Five months ago, a waif named Julian Assange unloaded 250,000 secret documents that disclosed, among other things, the names of Afghan citizens outing Al Qaeda miscreants in their neighborhood, names of CIA operatives in Afghanistan and Iraq, details of the U.S. rendition program, U.S. helicopter fire on a group of civilians and reporters (interspersed with combatants, a common tactic), and revealed some of our more gruesome ways to squeeze information out of captured bad guys such as waterboarding.
With the first dump, one could sense a chuckle coming from the press and the White House as most of the leaks were thought to be embarrassing to the previous administration. On the surface of things, nothing was done to stop Assange or his WikiLeaks group from further publication of national secrets. The New York Times, which refused to reveal the name of the already revealed Valerie Plame for fear harm could come to her, had no journalistic concerns about revealing hundreds of names of individuals involved in covert activities from and for the U.S. As the point news source for WikiLeaks in the U.S., no doubt the New York Times was more busy dusting off a spot on the mantle for its next Pulitzer Prize that it always seems to receive when it publishes secret material than it was considering the ethics of the news reporting profession.
Assange vowed more would come and there was a second, smaller dump of classified information, most of which dealt with our dust-up in the dust bowls that are Afghanistan and Iraq pre-2009 – or pre- coronation of Barack Obama’s taking control as Commander-In-Chief. Again, on the surface of things, nothing appeared to be done by our intelligence services, our Defense Department, our Justice Department, Congress or the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I have to believe if people were foolish enough to elect me president I would have done anything possible to disrupt future leaks. Hell, I would have hired the Vienna Boys Choir to sing him in from his not so secret hiding places if that would help.
Shortly after the second dump, Assange promised the largest dump yet of secret documents that apparently came from a 21-year-old private with a tad too much access to our national security secrets and an odd view of his oath to protect his country. This latest dump, however, struck a raw nerve. No longer was it about embarrassing George W. Bush and the neo-cons. This new dump revealed not so glamorous things about the Obama Administration and his Secretary of State’s not so diplomatic way of handling diplomacy (what can be expected from someone whose main job was to dig up dirt on her political enemies and her husband’s harem?)
Now we have action. Attorney General Eric Holder vowed to “look into” laws that Assange could be prosecuted against. (Here's a hint, he can try this one: 18 U.S.C. 793(e), which provides: "Whoever having unauthorized possession of, access to, or control over any document, writing, code book, signal book, sketch, photograph, (etc. etc.) relating to the national defense, ... (which) the possessor has reason to believe could be used to the injury of the United States or to the advantage of any foreign nation, willfully communicates (etc. etc) the same to any person not entitled to receive it, or willfully retains the same (etc) ...
Pressure was also placed on Amazon.com to no longer carry the servers for WikiLeaks and E-Bay’s Pay Pal was given a bit of a strong lecture that they should no longer serve as a means for WikiLeak fans to send in donations. A noose has been drawn tighter around Assange as he faces rape charges that numerous countries are upholding and his colleagues tell of stories of Assange feeling nervous to sleep in the same five star hotel on London’s East Side more than one night in a row (even cutting back on his room service!).
While it can be said it’s better late than never to the slow-motion reaction of our fearless leaders, it’s much easier – and more fun – to ask, where were they five months ago? Since that time, nearly every journalist seemed able to track him down at a “secret location” for an interview. If our crack intelligence community is unsure of his whereabouts, just follow a few reporters around and eventually they’ll be led to him. It’s not exactly like he’s hiding in a cave in Pakistan, so what’s the trouble?
When Dan Rather was able to locate Saddam Hussein and sit down with him for an interview, former pro basketball star Charles Barkley wondered on a broadcast why Rather didn’t stab Hussein with a fork and save the world a lot of trouble and a lot of lives. Sure, we would have lost Rather, but he would have ultimately been remembered more fondly than he is today. The same should be true for Assange. Isn’t there a reporter with a fork and access to Assange willing to take one for the team?
