The missing factor
On Moore's bulling for
the asinine
July 16, 2004
iranian.com
Reached our natural conclusion
Outlived the illusion
I hate being in these situations
That call for diplomatic relations
If I only knew the answer
Or I thought we had a chance
Or if I could stop this, I would stop this thing
From spreading like a cancer
- Depeche Mode's "Leave in Silence"
0. Even Better than the Real Deal
Since its opening weekend spectacular, I have been to see Michael
Moore's Fahrenheit 911 twice. I enjoyed the movie immensely and
would like to recommend it to one and all. This, however, not because
it is an honest "documentary" or because it reveals the
underlying problems of the Republican leadership, but because it
shows the limits of freedom of speech in the United States, my
beloved, chosen, home.
Below I will try to look for the missing factors that point out
some of these limits, which I furthermore will argue, are not institutional
ones, unless the institution of American democracy be limited to
the Republican vs. Democrat duality. I will then, in the first
instance autobiographically follow a third alternative that I myself
pursued during the 1990s as a possible way out of this bipolarity,
but will come to end not wishfully "beyond" this duality,
and not in a call for the destruction of the binary structure altogether,
but by reentering a new, always shifting construction of it, not
as an objective subject, but through affirming my personal and
particular singularity, as a certain Iranian-American. This writing
then, in the first instance is to make my own one vote justifiable
to only myself: I and I.
This is a story of wanderings and eternal returns.
1. Party politics
like it's 1999
I was in Germany when the first attacks on the American embassies
in Africa took place in the late 1990s. At the time I was a teacher
(for the Department of Defense Dependents' middle school at Patrick
Henry Village near Heidelberg Germany,) and a graduate student
at the Ruprecht-Karls, the oldest university in Germany.
Looking back now, perhaps it was because of my close interactions
with the American military personnel whose children I was tutoring
in English and Mathematics that I was particularly well aware of
one now globally infamous Mr. Osama Bin Laden. It was because of
him that we now had to show our DoDD identification cards or American
passports upon every re-entry into PHV, the borders of which with
Germany-proper had until that point been nonexistent. I remember
the confusion that this new frontier had created, particularly
for the befuddled elderly German grandpa- and grandmas who were
now being stopped by the U. S. Military Police and asked for their
passports half way through their usual leisurely Sunday afternoon
bike ride in the country. At the time most of us thought this would
eventually blow over and things would return to normal, the news
of shootings at a high school State-side in fact had been deemed
much more serious than global low-tech terrorism.
Although admittedly I was made more aware of what was going on
with the Islamic lunatics in Afghanistan on daily bases, I later
came to learn that the attacks on the U.S. embassies were in fact
taken very seriously in certain quarters even State-side. For others
however, foreign policy continued to be made up simply of doing
the opposite of what the foreign policy specialists would do out
of spite for these specialists' views on domestic issues. The administration
presiding over the government of the time basically made-believe
it had taken care of the problem by firing at the Khyber Pass a
few cruise missiles off of a navy vessel in the Red Sea.
In the next few years, the bleeding-heart activists, unable to
actually see blood or dare to get close to the heart of the matter,
would slowly come to hear about the plight of women of Afghanistan.
But what the sweethearts were willing to do about the horror stories
from Afghanistan continued to be the self-serving gathering of
email signatures on the bottom of some very stern proclamations
on the rights of woman designed to crowd Mullah Omar's inbox, which
in turn would, Allah-willing, start a Millian dialogue with the
right honourable gentleman of the caves, Osama Bin Laden.
Back then the ever-larger master of local-patriotism, the Flintian
Mr. Moore, did not make any controversial proclamations about the
Aspirin factories that president Clinton blew up in Africa and
I have some serious reservations on whether or not he could even
point to Afghanistan in a 7th grade geography book - but no matter...
***
I was privileged with the citizenship of the United States early
in Clinton's first term, and while I could not vote for him the
first time around, I did very much support him during the 1992
race. Since then, I continued to support the Democratic Party in
every ensuing election in the 1990s, (as a registered Republican!
