A BACKWARD GLANCE

Here's an amusing item posted soon after the people re-elected the Bullshitter-in-Chief, thus keeping him on as master of his very own portable Green Zone. A reader reminded us of the item's value as pure entertainment. So we're re-posting it now for laughs, 'cuz after the Labor Day weekend it's back to the grind.

November 19, 2004

THE CIA PRANKSTERS

Since the Central Intelligence Agency is so much in the news these days -- what with the agency shakeup by the new CIA chief Porter Goss, his leaked "rules of the road" memo telling agency employees it's their job to "support the administration and its policies," and a possible compromise intelligence bill -- my staff of thousands thought it useful to recall some of the CIA's monumental gaffes and pranks of the past, which are either forgotten, little known, or just too weird to believe.

Let's start with the weird.

We've all heard about the CIA's failed efforts to embarrass Fidel Castro by powdering his shoes with a depilatory so his beard would fall out. But you probably haven't heard of this screwy propaganda stunt from the early days of the Cold War. One idea for the agency's "psychological warfare" campaign was to drop "extra-large condoms -- labeled 'medium' in English -- on the Soviet Union in order to make Russian women think all American men were exceptionally virile." So writes Evan Thomas in "The Very Best Men," a terrifically entertaining history of the agency's early years.

The condom drop wasn't taken seriously. But how about this? To undermine the regime of Indonesian strongman Achmed Sukarno, a lascivious thug with an insatiable sexual appetite whose political "crime was neutralism," the CIA "spread the rumor that [he] had been seduced by a good-looking blond airline stewardess who worked for the KGB." Needing documentation, Thomas writes, the CIA "commissioned a blue movie to be made of a Sukarno look-alike in the amorous embrace of a porn actress posing as the Russian spy. To play Sukarno, the moviemakers (Bing Crosby and his brother) chose a bald Chicano wearing a latex face mask." Why bald? Because "Sukarno was vain about his own baldness and always wore a skullcap, except, presumably, in bed." (You read it right: Bing Crosby and his brother.)

And this: A CIA operative who ran guerrilla operations in Asia "sent back a film to Washington which, he claimed, showed his guerrillas clambering ashore behind enemy lines" in North Korea. Trouble was, when the film was screened for the Pentagon brass, to prove the value of the agency's secret operations, a CIA officer noticed "the infiltration was taking place in broad daylight." Oops. Turns out, the film showed "a training exercise, not a real operation." Add this: "A secret CIA history of [actual] operations in Korea notes that [the] guerrillas were dressed in captured army uniforms and Korean civilian clothing, but unfortunately wore self-incriminating U.S. Army issue underwear."

At one point, Thomas writes, a top agency officer dispatched to inspect the Psychological Warfare Workshop "reported back that he had found the merry pranksters shooting at balloons in their office with BB guns." The pranksters were part of the Office of Policy Coordination (OPC), a purposely innocuous name for a branch of the CIA tasked in "the language of its secret charter" to counter "the vicious covert activities of the USSR, its satellite countries and Communist groups to discredit the aims and activities of the U.S. and other Western powers."

Sometimes certifiable crazies joined the pranksers. According to Thomas, "when one OPCer was shipped off to St. Elizabeth's mental hospital for demonstrating a passion for farm animals," Walter Bedell Smith, the CIA director at the time, demanded, "Can't I get people who don't hire people who bugger cows?"

Is it any wonder "the CIA failed to predict the outbreak of the Korean war in 1950," just as it failed to anticipate the communist coup in Czechoslovakia two years earlier? And let's not forget the Hungarian revolution in 1956, which cost 30,000 lives. The CIA was deeply involved in pushing for the uprising, but then failed to support it with weapons and ran for cover when the Soviets sent in tanks and troops to put it down. ("Sure, we never said rise up and revolt," Thomas quotes a CIA official as saying, "but there was a lot of propaganda that led the Hungarians to believe that we would help.")

Yes, we know: The Bay of Pigs notwithstanding, the CIA has worked wonders and always meant to do noble things, such as making the world safe for democracy. But its peculiar history underscores the realization that getting things wrong in Iraq was just par for the course. And the fact that Porter Goss is goosing his troops to "support the administration and its policies" instead of offering it a dose of reality doesn't lend much hope that the agency will be getting things right in the future. (Also makes you wonder about Colin Powell's as yet unverified farewell disclosure.)

It's also no sign of hope that Goss was part of the Bay of Pigs fiasco and worked with Edward Lansdale, the model for the blundering CIA agent in Vietnam in Graham Greene's "The Quiet American." It's even more hopeless when you realize that Goss is a wealthy, patrician Yalie of the ol' boy cloak-and-dagger network that set the agency on its merry way and that earlier in his career as a clandestine CIA agent he worked with Tracy Barnes, William Harvey and Ted Shackley, all of whom had key roles in one or the other of the agency's most infamous "black ops."

In case anyone needs reminding, these black operations included the coup d'etat that overthrew the Guatemalan government of Jacobo Arbenz in 1954 at the behest of the United Fruit Company, the military coup against South Vietnam's Ngo Dinh Diem in 1963 that ended in his assassination, the military coup that overthrew Salvadore Allende in Chile in 1973 that ended in his assassination, and attempted assassinations of the Congo's Patrice Lumumba, Iraq's Abd al-Karim Kassem, and, of course, Cuba's Fidel Castro.

This item had pertinent links, all of which are still good. If you want them, go to the original posting.

August 30, 2006 9:14 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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