And Telekinesis was tight as well, though my photos of them didn’t come out well at all.

Lighting effects were crwthtacular but I’m afraid I wasn’t able to capture it that well with these photos. Oh well, enjoy away.

When the President talks to God, does he ever think that maybe he’s not? That the voice is just inside his head when he leans next to the presidential bed? Does he ever smell his own bullshit, when the President talks to God? (“When the President Talks to God” by Bright Eyes)

*    *    *    *    *

The president’s knees met the familiar, blue carpeting of his bedroom. He felt a quickly evaporating soreness in his left thigh, a reoccurring pain left by the quadriceps tear during his senior year as middle linebacker for St. Mary’s high school football team. As his muscular hands closed together, the quiet blue eyes, now framed with three distinct wrinkles, shut slowly. This was a quotidian activity, one of the few elements in his daily schedule that he could always count on as a relaxant.

“Glory to you, Lord. That this evenin’ may be holy, good and peaceful, let me pray with a unified heart and mind. As my evening prayer rises before you, O God, so might your mercy come down ‘pon me to cleanse my heart and set me free to sing your praise now and forever. Amen.”

The deep, gravelly voice that had kept him off of the school choir but in the girls’ hearts rose quietly above the music emanating from elsewhere within the White House. “A waltz,” he thought to himself. He paused and  took the gentle breeze that whistled past his window as a sign that he ought to continue talking.

“Lord, I have before me a problem. A problem — well, Lord, this is a big one.” The wind stopped and the music was no longer audible. Rarely did these conversations venture into territory as important as this, and he was uncertain how to proceed on such a delicate query.

“Today I received a briefing statin’ the People’s Republic of Waki— Wari — Waziristan— may have completed the construction of a nuclear warhead. Now, as I’m sure you’ve been hearin’ on the news recently, well, Lord, relations between our nations aren’t so hot. I’m worried we are facin’ a grave threat — I’m worried they’ll attack us.” He waited at least ten seconds before continuing, hoping the magnitude of the situation might settle in for both of them.

“As you know, Lord, I’m a believer in the powers of diplomacy, but this time, I think… well, I think war looks to be our only option.”
At this point, he opened his eyes, looking directly past the red, pleated curtains, out the window towards the dark, equinoctial sky. Silence.
“Lord, I’ll give you some time to think this matter over, and I’ll be back tomorrow night to hear your answer. Until then, I’m a bit tired, so I bid you farewell.”

Maybe he was just tired, but swore he heard a voice inside his head reply, “Thank you, Goodnight, Mr. President.”

*    *    *    *    *

The Secretary of State meandered back and forth in front of the strategy table. Her back was to the figures seated at the table, but she could have named and placed each participant with her eyes closed. The President, of course, was seated at the head of the table, manning the leather-backed chair built two decades back, staring straight at her with those piercing blue eyes, gathering in the information displayed on her PowerPoint. The Secretary of Defense was seated on the left of the President, a slight, sneering grin the only decoration on his otherwise toneless face. The  Vice President occupied the seat at his right hand, right knee crossed over the left with his Brooks Brothers suit shimmering from a recent cleaning.

“Gentlemen, as you are aware, the situation in Waziristan is worrying, but given that very little information has been confirmed, we need to act cautiously. I’m certain that, even if the intelligence is confirmed, this situation can be resolved peace—”

“Madam secretary, I’d first like to commend you, you’re doing a heck of a job. To the point though, I think we in this room have got to decide to what lengths we’re willing to go to solve this problem,” said the Vice President, his voice full of that strength, so admired on the campaign trail. It was the reason he had been chosen for the position, even though, as Mayor of a small Mississippi town, he was relatively unqualified for the position.

“Well, Mr. Vice President, I feel that, with all due respect, we can rule out the use of invasion, air strikes, or a nuclear strike—”

The Secretary of Defense interjected, “Madam, I happen to agree with the Vice President in this situation. We know from previous dealings that these Muslims cannot be trusted to act as clearheadedly and predictably as we might expect from someone like, Russia, or another Western nation. I think that we’ve got to decide whether we’re willing to use force, even the bomb, to protect the interests of America. And, because we are like the ‘city on the hill’ that President Reagan used to talk about — well, I believe we represent the interests of the Western world. That means our response will be accepted and applauded by our friends around the globe. I happen to be of the persuasion — and perhaps this is a radical view — but I happen to be under the belief that we’ve got to be willing to solve this problem with the purest utilitarian means.”

“Are you seriously sugges—” the Secretary of State tried to add before she was interrupted again.