- but this only so that I could vote for the most ridiculous retard
the grand dinosaur party would put forth, as a way of sabotaging
their primaries.)
My frustration with the stacked and already set way that the
system as-is seemed designed to produce and reproduce itself ad
infinitum most cynically and hypocritically, as the two parties
would simply take turns defending the opposite of each other's
positions as sport, out of sand-box spite, and for purely political
reasons without any strong ethical convictions or honestly debated
philosophy would lead to the increasing radicalization of my political
views in favor of the doctrine of proportional representation,
or the multi-party, parliamentarian, continental democracy.
In fact by the time I began my graduate studies in Politics and
Germanistic at Heidelberg, I was convinced that the most progressive
way forward was to look for a true multi-party system in which
the "minority report," systematically suppressed in American
politics (and not always by those who look the guilty part,) would
also be given expression in a true parliament. This, together with
my strong views visa-vie social justice and a need for the dismantling
of the oligarchic stronghold of old time donkeys and elephants,
would lead me to a door to door canvassing for the Green Party
and their longtime candidate Mr. Ralph Nader.
After the initial wave of enthusiasm and optimism had settled
however, I would come to realize that the nation as a whole was
in no way ready for a rupture in its binary structure, and a
forceful attempt at this sort of deconstruction could arguably
only lead
to an idealistically induced revolutionary chaos, a situation
I had in fact lived through, as an Iranian in the early 1980s,
a
situation which would only lead to the most strong compensation
for the lack of clarity in the twilight of good and evil and
the collapse of the binary: the dictatorship of the righteous good
guys.
And while this disillusionment together with the depression of
post 9 July 1999 crushing of students by the Islamic Republic would
lead me to stay out of the 2000 U. S. elections, I nevertheless
continued to identify myself as someone rather solidly on the heavenly
clouds, on the left of the political sky.
2. Fall of 2000
" Let Ralph Debate" read the sign held up by the boys
from Oxford on Saturday Night Live ("National Anthem" and "Idioteque"),
and that perhaps more than anything else drew attention to the
fact that both the Democrats and the Republicans were complicit
in trying to avoid any real debate on any real issue. At the same
time the situation, particularly in the Middle East and more specifically
with the peace negotiations between the Israelis and the PLO and
failure thereof, was getting worse and worse as another Palestinian
revolt was well on the way - while America (both parties) would
blatantly refuse to allow Ralph in the building, lest he overdo
and spoil the fantasy world of continued ignorance and isolationism
for the other two. By now hypocrisy had reached an all time high
and there was not even an attempt to cover it up. In a way, the
bare-bone, commercial-less, out-and-out realpolitik had reached
the surface at least a year prior to the fall of the two towers...
In the fall of 2000 I had a complete nervous collapse and had
to leave the university. And by the spring of 2001 I was driving
a flower delivery truck around the dry landscape of San Diego county
looking for a new station down the dial.
3. Moore of the Same
Mr. Moore's movie begins with the 2000 elections.
But he, while pretending to be after unearthing and uncovering
some radical truth also keeps Ralph out. Instead the mess is blamed
on the conservative conspiracy and its media, cocks, s/m nbc or
whatever, which in turn blames everything on the liberal media,
see m and m etc etc: this is the ultimate restoration of the binary
at work, perhaps consciously, but most probably without a reflected
intent, but nevertheless designed to satisfy the near carnal, natural,
partisan urges while ultimately affirming the business as usual
through a self-righteous "documentary" that only further
documents the disturbing underlying hypocrisy:
Republicans vs. Democrats, blues vs. reds, good cops vs. bad
ones, Frenchified antellectuals at the can', vs. illiterate cowboys
on the ranch, reformists vs. conservatives, FC Barcelona vs. Royal
Madrid, Man United vs. Arsenal, Persepolis vs. Taaj: pick your
side, buy the T-shirt and feel good about yourself through an enthusiastic
cover-up of the disturbing truth: learn to forget, give up treading
down the aporias and facing the difficult chiasmic equations.
