jueves, 28 de julio de 2016
lunes, 25 de julio de 2016
jueves, 21 de julio de 2016
Admiral Fabuloso: Hillary, Syria and the Destructive Career of James G. Stavridis
by Andrew Cockburn
At least for a moment, Donald Trump seriously considered picking retired General Michael Flynn, fired as DIA chief for correctly predicting that Obama’s covert Syrian intervention would generate a jihadist monster such as ISIS. Hillary Clinton meanwhile is reportedly pondering the selection of retired Admiral James G. Stavridis, a former Rumsfeld lickspittle who helped destroy Libya and thinks it would be a fine idea to hook up with Al Qaeda in Syria. Clinton’s putative defense secretary, Michelle Flournoy, herself an ardent proponent of escalation in Syria and elsewhere, acclaims him as “one of the finest military officers of his generation.” One might think that for a candidate politically burdened by her vote for the invasion of Iraq, not to mention the Libyan disaster, Stavridis, currently Dean of the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University, might not be the best choice.
Stavridis’ military record exhibits all the signs of an accomplished courtier, ably negotiating the reefs and shoals of service politics as he shinned up the ranks faster even than David Petraeus. The key accelerant on his progress came in 2004, when he was picked by the odious Larry di Rita, Rumsfeld’s Svengali-spokesman , as the secretary’s Senior Military Assistant. In the process, he was “frocked,” vaulting from his former rank of one-star admiral straight to three stars – an almost unprecedented leap. Occupying this immensely powerful post, Stavridis oversaw the secretary’s schedule, travel and, crucially, controlled the flow of information reaching Rumsfeld’s desk. Reveling in the perks of his lofty position, Stavridis insisted on the provision of a special car for himself in motorcades, while junior officers, whom he importuned to do his shopping when traveling, staggered under the weight of his bags.
In a gratifyingly acerbic memoir, “Speech-Less,” former Rumsfeld speech writer Matthew Latimer recalls Stavridis’ assiduous toadying, offering fawning toasts to the secretary at dinners on overseas trips and busying himself with such humble but career-enhancing tasks as fixing a squeak in his master’s office chair. He was, reports Latimer, “surprisingly political for a military man” helping the speechwriters craft statements defending the secretary from political attacks – his favorite word being “fabulous” – and taking charge of a project to promote Rumsfeld’s accomplishments while also penning reams of groveling mash-notes to the man himself. Promoting an image as a “warrior-scholar,” he wrote fluently in the pablum that passes for wisdom in the debased culture of the Washington defense-intelligentsia. Thus in 2005 his treatise “Deconstructing War,” which opened with the fatuous proposition that “War is changing, and not for the better” and headed downhill from there, won wide acclaim among the Osrics of the think-tank/op-ed circuit.
In 2006, the hard work with chair-repair and mash-notes paid off when he was nominated by the boss to head Southcom, the military satrapy controlling Central and South America, not to mention Guantanamo, along with a fourth star. This was clearly the post for which he had been angling; officemates had noticed him listening to Spanish-language tapes for some months prior to the announcement. “This prompted some of us to wonder,” recalled Latimer, “how long does it take to learn fabuloso?”
Obama brought change, but only for the better for “Stav” whose courtship of the
incoming team paid off in his apotheosis to SACEUR, Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in Europe, complete with lodging befitting this imperial rank at Chateau Gendebien, set in 23 acres of parkland, close by NATO headquarters at Mons, Belgium. The job offered perks far beyond those he had enjoyed in humbler days at Rumsfeld’s feet, so much so that word of Stavridis’ habitual use of official jets and other appurtenances for the private use of himself and family eventually prompted an official investigation although, as is customary with such probes of senior officers, he was totally absolved of any blame or sanction.