Saturday, December 04, 2010
Friday, December 03, 2010
Re-Post For My Grandma
Four years ago December 3, my grandmother died at age 97. By anyone’s measure she lived a full and useful life and was greatly loved by four generations of my family. I also loved her dearly.
Following my mother’s death in 1995, my grandmother and I gravitated toward each other, I suspect because I wanted to be near the part of her that was my mother and she wanted the same from me. We talked nearly every week for the rest of her life and I discovered even more in common with her and relished our talks. She especially liked to talk about my mother and often repeated the wonderful deathbed conversation she and my mother had when they closed the books on a lifetime of misunderstanding. Since I liked to talk about my mother too, I was always there to oblige. She buried a husband, three children and countless friends and relatives before she died and each time you thought this would be too much for her, she dug deep to find more strength to carry on. She would just tell me it’s what happens when you live so long. The fact is, she loved life and never wanted to leave.
She had a project going all the time, which I think was partially responsible for her longevity (along with a sip of whiskey more often than she would admit). One year she would plan to paint the house, the next year to put in new carpet, and perhaps the next year it would be new window treatments. She always had something to look forward too.
When her husband died in December 1983 she visited my parents for Christmas. She looked so frail when she arrived, we all believed she wouldn’t last long. It was a bittersweet Christmas as it felt like we would lose both grandparents in the span of a few months. She surprised us all. My aunt bought her a puppy a short while later, believing she would get it back in a few years, but my grandmother stubbornly outlived the dog.
When we would visit, she would show off a ring or a bracelet. She would tell us it was a birthday present from her husband, the same one who had been gone for a decade. She actually went out and picked out the piece of jewelry she suspected he would buy for her, wrapped it up and gave it to herself on her birthday or Christmas, always with a wry smile and telling us "look what Bill bought me."
She also always felt and acted younger than her age. She was an avid bridge player and sharp as a tack so she always kept score (regrettably not allowing me to cheat). She knew what cards you were holding and was the first to tell you if you were leading from your hand or the dummy. When playing with her local bridge club, she complained that the people were just too old; despite the fact most were 10-20 years younger.
Once she told me the reason her husband was bald on the top of his head was because he kept hitting his head on the backboard of their bed (you youngins may have to think about that one for a bit). Never one to care what people thought of her, she also went out and bought what she called “stretchy pants” with stirrups that were meant for teens and proudly had her picture taken in them.
She had a lot of money but you would never know it. She and her best friend, the wife of the founder of K-Mart, used to go shopping every Wednesday. Too often they came back with nothing, complaining they would never spend more than $1 for a good pair of underwear. She actually was so cheap that she had a dual headstone made for her and her husband. Because she got a better deal for each letter, she had the cemetery chisel in her lifespan as 1904 -19_ _, not thinking she would make it into the 21st Century. I used to love to tease her about the fact she would live beyond her expectations and it would cost her more to knock off the 19 part. I’m happy to say she had that problem.
Because she had lived such a long life, I once asked her what she thought was the greatest invention or achievement in her lifetime. Now I would have said Saran Wrap and given a thought to the airplane, computer, or landing on the moon, but she quickly answered “penicillin” because she knew how many lives it saved. Her generation was never about collecting new toys and technological inventions, but about making the life of others more comfortable and better.
Most people who live that long have some slip in mental acuity. She never did. I once asked her why and she told me it was because she read five or six hours every day and it kept her mind sharp. Her mental alertness may have ultimately made her death more frustrating.
She fell one day in late November of 2001 and broke her hip. Five days later she died from being in the hospital, hooked up to tubes and well-aware of what was happening around her. She didn’t fear death, but as with all things in her life, I think she wanted a say in how she died. I doubt she was ready to go that day and was probably pretty ticked-off that she wasn’t home baking pies. My relatives never told me she was in the hospital and I never had a chance to tell her good-bye or say how much I loved her and what she meant to me. Alice Brosier, if you’re looking over my shoulder today, I want you to know I love you so much and miss you every day.