Michael Moore of course is cheering the good guys and denounces
the evil ones, as any real red-blooded, blue-collar, disturbingly
tah-reeshed and supersized American should. He's on the side of
the real neighborhood black folk, and for the stereoing the America-hating
Arab-trypes; he takes the ethically impeccable side of the ones
who don't want war but rather like to watch Madonna fist fuck herself
while reciting medieval Sufi poetry; he is on the side of the ones
who don't like cheap oil and never dream about exploiting the towel-head
camel jockeys and sand negros -- I mean sand-African-Americans,
of course. Oh, and one more thing: he has declared himself to be
the only white American who believes O.J. Simpson to be innocent – honestly!
And so, let me spoil the plotline a few months after its original
showing:
The fortunate son of a Bush stole the 2000 election from the
rightful ere to his slick Williness, - that hero of engaging in
winnable wars and master of actively looking away from the worst
case of genocide since WWII. While the one who should have won,
if there would be one single (Democrat or Republican) senator who
would have signed the petition of the black representatives, the
good honest poor people's senator's senator's-son lost because
of the damned Electoral College and the Su-p-reme Court and the
mistakes with the ballots and the minorities and the service men
and the sun and the stars and the moon... And then Bush 43 goes
on to say to the have-s and the have-moore-s that they make-up
his base? How dare the bastard? Does he not realize the standards
of hypocrisy that we would like to stick to in this land of Democracy?
Then comes September 11th, and Bush is shown in all his majestic
stupidity and laughed off and cursed at in a partisan-and-a-half
movie-theater full of good-guys. And what does the bastard W do?
He does not detain and question the family of the suspected felon;
he lets them get away because he fears for his Arab buddies and
does not care about the real American people. He a Saudi-lover.
Now, as I said in the beginning of this outrageous polemic, September
11th was not the first time the name Bin Laden turned up, and in
fact major newspapers had ran large front page titles as early
as the summer of 1998, announcing that a Mr. Bin Laden had declared "war
on America." But back then our Democratic president had decided
to blow up an Aspirin factory in Africa with his cock down a fat
intern's throat, in response to this declaration. Did Mr. Clinton
round up and question Bin Laden's family then? Were they not in
America then? Let's not digress here: let's stick to the Bush and
the Dick.
If we continue to watch Mr. Moore's movie, it answers the questions
it asks rather well despite its most overt intentions. The only
recognizable Arabs worked into stereotypes and portrayed lovingly
by Mr. Moore are the ones who blatantly have grievances against
America, mothers who have lost their children and hysterically
(as Arabs tend to do so,) are cursing heaven and earth.
Meanwhile the bad Arabs are the ones who invest in America, and
furtherMoore, go as far as audaciously owing some 7 percent of
America! (There is no numbers given as to the percentage of America
owed by other ethnicities, or foreign countries, say England, Japan,
Israel etc.) How dare the fucking barbaric towel heads... is the
question not asked by the good fat white guy.
Then we quickly fly over Afghanistan together with the insinuation
that Mr. George W. Bush has perhaps actively let his buddy Osama
Bin Laden get away while sacrificing red blooded American mothers'
sons for no patriotic-enough reason in Afghanistan (because he
a Saudi-lover anti-American) – he kill mostly the good, Democratic
African-American ones who hang around the hood, not like the traitors
Condi Rice and Colin Powel and Clarence Thomas, who obviously don't
know which party is good for them and for their race.
The whole show, furthermore, has in any case been because, really,
evil Cheney wanted to get the oil in Iraq, because the price of
embargoed Iraki oil on the black market has not been cheap enough
and he wants to suck it out of Iraqi people's soil personally through
a straw, because he is an evil man, and likes to do things like
that.
