O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed; happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us.
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As Americans ready themselves to gorge on another 50 million turkeys this Thanksgiving Day, time for us to turn our attention to those not only locked out from their annual feeding frenzies but who have been subjected to American led turkey shoots down the years. First and most apposite cab off the rank are, of course, the native American Indians who were first massacred on, of all days, Thanksgiving Day, when they helped the settlers survive their first winter in Yankee land.
Think of that for a moment. The Indians helped the usual suspects survive and, for that, they have suffered every indignity imaginable from that day to this. As regards stuffing their faces with turkey drums, forget about it. As Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee (click here to download it) recounts of them, the Gazans of their day, they were told “If they are hungry let them eat grass or their own dung.”
No turkey for them. Just starvation, disease, scrub-lands, inedible grass, dung and one broken treaty after another. And just as it was and is with the Indians, so is it with every other group these genocidally minded freaks have targeted right down to our own time in Gaza, the West Bank, Iraq, Libya and Syria.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Next recall Martin Luther King Jnr, such a leader, warts and all. Fun fact about King. Did you know the night before they assassinated him, he had been combating Coca Cola’s racism, the same sort of racism Coca Cola used when they founded the Fanta cola drink in Nazi Germany, that they use to keep their Latin American child labourers in check and that they still use to deprive Indian farmers of the water they need to irrigate their crops? At least, you say, Coca Cola gave us the modern Santa Claus and they helped spread their product through “the civilised world” thanks to the US Marine Corps who promoted it heavily during the Pacific War’s turkey shoots when they were not otherwise engaged raping the corpses of dead Japanese women and children.
King was a colossus and not only did he muster a colossal civilian army of support but he had colossi like Muhammad Ali standing beside him. Though the Mouth from the South does not need me to say it for him, his greatest opponent was not Smoking Joe Fraser but the Yankee system that shipped millions of his Born in the USA kind out to Vietnam to go kill the yellow man.
Although Yankee opposition to their Vietnam turkey shoot was as much inspired by the need for self preservation as it was for the nobler motives that inspired King and Ali, America’s cultural peculiarities mired our focus somewhat. Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Woodstock, Charles Manson, summers smoking weed in kibbutzes, the Berrigan brothers and countless more made us imagine that the Yanks might turn their swords into John Deere tractors, that they might, as John Lennon sang, give peace a chance. Ha ha.
Next up was the civil rights movement in the occupied part of Ireland, the Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association (NICRA), who marched to the We Shall Overcome golden oldies of King, Baez, Dylan and Hollywood’s other new found darlings. MI6 quickly put that one to bed with their Bloody Sunday and Ballymurphy slaughters and their use of Catholic and Protestant terror gangs to ensure bombs, bullets and sundered body parts took centre stage.
Roll on to the Iraqi turkey shoot when tens of millions marched against Blair, Bush and the rest of God’s anointed, who gave those tens of millions the finger, which was a much better deal than the millions of Iraqi children they slaughtered got.
Although Syria was saved primarily by the heroes of the Syrian Arab Army, much credit must go to those ordinary Britons who rallied to stop the Royal Air Force doing a Gaza on Damascus.
And so, here we are, wherever we are, at the Gaza turkey shoot where Muslims are enraged and the Coptic, Catholic and Orthodox faithful sing of Pacem in Terris, of “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will”, which presumably refers to Hezbollah and Egypt’s President Sisi, who clipped the wings of the Muslim Brotherhood terror gang.
Speaking of Hezbollah, isn’t it odd Nasrallah’s 3rd November speech was looked forward to with the same eagerness we heathens once look forward to the Christmas messages of the late Queen, of the Pope and of the muppet in the Oval Office? Isn’t it odd so much has changed?
But, as The Leopard tells us about the decline of the Bourbons’ Kingdom of the Two Sicilies in the face of Garibaldi’s thugs, everything must change for things to stay the same. Norman Lewis’ book on the Sicilian Mafia explained this more clearly, as, indeed, did Orwell’s Animal Farm. And we have seen it a thousand times over in the rebellions and revolutions that pockmark Mexico’s history. Because the permanent government, the ancien régime if you will, must adopt, like a chameleon, to changing circumstances if it is to retain power, we have, in America, Martin Luther King Day, Thanksgiving Day, Veterans Day, Happy Holidays Day and the vultures of Coca Cola, Disney and Starbucks gorging themselves on it all.
