early on the narrator says, "This story has a
happy ending." But Pi also tells his interviewer, "I have nothing to say
of my working life, only that a tie is a noose, and inverted though it
is, it will hang a man nonetheless if he's not careful," which suggests
a man with at least some conflict on his mind. On the other hand, Martel
may also be suggesting that work is less important to Pi than God and
family--the narrator gives us glimpses of Pi's shrine-filled house and
his loving relationship with his wife, son and daughter. However, when
Pi is showing him family pictures, the narrator notes, "A smile every
time, but his eyes tell another story." I believe Martel's point is that
doubt inevitably accompanies faith. But the opposite explanation, that
after Pi's life-threatening experiences his faith is a mere prop for his
anxiety, might work just as well.

Does it matter that the answer to all questions in this novel is both
yes and no? One answer comes in the form of Pi's question moments after
the ship has sunk and he's sitting in the lifeboat, bewailing the loss
of his family and God's silence on the topic: "Why can't reason give
greater answers? Why can we throw a question further than we can pull in
an answer? Why such a vast net if there's so little fish to catch?" And
that, of course, is the nature of faith. One can't argue it through, one
just believes. Faith in God (as the younger Pi sees it) "is an opening
up, a letting go, a deep trust, a free act of love." It's also "hard to
love," Pi adds, when faced with adversity. The same might be true of a
good novel, as readers are taken to the edge of their understanding by
something new. If the reader lets go of preconceptions, the experience
can be liberating and exciting. Martel may be sowing seeds of
uncertainty about God, but there's no doubt that he restores one's faith
in literature.

More than thirty years ago, in an essay called "Uncle Tom and Tiny Tim:
Some Reflections on the Cripple as Negro," I suggested that cripples
emulate the civil rights movement by focusing on political solutions to
the problems of living under difficult physical conditions. (It's a lost
battle, but I continue to prefer the term "cripple" to the bland "disabled.") The problems cripples faced seemed as much the result of our inability to
define our needs as they were the fault of a society quite willing to
live with its ignorance of those problems and quite willing not to see
us at all unless absolutely forced to. It wasn't until the late 1960s
that cripples began to believe that they had the right to demand that
America meet their needs.

Anyone who has spent significant time living with a serious physical
condition probably has had an experience similar to the following:
entering a restaurant with another person, he (or she) finds that the
waiter is addressing not him but the person he is with. He is a
category, and categories are simply assumed to be unable to take
responsibility even for something as minor as placing an order. Yet even
such infantilization can seem liberating if the cripple realizes that
the problem it bespeaks is political rather than psychological: One
infantilizes the other by assuming attitudes held by society at large.
And this process is something that the cripple, too, is encouraged to
do. Even Randolph Bourne, as tough a social critic as America ever
produced, looks inward in his famous essay "The Handicapped," published
back in 1911. Writing about other issues, Bourne understands that
political problems demand political solutions. But when it concerns the
cripple, among whose ranks he was numbered, he was curiously
inner-directed and soft.

The demand for the rights of cripples was already under way as I was
writing "Uncle Tom and Tiny Tim." And while I would be happier without
much of the rhetoric of the Disability Rights Movement, to its credit,
it has helped change the consciousness of those who must confront the
world with physical disabilities. Both its success and its burgeoning
political potential seemed wishful thinking in 1969, when I still
dismissed its prospects. But that success was confirmed with the
enactment of the Americans With Disabilities Act in 1990. Despite its
admitted weaknesses, few Congressional acts more deserve the term
"landmark legislation." The Americans With Disabilities Act promised
those forced to live with severe physical impairments the possibility of
legal if not functional equality. Its most profound accomplishment, even
allowing for the vagueness of definition that has come to haunt it, was
to accept the idea that cripples have the right to specific
accommodations that meet their employment needs. For a population
battling the indignities of permanent illness, its promise was
comparable to that of the Civil Rights Act for African-Americans in
1964.