This further explains why we should sit and watch all sorts of
atrocities around the planet, even if we are the only ones who
could possibly do anything about it.
There was no evidence of a connection between Al Qaeda and Saddam
(argues Moore in quite bad faith, I would say,) so we should not
have attacked. Do we not see the mothers' crying? Do we not feel
their pain? Do we not hear the strings in A-minor, and the tenors
with arms wide open?
So, according to the movie this far, the only people in Saudi
Arabia who are friendly to Americans and the Bush family should
be deserted by America (hint: Carter's treatment of the Shah of
Iran in the late ‘70s,) and because no WMD were found after
an extensive pounding of Iraq, argues Moore a la Cochran, then
the war on Saddam is not justified...
Apart from demonstrating no knowledge of, and no interest in,
the realities of the Middle East, which would merely make him a
Democrat and nothing else, Moore goes further and quite blatantly
forces his arguments to fit by again... leaving things out.
Now, we must not sympathize with the terrorists to recognize
that while the absolute majority of those who attacked America
on September the 11th were Saudi nationals (not of the Saudi family,
as Moore blatantly tries to collapse the two), anyone slightly
interested to learn about the whole matter would quickly have to
come to recognize that the brains behind the operations and the
theoretical backbone of the whole movement has come from Egypt,
and the inspiration for it (in showing that America indeed as Khomeini
proved, "cannot do a damn thing,") from the Islamic Republic.
Now, why would the Egyptians and the Islamic Republicans have
a problem with America?
And here comes the biggest single word missing in all of the
movie, and the most vivid proof that not only the Democrats such
as Moore are not honest in their criticisms of America, but also
that the whole thing is in fact not to provide honest and truthful
criticism, but to perpetuate the status quo, the debates about
blow-jobs, about white-water, about conservative conspiracy to
go on vacations and put on make up before getting on TV...
What is the place-name missing in a movie about 911, terrorism,
Middle East, Iraq, Saddam, suicide bombings... yes, yes yes, yes
yes yes, you have guessed it: ISRAEL.
Now, ask yourselves, if you haven't already: am I an anti-Semite
for using this three-syllable name? And then go on from there into
a debate on Semites and half-Semites and whether Arabs are Semites,
or whether Iranians are Arabs etc etc, ... But if you want to be
serious about 911, and it is indeed a matter to be serious about
if there ever was one, then this last question should be recognized
only as a divergence and detour away from the real questions and
answers.
4. York New York New York New
You punctured my tires,
You crossed all my wires
I brand your acolytes as a pack of liars
And the fire's
Singing everywhere
- The Church
Someone once told me that according to Freud one must allow for
two years of mourning before addressing a traumatic event. For
the first year I couldn't even bring myself to read the writings
about the events of that early September morning. Then a few months
ago I began to make notes for myself about what I remembered, but
every time I would have something prepared, I would quite cleverly
and accidentally lose it, and make myself busy with something else.
I had just come back from my medical leave in San Diego and would
start my first semester of teaching at NYU. Back then I was living
in Brooklyn in a brownstone right next to the Brooklyn Academy
of Music (Bam) together with three other guys. The original four
of us had been comprised of Chris (from my department,) Paul (who
worked for Audubon magazine,) and Craig (from an interdisciplinary
program, also at NYU.)
The four of us had been assembled together meticulously by Chris,
a master of political correctness and fashionable philosophy, but
he himself would soon leave to Berkeley to try out the gay atmosphere
there. Being originally from Staten Island, this would be his first
major Wander Year. And so, we picked John, an Amtrack employee
also originally from Staten Island to replace him - on the recommendation
of Craig and Paul, both original New Yorkers as well (Great Neck).
Among the four of us now, John stood out as the only "Republican
type" (although he called himself Independent). In the fall
of 2000, John had voted for Bush, Craig for Nader (after making
sure that Gore would take New York) and Paul for Gore, because
he was gay-friendly. I had sat out.