Meanwhile, and unfortunately for the people of Libya, he was given the opportunity to burnish the “warrior” part of his favored appellation. When Hillary Clinton fatefully bounced Obama into agreeing to attack Libya, Stavridis was on point, overseeing the deployment of Nato air power. Later, he boasted in Foreign Affairs that “Nato’s operation in Libya has rightly been hailed as a model intervention. The alliance responded rapidly to a deteriorating situation that threatened hundreds of thousands of civilians rebelling against an oppressive regime. It succeeded in protecting those civilians.” In reality, the record clearly indicates that, despite some bombastic rhetoric, Qaddafi did not in fact make any attempt to massacre civilians, though he did use military force against the Nato-supported armed rebellion. Nevertheless the operation left a fatal legacy to democrats regarding the efficacy of interventionism, and this despite Libya’s subsequent and entirely predictable descent into bloody chaos and ascendant jihadism.
Retiring from the military in 2013, Stavridis eased into the Deanship of the Fletcher School, a perfect platform for ponderous ruminations on modish topics such as “smart power” which he defines as combining “hard power” with “soft power.” Among his ongoing and remunerative connections to the former is his chairmanship of the International Advisory Board of mega-defense contractor Northrop-Grumman, whose overseers can find little fault with Admiral Fabuloso’s enthusiastic tub-thumping for the new cold war. From Ukraine to Syria, “Stav” is in the front lines, figuratively speaking, urging escalation against Russia. The Ukrainians should have “lethal aid” from the U.S., he announced in 2015, and when asked if that might not lead the Russians to escalate in turn, he conceded blithely, “when you release ordnance, everything changes.”
Stavridis’ military record exhibits all the signs of an accomplished courtier, ably negotiating the reefs and shoals of service politics as he shinned up the ranks faster even than David Petraeus. The key accelerant on his progress came in 2004, when he was picked by the odious Larry di Rita, Rumsfeld’s Svengali-spokesman , as the secretary’s Senior Military Assistant. In the process, he was “frocked,” vaulting from his former rank of one-star admiral straight to three stars – an almost unprecedented leap. Occupying this immensely powerful post, Stavridis oversaw the secretary’s schedule, travel and, crucially, controlled the flow of information reaching Rumsfeld’s desk. Reveling in the perks of his lofty position, Stavridis insisted on the provision of a special car for himself in motorcades, while junior officers, whom he importuned to do his shopping when traveling, staggered under the weight of his bags.
In a gratifyingly acerbic memoir, “Speech-Less,” former Rumsfeld speech writer Matthew Latimer recalls Stavridis’ assiduous toadying, offering fawning toasts to the secretary at dinners on overseas trips and busying himself with such humble but career-enhancing tasks as fixing a squeak in his master’s office chair. He was, reports Latimer, “surprisingly political for a military man” helping the speechwriters craft statements defending the secretary from political attacks – his favorite word being “fabulous” – and taking charge of a project to promote Rumsfeld’s accomplishments while also penning reams of groveling mash-notes to the man himself. Promoting an image as a “warrior-scholar,” he wrote fluently in the pablum that passes for wisdom in the debased culture of the Washington defense-intelligentsia. Thus in 2005 his treatise “Deconstructing War,” which opened with the fatuous proposition that “War is changing, and not for the better” and headed downhill from there, won wide acclaim among the Osrics of the think-tank/op-ed circuit.
In 2006, the hard work with chair-repair and mash-notes paid off when he was nominated by the boss to head Southcom, the military satrapy controlling Central and South America, not to mention Guantanamo, along with a fourth star. This was clearly the post for which he had been angling; officemates had noticed him listening to Spanish-language tapes for some months prior to the announcement. “This prompted some of us to wonder,” recalled Latimer, “how long does it take to learn fabuloso?”
Obama brought change, but only for the better for “Stav” whose courtship of the
incoming team paid off in his apotheosis to SACEUR, Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in Europe, complete with lodging befitting this imperial rank at Chateau Gendebien, set in 23 acres of parkland, close by NATO headquarters at Mons, Belgium. The job offered perks far beyond those he had enjoyed in humbler days at Rumsfeld’s feet, so much so that word of Stavridis’ habitual use of official jets and other appurtenances for the private use of himself and family eventually prompted an official investigation although, as is customary with such probes of senior officers, he was totally absolved of any blame or sanction.
