A Letter to Egypt In November

A Few More Ideas From an Old American

A Revolution's Growing Pains

First, be constantly certain that everyday Americans are watching your progress.  Quite aside from the diplomats and the other faces of America you may see, the people here in the towns, farms, villages and cities are fascinated with the news of Egypt's emergence.  Whatever our government may be doing, our hearts are with you.

Notably, your present concern about the continuing role of the Egyptian military comes to the fore.

We all remember the comforting development of "turning over" the remnants of your old government to the military.  In our US news media we were told repeatedly that the Egyptian military was respected and trusted by the citizens of its country.  We were relieved and heartened when your military declined to impose the violent ambitions of the the old autocrat against the Egyptians during the revolution in the streets.

However, we also see -- now -- your growing suspicions about that same military as the days and weeks of Egypt's efforts to ascend into democracy unfold.  This MeanMesa post focuses precisely on this matter.

End the Waiting

The tedious schedule of establishing a government, writing an Egyptian Constitution and transferring social control to civilians seems like a long one.  At least, it seems like a long one when viewed from the comfort and security of our American living rooms.

From the most recent events in the streets of Cairo, it clearly seems that Egyptians see it as a suspiciously long one as well.  The rate at which the Egyptian military is proceeding is not one which inspires great confidence about the final outcome of the revolution.

There's little argument that instituting all sorts of civil authority and capacity is a daunting task.  Understandably, the Egyptian military continues to offer up this explanation as to why things must move so slowly.

When the scope of this undertaking is compared to the comfortably established social structures we see in the US, all the myriad of details and resolutions grows to an almost confounding size.  Yet, one thread which runs through the heart of this task is not so complicated, that is, difficult, perhaps, but still remarkably straight forward.

Governance.

If indeed a "mis-step" has occurred, it arises from the subconsciousness inertia remaining after the old, authoritarian scheme of governance.  Under that system, Egyptians grew accustomed to "waiting" for the responses of the autocracy.  Granted, this "waiting" grew so onerous as to result in the Egyptian revolution, but the habit may have proved to be more durable than first expected.

Now, Egyptians have reverted to this old plan.  Now, Egyptians are, once again, "waiting" for the advent of the government they were dreaming of when they risked life and limb in Tahrir Square in January.  This latest "waiting" seems out of character for the brave Egyptian revolutionaries.

Interim Government - The Hazard and The Prize

What is proposed here is a rapid establishment of an interim, civilian government as quickly as possible -- certainly on a schedule far faster than what is currently proposed by the military.  The first, formidable concession necessary for the idea is that whatever is created this way will be imperfect.  

The course set out by the military is, at least ostensibly, a cautious one presented as a plan to retain the new civilian power accomplished in revolution.  All sorts of precautions are included to produce a final result which guarantees the civilian nature of the future government.  This is the promise which justifies the military's two or three year schedule.

Make no mistake.  There is a lot which must be done.

However, there may be an equally important interim task.  The Egyptian people should move at once to establish an interim civilian authority which can run concurrently with the military efforts.  It is interim because it is temporary, and even the "authority" element can be equally transitive.  Nonetheless, there must be a representative voice of the Egyptian people running along side the military effort.

Here, MeanMesa can offer the skeleton of a plan.  Happily, it is a plan which will require no more "waiting" for the acquiescence of the Egyptian military for it to move forward.  The basic elements of the plan are fairly simple.

First, divide the country's population into local council districts, each with a standard population, say something between 250,000 and 500,000 people.  There will be the predictable inclinations to refine such groups into segregated interests, ethnic majorities and the like, but, for the time being, dispatch all these and allow simple geographic boundaries to govern the division lines.

The goal here will be to elect a standard sized council to speak for the district.  Remember that we have spoken already about a voice beyond that of the military which can represent the people directly.  A good size for such a council might be ten representatives or so.