“Yes, madam, I am suggesting the use of a nuclear missile against Waziristan. At this point, I view it as the best course of action.”

“Think about Ira—” but she thought better of bringing up that bit of history. She paused and remembered the aide who had been fired last week arguing that America had lost in Iraq. She looked at the Secretary of Defense with a look of utter disbelief written visibly across her face. “We don’t even know for certain if they have the bomb!”

“And we may never know,” replied the Secretary of Defense, “but I do know one thing, and that is — and I think I speak for most of us here — I’m willing to break a few eggs to saves the lives of our civilians. If it means saving the lives of millions of Americans, if it means saving everything that we stand for, I think I’m willing to advocate pushing that button.”

The color drained from her newly tanned face. For a moment the Secretary of State stood in silence. Then she mustered some hidden reserve of courage and, in a voice of rising hostility, said, “You can’t possibly! This goes against every part of the Non-Proliferation Treaty! Nothing has even been confirmed yet, we’re running on — well we’re running on pure speculation right now! And let me remind you, that up until that oil pipeline debacle, we had been on very cordial terms with the administration in Waziristan.”

The President, having sat quietly until this point, fumbling absently with the ripped arm on his chair, decided it was time to calm down the room. “Now, I think you’ve both got some very good points. But she’s right, we couldn’t authorize an attack on what we’ve got now. At the same time, I don’t think we, as leaders of the free world, could sit by and allow atrocities like these to occur against our Western brothers.” Once again, there was a pause. He looked around the room, measuring the degree to which they were following him before he continued. “What we need is a reason, a good reason, maybe backed by some hard data, that will the unite the American people against this threat.”

“Sir?” A voice seemed to come from nowhere.

“Who is that?”

“Mr. President, I’m right here.” It was the mousy intern he had hired to take notes for him during meetings. Sitting in an ill-fitting corduroy jacket, Lenovo laptop placed on his right leg, the intern took a sip before continuing. “Mr. President, I think I might have an idea. If you’ll remember, there were some rumors a few months back that President Bajir of Waziristan had been keeping secret prisons in a southern section of the country. I’m thinking that if we play this up as a violation of human rights, we can win over a lot of liberals, including some positive CNN and New York Times coverage.”

“Who is this fellow?” the Secretary of State wondered out loud.

“Well who he is doesn’t matter, now does it? He’s got a good idea, so we need to follow up a little. Jim? —”

“It’s James, sir.”

“Right, James, don’t worry, I never forget a name. Get this story out there as fast as possible and let me know what the reaction is. Look, gentlemen and ladies , I believe — we believe, I should say — that this administration has received a silent blessing from God. I think we’ve got to make the Christian decision here. Even if this whole ‘human rights violator’ piece doesn’t go over so well, we’ve all got to be willing to make the right decision when the choice comes to us. By tomorrow, I expect we may have to make a decision that we cannot undo. Everyone is dismissed.”

*    *    *    *    *

“Well God, I’m back. I hope you had plenty of time to think the situation over, and I’m interested in hearin’ your thoughts.” Once again, silence fell upon the presidential bedroom. Directly in front of the President’s face, his sheets lay, crisply pressed by Matilda. It was another of the “perks” he was always bragging to his brother in South Carolina about.

“Well, Mr. President, this is certainly not an either/or situation.”

“You got that right, big guy.”

“The choice you make will probably reveberate for decades. People, not only Americans, will be affected by your choice.”

“And that’s why it’s so hard. Jesus! Why can’t these choices be easier? Why can’t there be a nice, little, black and white decision? The question I keep askin’ myself is, ‘Can these Muslim souls be saved?’ But I need your help findin’ the answer.”

The deep, soothing voice reverberated inside his head. “Mr. President, I can’t make the decision for you. But I can assure you that whatever choice you make, it will be the choice Heaven intended you to make, and that you will be my messenger. Mr. President, it is your job to maintain America’s status as leader of the free world. You must do whatever it takes.”

“Thank you. Knowin’ I’ve got your confidence means everything. I’ll do the right thing tomorrow. ‘Night.” A long silence fell upon the President, the searing pain in his thigh again became apparent and he winced slightly, leaning to shift the burden of his body to the other leg. But that didn’t solve the problem, so he shifted back. After a few seconds of restless movements back and forth, he stood up slowly and turned to the door. He walked out into the hallway, steps echoing on the marble floor, turned right into his office, then stood pensively in front of his solid oak desk. He took out a small, silver key, tucked behind the twelfth grade yearbook photograph of his daughter in his wallet, and unlocked the third drawer in the desk. “Took a tree to make this desk,” he would’ve said if there were an aide behind him. They, in turn, would have responded that it was a “remarkable tree indeed,” and an awkward silence would have ensued. After withdrawing a small bottle, he unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. “Boy, were things different than the old days working the family farm in Virginia during the summers back from college,” he thought. After a second swill from the bottle, he felt assured of himself. He re-screwed the cap, deposited the bottle back into its resting place, slid shut and locked the drawer, walked back to his bedroom and quickly fell asleep.