Twelve years after its passage, that promise seems about to be swamped
by a legal system in which what constitutes a workplace disability is
undefined and perhaps undefinable. The confusion about what would seem
to be the most elementary of definitions--what is meant when we speak of
a disability--threatens to weaken if not make the act virtually useless.
The cripple's demand for rights still commands a good deal of public
interest and a degree of public sympathy. Yet the Americans With
Disabilities Act has not led to widespread political activity on behalf
of the nation's cripples. Their quest for equality is not only
threatened with that most severe of American sins, being relegated to
political unfashionability, but the question of what a disability is
shows few signs of being resolved in favor of those whom the act was
supposed to help. Recent Supreme Court rulings in which disability was
ill defined must be seen as setbacks for those who look to the judiciary
to enforce what the act called for, a policy of accessibility and
inclusiveness. The Court ruled in April by a 5-to-4 majority in US
Airways v. Barnett
that US Airways' seniority system took precedence
over the right of a disabled worker to transfer to a more suitable job.
In Toyota Motor Manufacturing v. Williams, the Court ruled
unanimously that the definition of disability must mean substantial
limitations on abilities "central to daily life," not just the job. And
the Court also unanimously held, in mid-June in Chevron U.S.A. v.
Echazabal
, that employers had the right to refuse to hire a worker
whose health they believed might be impaired by performing a particular
job.

For this alone Ruth O'Brien's Crippled Justice is a welcome
addition to the literature on living with disability. A professor of
political science at the City University of New York, O'Brien approaches
her subject armed with an analytical perspective nurtured by her earlier
work. Her first book, Workers' Paradox: The Republican Origins of New
Deal Labor Policy, 1886-1935
, already reflected her interest in the
subject of workers' rights. Yet even academic inquiries can be rooted in
personal experience. "Had I not sustained what is now a ubiquitous
workplace injury," she writes, "a debilitating case of bilateral
tendinitis in my hands and forearms, I might never have explored the
development and implementation of...disability policy." Yet the focus of Crippled Justice is neither
personal nor anecdotal. It is a serious inquiry into the history of
public policy as that policy has affected large numbers of men and women
crippled by illness, accident or birth. As serious scholarship is
expected to be, it is factual and analytical. The past few decades have
witnessed a rich expansion of memoirs and essays by writers forced to
struggle with their own physical or mental deterioration, books that
depict what life is like for those who must live it with severe illness.
But the kind of political analysis O'Brien offers in Crippled
Justice
is what, I believe, cripples need now.

Analysis demands perspective, particularly when it begins in personal
experience. While bilateral tendinitis may not have the same sort of
consequences as, say, pushing through life in a wheelchair or trying to
earn a living as a blind person, the experience limited O'Brien's normal
ability to function. It turned her temporarily from normal to cripple.
And however temporary an experience, it was also sufficiently
dehumanizing to give her a strong sense of what life is like for those
forced to live with more severe conditions. The first discovery one
makes on entering the shadowy world of cripples is that one no longer
defines need, ability and ambition for oneself. The experience of living
with disability forced Ruth O'Brien to recognize that the cripple must
"struggle over the same issues that women and minorities battle." But
she also saw that the problems cripples faced were in some ways less
soluble and in others more mechanical than the problems of other groups.
Nothing would be more beneficial to cripples as a group than a fantasy
I've held for the past decade--a law that would make it mandatory for
every elected official in the country to live a single week each year as
a cripple.

If nothing else, that would show that the problems involved are as
political as they are psychological. And that is why I am grateful that
Crippled Justice restricts itself to the conditions cripples
confront in the workplace. To the writer, physical disability offers a
personal confrontation. And as is the case with writers, that
confrontation is about language. But what the cripple confronts in the
workplace, as O'Brien shows, are confrontations that have solutions. And
those solutions are political. What she tells us about the history of
disability policy in the workplace may not be as powerful or as dramatic
as, say, Andre Dubus writing about the changes that were imposed upon
his life by the sudden transition he underwent from being a normal man
to being wheelchair-bound. Nor does Crippled Justice offer us the
savage honesty of Harold Brodkey writing about his own impending death
from AIDS. O'Brien's focus is more mundane, which is to say that it is
more political: She is interested in the possibility of a meaningful
work life for those who lack the talent of a Dubus or a Brodkey.

