I am amused by my articles (“mama-jaan enqadr aartikel nanevis — mageh nagofti mikhaayi beri kelaaseh rap meseh siaahaa beraqsi, oun shalvaar gondehat ku?”); I read them, and I chuckle. Sometimes I am sad, I have a large coffee, a large piece of cake, and I read an old article, and I just chuckle (or I read Siamack's, they're funny, or those of the London guy, Peyvand. They have these bons mots: like the girlfriend telling him “you're my little terrorist.” That was funny. Then there are articles by Mariam Namazi, white-washing friend of communist murderers everywhere. I reach for another cake…)
I noticed in one of my items however, a reference to the U.N. human rights body. I thought for a moment: “WHAT THE F**K DO THOSE GUYS DO EVERY DAY?”
The United Nations was formed after the Second World War, supposedly an improvement on its previous, ineffectual incarnation, the League of Nations, and has been working day in day out for sixty odd years. Billions and billions of dollars of taxpayers' money have been spent on conferences, resolutions, speeches, events, debates, dinners, lunch, coffee, red carpet cleaning, plane tickets (Oh boy), “inspections,” you name it.
So, the human rights people go into the office every day (I hope) and get on with their business, whatever that may be. They should be the busiest department in that entire concern, surely? Or they would be if they strove (like Germans) to stamp out rights abuses around the world. They would, were it not for the “stink” diplomacy particular to the United Nations designed to avoid slighting sovereign (scumbag) states and their evil rulers — the Axis of Evil rulers who send the UN its paycheques, and their own loyal chums to staff the ethnic-quota-filled committees and sub-committees of the United Malodorous Nations.
What do these human rights people do when faced with another, yet another, report by Human Rights Watch or Amnesty that people have been arrested, have disappeared, been thrashed, beaten, “cabled,” or plain old murdered, in Kreplakistan or Shittia or wherever?
They convene an immediate, working lunch, of course.
“Hurry-hurry-we-eat-da-beef-Wellington-and-chateaulafitte-and-write denunciation-of-Amrikan-abuse-da-bastards-CUMMON-MR.-WAITER-MAN-WE-ARR-SUFFERING.” That's the head of department shouting, Abu Falafel Dum-kshowww, from Somalia (a country I greatly respect, famed for its law courts and pervasive stench of cack.)
But should the resolution not cite Big Dumpestan (Popular Happy People's Republic) where the torture occurred, his deputy Raj Dishdash interjects cautiously. Kshoww gives him a look of scandalized disgust, but says nothing, his mouth being full of a salmon-and-sparkling-wine gunge.
Thank goodness for international law, I say. Aside Republican administrations who obviously have no respect for anything good, we may rest assured that the states of the world never violate treaty obligations like the Universal Declaration of Human Rights or the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (because it's the LAW), to threaten the world or oppress their (cheering) citizens. Only some neo-con crazy guy would think that.
And if they did, they could expect a double-whammy of critical dialogue (KPOWWW) like there's no tomorrow.
I feel guilty now. I shouldn't have said that stuff earlier to Mariam Namazi. It's not personal, dear lady, it never is. When I refer to communist or MKO murderers and scum, I don't really mean they are murderers — like they actually murdered millions – or would be murderers or are scum. I say “scum,” and “murderers” in an entirely respectful way. I am mindful of the rich tapestry that is the spectrum of political opinions and aspirations. Where was I… yes, SCUM:
In the same way, when I write critically of third world states, I don't mean to generalize, or be frivolous or abusive for no good reason but my amusement. I appreciate they are in a process – a long, difficult, indeed unending – process of socio-economic development that is often hampered by ridiculous free-market and open-society rules and standards set by those wolves in sheep's clothing, liberal democracies (Khanum, I'm actually on YOUR side, just pretending to be with the capitalist pigs).
No, the point of writing here is not to be rude for rude's sake, but to share thoughts, enhance the collective knowledge, the breadth of knowledge I should say of the Iranian community, and make us stronger, better people, with a brighter tomorrow. We can do it with music: “Yow f**cka, mow f**a, me wanna me-treaty-rights f**ka.” It's the first line of my new poem: The Beauty of Didactic Verse.