Next, make a list of those who will vote in each of these districts, and make all the necessary preparations for elections.  It is important to start having candidates who are willing to lead such district councils and having elections which will make their positions legitimate.

The authority of such councils will not be given over to them or granted to them by the military.  In fact, there is little prospect that the Egyptian military will immediately begin to "follow" the directives of decisions coming from such councils, but what will be accomplished is the voice of electorates.  This is what is missing at the moment.

This is the "next step" which is required to break the status quo.

Once in place, the councils can begin to do the job of representing the Egyptians under the beautiful democratic duress of being replaced in the next election.  Local problems can be addressed, even if they can't be solved.  Resources can be applied to local interests far more directly.

Perhaps even more important, candidates for the new Parliament will emerge.  Ideas about the new Egyptian Constitution can begin to move from council to council.  Egyptians will begin to grow accustomed to campaigning, serving and voting.  

All these things are subject to improvement through practice and experience.  It will be precisely this experience which will direct Egypt to its future.  There is only so much that even the most determined and democratically inspired military officers can add to the mix.  This is not their world.

The End of "Interim"

The coming months of the revolution will see many changes implemented.  The origin and inspiration of these "institutional" changes will be deep in the military minds of the many of the same people who served in the late autocrat's oppression of the Egyptian people.

So far, this "arrangement of necessity" has not gone too badly at all.  However, what lies directly ahead may be even more critical than what has gone on so far.  The electricity of the revolution has calmed a bit, and those with the "old ambitions" have had a chance to quietly consider schemes to either return to that old system or to exploit the new one.

Every Egyptian who votes for a council must understand that the arrangement is temporary, but also, that it is vitally necessary.  There is a growing vacuum.  Citizens know what they don't want but may need to experiment a little to discover what they do want.

A new democracy is no place for the timid.

You have the highest hopes and the very best wishes for your future from MeanMesa.

Sheer Paranoia: Outrageous but Entertaining

A Meeting in the back room of the White House. 60

Karl Rove barks at the administrative attendant (A G-12 Civil Servant): “Hey, boob queen! Fetch me another cup of coffee! Now!”

Treasury Secretary Paulson hurriedly enters and seats himself at the table, still completely consumed reading the papers he carried into the room. He looks frightened.

The Chief of Staff is placing copies of the agenda around the conference table. Two or three other Presidential Advisors are speaking secretively in the background.

Suddenly, the door is opened again. Two Secret Service agents quickly take their places on either side, suspiciously glancing around the meeting room. One, holding the door open, states in a loud voice, “The Vice President.” Dick Cheney skulks into the room to take his seat. It is suddenly silent.

“Where the hell is Georgie boy? Get his ass in here. We’ve got some work for him to do -- some stuff for him to say. I haven’t got all day!” Cheney grouches. A staff member rushes frantically out of the room, reappearing moments later with a disheveled George Bush.

“This is your chair, Mr. President.” the staffer offers politely as he pulls out the President’s seat.

“Hey! Texas! Are you tellin’ me that you don’t have time to get to my meeting on schedule? What a loser! God!” Cheney booms at the President, disgusted.

Addressing everyone at the table, the Vice President begins. “Okay. It’s no surprise, but we’re dumping old what’s-his-name. Hasn’t got a chance. Recoup all the money we can out of his campaign coffers.” glaring at Josh Bolton, the Chief of Staff. “You got that?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get people right on it, sir.” The Chief of Staff makes a note in his day planner.

The President, seeming confused, interrupts Cheney. “Uh, does that mean I won’t get to give more speeches? You know, campaign stuff for McCain?”

Cheney fires back. “Just do as you’re told. If they tell you to give a speech, give one. Now, shut up. We’ve got important business here.”

The Vice President turns to Henry Paulson, Secretary of the Treasure. “Hank, how far down are you today with your Goldman Sachs' paper?”