We do not, of course, read memoirs and essays to create public policy
but to recreate individual lives. Yet if the experience of being forced
to live as a cripple is invariably personal, the reality of how
one lives that life is invariably political. I have no choice but to
accept being in a wheelchair. On the other hand, the New York through
which I push myself has any number of choices in how it reacts to my
need for that wheelchair. It is able to define how I live, what is now
subsumed under that horrendous phrase "quality of life," through the
public policy decisions it makes. Such seemingly trivial items as the
condition of the streets through which I push speak less eloquently but
more truthfully of what is or isn't possible for me than Dubus's essays
or my own essays or Nancy Mairs's essays. Public policy defines the
boundaries of the cripple's life. Mundane issues such as the condition
of the streets and the accessibility of restaurants and stores and
theaters (and how the Court defines disability) speak to the cripple's
ability to live with dignity.

The first half of Crippled Justice offers a historical overview
of the rehabilitation of the cripple in America. The ideas dominating
medical and social policy after the end of the Second World War in 1945
were largely formulated by two physicians, Dr. Howard Rusk and Dr. Henry
Kessler. (War may be unhealthy for children and other living things, but
it has done wonders for the fields of prosthetics and rehabilitation
medicine.) Rusk and Kessler are among the villains of the book, since,
along with Mary Switzer, the federal bureaucrat responsible for the
Vocational Rehabilitation Act of 1954, they created models of
rehabilitation still largely followed today. From Freud and even more
from William Menninger, rehabilitation medicine was inspired to shift
its focus from the need to treat the cripple's physical symptoms to the
need to treat the whole person. And the models were psychological.
O'Brien describes "the deep strain of individualism in American
liberalism" as the source of the mistaken path rehabilitation medicine
took. Yet I am not convinced that individualism is so negative in the
life of the cripple. No one can overcome the effects of disability
through mere willpower or a well-developed work ethic--but a
well-developed sense of self helps if one is to be a "success" as a
cripple. One might even suggest that the successful cripple must combine
a free-market head with a socialist soul. Perhaps more than others do,
he needs to see himself as singular. After all, what else can account
for all those memoirs about the singularity of the experience of
disability? The best passage I know about living as a cripple--as moving
to me as Shylock's "Hath not a Jew" speech--wasn't written by a cripple
but by a healthy Saul Bellow at the height of his powers. Put into the
mouth of the poolroom entrepreneur in The Adventures of Augie
March
, its power derives from how it speaks for us cripples as it
speaks about Einhorn's aching sense of his individual quandary.

O'Brien is on more solid ground when writing about how Rusk and Kessler
expected the "sick" individual to "adjust" to what they viewed as a
"healthy" society. The cripple unable to make the adjustment was a
social and psychological problem. Even so, one can argue that the
individualism O'Brien finds irritating is the cripple's best chance to
find salvation. Ambition should be made of sterner stuff than turning
all problems into psychological barriers. At the same time, the desire
to get even with an unjust fate shouldn't be dismissed lightly.
Liberalism may have a lot to answer for where attitudes toward the
cripple are concerned, but excessive concern with individualism is not
the biggest item on that bill. Still, the psychologizing of disability
was a mistake for which we continue to pay a price. And it remains, I
believe, the source of the Court's restricted vision of workplace
disability.

