Barack's Better Angel

Barack's Better Angel

It is Monday, November 2nd, twilight in Washington, D.C. In the Oval Office, the President is alone, studying his reflection in a large wall mirror as he practices the latest version of his Historic Hands-Across-the Water Speech that he will deliver next month in Copenhagen. Face right, scan the teleprompter, lift the chin, pause, face left, scan the teleprompter, lift the chin...he has a gift for this. In the background, three televisions whisper. One runs a story about a ship seized by the Israelis that contains a huge shipment of Iranian arms bound for their puppet Hamas. A second tells of the brutal suppression of a street march in Tehran and a third--the one the President is keeping one eye on--shows himself, campaigning as only he can, trying to snatch the bacon of the bearded governor of New Jersey from the fire of tomorrow's election.

"We will reach out...with an open hand..." he intones.

"Barack!"

"...to all those...who do not clench their fists..."

"Bara-ack!"

The President starts, looks around, but he remains alone. "Who's there?" he calls, a trifle fearfully. "Jeremiah?"

"Barack, cut the crap. It's not Jeremiah and it's sure not the the ghost of George Bush. It's me, your better angel, and it's time to listen up. First--and I shouldn't have to tell you this--whatever happens from now on, it's not George Bush's fault. You're starting to annoy even me--whose job it is to be on your side--with this Bush stuff. Listen to yourself. Economy's in the crapper--blame George. Putin's disrespectful--blame George. Michelle's butt is as big as Vermont--it's all George Bush's fault. For your own sake, cut it out--but that's not why I'm here. This is a reality check. Forget about health care, this is about life care. I want to talk about Iran.

"But...but what does Iran have to do with greenhouse gases...and my pretty new green economy?"

"Pay attention, pal, or pretty soon you won't have an economy--green or otherwise--to tinker with. Job one for any president is defense--of the Constitution and the nation--and you're botching it. Did you see the news? Israel--you know, that funny little country that you wish would go away--seized the largest single shipment of arms in history today. Those arms were from Iran, on their way to the nutballs of Hamas. Iran is making a monkey out of you, and therefore your country. Like Hitler in the 'Thirties, to pick just one 20th century horror, Ahmadinejad and the mullahs have announced in no uncertain terms what they intend to do to Israel and, when they can, to us. Why not take them at their word? And let me tell you, sweet talk isn't going to help you. Europe's not going to help you. Russia's certainly not going to help you. Truth is, except for that pesky Israel, you're pretty much on your own.

"So it's time to cowboy up, Bones--peace has never been the natural state of mankind. All this wishing, whining and whistling past the graveyard by you and your minions is...unseemly. Someday maybe we'll beat our swords into plowshares and the lion will lie down with the lamb, but not today. The way to deal with Iran is not to oil up, flex your pecs and kick sand at Israel--as you had Hitperson Hillary do again today. But I know how your mind works. Israel won't hit you back. It's a lot easier to slap around your friends than to stand up to your enemies.

"I know you've been busy, but do you know what else Iran did today? Once again, the mullahs beat the living bejesus out of street demonstrators, and do you know why? To prove to you--that's right, you--that there is no internal tipping point. They plan to stay in power, get nukes and use them--end of story. My advice, Bones, is to stop practicing chin-sets in the mirror and read the writing on the wall beside it.

"After that, check out the hallway. See that guy in uniform sitting there, the one with all the ribbons? He's not a left-over Hallowe'en decoration, even though he's strung with cobwebs. That's McChrystal, your hand-picked general--the one you hired to implement your strategy. Remember--you met him on the tarmac in London between red carpet walks? Remember that strategy, and all your stern words about a war of necessity? That wasn't so long ago. Nothing's changed except the facts on the ground. Those have grown uglier and need your attention. Meanwhile, that poor guy's been sitting there since Labor Day, waiting for you to stop rehearsing Hamlet.

"So that's it for now, Bones. For God's sake, buck up! Give the poor man what he needs to do what you told him to do, then go back in your office--and it's not really your office, so don't get too comfortable--call Netanyahu--it's tomorrow in Jerusalem, but he'll take your call--apologize for all the baiting and bullying and ask him how you can help, because my guess is you're going to need a friend in Israel before too long."