And of course, the plummy enablers of The Economist explaining to us, in their over-polished war of words, why the Gaza turkey shoot must go on, just as the White House mandated the bison genocide to wipe out the Redskins Hollywood later got so much mileage from. Perhaps Yasser Arafat was wrong and the Gazans do belong on a reservation with the Navajo, their dirty water and their bubonic plague. When faced with Israel, who have been given the Samson option, the option to use their illegally obtained nuclear weapons to blitz all before them, the White House would argue, assuming for argument’s sake they can argue, that bubonic plague, diarrhea, giardiasis, dysentery, typhoid fever, E. Coli infection, and salmonellosis might not be such a bad deal. What is good enough for the Navajo goose and all that.
Although the winds of popular opinion are huffing and puffing against such a solution, those breezes are only from the margins and the centre of power still holds, precisely because it is Yeats’ rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouching towards Bethlehem and from there, through the rest of the West Bank, Israel and Gaza as well.
And that Apocalyptic Beast has to protect its flanks from the likes of Julian Assange, Martin Luther King, the Berrigan brothers and Craig Murray. Not only, as the French Yellow Vest movement exemplifies, is that still done by Napoleon’s tried and trusted whiff of grapeshot but it is also done by co-opting, if not imprisoning or simply killing the opposition.
Julian Assange? Oh yeah, the guy in Albion’s iron human cage. Look how many Julian Assanges are being slaughtered today in Gaza and cry. And then figure out what can be done about it.
Craig Murray’s blog gives us the resignation letter of UN bigwig Craig Mokhiber which, in a saner world than ours, would form the basis for the Chinese or other French can can dancers to begin a genuine peace process. But to hell with that. Better kill them all on little Phil Sheridan’s tried and trusted principle that the only good Indian is a dead Indian.
Although the Beast’s loyal opposition would not say it in such stark terms, that is all their bluster amounts to. Although the Trotskyist World Socialist Web Site gives good analysis, their solution is always the same to every issue, the mobilisation of “the workers” in NATO’s arms industry and the Georgetown students who worship Madeleine Albright and Hillary Clinton like they are gods. Turkeys voting for Thanksgiving Day, in other words.
The practicalities of building Pacem in Terris are not that different in Dagestan or Dublin. The issue in Dagestan is that any turbulence in the Northern Caucasus will be exploited by NATO, primarily through Erdoğan’s wet dreams of a resurgent pan-Turkic Caliphate and the Russian authorities must devise a means of harnessing the righteous anger of that country’s vast Muslim population to building Pacem in Terris that does not contribute to Russia’s implosion. That, as they say, is their problem.
Though that righteous anger is no less pronounced in Ireland and NATO’s other colonies, the facts on the ground, as our Israeli friends would say, are quite different to what they are in Dagestan. For here, in the heart of America’s European colonies, the issue, as it was with NICRA , Wounded Knee and MLK, is how to derail, delegitimise and eviscerate the vox populi.
Let’s wheel back to Wounded Knee and, in particular, to the now 82 year old Buffy Sainte-Marie of the Piapot Cree Tribe, with whom I, along with every other star struck teenager of my era, was madly in love, not least because of her rendition of Soldier Blue, which was her soul crying for her country, for Red Cloud’s country, in which, like the martyrs of Gaza and their shorn olive trees “For fifty thousand years, we’ve danced her praises Prayed our thanks and we’ve just begun”.
The 1973 Wounded Knee protests withered on the vine the same way the Beast of the Apocalypse hopes these current protests over the Gaza turkey shoot will likewise die. In Ireland, to take an example, Sinn Féin, seeing which way the wind is blowing, is now opportunistically calling for the expulsion of the Israeli Ambassador and, of course, for an immediate ceasefire. Outside of those opportunists, discourse is dominated on the pro-Israeli side by disgraced former Justice and Defence Minister, the English Zionist Alan Shatter, and on the pro-Palestinian side by English Trotskyist Jew Sue Pentel and Hibernophobic Israeli Jew Ronit Lentin (who married Zionist fanatic Louis Lenten, who helped put her on Easy Street in Ireland). Let’s just say Micky Mudd and Paddy Stink have no avenue to effectively express their outrage and that even Glasgow Celtic’s fabled Green Army have been nobbled, all for this illusory ceasefire NATO and their Trot helpers rap on about.