Following my mother’s death in 1995, my grandmother and I gravitated toward each other, I suspect because I wanted to be near the part of her that was my mother and she wanted the same from me. We talked nearly every week for the rest of her life and I discovered even more in common with her and relished our talks. She especially liked to talk about my mother and often repeated the wonderful deathbed conversation she and my mother had when they closed the books on a lifetime of misunderstanding. Since I liked to talk about my mother too, I was always there to oblige. She buried a husband, three children and countless friends and relatives before she died and each time you thought this would be too much for her, she dug deep to find more strength to carry on. She would just tell me it’s what happens when you live so long. The fact is, she loved life and never wanted to leave.
She had a project going all the time, which I think was partially responsible for her longevity (along with a sip of whiskey more often than she would admit). One year she would plan to paint the house, the next year to put in new carpet, and perhaps the next year it would be new window treatments. She always had something to look forward too.
When her husband died in December 1983 she visited my parents for Christmas. She looked so frail when she arrived, we all believed she wouldn’t last long. It was a bittersweet Christmas as it felt like we would lose both grandparents in the span of a few months. She surprised us all. My aunt bought her a puppy a short while later, believing she would get it back in a few years, but my grandmother stubbornly outlived the dog.
When we would visit, she would show off a ring or a bracelet. She would tell us it was a birthday present from her husband, the same one who had been gone for a decade. She actually went out and picked out the piece of jewelry she suspected he would buy for her, wrapped it up and gave it to herself on her birthday or Christmas, always with a wry smile and telling us "look what Bill bought me."
She also always felt and acted younger than her age. She was an avid bridge player and sharp as a tack so she always kept score (regrettably not allowing me to cheat). She knew what cards you were holding and was the first to tell you if you were leading from your hand or the dummy. When playing with her local bridge club, she complained that the people were just too old; despite the fact most were 10-20 years younger.Once she told me the reason her husband was bald on the top of his head was because he kept hitting his head on the backboard of their bed (you youngins may have to think about that one for a bit). Never one to care what people thought of her, she also went out and bought what she called “stretchy pants” with stirrups that were meant for teens and proudly had her picture taken in them.
She had a lot of money but you would never know it. She and her best friend, the wife of the founder of K-Mart, used to go shopping every Wednesday. Too often they came back with nothing, complaining they would never spend more than $1 for a good pair of underwear. She actually was so cheap that she had a dual headstone made for her and her husband. Because she got a better deal for each letter, she had the cemetery chisel in her lifespan as 1904 -19_ _, not thinking she would make it into the 21st Century. I used to love to tease her about the fact she would live beyond her expectations and it would cost her more to knock off the 19 part. I’m happy to say she had that problem.
Because she had lived such a long life, I once asked her what she thought was the greatest invention or achievement in her lifetime. Now I would have said Saran Wrap and given a thought to the airplane, computer, or landing on the moon, but she quickly answered “penicillin” because she knew how many lives it saved. Her generation was never about collecting new toys and technological inventions, but about making the life of others more comfortable and better.
Most people who live that long have some slip in mental acuity. She never did. I once asked her why and she told me it was because she read five or six hours every day and it kept her mind sharp. Her mental alertness may have ultimately made her death more frustrating.
She fell one day in late November of 2001 and broke her hip. Five days later she died from being in the hospital, hooked up to tubes and well-aware of what was happening around her. She didn’t fear death, but as with all things in her life, I think she wanted a say in how she died. I doubt she was ready to go that day and was probably pretty ticked-off that she wasn’t home baking pies. My relatives never told me she was in the hospital and I never had a chance to tell her good-bye or say how much I loved her and what she meant to me. Alice Brosier, if you’re looking over my shoulder today, I want you to know I love you so much and miss you every day.
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