Paulson, still looking bewildered, mumbles, “Another 55 million, Dick. This sucks. I thought the market wasn’t supposed to tank until just after the election!” He continued, “I’m getting phone calls. The one percenters don’t like this. They don’t like this one damned bit! You know what that means.”

Cheney booms back. “Don’t threaten me, you bookie! It’s your job to keep the billionaires happy! You can just get your ass on the phone and quiet ‘em down.” The Vice President glares at the National Security Advisor, then turns to Karl Rove. “You said you had a new plan. Something about the Treasury.”

Karl Rove stood, organizing a few sheets of notes in his hands. “We can still turn this disaster to our advantage. This place is going to be crawling with Democrats in another couple of months, so if we’re going to strike back, we need to do it now.”

“Yeah, we’re going to be sliding out of power, but there’s still time to gut this bastard before we lose George Bush’s legal cover.” He turns to Attorney General Mukasey. “I assume that the Justice Department is still with us? I sent you a list of Republican nobodies you can prosecute if you have to prosecute someone.”

“Dick is right when he says we may as well dump McCain. That whole campaign is self-destructing as we watch. But that means we have to walk away from all the schemes we had for the next four years, no more no-bid contracts and K Street is going to get castrated by these populist do-gooders. That means no more free money for favors.”

“We’ve got to get what we can while the gettin’ is good. That’s where my plan comes in. We can resurrect the same ‘scare team’ we used for Iraq, only this time the new threat will be another Great Depression. I think if we hammer the public into a state of terror for a couple of weeks while Congress is paralyzed, we can ramrod a huge bail out scheme through and be done with it before the election.”

Secretary of Defense Gates offered to help. “I can stop all the expenditures for new military procurement. That will leave a few billion in the defense budget for a snack.”

Cheney responds in a short tone. “Yeah, yeah. Tidbits like that are okay, but we have to think big. We’re going to have to last through the next term on what we can get right now. A few billion defense dollars would normally be interesting, but we have to go for the big one this time.”

President Bush looked more and more confused, but remained silent.

Rove continues. “We can jam a $700 billion dollar bail out through in a couple of weeks. We’ll keep going public with the idea that the details are too complicated to explain, ratchet up the fear card with Depression talk ‘till the public is crazy. We can even throw in some patriotism crap or something. We can contract the Wall Streeters to administer the whole thing. They will be able to loot enough dough from that to stay loyal to us until we’re ready to come back.”

“Plus, this plan has another bonus. If we bankrupt the Treasury and the Federal Reserve, that Democrat son-of-a-bitch won’t have any cash to pay for all of his promises.”

“Face it, gentlemen. We have lost power. We can either stand here and let the poor people get all this money for their goddamned roads and schools and crap or we can funnel it into some pockets that know how to help us later, pockets with good memories of who gave them what.” Rove pauses for effect.

“Dick has decided that we’re going to do this. He expects all of you to tow the line. Yes, there is a little risk once the Democrats have a new Attorney General, but, if everything goes according to plan, we'll be sitting somewhere else with our take before they can do anything about it.”

“Page six of the agenda is a list of countries without extradition agreements along with the names of some banks. I suggest that you make arrangements for travel and moving right away, get your families ready.” He went on, joking. “Don’t steal any famous art, either!”

“This doesn’t have to be the beginning of the end for us. Dick and I like to think that this will be the end of the beginning.”

“President Bush. Anything to add?” Rove turned, condescending, to face the President.

Cheney suddenly stands, gathering his notes as he prepares to leave. The Secret Service agents, still at their stations, swing open the conference room door for his departure.

Capitalism Stinks? No, it smells like gasoline, though.

Unthinkable Socialism. A Law We Can Live With.
When Capitalism Becomes Corruption, What's Next? 27

First, a primer for those too young to remember all the high-borne logic of the Cold War days. There were the “falling dominoes.” There was the chilling destruction of the churches, of family values. (Children turned in their parents in Stalin’s evil time.) There was the “brutal suppression” of every sort of freedom in Russia, in captive Europe, a wave of outright savagery blanketing the entire place from Kamchatka to Georgia.