It was indeed quite a beautiful day.
 Late as always, I got up, put the new U2 CD in the computer and
was out of the shower before it got to "Elevation". Then
right out the door, with one hand inside my jacket and fumbling
my books, towards the Atlantic Ave subway stop. Later I calculated
that by the time I was entering the subway station, the first plane
had already hit. The second would hit while I got on the train
and opened my book. There were no seats available and so I leaned
against a door and leafed through the textbook, trying to put together
a last minute lesson-plan between sips of a fifty-cent-coffee until
I noticed a swarm of people around me trying to look out the window
from around my body. So I took off my headphones and turned around.
The subway-driver had apparently decided to stop smack in the middle
of Manhattan Bridge to take some last mental snapshots of the twin
towers.
I first considered bombs, but that didn't seem likely, because
the two towers were burning around the same general area. An aerial
attack of some sort seemed to be the only way to do that kind of
damage. But who would do it? Well, either the Islamists, or the
Leftists, I thought while looking at a German textbook. But it
couldn't be the leftists because they generally are not as organized
or pissed off as needed to pull off such a thing. But the problem
with thinking that it was the Islamists was that I couldn't imagine
those fuckers having access to fighter jets, and even if they did
have fighter jets, they also would need an Aircraft Carrier to
bring their jets close to Manhattan. Who had Carriers? The Brits,
who else? We had sold some of our old ones to the Spaniards, I
remembered, before noticing that I am going down the wrong path.
I will soon enough find out, I was sure.
It was quite apparent that there was no way to put out those
fires. Looking back, I am amazed at myself for not staring at the
burning buildings longer. I just turned around, gave my much coveted
position up for a place on the other side of the train and continued
preparing the lesson plan and worrying about being late, yet again...
Looking around, some kids were running around the car quite excited,
but also some older women obviously preferred to continue dozing
off and getting their regular nap on the way to work.
I was mainly worried about being late. By now there was no way
to make the 9:30 class on time. So I started scheming: maybe if
I get off at Canal and take the Green line instead of the Yellow
onward, I could make it quicker to Astor, than I would on the Yellow
to 8th. So finally when the train started moving again, I implemented
my plan, except that since it would be the first time that I pulled
this maneuver, I ended up taking the number 6 going downtown instead
of uptown and only realized this as we pulled into the Brooklyn
Bridge stop. Then I quickly got out, ran to the other side and
got into another train and stood next to a guy in a business suit
with a kippot on his head and ashes on his shoulders. He was telling
everyone that it was the Moslems who had done it. I still didn't
know what had happened. And so, trying to be a smartass I said
something like, "Are you sure it wasn't the leftists?" Upon
which I received the first glance that made me realize how I look
on the outside.
At Astor I quickly ran past Barnes and Nobel's and as I was crossing
Broadway, I noticed that people were lined up along the eastern
sidewalk looking at the smoke. I had no time for that I might still
find a few students. Back then one did not have to show ID's upon
entering the main building, so I jumped on the staircase instead
of waiting for the elevator.
My room was of course empty, except the radio that was on my
desk and tuned to Howard Stern. As I entered the room, he was talking
about how he has so many times before said that all these foreign
students have to be rounded up and registered and send back to
their own countries, and how dare they take advantage of our hospitality
and then blow up our buildings etc etc.
I took the elevator down, and walked towards 726 Broadway, where
our department had moved to for the year while renovations were
going on at 19 University place. By now I was really scared. Walking
through the department, of course, Fred Ulfers was in his room
going through some papers. I just stuck my head in, said hi, and
also reminded him that we should get together and talk about Nietzsche
sometime... Of course, of course, he said, send me an email and
remind me... Then I found Ziggy our secretary who told me that
my class had been cancelled and that I needed to get back to Brooklyn
as soon as possible, because the bridge would be closed, or is
already closed, or something like that. In a way I was happy that
I had a very good excuse for being late, and that people had other
stuff to worry about now. I went to the computer room and checked
my emails. The email from Moji Agha, some agent of the Islamic
Republic with whom I had had an altercation about an article that
I had written on the Iranian.com was still there. In the email
he had called me a traitor. A traitor. I had never been a patriot
of his Islamic Republic to be a traitor now...
