[Peace-discuss] Palast: "I'm going to tell you something which is straight-up heresy:"

[Chuck Minne]

SO OSAMA WALKS INTO TO THIS BAR, SEE?


by Greg Palast
Monday August 14, 2006

So, Osama Walks into This Bar, See? and Bush says, "Whad'l'ya have, 
pardner?" and Osama says...

But wait a minute. I'd better shut my mouth. The sign here in the 
airport says, "Security is no joking matter." But if security's no 
joking matter, why does this guy dressed in a high-school marching band 
outfit tell me to dump my Frappuccino and take off my shoes? All I can 
say is, Thank the Lord the "shoe bomber" didn't carry Semtex in his 
underpants.

Today's a RED and ORANGE ALERT day. How odd. They just caught the 
British guys with the chemistry sets. But when these guys were about to 
blow up airliners, the USA was on YELLOW alert. That's a "lowered" 
threat notice.

According to the press office from the Department of Homeland Security, 
lowered-threat Yellow means that there were no special inspections of 
passengers or cargo. Isn't it nice of Mr. Bush to alert Osama when half 
our security forces are given the day off? Hmm. I asked an Israeli 
security expert why his nation doesn't use these pretty color codes.

He asked me if, when I woke up, I checked the day's terror color.

"I can't say I ever have. I mean, who would?"

He smiled. "The terrorists."

America is the only nation on the planet that kindly informs bombers, 
hijackers and berserkers the days on which they won't be monitored. 
You've got to get up pretty early in the morning to get a jump on George 
Bush's team.

There are three possible explanations for the Administration's 
publishing a good-day-for-bombing color guidebook.

1. God is on Osama's side.

2. George is on Osama's side.

3. Fear sells better than sex.

A gold star if you picked #3.


The Fear Factory

I'm going to tell you something which is straight-up heresy: America is 
not under attack by terrorists. There is no WAR on terror because, 
except for one day five years ago, al Qaeda has pretty much left us alone.

That's because Osama got what he wanted. There's no mystery about what 
Al Qaeda was after. Like everyone from the Girl Scouts to Bono, Osama 
put his wish on his web site. He had a single demand: "Crusaders out of 
the land of the two Holy Places." To translate: get US troops out of 
Saudi Arabia.

And George Bush gave it to him. On April 29, 2003, two days before 
landing on the aircraft carrier Lincoln, our self-described "War 
President" quietly put out a notice that he was withdrawing our troops 
from Saudi soil. In other words, our cowering cowboy gave in whimpering 
to Osama's demand.

The press took no note. They were all wiggie over Bush's waddling around 
the carrier deck in a disco-aged jump suit announcing, "MISSION 
ACCOMPLISHED." But it wasn't America's mission that was accomplished, it 
was Osama's.

Am I saying there's no danger, no threat? Sure there is: 46 million 
Americans don't have health insurance. IBM is legally stealing from its 
employees' pension plan and United Airlines has dumped its pensions 
altogether. Four-million three-hundred thousand Americans were injured, 
made sick or killed by their jobs last year. TXU Corporation is right 
now building four monster-sized power plants in Texas that will burn 
skuzzy gunk called "lignite." The filth it will pour into the sky will 
snuff a heck of a lot more Americans than some goofy group of fanatics 
with bottles of hydrogen peroxide.

But Americans don't ask for real protection from what's killing us. The 
War on Terror is the Weapon of Mass Distraction. Instead of demanding 
health insurance, we have 59 million of our fellow citizens pooping in 
their pants with fear of Al Qaeda, waddling to the polls, crying, 
"Georgie save us!"

And what does he give us? In my own small town, the federal government 
has paid for loading an SUV with .50 caliber machine guns to watch for 
an Al Qaeda attack at the dock of the ferry that takes tourists to the 
Indian casino in Connecticut. The casino dock is my town's officially 
designated "Critical Asset and Vulnerability Infrastructure Point 
(CAVIP)." (To find the most vulnerable points to attack in the USA, Al 
Qaeda can download a list from the Department of Homeland Security -- no 
kidding.)

But that's not all. Bush is protecting us from English hijackers with a 
fearsome anti-terrorist tool: the Virginia-class submarine. The V-boat 
was originally meant to hunt Soviet subs. But there are no more Soviet 
subs. So, General Dynamics and Lockheed Martin have "refitted" these 
Cold War dinosaurs with new torpedoes redesigned to carry counter-terror 
commandoes. That's right: when we find Osama's beach house, we can shoot 
our boys right up under his picnic table and take him out. These 
Marines-in-a-tube injector boats cost $2.5 billion each -- and our 
President's ordered half a dozen new ones.

Lynn Cheney, the Veep's wife, still takes in compensation from Lockheed 
as a former board member. I'm sure that has nothing to do with this 
multi-billion dollar "anti-terror" contract.

Fear sells better than sex. Fear is the sales pitch for many lucrative 
products: from billion-dollar sailor injectors to one very lucrative war 
in Mesopotamia (a third of a trillion dollars doled out, no audits, no 
questions asked).

Better than toothpaste that makes our teeth whiter than white, this 
stuff will make us safer than safe. It's political junk food, the cheap 
filling in the flashy tube. What we don't get is safety from the real 
dangers: a life-threatening health-care system, lung-murdering pollution 
production and a trade deficit with China that's reducing mid-America to 
coolie status. Protecting us from these true threats would take a slice 
of the profits of the Lockheeds, the Exxons and the rest of the owning 
class.

War on Terror is class war by other means -- to keep you from asking for 
real protection from true menace, the landlords of our nation give you 
fake protection from manufactured dangers. And they remind you to be 
afraid every time you fly to see Aunt Millie and have to give up your 
hemorrhoid ointment to the underpaid guy in the bell-hop suit with a 
security badge.

Oh, hey, you never got the punch line.
  
So, Osama Walks into This Bar, See? and Bush says, "Whad'l'ya have, 
pardner?" and Osama says, "Well, George, what are you serving today?" 
and Bush says, "Fear," and Osama shouts, "Fear for everybody!" and 
George pours it on for the crowd. Then the presidential bartender says, 
"Hey, who's buying?" and Osama points a thumb at the crowd sucking down 
their brew. "They are," he says. And the two of them share a quiet laugh.








 		
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