The conditions cripples face in the workplace cannot be conquered by
their adjusting to normal society but by society making certain minor
but necessary adjustments to their problems. By the 1970s the
psychological definition of the cripple had already shown how limited it
was. But is it better to define the cripple legally? Despite its immense
promise, the Americans With Disabilities Act is, as O'Brien writes, "an
idiosyncratic body of law." Where once cripples had to convince the
world of their ability to meet standards set by normals, they are now
expected to meet thresholds of disability set by a Court that seems
oblivious to the obvious. When the issue is as clear-cut as it was in
the case of the golfer on the PGA Tour, Casey Martin, whose bone
deterioration made it impossible for him to walk the links although it
didn't prevent him from playing golf, the courts seem willing to allow
the spirit of the original act to serve as its definition. But even that
makes the judiciary our "modern-day experts of vocational rehabilitation
because of the idiosyncratic nature of disability." The Court has not
yet claimed the right to define whether an individual is or is not a
cripple. But by insisting on its right to define what constitutes
disability in the workplace, it has assumed the power of defining what
the consequences of being a cripple are. As far as work is
concerned, cripples "have gone from being subjects of medicine to
subjects of law." Whether this is an improvement over the psychologizing
of disability is certainly open to question. The conclusion of
Crippled Justice is not despairing but it is skeptical. And for
good reason. In a valuable study of workplace disability as both a
political and social issue, O'Brien has performed a service to anyone
interested in social justice. Unfortunately, recent Supreme Court
decisions threaten to make her skepticism the book's lasting legacy.
Whether defined by the judges or doctors, it seems to be the cripple's
fate to be defined as the other.

The former Labor Secretary is a top gubernatorial contender in Massachusetts.

Refugee camp invasions. Suicide bombers. House demolitions. Suicide
bombers. Arrests of children, curfews, roadblocks, collective
punishments, dropping one-ton bombs on densely populated streets.
Suicide bombers.

Only two years ago, a Syrian-American friend laid out for me a vision
for the Middle East. Both Israelis and Palestinians, she said, were
modern, entrepreneurial people who valued education and technology. She
foresaw a kind of Middle Eastern co-prosperity sphere that would
gradually draw the two closer as their economies meshed and bygones
became bygones. That would have been a happy ending, but what are its
chances now?

The Sharon government seems bent on beating, bombing, demolishing,
humiliating and starving the West Bank and Gaza into submission, while
appropriating more and more land for settlers (forty-five new
settlements have gone up in the year and a half since Sharon's
election). Unemployment in the occupied territories stands at 75
percent. According to a report about to be released by USAID,
malnutrition among Palestinian children under 6 has risen from 7 percent
to 30 percent over the past two years. In the current issue of
Tikkun, Jessica Montell, executive director of B'Tselem, the
Israeli human rights organization, details the damage wrought by the
Israel Defense Forces in their siege of Jenin and other West Bank areas
this past spring: the flattening of whole streets and the trashing and
looting of homes, civic centers, Palestinian Authority offices and those
of numerous human rights organizations; gross violations of human
rights, including the use of civilians as human shields; and denial of
access to food, water and medical care, resulting in the deaths of three
children and an elderly woman.

Is this what "defending Israel" necessarily involves? So you might think
from the hefty numbers who turn out for pro-Sharon rallies in this
country, like the 100,000 who gathered on the Washington Mall in April.
Not everyone agrees: Opposition to Sharon's policies was a major theme
of the 75,000-strong antiwar demonstration on April 20; petitions and
open letters opposing Sharon are flying around the Internet, and new
groups are forming by the minute--Not in My Name, Jewish Voices Against
the Occupation, the Jewish Alliance for Justice and Peace. But the big,
well-organized and well-connected Jewish American numbers are still on
the side of using military force to crush the Palestinians. I signed the
open letter organized by Alan Sokal and Bruce Robbins calling for the
evacuation of settlements and Palestinian self-determination and felt I
knew half the people on it. Nonetheless, there is enough criticism, from
enough quarters, to puncture the old accusations (in which there was
sometimes a grain of truth) that US critics of Israeli policies are
anti-Semites, "self-hating Jews" or Third World-infatuated
America-hating leftists. None of those terms could conceivably describe
the neoliberal (and Jewish) historian Tony Judt, whose trenchant and
bitter critique of recent developments in The New York Review of
Books
("The Road to Nowhere," April 11) did not stop short of
describing Israel as a thoroughly militarized colonial power. Nor is it
easy to see recent New York Times coverage in this
light--although the paper is currently being bombarded with mail and
protests for its imaginary pro-Palestinian tilt, and the Zionist women's
group Hadassah has even called for a boycott of the paper (just for
three months, though, because you can't ask too much of people).