*    *    *    *    *

The next day at exactly 12:37 p.m., Eastern Standard Time, the President of the United States of America received clearance to launch one, hair-trigger, inter-continental ballistic missile targeting the Democratic Republic of Waziristan. A mere three minutes later, he pushed the red button, activating the warhead and beginning the countdown to launch. The President was later told that the death toll estimated to be 274,000. At 1:20 p.m., the Vice President uncorked a bottle of Dom Perignon Vintage 1998 in a newly crowded White House Conference Room and cheers arose from the surrounding staff and cabinet members. Some aides had converted one of the Conference Room tables to a poker game and on a day like this, who could blame them? One aide could be heard shouting above the bunch that “Fukuyama was wrong, THIS was the end of history!” Hearing this, the President smiled to himself and looked towards the ceiling, giving a quick wink that only his highest advisor noticed.

In a 1939 radio address, Franklin Delano Roosevelt stated that “repetition does not transform a lie into truth.” Nearly seventy years later, it is miraculous how his words seem tailor-made to rebuke the Bush administration’s strategy in Iraq. Before the invasion, the American people were told repeatedly that Iraq represented a direct danger to our interests — Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction (not really), Saddam had strong connections with al Qaeda (ouch, wrong again) — and 933 other Bush administration lies and canards (Jumping Jesuits, Batman!). Sorry George, we aren’t studying for a Graves test; repetition doesn’t work like that. As if Bush would know anyways. The last time he studied something he was trying to understand the deeper meaning of The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

In 2003, swept up in post-911 patriotic fervor, citizens of the United States were willing to accept any drastic steps deemed necessary to defeat the “terrorists.” Billed as the Pepto-Bismol for world stability, Iraq was that step. Five years later, we’ve created more terrorists than ever existed before, we are faltering in our mission in Afghanistan, and increasingly Iraq looks like a colossal imbroglio from which we will never escape. I may differ from the “loyal Bushies” and other right-leaning acolytes, but I refuse to accept that supporting a blatantly colonial war in a country that Ms. South Carolina couldn’t even point out on a map is representative of “American” ideals. Considering the loss of American lives that President Bush’s project has wrought, the only appropriate American stance on the war in Iraq is to stand firmly against it. I, therefore, agree with leading Democrats (and many Republicans) for a phased withdrawal from Iraq. Let’s elaborate, shall we?

So What’s the Plan?

A friend told me that the problem with the Iraq war is that there is no clear exit. I agree, anonymous friend. We are lost in the consequences of American superiority: in our innocence and beliefs in America’s exceptionalism inculcated since kindergarten, we are lost in a pre-Vietnam confidence in our own power. There will be no easy exit strategy. True. But there will also be no clear victory. At what point can we declare that “we” have won? When Iraq becomes the 51st state? We are in over our heads as a nation; and sadly, no action in Iraq will foster a miraculous hegira back to glory, nor will they win us allies and supporters around the world. We need to stop kidding ourselves – Iraq will never be the secular nation we are attempting to create, because religion and Islam are too important to its culture and history. Thus, the best strategy is withdrawal. As the expression goes, “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”  Let’s get going. Barack Obama proposes a 16-month full withdrawal from Iraq. But let’s clear up a common misconception about such a withdrawal – we aren’t abandoning the Iraqis in a torrent without an umbrella. The Obama plan mandates soldiers to stay in Iraq and to protect embassies and diplomats. If al Qaeda should attempt to create a stronghold in Iraq once we are gone, U.S. forces stationed in Iraq will carry out strikes on their terrorist positions. “But Brad,” you say in an insouciant voice. “Why would we want to take our soldiers out of Iraq?” Fearless reader, I’m glad you asked….

Just Like Governor Spitzer’s Hookers, Iraq’s Been Costly

Every war requires an honest evaluation of the costs of battle in comparison to the benefits. From the first days of shock and awe to 2008 (Wait, the mission was accomplished in May 2003? Right?), more than 95,000 Iraqi civilians have died. And 4,031 American soldiers have lost their lives thousands of miles away from their families, friends, and homeland. We cannot eschew these statistics or their implications unless we are willing to complacently and naively hand over our lives (and those of Iraqis) to a government in Washington willing to “sacrifice” them on what now seems like a whim.