Here is the Cambridge definition of a ceasefire, discussed here by Wikipedia, which gives pertinent examples, which include the February 8, 2005 ceasefire between Israel and the Palestinian National Authority which Palestinian negotiator Saeb Erekat defined as an agreement between Palestinian President Abbas and Israeli Prime Minister Sharon where both sides would cease and desist from violence against “the other”.
That is the definition of a ceasefire and one that would be familiar to hostage negotiators wherever and whenever hostages have been taken. Neither the Yankee attack dog nor their Israeli tail are buying that crap any more. To them, every problem is a nail needing a hammer or, if you prefer, a Wounded Knee needing Yankeeland’s Soldier Blues to slaughter them all, women, children and newborn babies included.and to leave the land, as little Phil Sheridan gloated of his march through the Confederates’ Shenandoah Valley breadbasket, “So entire has been the destruction that a crow flying across the Valley must carry his rations.”
Or, in thinking of Gaza’s women and children, let us recall the words of Chief Woquini (Roman Nose) to General Winfield Scott Hancock: “Are not women and children more timid than men? The Cheyenne warriors are not afraid, but have you never heard of Sand Creek? Your soldiers look just like those who butchered the women and children there”. With the Yanks, from Wounded Knee to Gaza, it is, as ever, plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. Never enough kneeling squaws and their sprogs for those psychopathic mercenaries to slaughter.
Dance of the Ghosts
All Indians must dance, everywhere, keep on dancing. Pretty soon in next spring Great Spirit come. He bring back all game of every kind. The game be thick everywhere. All dead Indians come back and live again. They all be strong just like young men, be young again. Old blind Indian see again and get young and have fine time. When Great Spirit comes this way, then all the Indians go to mountains, high up away from whites. Whites can’t hurt Indians then. Then while Indians way up high, big flood comes like water and all white people die, get drowned. After that, water go way and then nobody but Indians everywhere and game all kinds thick. Then medicine man tell Indians to send word to all Indians to keep up dancing and the good time will come. Indians who don’t dance, who don’t believe in this word, will grow little, just about a foot high, and stay that way. Some of them will be turned into wood and be burned in fire. — Wovoka, The Paiute Messiah, cited in Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.
When I interviewed leading Palestinian clerics, who had been at the business end of the nakba, about the dabke, the traditional Palestinian dance, they said it too had all but died as the Israelis begrudged them even that smell of the sunny side of the street. The Palestinians, or those who have so far endured, have flocked to their mosques and churches for hope which, they say, springs eternal.
But hope, unfortunately, is not enough to stop the Little Phil Sheridans of the American and Israeli Armed Forces. For that to happen, it needs the input of Russian civil society, of China’s can can dancers and of a large body of straight shooting Westerners ignoring the opportunists and instead marching to the demands of UN bigwig Craig Mokhiber and similar informed persons. Although many of them like Rachel Corrie will die and others like Julian Assange will be interned and the key thrown away, there is no other way to end these centuries of American war crimes. Until the Beltway is well and truly drained of its Adolf Eichmanns, its Victoria Nulands and its Benjamin Netanyahus, all we can do, is like the Irish poets of old did and as the Indians of the late nineteenth century did, pray and dance that our warriors return from across the Styx to wreak revenge.
Not only are they unlikely to return soon but the Americans, the Israelis and their legions of collaborators have made plans even for contingencies like that. They have deliberately destroyed our communities by placing asylums of thieving cuckoos in our nests and they have even made it, as Revelations 9:6 says that men seek death and long to die but death flees from them.
But even so, now is not the time to fall back on The Dance of the Ghosts. Now is the time to remember Stalingrad and to endure. And though Buffy Sainte-Marie may now be a sprightly 82 years of age, her Soldier Blue song and the aspirations it embodies are as eternally young and as hopeful for the morrow as all newborn babies and their mothers in Gaza and elsewhere should be.
And whether we listen to Buffy Sainte-Marie singing Soldier Blue or Boney M singing the first seven verses of Psalm 137’s Rivers of Babylon, let’s just remember that the Beltway’s; Benjamin Netanyahu has stressed the last two verses which runs as follows:
O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed; happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us.
Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones.
Remember too that this has been American policy in Wounded Knee, in the Philippines, in Vietnam, in Syria with their ISIS and Muslim Brotherhood buddies and, now, in Gaza. Remember, we shall remember.