What we need in the United States is the broadest, most open discussion
of what's going on, in search of some kind of realistic solution to a
crisis that's becoming less soluble by the day. Every American is
implicated in Israeli politics, because without the $3 billion in aid we
send each year, Israel could not exist in anything like its present
form. Perhaps Americans really do want to subsidize Caterpillar
bulldozers, Apache attack helicopters, F-16 jets--but perhaps they would
prefer that some of that money go to relocate Jewish settlers, to
integrate Israeli social institutions, to rebuild the infrastructure of
Palestinian civil society and government, to strengthen the groups on
both sides who are most interested in bringing about the happy end my
friend saw just around the corner.

Unfortunately, people will have to do this work themselves. Politicians
are too frightened, and no wonder: In June, five-term Democratic
Congressman Earl Hilliard of Alabama lost his primary race at least in
part because the fiercely pro-Israel American Israel Public Affairs
Committee (AIPAC) supported his opponent. On August 20 five-term Georgia
Democratic Representative Cynthia McKinney faces a tough primary, mostly
due to organized opposition to her criticism of Israel (she also
suggested that George W. Bush knew in advance about September 11, and
after Mayor Giuliani rejected a $10 million gift for New York City from
Saudi prince Alwaleed bin Talal because he called for a re-examination
of US Middle East policy, she tactlessly suggested that he give the
money to black charities instead).

The problem is not so much that American Jews exercise the proverbial
"too much influence"; every ethnic group in America organizes to affect
US policy in the old country (think of Cuban-, Irish- or, for that
matter, African-Americans). Nor is it wrong to inject national issues
into a contest that locals would prefer to be about other things. The
problem is that the other side--anti-Sharon, pro-peace, call it what you
will--is weak and unorganized. It doesn't have to be that way. One can
be overwhelmed with horror at suicide bombers, think Arafat is a corrupt
and preening tinpot dictator, believe that the real agenda of the
Islamists is to be the Taliban of the Middle East--all just and
appropriate sentiments--and still realize that the current path of the
Israeli government is a disaster in the making, if not already made.

* * *

McKinney may have foot-in-mouth disease, but she has the support of NOW,
NARAL and her state AFL-CIO. She deserves yours too. Cynthia McKinney
for Congress, Box 371125, Decatur, GA 30037; (404) 243-5574;
www.cynthia2002.com.

"Creative accounting" is something we hate.
From now on your numbers will have to be straight.
No taking of options for stock you contrive
To dump when insiders can tell it will dive.
And loans? If you want one, then go to the bank.
These sweetheart loans stink! They're disgusting! They're rank!
This type of behavior we strictly forbid.
Just do as we say now, and not as we did.

It seems a long time ago that I stocked my pantry (pantry is a concept in
Manhattan, not a reality) with two weeks' worth of emergency food
(including powdered milk, an oddly comforting substance when faced with
the potential collapse of infrastructure) and other items like duct tape
and three five-gallon bottles of water. Now I discover that a good
friend and an expert on terrorist threats has three 125-gallon drums of
bleach-processed water in his children's bedroom, as well as
military-grade surgical masks, potassium iodide (against radiation
poisoning) and Cipro--the anthrax antibiotic--as well as rolls of
plastic sheeting to cover the windows.

What does one make of all this? My personal response has been to flee to
a place in the country, and hope that the attack comes on the weekend.

My kids' room doesn't have space for both them and the water drums.
Maybe if I could do something about clutter, as the shelter magazines
call life's detritus, I could find a floor area for adequate emergency
supplies; but I just can't bring myself to buy Real Simple, nice
as it is.

So instead, I've secured a copy of the upcoming Summer 2002 issue of
World Policy Journal, published by the World Policy Institute at
The New School, and may I say that after reading it, I am seriously
thinking of running back out to get Real Simple and, with a few
easy organizational steps, squeezing the three 125-gallon water barrels
into a corner of our living room.