For those as concerned about money and our economy as about the loss of American lives, the economic costs of this war effort have been equally staggering. The Iraq war has cost the U.S. of A. nearly one trillion dollars. If you consider the impecunious state of the American economy and then imagine adding a booster shot of one trillion dollars back into our economy, the picture becomes clearer and a hell of a lot brighter.

Just Like the Pope at a Tech N9ne Concert, We Shouldn’t Be There

The U.S. invasion of Iraq must also be examined on the basis of international legality. The invasion not only violated the sovereignty of the Iraqi people, but also a majority of international laws. The United States scoffed in the face of The Hague and Geneva Conventions, “which clearly restrict the right of occupying powers to interfere in the internal affairs of an occupied people” (Arnove 68) and quickly assumed the undisputed distinction of “World’s Largest Hypocrite.” We scold China about its human rights abuses and tell the government of Darfur not to wage war against its own people,  while we occupy a sovereign nation in the name of their freedom and ignore a host of  international legal standards.

Just Like Tipsy, Trigger-Happy Security Guards, We’re Aren’t Making Anyone Safer

Recent studies suggest that the American occupation of Iraq has increased, rather than decreased, the number of terrorists (Arnove 76). While accomplishing the opposite of his plans may be a Bush trademark, as a nation, America does not have to continue down this path. Al Qaeda didn’t show up in Iraq until after the invasion, and any ostensible links between Saddam and bin Laden have been proven incorrect. Once George W. Bush leaves office, Osama bin Laden will no longer have an “old, neo-conservative president” to direct his hatred at, and Sunni fighters in Iraq will no longer seek intiqaam (revenge) for the destruction wrought on their families, friends, and property. Once we withdraw from Iraq, the terrorism and insurgency will slowly cease.

Many proponents of continuing the war argue that withdrawal will lead to a regional civil war. These people (who will not, by the way, be joining the army because they have “more important things to do”) obviously don’t read the newspapers. The longer our forces stay in Iraq, the more resistance our occupation breeds. As American forces leave, the predominately-Shiite government has the opportunity to rule without the stigma of being seen as “puppets” of foreign “infidels.” Sunnis would be more likely to meet with Shiite leaders and begin the needed reconciliation process (Nir Rosen). Some proponents of the war insist that al Qaeda would create a stronghold in the region if the U.S. were to withdraw. This is less likely than finding the Golden Ticket. Al Qaeda and other foreign terrorist groups make up a numerically insignificant part of the insurgency. Often overlooked but crucially important is the fact that there are other Middle Eastern nations, and they can serve as regional watchdogs to keep Iraq in check. Iran, Syria, Egypt, and even Israel, all see a peaceful, militarily prostrate Iraq as beneficial to regional stability – and can invest in making sure that happens. Were Iraq to fall into civil turmoil, these nations would ensure minimal fallout. It’s in their vested interest to do so.

Just Like Nixon, You Can’t Cheat The System And Maintain Power

The war in Iraq has damaged our reputation as a nation and as a world power. Much of America’s influence in the international arena lies in what has been termed soft power. “[Soft power] is the ability to get what you want through attraction rather than coercion or payments. It arises from the attractiveness of a country’s culture, political ideals, and policies” (Joseph Nye). Iraq has permanently damaged America’s reserves of soft power. The impact is clear and visible to us all. A homeless man whom I asked for a quote for this article told me that the best way to win an election is to have the most friends. Wise words, sir. In an era where the United States must increasingly compete for the role of international “hegemon” in a global contest with a rapidly growing China and expanding European Union, friends become of the utmost importance. Iraq alienated not only Middle Eastern nations, but European and African nations as well. We must rebuild the trust of these nations to strike up lasting military, economic, and political ties. Withdrawing from Iraq is the first, and most critical, step in this process.

As the one remaining wall from the never-grand, but always awkward building, formally known as Lottie D., is demarcated for destruction, it behooves me to spare a few lasting words for an old friend.

*Update* That building got messed up worse than Evander Holyfield.

