OF PRINCIPLE AND BODY COUNTS

So Colin Powell didn't want to go to war. So he warned our dopey Maximum Leader about owning Iraq. Let's not make the U.S. Secretary of State a hero. Isn't he the man of principle who went to the U.N. with so-called proof of WMD in Iraq, which he in fact doubted? Didn't his diplomatic charade come a month after he knew the decision to go to war for all intents and purposes had already been taken?

Not to put too fine a point on it, is he not the guy who went along with "the Gestapo," his own term for "the civilian conservatives in the Pentagon loyal to [Dick] Cheney," according to Bob Woodward's "Plan of Attack"?

Meantime, the death toll keeps rising. The latest count of American soldiers who've died in Iraq -- 701 as of today, 100 so far in this month alone -- is nothing like a complete tabulation. As long as we're counting, do you have any idea of how many Iraqi civilians have died? A friend of mine guesses it's in the hundreds of thousands, a number so high "even Kipling would not be pleased." That would put us in Saddam's league.

Before the invasion, Fred Kaplan wrote in Slate that a "leaked U.N. study calculates that 100,000 civilians will die during the coming war, plus 400,000 after the war." But that estimate and others, such as one by a Russian military analyst who predicted 500,000 Iraqis would die, were based on historical extrapolations -- and so were merely theoretical.

Have a look at the actual numbers gathered by IRAQ BODY COUNT. It estimates that as of yesterday a minimum of 8,875 and a maximum of 10,725 civilians in Iraq have been "reported killed by the military intervention."

The IBC Project explains the rationale and methodology of the tabulation in great detail and gives the sort of assurances that lend it credibility. Among other things, it says:

Casualty figures are derived solely from a comprehensive survey of online media reports. Where these sources report differing figures, the range (a minimum and a maximum) are given. All results are independently reviewed and error-checked by at least three members of the Iraq Body Count project team before publication.

And this:

In the current occupation phase this database includes all deaths which the Occupying Authority has a binding responsibility to prevent under the Geneva Conventions and Hague Regulations. This includes civilian deaths resulting from the breakdown in law and order, and deaths due to inadequate health care or sanitation.

Here's a chart that identifies Iraqi civilian deaths by name, age, sex, place, date, method and source of information. IRAQ BODY COUNT is not complete, but it brings together in a single data base scattered reports of the war's Iraqi casualties too rarely noted by the American public.

Footnote: Our designation for George W. Bush these many months has been "our Maximum Leader" or "our fearless Maximum Leader" or as written today, "our dopey Maximum Leader," with the obvious intent to ridicule.

But we've been thinking about an email received from a bemused reader (scroll to the postscript) after last Tuesday's presidential press conference, which said "this little fucker will be content with nothing less than Gotterdammerung."

We not only agree, we're wondering whether "the little fucker" should be our Maximum Leader's new designation. Though it's reminiscent of "the little chap," the blithely cane-twirling Chaplin character who leaves disaster in his wake, we're hoping the comic ridicule would work. What do you think?

Postscript: "In Woodward's portrait," Evan Thomas writes in Newsweek, "President Bush is single-minded, and possibly simple-minded, in his resolve. He seems to have relied more on divine guidance than the considered opinions of his top advisers. Bush told Woodward that as he approached the final decision to go to war, 'I was praying for strength to do the Lord's will ... I'm surely not going to justify war based on God. Understand that. Nevertheless, in my case I pray that I be as good a messenger of His will as possible.'"

Divine guidance for the dopey little fucker? Will he be hearing voices next?

April 19, 2004 8:39 AM |

Categories:

Me Elsewhere

'WILD SIDE' STILL ROCKS 

Nelson Algren was one of the great American authors of the 20th century, it is no exaggeration to say, and among the most neglected. Consider his underrated classic, "A Walk on the Wild Side." The title -- popularized and co-opted as an idiomatic phrase by Hollywood and Madison Avenue (institutions Algren loathed) -- is familiar to most anyone who speaks English or knows Lou Reed's lyrics. But the novel itself? Hardly.

BUSTER KEATON REVISITED 
Buster Keaton: Tempest in a Flat Hat is not a biography. "This book is merely a fan's notes," Edward McPherson writes in the introduction, although his publisher ignores the disclaimer and calls it a biography on the cover. In fact, the book is a bit of both, a difficult combination to bring off unless you're David Thomson, who set the standard with Rosebud, his penetrating rumination on the life and career of Orson Welles, which was nothing if not a distillation of every obsessive thought he ever had about the myth and the man and all his movies.
LAUREN BACALL, STILL SALTY AT 80 
When Lauren Bacall writes that her singing voice ranges "somewhere between B minus sharp and outer space," she's being candid and funny. It's not every stage star with two Tony Awards for best actress in a musical whose vocal talent offers so little promise. (OK, Harvey Fierstein excepted.) Still less would one admit it.
THE STARS ACCORDING TO BOGDANOVICH 
Peter Bogdanovich's superb collection of movie-star profiles and interviews -- a sequel to Who the Devil Made It, his interviews of top film directors -- begins with an affectionate tale about Orson Welles that reminds us just how intimate the author's connection to Hollywood's greatest has been. But contrary to what we've come to expect from dime-a-dozen celebrities and celebrity interviews not worth two cents, the tale avoids bromidic egotism and journalistic platitudes.
SAMMY'S WHITE DREAMS 
Four decades ago Lenny Bruce sentenced Sammy Davis Jr. to "30 years in Biloxi," stripping him of "his Jewish star" and "his religious statue of Elizabeth Taylor." Now we have two new biographies of Davis that spring him from ridicule, if not from doubts about his legacy, and restore a measure of dignity to a black entertainer whose huge fame and success never overcame his devout wish -- indeed his lifelong effort -- to be white.
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