Meanwhile, and unfortunately for the people of Libya, he was given the opportunity to burnish the “warrior” part of his favored appellation. When Hillary Clinton fatefully bounced Obama into agreeing to attack Libya, Stavridis was on point, overseeing the deployment of Nato air power. Later, he boasted in Foreign Affairs that “Nato’s operation in Libya has rightly been hailed as a model intervention. The alliance responded rapidly to a deteriorating situation that threatened hundreds of thousands of civilians rebelling against an oppressive regime. It succeeded in protecting those civilians.” In reality, the record clearly indicates that, despite some bombastic rhetoric, Qaddafi did not in fact make any attempt to massacre civilians, though he did use military force against the Nato-supported armed rebellion. Nevertheless the operation left a fatal legacy to democrats regarding the efficacy of interventionism, and this despite Libya’s subsequent and entirely predictable descent into bloody chaos and ascendant jihadism.
Retiring from the military in 2013, Stavridis eased into the Deanship of the Fletcher School, a perfect platform for ponderous ruminations on modish topics such as “smart power” which he defines as combining “hard power” with “soft power.” Among his ongoing and remunerative connections to the former is his chairmanship of the International Advisory Board of mega-defense contractor Northrop-Grumman, whose overseers can find little fault with Admiral Fabuloso’s enthusiastic tub-thumping for the new cold war. From Ukraine to Syria, “Stav” is in the front lines, figuratively speaking, urging escalation against Russia. The Ukrainians should have “lethal aid” from the U.S., he announced in 2015, and when asked if that might not lead the Russians to escalate in turn, he conceded blithely, “when you release ordnance, everything changes.”
But it is the Syrian war that has excited the warrior-scholar’s most martial instincts, an ominous indication of where the wind is blowing in the national security set. So eager is he to show that he is firmly on board that he actually touts in public what others dare only murmur in private: in confronting Russia for mastery of Syria, it’s OK to ally with Al Nusra, as Al Qaeda calls itself in Syria. “It is unlikely we are going to operate side by side with cadres from Nusra, but if our allies are working with them, that is acceptable,” he told Yaroslav Trofimov of the Wall Street Journal in June last year. “I don’t think that is a showstopper for the U.S. in terms of engaging with that coalition.” Such is the intellectual bankruptcy of the Clinton campaign on national security that this dangerous time-server should be deemed a serious candidate for a slot on the ticket.
S.:http://www.counterpunch.org/2016/07/15/admiral-fabuloso-hillary-syria-and-the-destructive-career-of-james-g-stavridis/
domingo, 17 de julio de 2016
viernes, 15 de julio de 2016
"No nos trajeron libertad, sólo dejaron destrucción"
"Son tantas penas que he dejado de contarlas", reconoce el novelista iraquí Muhsin al Ramli. El informe 'Chilcot' apenas concitó ayer atención en un Irak sumido en el duelo desde el coche bomba que el pasado domingo arrasó una de las principales calles del barrio bagdadí de Al Karrada. Las autoridades elevaron ayer la cifra de víctimas a 250 convirtiendo la carnicería, reivindicada por el autodenominado Estado Islámico, en el ataque más mortífero desde la invasión que hundió al país en un laberinto de muerte y destrucción. El baño de sangre segó la vida de decenas de jóvenes que disfrutaban de una de las últimas veladas del ramadán en una concurrida zona comercial de la capital iraquí.
Desde entonces, la arteria y los edificios circundantes -reducidos a escombros por la detonación y las llamas- se han transfigurado en un lugar de peregrinación, con las biografías de los caídos colgando de sus esqueletos. "Los jóvenes iraquíes amamos la vida pero nos asesinan a diario. Están acabando con el futuro y el talento de este país", lamenta desde Bagdad Mustafa Jawad, un informático de 27 años conmocionado a partes iguales por la última embestida terrorista y las conclusiones del papel del Reino Unido en el avispero iraquí. "La realidad -agrega- es que los países occidentales no nos trajeron la libertad. Solo nos dejaron destrucción. Muchos sienten hoy nostalgia de los días de Sadam Husein. Los líderes actuales son una banda de forajidos que no se preocupa por los intereses del país".