But, worst of all, there was GODLESS COMMUNISM! The creepy, uni-browed megalomaniacs in the Polit Bureau wanted to export this misery everywhere. The mechanism of this evil plot would be none other than “CREEPING SOCIALISM!” This well adjusted child (Kansas) made a nutritious snack from all this. A tasty sandwich constructed of two slices of great American “white bread” with a generous slice of “GODLESS COMMUNISM,” an additional treat of “CREEPING SOCIALISM” and a pleasing dollop of “DUCK AND COVER” (grade school version) to add flavor.

This introduction is provided here to forcefully eliminate any possible suspicion that these words are the ramblings of some irrational, generational “lefty.” I always thought Ike was a great President. I contributed to Ronnie Raygun’s campaign. I happily voted for every Republican Presidential candidate right up until George Senior. The only reason I jumped ship then was because he looked so tired. No substantive ideological considerations at all to dirty the water.

So. Let’s talk socialism. Settle in your own private thoughts whether or not this might be the CREEPING variety. Hartmann (May 12/13, ‘08) suggested that the speculation burden on oil prices was around 20% or greater. To remain at all palatable, we will need to make a dignified detour around Chelsea Clinton’s job as an commodity trader (commodity here is spelled “O I L”) and Connie Rice’s (Chevron) oil tanker. We’re talking socialism, not low rent politics.

This speculation on oil futures is adorably close to every idea which might be called a “FOUNDATION OF THE CAPITALIST SYSTEM.” These brave entrepreneurs risk their hard earned dollars taking a chance on oil’s future prices. Oh yes, of course they manipulate things every once in a while, but who wouldn’t?

I personally feel honored to participate in their fearlessly capitalistic work. The risks they take, somehow, are the very underpinnings of my comfortable future as a gasoline consumer. Without them, the whole thing would simply collapse, right? American enterprise is based on risk taking. This is why they can very reasonably reap their 20% profit extracted daily from the oil prices. It is a small price to pay for such hard work and willingness to sacrifice.

When can an old capitalist like me start talking about socialism? Well, here it goes.

I would like for my government to take a few billion (trillion?) right out of the general fund, CREEP into the Chicago commodities future market and start RISKING some of my Federal money to compete with these oil futures traders. Of course it is risky! National oil consumption could collapse! Middle Eastern OPEC monkeys might lower their prices overnight for no reason! This proposition is stuffed full of threatening (risky) possibilities!

Why, we could lose everything! Chicken Little (spelled: “C H E N E Y”) might be right on about the FALLING SKY concept! Why, we could see the “WAGES OF CREEPING SOCIALISM!” At the gas pump.

Trimming the claws of this energy futures speculation mafia could lower the price (not the cost) of a gallon of gasoline by around $1.20 or so. What a crazy, bad, un-American idea!

When capitalism becomes opportunistic cronyism, the taste of socialism grows less and less bitter. Those pesky old founders we like to quote so much thought profit should come from competition, not control.

I’m “done” with paying an extra dollar a gallon for the “risks” these parasites take “in my behalf.” If 2008 is going to be a year for dumping old ideas, toss this one on the list.

Springtime in Paraguay

Blog doc 14: A Short Story from the White House Basement
A Telling Conversation Between Two Maintenance Men

“Wow Bill! Who’s that guy?” Larry asked as the man in gray coveralls left the room.

“Oh, he’s the Blackwater guy who’s in charge of room 30, here. You don’t need to worry about him that much. He only shows up here once in a blue to moon to be a jerk and try to scare us. The rest of the time he spends in the private BW Lounge out on Corridor B.” Bill responded easily.

“Gosh, it seems like he just some kind of janitor with an automatic rifle and an real bad attitude. I guess he’s in charge of this warehouse, right?” Larry asked.

