- Hannover
THE ELEPHANT(S) IN THE ROOM
Bradley R. Smith
Saturday 15 March. Most of us understand that it is unwise to draw a connection between the Israeli/Palestinian tragedy, 9/11, Afghanistan, and preparations by the U.S. administration to initiate a war against Iraq. The common understanding is that to suggest such a connection publicly, and in many contexts privately, is to risk being condemned as an anti-Semite. This fear is perfectly well founded. You will be. No one wants to be accused of stupidity, or of committing a thought crime either one.
"It is the proverbial elephant in the room. Everybody sees it, no one mentions it," as Michael Kingsley has it in Slate http://slate.msn.com/id/2073093 . The elephant in the room is Israel, and the influence that Israeli and American Zionists represent in the Bush administration. Mr. Bush is the fellow who said on national television that yes, he believes Sharon, the butcher of Beirut – not to go on about it -- is a "man of peace." The way that Saddam is "evil," I would suppose. Whatever works.
While Kinsley and a few other journalists are willing to mention the fact that there is, indeed, an Elephant in the War Room, it doesn’t occur to them – let’s give them the benefit of the doubt that it doesn’t occur to them – that the paternity of the beast in question might be of some interest to their readers. Who sired it, for example? Who suckled it until it found its present immensity? Who among us is dedicated to cleaning and feeding this unwieldy and dangerous pet? How has it grown to become the unlikely creature upon which even the values of American culture rest?
That fact is, there is more than one Elephant in the War Room. Behind the one that is visible yet goes unnoticed, is the Mother of all Elephants-in-the-Room – the mother that protects her calf, encourages him, assures him that no one will ever question what he is doing, and will go on feeding and nurturing him forever until the final catastrophe reveals itself – the flood of war, retaliation, blood, and weapons of mass destruction. Who is she?
Her name is Holocaust. She is the living heart of memory and sentimentality upon which all acts by her overgrown calf are given moral legitimacy. On that very rare occasion when the calf is questioned about his contempt for Arabs, his brutality, or his greed for Palestinian land, he raises his great flop of an ear for his mother’s counsel. Without moving from the shadows, she extends her sinuous trunk and through it whispers to her son: "Take the conversation back to the ovens of Auschwitz, my darling. Take it back to Auschwitz, my darling boy."
It isn’t that the big lug had forgotten what had always worked so well in the past. Like every bull calf with a powerful parent, he wanted to be reassured. When you have on your conscience what this beast has on its conscience, reassurance is always in order. Of course, he would never forget Auschwitz. Auschwitz was never out of his thoughts. Auschwitz was beautiful. Auschwitz was like a wonderful dream. Rolling logs, taking people for rides to Yad Vashem, grabbing Palestinian land, trampling whoever got in his way, or cheerfully switching his short, ferocious tale among the glasses at cocktail parties in Tel Aviv and Washington, Auschwitz was always there, the perfect cover. It was like a magic blanket, Auschwitz was, thrown over his huge haunch, assuring him that while he would continue to be seen by everyone, he would continue to be ignored by everyone.
Like the Michael Kinsleys.
http://www.breakhisbones.com/archive/Sm ... 03.15.html