I’ll always remember your asbestos-and-mediocre-art-infested walls, dirty floors, and rotting carpets. I won’t forget the distinct feeling of teen “angst” not quite available in other buildings on campus. I’ll remember how the prospects of winning a running race with the people around me always seemed to improve dramatically as I entered your decaying doors. The sorrow that emanated from the few poor sops who got stuck with lockers on the lower floor will stay with me. I’ll remember that, if someone ever came on campus with malicious intentions, the Lottie Dietrich folk wouldn’t even be notified. Yes, there is a lot I’m going to miss; a lot more than just miniature offices and low ceilings, eerily reminiscent of Being John Malkovich, are going to be lost when Lottie D. meets its penultimate demise. (Is “its” the right pronoun? What sort of gender do you attribute to buildings? Are they feminine like ships? Do they not get a gender, like rocks and people without genders?) Whatever the answer to my grammatical inquiry, that ugly building, once perched like an eagle over that atrophic field (The field doesn’t even have a name. We name all our fields, but that parcel of useless land gets nothing. We’re building things so fast we’ve run out of people to name them after), will stay with me.

But it isn’t just the zero tears that I will shed in remembrance of the past; no, Lottie Dietrich’s departure is going to change a lot for my future too. Consider:

Now that there is no building set aside for “artistically-enabled” students, and art classes are being spread around the school faster than Maurice Green running a 100 meter in his glory days, band class will take place in a trailer. If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, that this sounds like a great idea for an ABC reality hit (20 kids, 1 trailer, YOU decide who lives), you’re right. But you also might be thinking that a year of band in a trailer is a bit of a step in the wrong direction. Oh ye of little faith. I’m willing to bet that the acoustics of a trailer would beat Lottie D.’s shitty acoustics in a 50′s boxing match any day. Plus, band in a trailer sure as hell beats making sculptures on dirty urinals and developing pictures in old bathrooms in the language hall. EAT THAT ART FOLK!

*Update* I just learned that band isn’t in a trailer anymore, that it will instead take place inside Hall Student Center. Band 2, Art Folk 0.

Another potential impact of the construction, one that has gone completely ignored, is the impact it might have on Pembroke Hill Gang Violence Rates (commonly known as the PHGVRs). Everyone knows that the Pembroke Hill campus is a dangerous place, just look at the 2007 crime statistics (I don’t actually have any 2007 crime statistics, I did however make a brief Excel chart for what they might look like, see link.). View Graph (As a special side note, the one criminal act on the chart arose when an overzealous clothesline mother ran over a Showcase kid on her way to an evening of hot bargains. With deals that good, can you even blame her?) But with the rampant graffiti, lax security guards (that’s a joke, honestly, I haven’t seen jobs taken this seriously since Ken Lay (that’s a double joke, but seriously, we’ve got sweet security guards)), and the multitude of gang-related violence and deaths, it’s easy to believe that you might be scared to go to school in the morning. Reminds me a bit of Middle School, but I may get to Cults of Personality in a later article.

It doesn’t take much of a leap of faith to imagine how dangerous our alma mater will become. With skyrocketing violence rates, the school may have no choice but to bring Lottie Dietrich back from the dead (Once again, the building, not the person. AP Necromancy got pulled from the schedule. Maybe next year Dr. Graves.). Yet by the time they can finish the construction on LD 2.0, it may be far too late, and, with Pembroke engulfed in violent euphoria, the city will have no choice but to declare a state of emergency and seize control of the school. YES, in short, we will become what we fear most: a public school. SHOCK HORROR!

Not only that, but with Lottie Dietrich gone, and without a place to focus their angst, dark clothing, and My Chemical Romance music, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to surmise that the art kids may start to cluster. Everyone knows that art kids become most dangerous when in clusters. Remember Gremlins? Imagine that, but a thousand-times worse. View the chart to get a clearer picture.

There are of course multiple other scenarios of doom that become much more likely — a zombie infestation, an XDR-TB pandemic, and a serious dog fighting problem (sans Atlanta quarterback), but those I’ll save for another day.

Yet in all honesty, I couldn’t be more excited to be bidding that Titanic of a building (they’re alike in the destruction sense, not in size, or Academy Award-winning ability) goodbye. We get a sweet new “performing arts center” with high tech equipment and the lot. Larger rooms, less health problems, a few new faculty to inaugurate the building. The art building isn’t just going to be for the rejects anymore. Could this get any more exciting? Done and done. Rumor has it that the map to an enormous treasure is hidden on the back of the Declaration of Independence. Whoops, that’s the plot to National Treasure, not a rumor. My bad! If anything though, I’d like to think that the removal of Lottie D. from the Pembroke Campus is one of the final steps in our historic “get rid of the old shit” campaign. Perhaps it’s symbolic of a Pembroke renaissance. Hopefully this Renaissance focuses more on the art and creativity than on the rising importance of Papal prestige (Although the PHS Pope does have a nice ring to it). With a new headmaster, new staff, new buildings and big plans for the future, there are a lot of uncertainties, but there is also a lot to look forward too.

As a side note: What the hell is up with having the construction workers caged off like animals?