By Paul Edwards
President Franklin D. Roosevelt coined a phrase destined to last forever in our history when he asked Congress for a declaration of war on Imperial Japan after their sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. It was, he said historically, “A date that will live in infamy”.
A lucky grifter, he talks and bullies like a gangster because he heads a gangster nation.
Imperial Japan, which had long nursed vengeful feelings toward this country, provoked to desperation, made the fateful decision to attack, with all the power it could muster, a nation it knew was vastly richer and stronger militarily than itself. Its high command gambled that it could deliver one knockout blow on American naval forces that would end its capacity to retaliate. It lost, and was so severely beaten that its culture was altered forever, and it had to rebuild itself economically from the charred ground up.
There was no other such assault by or against a major nation—Hitler’s on the USSR having preceded it—until Trump’s Hail Mary aerial blitz on Iran on February 28th. It could be said that it was not quite as sneaky due to the constant barrage of threat and vilification that preceded it, but that is to mistake the cultural differences between Imperial Japan and the American Empire.
The emissaries of military run Japan had made clear in temperate and diplomatic language the degree of their dissatisfaction with policies of the United States in restricting and withholding key raw materials on which rising Japan and its prosperity depended. The American government clearly understood their animosity.
Trump’s diplomacy is carried out in another key altogether but is no doubt all the clearer for that. He had long signaled his deep objection to Iran conducting its business as independent nations do, and his insistence that they operate to suit him instead, to which they had responded negatively. Thus balked, and urged by murderous Bibi, he attacked, in a poorly concealed surprise.
When his very own Shock and Awe imitation—the full satisfaction of which Bibi swore he’d enjoy—failed to eliminate Iran’s government with a people’s uprising which was always a moronic, fantasist, neocon wet dream, he was not happy. That was due to the vast extent and degree to which his vital military installations installed among the clique of Arab male whores who are permanently on their knees to suck for The Empire were soundly hammered.
His original diplomatic response to that untoward outcome was to post, ‘Open the fuckin’ Straits, you crazy bastards!’, thus introducing brand new terms to international formal dialogue.
With the faeces fully in the fan now, Trump, has fused himself to Iran and the future of the Middle East from this time forward, so that it will ineluctably define the urban hillbilly ignoramus for all time. His aggression has detonated an explosion in that critically mangled, malappropriated part of the world that is irreversible, and that has insured that the arrogant vivisectioning that made it the time bomb it became can never be reconstituted.
According to some revisionists historians, FDR knew —in fact may have deliberately provoked—the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor as a way to unify the country behind the war against the Axis powers.
It will be tragic in the dimension of innocent human suffering that will likely result—an extension of the race murder perpetrated by the psychotic Nazi ethnostate, doomed Israel—yet the pathetic history of Mankind has shown it is only through human blood and misery that the iron forms of human subjection are overthrown.
Trump now faces an adversary willing to go to the wall, to take it to the limit, that has laughed at his writhing to disengage, and presented to him and his Zionist schleppers a set of demands that are inalterable. The diseased loon believes he can haul his ugly tits out of the wringer by bully threat, but Iran has called him, and re-raised. He can’t win, and anyway he plays it, he loses.
His feckless bravado, now blunted, calls to mind the antebellum Southern Uncle Remus tale of the Tar Baby. In it, Br’er Fox, who has been trying to catch Br’er Rabbit to eat him, puts together, out of tar and turpentine, a figure he dresses to look like a little black baby and sets it by the trail where Br’er Rabbit will see it.
Sure enough, Br’er Rabbit comes by and says good morning to the Tar Baby. Silence. He greets it again. No reply. A last try gets no response, so he smacks the baby and his paw sticks. He hits it again and his other one does. He kicks it and both feet stick and Br’er Fox comes out of the woods, smiling at his dinner.
Trump is Tar Babied on Iran. The game has metastasized beyond simple military stand off, and is now a naked battle for remaking the entire region. The irony for the blind slug is that this will be done on lines that represent a dead loss for him and The Empire.
It will be burleycue theayter to watch him catch on, because it doesn’t matter how the “peace negotiation” farce turns out. The ultimate transformation is already inevitable. His will be like the performance of Xerxes chastising the Bosporus, when he chained it, and had the water flogged like a common soldier because it betrayed his invasion force and he was thwarted.
The larger lesson from Trump’s Day of Infamy is analogous to the laws of physics. A nation cannot be altered and remade unless it is totally conquered, and insufficient force can never achieve that.
Iran is not Grenada. The very idea of conquering it is lunacy.
Madness, insanity, though, is a wild card in this. The Empire is a nuclear giant, but the horror of using nuclear weapons for any end is anathema to the vast majority of sane American people.
Israel—murderous, vengeful, blindly ambitious, and terrified—is another matter. It is already doing all it can to wreck the fragile truce. Pushed to the edge of collapse, in extremis, it would use the Samson Option, destroying itself and triggering world war.