Un estado fallido destrozado por la corrupción
Trece años después del ocaso del dictador, Irak es un estado fallido hecho trizas por el sectarismo y la corrupción. La purga masiva de leales a Sadam que desató la intervención y las políticas sectarias del ex primer ministro, el chií Nuri al Maliki, alimentaron la insurgencia suní. A pesar de las derrotas recientes, el IS (Estado Islámico, por sus siglas en inglés) aún controla Mosul, la segunda ciudad del país, y mantiene intacta su capacidad para sortear la seguridad en Bagdad y perpetrar atentados. "Ya sabíamos que no había razones reales para invadir Irak. En Londres pueden leer el informe 'Chilcot'. Nosotros, en cambio, lo vivimos a diario. El IS es el resultado de aquella acción estúpida", señala un activista de Mosul que pide permanecer en el anonimato por miedo a represalias.
Desde que los yihadistas se hicieran con el control de la urbe, el joven ha levantado acta de las fechorías que han herido su callejero. "¿Qué puede hacer ahora Reino Unido? Es demasiado tarde para hacer nada. Pudieron acabar con Sadam sin la invasión", maldice atrapado en la capital del califato en suelo iraquí.
Desde la instantánea de las Azores, al menos 160.000 civiles han perdido la vida en la geografía iraquí. Según un estudio publicado en 2013, la cifra sería aún mayor, superando el medio millón de fallecimientos como consecuencia de la contienda y los ochos años de ocupación. El balance alcanzaría los 751.000 muertos sumando aquellos óbitos relacionados con el colapso de las infraestructuras que causó la invasión. Varios millones de almas optaron por emprender el éxodo. La violencia trastocó para siempre el mapa multiétnico del país y redujo a escombros buena parte de su patrimonio.
"El informe Chilcot es un ejemplo de cinismo. Lo que sucedió en Irak fue un crimen contra la Humanidad organizado para destruir el país", denuncia el traductor e investigador iraquí Pius Alibek, afincado en Barcelona desde 1981. "No sirve de nada su publicación a estas alturas. ¿Acaso van a salvar a los iraquíes del daesh (acrónimo del IS en árabe) y de la corrupción?
Deberían juzgar a Tony Blair, George Bush y José María Aznar por la invasión", añade Alibek. Tras una larga década de violencia, sus compatriotas -reconoce el exiliado- "se han acostumbrado a la muerte, la corrupción, la humillación, la dejadez o la falta de electricidad y agua". Ayer, algunos iraquíes respondieron a las revelaciones de Chilcot difundiendo en las redes sociales la imagen de un ataúd vacío y un certificado de defunción en blanco. "¿Quién es el siguiente?", rezaba el fotograma.
"Hemos sufrido siempre la injusticia interna y externa. Aunque resulte escaso, el informe es un pequeño rayo de reconocimiento a nuestro dolor. Ojalá sirva de aviso a los corruptos que gobiernan Irak", apunta Al Ramli desde su refugio madrileño. Su familia no ha escapado al sino trágico que ha desangrado la mayoría de los hogares iraquíes. "Fui vigilado en la época de Sadam. Mi hermano fue ahorcado y mis parientes fueron despojados de sus empleos. Mi pueblo está hoy controlado por el daesh. No sé nada de mi hermano y mi sobrina fue asesinada en la plaza del pueblo. Es un tragedia sin fin".