“Yeah. You musta’ got the cleaning order from our supervisor. Did you bring all the floor stuff. Nobody ever can even get into this room, much less make a mess of it, but when they want the floor mopped, they want the floor mopped.” Bill explained.

“Wow, Bill, what is all this stuff? Every box has a number on it. What do you suppose is in all them wooden crates over on that side, anyway?” Larry asked, looking over the contents of the dim storage room.

“Pay attention to yourself. See all those cameras? They can see every move you make. Don’t ever, like, write anything down on paper or you’ll be talkin’ to those Blackwater boys in a heartbeat. The whole reason we’re here is 'cause they figure we’re stupid. Anyway, I’m pretty sure that they can’t hear us.” Bill held up his hand in a caution signal to the younger worker.

“So. What is this warehouse for, anyway?” The younger man looked to the more experienced worker, now sitting on a crate.

“This is all the stuff they plan to fly into Paraguay after the election. It’s all stuff the Vice President got for, you know, favors and payoffs and stuff. Them boxes are full of loot. That’s why all the cameras. Heh, heh, heh, I guess they just wanna’ make sure it only gets stolen once!” Bill offered casually.

“Right. So What exactly are we doin’ to this floor?” Larry spoke, not a little intimidated by his surroundings.

“See right over there. You got two big rows of wooden crates stacked three high. We’re not movin’ those babies, they’re full of gold ingots. This other row of wood crates right over here are full of AK’s and ammo. They’re all okay right where they are. But right back there, see, by the door is where they came and took out a bunch of boxes. Them boxes were all full of cash, and they sent ‘em to Europe somewhere and traded ‘em out for those other boxes over there full of Euros.” Bill explained nonchalantly.

“You mean the Vice President is trading in his cash for Euros?” the younger man asked incredulously.

“Oh yeah, but just them boxes over there. I guess the rest of these in this row are full of US cash he’s plannin’ to keep, you know, plannin’ to take with him. I figure they didn’t plan on the economy tanking quite so soon before the election. I suppose they thought they could just ride it out until they moved on to their new place. You gotta remember, once him and the Pres are in Paraguay they ain’t goin’ to be able to leave, what with the World Court and everything, prowlin’ around like they do. Ever hear of a guy named Mengele?” Bill shared the authority of the hearsay traveling around the building.

“Yeah, I think so. Wasn’t he some kind of Russian or somethin’?” Larry answered, puzzled.

“Nah, Mengele was the old Nazi ‘Doctor Death’ guy. He was the one them Israelis snatched somewhere in South America, can’t remember the name of the town. They were pissed. They hauled him out somewhere and hung him. Had a trial and everything. You can bet your bottom dollar that this pair ain’t goin’ risk anything like that!” the older man exclaimed, chuckling.

“I guess that’s what all the guns are for, right?” Larry offered.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m sure they got some kind of a deal cooked up with the Dictator down there, but AK’s are always more dependable than any kind of deal they could make.” Bill continued in the role of seasoned expert.

“So the Veep is plannin’ on takin’ a crew of Blackwaters with him? How are they gonna move all this stuff and all those people from here to Paraguay?” Larry pondered.

“Oh, there’s no problem there. Mario, you know the older guy that cleans up in State, told me there’s a couple of Saudi jet liners hid away somewhere in Canada waitin’ to take ‘em. There’d be plenty of room on one of those babies for all this stuff with seats left over for a gun crew. I betcha’ them planes are nothin’ if they ain’t plush as hell!” Bill responded.

“Watch out now. All them crates in this row are full of a complete cardiac operating room and pace makers and stuff. You know, Cheney’s meds. Good thing that water didn’t drip this far over or there’d be hell to pay. I, for one, would not like to be on the receiving end of “Shooter” when he’s pissed!” he added.

“All that stain over there is where they took out them boxes of cash. You need to mop it all out and dry it up good, then buff it back down. We wanna’ get this place back up to number one condition.” the older man continued.