Then as I was checking my email an email arrived from Germany,
asking me how I was. I don't know what I wrote, but something like:
people are freaking out over here...
In truth I was freaking out. I was not Moji Agha, but on the
outside there was no difference between him and me. And anyway
it has been my experience that people don't care about the differences,
they either like me because of my appearance, or hate me because
of it, and very small few care to know what I think before loving
or hating me starts.
As I was waiting for the elevators to go down, Troy, another
guy from the department came up to me and we began to talk. It
was good to speak German. Back then I didn't know that some of
the hijackers had come from Germany (and a few even via San Diego!!!)
So we walked down and by the time we were down the first building
had already collapsed and Broadway was full of debris. Troy suggested
I go to his place in the East Village and wait there till we know
what's happening. I was very glad to take the offer, because I
really didn't want to be alone.
At his place, his girlfriend was freaking out and kept going
out to buy water to stack. We were watching the live images of
the one building still standing on TV. Very interesting that the
entire planet probably was seeing the same images at the same time.
We decided to go to the roof. I remember quite well that as the
second building was collapsing, Troy and I were talking about German
grammar, particularly what he had to teach in the forth semester:
the passive voice construction.
Then I remember we were walking on the street to find a pharmacy
so that I could buy some pills that I would need if I had to stay
in Manhattan that night. I actually walked down to Canal and then
took the subway home.
5. Where When What Who Why W
The city walls are all pulled down
The dust, a smoke screen all around
See faces ploughed like fields that once
Gave no resistance
- U2's "A Sort of Homecoming"
The first few weeks were the hardest. Everything was up in the
air, and no one could be trusted. TV was stripped naked with no
kind commercials. On the night that Bush was on TV telling people
to report suspicious activity, Craig had ordered from the Syrians,
because he liked their hummus. I opened the door. Some Arab kid
and I were listening to the sound of the president coming from
the living room. I asked him his name and told him mine. He was
obviously very disturbed. I yelled again for Craig to come and
get his food, and told the Syrian kid that I was Iranian. He relaxed
a bit. Craig came. I went back to the living room.
About an hour later Craig came to me demanding to know what I
had told the Arab! The president had said to report suspicious
activity.
...
Another one of those days I remember coming home and finding
the landlord on the stoop. He wanted his rent. Told him to wait
while I ran upstairs to get my wallet. A few moments later Craig
again was yelling down the staircase about why I had left the door
open. Was it, he wanted to know, to let Arabs come in and take
refuge in the house?
...
Paul who was carrying an American flag with him everywhere now,
wanted to know why the people from my side of world were so "uncivilized?"
...
When US decided to attack Afghanistan, I was still worried about
my civil and human rights. It seemed like anything could be done
to anyone. And whom could I count on to help me? Paul the Democrat?
Craig the Democrat who had voted for Nader?
John wanted to drink, and so we spent a lot of time at the Brooklyn
Tavern drinking Stella and Boddingtons. It was during these conversations
that it became more and more clear to me that I could not separate
myself from the place I had come from. If some idiots in Iran still
yell death to this and that, it is my responsibility to do something
about that... if I don't want the Marines to shit all over the
place.
 I could escape half the world away thinking that I have nothing
to do with the mullahs anymore, but I won't ever be free by running
away from the troubles in my own home.
It wasn't until U2 came around that I felt a little bit more
adjusted and could think a bit less fearfully. An old "Speaking
Freely" student of mine had gone and stayed in line all night
long to pick up tickets for us. We were on the floor to the side
of the stage. I screamed all night long. There were only very few
things that one couldn't leave behind.
What does Michael Moore know about Fahrenheit (451) or 911?
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