The most sobering article--in a very sober, well-written, intelligently
conceived publication--is called "The Threats America Faces." In it,
John Newhouse, a senior fellow at the Center for Defense Information in
Washington, enumerates the many kinds of attack to which we are
incapable of responding. The most shocking for its cruelty, its
understanding of human vulnerability and its supertechno cartoonishness,
is the potential for terrorist infiltration (they've already done it!)
of computers that control major operating systems, like electricity, air
traffic control, banking or communications. (My friend with the water
drums says Al Qaeda wants to interrupt communications at the precise
time of a physical attack; mayhem as well as massacre.) Newhouse points
out that before September 11, the defense community was obsessed with
the possible threat from long-range missiles by rogue states, as a 2001
State Department guidance memorandum stated it. He and other experts,
though not necessarily Rumsfeld's Defense Department, are now more
concerned about missiles that could be launched from an offshore
location by a third party against, say, Moscow, triggering an all-out
nuclear attack on America--or vice versa. Newhouse also raises the
specter of the inadequately secured former Soviet nuclear arsenal, and
notes that the only way to deal with such phenomena is through bi- and
multinational agreements of the kind the Bush Administration has to be
dragged to by its short hairs.

It's all about blowback, but Newhouse believes that concerted
multilateral diplomacy, agreements and shared intelligence can, with a
little luck, forestall an act of terror that would provoke what he calls
a "hidden-hand war," a war against an unknown adversary. It's a hope, if
Bush and his boys and girl can be pushed in that direction.

World Policy Journal's issue is almost all of a piece, very
artfully structured around a common theme that is, modestly stated, the
future of the world. Martin Walker contributed to the discussion with
his piece on "America's Virtual Empire," in which he compares the United
States to, among others, Britain under Victoria, and comments on how
much weaker Victoria's armies were than ours is today, and yet how much
more willing she was to deploy her nation's military. Walker has a nice
aside on the meetings that take place at Ditchley, a country house in
Oxfordshire celebrated to its initiates as the spiritual home of the
Anglo-Saxon alliance since Churchill's day. The way Walker describes
Ditchley, it's like Hogwarts for NATO leaders: They don black tie for a
splendid dinner in a stately hall on Saturday nights before gathering
around the piano in song. (One does wonder what exactly they sing.)

Also do not miss David Unger's fair-minded essay on the Middle East
crisis, "Maps of War, Maps of Peace," which provides a real idea of the
labyrinthine impasse, and hope that there is some way out.

With all this in mind, I decided to escape to that house in the country,
and I lugged some shelter magazines along (it's much easier to read
about nuclear holocaust when you are at least an hour and a half from
Targettown). Oddly, nothing in Metropolitan Life looked like our
house. Hmmm. This Old House was more like it, but the people in
This Old House actually know how to deal with things. Like
floors. Or mice and mildew.

Yet the magazines, including Design NJ and House &
Garden--with their empty stylish, upscale interiors--do give you an
idea of what it is the average person thinks we are upholding and
defending from what Newhouse tells us has been called a low-probability,
high-consequence attack. Shelter magazines, with their largely fantastic
scenarios, superbly condense the American dream. In House &
Garden
, led by the edgy middle-American-design thinker Dominique
Browning, there is a piece about designers making children's playspaces
(there's an interior climbing wall for your 10-year-old); one about
filling rooms with (how shall I say?) things based on Roy
Lichtenstein's interiors; and yet another on an impossibly perfect house
and garden on a Nantucket shore, which almost no one can afford. What
all this says (and it is repeated in dozens of other similar magazines,
reaching its bizarre zenith of impossibility in Architectural
Digest) is that there is always a better mousetrap (I wish), that
your future and your family's future holds promise and rewards, and that
one day, you too may have a beach. Given the vision of collapsing real
estate with which we were presented on September 11, the shelter
magazines seem more dreamlike and escapist than ever. In a way, this
makes them even more pleasurable, like a guilty fantasy you shouldn't be
indulging. Like porn.