jueves, 14 de julio de 2016
martes, 12 de julio de 2016
Una patria en este mundo
Soñando que soñaba, mientras flotaba en el agua, me deslumbró un rayo de luz entre las nubes calmas. Brotó una sonrisa, de aroma de mar que inundaba mis pulmones. El viento, tranquilo, rechaza la espuma y la corriente, llamaba una y otra vez a mí alrededor. Me volví a dejar caer, esta vez, más enérgico, fresco, en paz, pues, mientras la profundidad se abría ante mí: En medio de aquel cálido infinito, sin más lenguaje que la respiración, mi pensamiento, que como péndulo, buscaba la armonía, me interrogó: ¿podrías definir un -palpitante- beso?: La respuesta fue tan rápida que me gobernó en aquel sueño, como si fuera un títere: una razón para volver a la superficie. Más, mejor… Me interrogó el abismo. Una ventana abierta al alma adormecida, contesté, un abrir triunfante el cofre cuya puerta chirriante se desliza, ahora, en silencio. Es una ola traviesa que, de allende, viene encendida, un profundo amanecer que se desliza gota a gota, una sonrisa consciente que atraviesa rejas, unos ojos cerrados que despiertan, una desconocida guerra que habita, cavilando, en nuestra cabeza y que sin sosiego, funde el día y la noche, un gemido del corazón, una piedra atormentada por las olas, un confesar la esperanza, un sueño que parece sueño, una primavera como destino, un secreto a tu alrededor, un misterio leído, un errante susurro que aviva, un rubor que te cubre, un misterio de misterios, una patria en este mundo... y en el más allá.
Rafael Suárez
domingo, 10 de julio de 2016
viernes, 8 de julio de 2016
Es un silencio distante
Aciago el duende, que sin prisa, con horas prohibidas, encadena fronteras que últimamente deambulan en mis sueños, como desnudos puentes que sin apenas agua, murmuran.
Apenas, rodeo el viento. Se consume un nuevo día. Silvestre despertar que calmas mis ojos: una nueva espina en una nueva herida, de nuevo, en el camino, para quemar con alcohol, el ciego disfraz que recupera el conocido mar; incumplen cantos agitados por recuerdos blancos que se dirigen a mi alma, rechazando días de viento. Son enemigos, frescos, llenos. Es libertad. Me rindo. Afligido, entrando ya en la noche, asegurando la antorcha que gusta, convierte el mirar atrás, en diente de león, que con un soplo, escapan y se besan con el viento primero, con la hierba después.
Cuando el alcohol empuja, un espejo nace, coloreando a lo lejos, el alba. No hay lamentos desnudos. Solo recorro el vértigo con la negación de un quizás, de un pudo ser, con la imprecisa virginidad de un corazón cicatrizado que murmura y sueña mientras vive bajo la lluvia. No lo dudes: No hay impalpables lamentos, solo fe ciega en unos instantes lejanos, pactados con el pasado ausente que aún, de lejos, con su voz cerrada, demanda mi alma.
Es un silencio distante, ausente como un anillo, que con dos palabras, lejanas, sencillas, llenan mi melancolía.El sueño es solitario, es una red que arrastra su infinita mirada que profunda, como soledad del mar, incendia mi mente que desbordada, busca –inútilmente- sus raíces hambrientas.
El naufragio juega con el Sol y como un horizonte, evoca murallas, abandonadas y desiertas. Mi alma arrastra incendios.
Rafael Suárez
Cuando en ruinas, respiro. II Canto.
lunes, 4 de julio de 2016
El laberinto del tiempo
Deslumbra el futuro. Ya no hay ansias de despiadada alma, solo ingrávidos vuelos de sueños inexistentes, labios que muerden el corazón, y entretanto, el alma herida gotea sangre, ¿es ilícito revelar cicatrices encendidas cuando te despojas del laberinto del tiempo y solo la piel reviste el presente? Y si envejeces solo, frio, roto, al menos, roba la eternidad en este paisaje de sombras, que con lluvia, vértigo y deseos imploran –previo peaje- frágiles mudanzas desnudas: son pétalos agotados por el reloj.
Vuelves vacío cada vez. Abandona consciente el pensamiento concluido. Es comprensible que aprietes los ojos para sanar tu corazón herido, incluso, que huyas del desgastado naufragio en cuya soledad desplomada expiró -secretamente- tu alma: Alto precio pagaste.
Rozas descuidado, el rojo murmullo que descifra tu aliento, a veces, como disfraz, las menos como eternidad. Vuelve al coraje prohibido de aquel destino innumerable que encadena, ciego tu cielo.
Rafael Suárez
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