This is a commentary from Richard Cohen, writer for the Washington Post. I used to read him religiously, until he became sort of a semi-hawk on Iraq. But I looked in on his column today, and it looks like the turmoil in Iraq has him thinking again...
Baghdad Bait and Switch
By Richard Cohen
Tuesday, April 29, 2003; Page A23
It happened again.
As always, it was the middle of the night and I was sound asleep. I was awakened by the sound of the bedroom window being opened and the clump of two feet hitting the floor. I felt the usual breeze on my face. My long-dead grandfather was paying me yet another visit.
"So, nu, where is it?" he yelled.
"Grandpa, is that you?" I asked.
"You were expecting maybe Chemical Ali?"
"Where's what?" I asked.
"The weapons from mass destruction. The chemical stuff and the biological stuff that could make you sick and the atomic stuff that could make you dead. Where are they, college boy? You wrote that this is why you supported the war."
"We'll find them," I said. "Iraq is a big country, the size of --
"I know. California. You think maybe you got snookered?"
"Oh, no, Grandpa. I talked to experts. I went to briefings. They all said Iraq had weapons of mass destruction."
"This the same group of hotshots who said Saddam had a nuclear program that could produce a bomb in six months?"
"Yes."
"Not true, though, right?"
"Looks that way."
"And they said there was some sort of link between Saddam and the terrorists. One guy knew another guy and someone had been in Baghdad and someone else had sent a cake to someone in Brooklyn. You know what this reminds me of? How you could go to a union rally in the old days and pretty soon the FBI had you linked to Joseph Stalin."
"Well, I admit they haven't come up with much proof," I said.
"Much proof? For this your mother sent you to college? How about no proof? Nothing. This poor Gen. Vince Brooks, this guy they had talking like a ventriloquist's dummy, a regular Charlie McCarthy, he had to make a big deal about the capture of Abu Abbas in Baghdad. The New York Times found Abbas in Baghdad last November and interviewed him. Next they're going to find Soupy Sales. For this you fight a war?"
"Okay, but Saddam Hussein was a beast. It was a good thing to get rid of him. He was like another Hitler."
"I read that column where you said that. All my friends said, 'This is your grandson, the hotshot columnist? This is the guy people read so that they should know what to think?' Hitler? Hitler was a threat to the world. Saddam threatened only his own people. He fought for only 26 days. I had longer fights with your grandmother."
"I remember, Grandpa," I said. "But now we're going to have a new government in Iraq and it will be a model for the entire Arab world. When Saddam's statue was toppled, it was like when the Berlin Wall went down."
"When the Berlin Wall went down, the Germans took pieces of it. When the statue went down, the Iraqis took pieces of hospitals and museums."
"You've got a point."
"Hoo-ha! I got a point. Of course I got a point."
"You don't understand, Grandpa. Now we have a chance to transform the Middle East. A democratic Iraq will be an example for the entire region."
"Really? Who says? There is already a democracy in the Middle East. It's called Israel. How come it's never an example, but instead something to be destroyed?"
"It's not an Islamic country."
"I've noticed. Still, the Arabs could see it worked. It's free. It's prosperous. The people make a nice living. What does it matter if it's run by Jews, Irishmen or whirling dervishes?"
"Because . . . I don't know."
"Now we're cooking with gas. There's so much you don't know. First you wanted a war because of terrorism, then because Iraq had a nuclear program. Then you wanted a war because it has poison gas and little crawling things you can't see. Now you want to bring democracy to the Middle East. You know what we use to call this when I was in retail?"
"No, what?
"Bait and switch."
"I still believe we did the right thing," I insisted. "I still think it'll turn out all right."
"From your mouth to God's ear," he said.
"You could help," I said. "You're embedded."
"It doesn't work like that."
Then I heard the window open and felt the breeze on my face. "I hope everything turns out hunky-dory, like you've been writing," he said. "Otherwise, you should have been an accountant and made some money so you could take care of your parents." He looked at me, tenderly.
"Give them my love, boychick."
With that, the window closed, the breeze ceased and I went back to sleep. I had a nightmare that I was an accountant.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A51541-2003Apr29.html