“That leak that caused all this problem come from the coffee maker up on the third floor. You know, the legal counsel offices. The Veep’s secret dungeon bunker on down below got water stains on a couple of chairs and he went out of his friggin’ mind. Yeah, out of his friggin’ head. That’s when they dumped what’s his name, you know, the Secretary of State.”

“Anyways, I’ll come back later to get ya’. I’ll have to have Blackwater open the vault door to let you out and stuff. They’ll probably wanna’ pat us down.”

“Later.” Bill added as a friendly aside as he walked away from the younger man.

“Yeah. Later.” Larry responded, grabbing his mop and bucket.

Quit Complaining about Politics and Be Happy

BLOGdoc 8 Disgusted with Politics

Any discussion of historical forms of societal leadership can either be short and sweet or some kind of endless Western Civ. nightmare, that is, the kind of Western Civ. that seems to go on for nineteen semesters. Around the time we were first establishing this country there was a very intellectual class, some espoused extremely innovative plans, some focused on subtle but enlightened variations of systems already in place. We should assume that some were only in it for the girls and the glory, the lectures and the luncheons. Some thought that continually war was humanity’s highest calling.

If we were completely objective in our analysis of the successes and failures that litter history, we might conclude a alarmingly well distributed list of origins of culture originating from each of the above.

We, notwithstanding all the fine essays contemporary with the start of our Democratic Republic, pretty much drifted into a corner. In order to satisfy everyone in that now famous corner, we married politics. Politics would become the “energy source,” “think tank,” “primary roadblock” and “sacred symbol,” whatever that means, for the fledgling country.

Once having established the Democratic Republic guided by the vagaries of the political selection of leaders, each with his own unique ideas about what was desirable, detestable, un-American or bad for business, we found ourselves, finally, prepared to criticize the process, past governments, present governments and a dozen elusive forms of essence definitions of exactly what our future dreams should be according either to the shaky record of the rules of the founding fathers or unavoidable changes in the same which have become cruelly necessary.

You know. Changes necessary for our survival, honor or prosperity which visit us thanks to unfair foreign mechanizations or other general uncertainties in the world around us. All but the most extreme domestic schemes were awkwardly protected under our policy of freedom. Of the remainder, the few which are prosecuted fell under our policy of treason.

The founders did not select oligarchy, theocracy, monarchy or mob rule. At least they did not agree to an overwhelming system comprised of a homogenous construction of any of these. They hammered out a new system which, they hoped, would incorporate just the right bit of each flavor. It was their hope that all the citizens would be equally disheartened and optimistically satisfied. In the sense of history, that would mean that all the rifles stayed in the closets.

So, here we stand, complaining about both the process and results of politics. Complaining continuously. We are always shocked by how low the tactics have become, how dishonorable and corrupt all the choices are.
We bemoan the fact that the voting population seems to repay campaigns that spend the most to woo them, never mind the message. After all, the stakes have grown higher every year we prosper more than the last year.

Amid the criticism we fall upon specific peccadilloes served up to us as scandals, overlooking others not selected for our scrutiny. We are uniformly horrified at the cost of campaigns, but we are still flattered when we remember how these people must value our vote. We tax all of their campaign creativity until they are left with little else to say other than “911,” “new direction” or, simply, “change.”

It rebounds a little when they finally start attacking each other. The more like a desperate football game it becomes, the more we like it. Or, hate it. Or both.

The founding fathers said very little about the nature of the process they selected for us beyond “be honest or don’t get caught.” It is an ignoble, dastardly pragmatic business. We all pretend that we know the right way to do it. The modernity of politics might surprise the founding fathers and some of those in that old intellectual class, but all of them would accept it as being the very thing they had in mind.

They would accept it as a Dionysian festival where all the accelerator pedals are welded to the floorboards. Probably the only way to disappoint all these dead dreamers would be to stop complaining.