Good Saturday morning, Threaders, Threadheads, and all in between. More coffee, please.
Last night I found out about the DOJ backed UN claim that UNRWA has complete immunity for any actions under the diplomatic statute of the organization. A complete travesty in line with its practice. Is it time to admit the UN is dead?
From history we learn it will probably take nothing short of a cataclysmic event to create a substitute for the United Nations. World War One created the League of Nations and World War Two the UN. Their legacies are not much encouraging either: WW2 was the League of Nations one. But what is the UN’s? Some would say the Cold War but it runs deeper. In a world truly gone MAD, as in Mutually Assured Destruction, the UN was the stage for MADness. That’s its legacy: madness.
As long as the world craziest leaders had a place where to bang their shoes on the lectern and a podium from which to legitimize their lunacy we would all be safer and peace would prevail. We witnessed many unimaginable things happen at the UN General Assembly but we shrugged and pretended it was the cost of freedom. Not a forum for three dimensional chess players but a sandbox for children to play without parental guidance.
Everybody wants to rule the world, right? Why not go crazy and let it happen, see what gives. Well, we are seeing it. We have for quite some time. The Cold War may be over but we still live in a MAD world.
* Okay, now I am having trouble deciding which song to use at the end of this string… Tears for Fears or Gary Jules?…
We’re running in circles and there’s no turning back. So the songs go and so do we. Nothing lasts for ever is a hard concept for children to grasp, especially when they run around and around in a MAD world.
* Okay, that didn’t help me make up my mind.
Perhaps that’s why many Muslims consider music to be Haram. But I digress. Or maybe not since we’re discussing madness.
Madness; the art of repetition with similar results. The perfect definition of what the United Nations became. The result is always the same, isn’t it? No progress at all, no courage, no initiative for fear of the alternative: assured destruction. So it came to be the institution created to deliver us from the cruelty of humankind turned out to be the ultimate manager of fear, in which billions are spent to maintain it.
“Be very afraid” should be the UN motto. That or “We can’t do that”. Anything to keep us where we are and feel good about it. But do we? Little by little we got used to it like getting used to the discomfort of an incurable disease and learn to live with its painful symptoms. That feeling has made us believe it is in fact incurable. What else can we do but endure it? False. It’s far from inevitable. We were just convinced it is. It’s not.
The delicate balance of power between those who have most of it is achieved by making it acceptable through the parading of all that is wrong in this world within the walls of that sandbox where everything unacceptable is possible and problems become solutions in themselves. Like the unruly spoiled children that wreak havoc inside the house are allowed to play in the sandbox exactly the same way not for their benefit but for the comfort of their parents. A theater of the absurd.
Absurdity is the name of the game, cards against humanity without sarcasm, lining up the steps of the assembly to congratulate a terrorist organization for finally getting a seat in the sandbox. It’s perfectly fine, nothing can go wrong. Nothing ever does. It’s exactly as it’s supposed to be. Maybe one day someone with diplomatic immunity smuggles a nuke inside a suitcase into the building and put us out of our misery. Perhaps that’s what it will take to open our eyes.
I grew up with this lie. I had so much hope for the United Nations and as a child, when it came to play soldier, I always picked a blue helmet. I watched the Swedish troops being stoned on television as they kept the peace without firing a single shot. I watched the children in Africa being fed and the ones in Asia vaccinated. I was sure it was working. It had to. And while I watched the televised feel good show put up for me I missed what was really going on.
I am not a child anymore. Now I know that when I was three years old UNRWA was funding the training of Palestinian Arabs to fight in the Vietnam War. The televised show no longer makes me feel good. My baby shot me down. Bang bang. It’s no longer a game. It never was. All I feel is disgust, frustration, anger. How did we let it get this bad? What were we thinking? We didn’t get taught to hate; we got taught to tolerate the intolerable and we learned the lesson well. We got numb.
September 11 wasn’t enough. Surprisingly we got even more numb. Then came October 7. There were no planes flying into buildings, no balls of fire. There was a slow, painful, excruciating display of cruelty and hate no amount of numbness could deal with. Except in the sandbox. The place built for accepting it and dealing with it the only way they know how: rewarding it in the usual appeasing way designed to pretend it will go away if only we look past it into the void.
I don’t know about you but I am sick and tired of this sandbox where we’re supposed to do what we do for real pretending it’s not. It is real. And it’s eating us alive. The only thing good out of this madness is we finally realize there is no turning back. We can only go forward from here. The question then becomes what the fuck are we waiting for and what are we going to do about it. Maybe start by not taking this shit anymore.
It’s hard to remain sane in this madness but we have to, somehow. Seems reasonable enough to be unreasonable in the face of what we were told reason means by UN standards. It’s time to get rid of our old feathers so new ones can grow and fly out of this sandbox where we are told nightmares are all we can dream.
It’s time to wake up.
Try and have a good weekend.
*