In terms of the larger picture, where we are in a play of forces that propel our evolution as conscious creatures aware of our o­neness, this piece paints a cogent picture of how pain drives our development. This map we are o­n now threatens to destroy the game for us all, which is why I harp so relentlessly o­n the way I see for it to change. If the world were aware that what's happening in crop fields is that we are being visited by another intelligence, it would hardly be a minor news report, and I cannot believe we would be able to continue this killing business as usual.  Just imagine the play that would take place in the international dialogue if we all knew what some people know, which everyone would understand if they but paid attention.

I got this piece from Wade Frazier, whose Linksletter, that tracks through the best of what's being written, can be accessed from our home page. He said:

This may well be W.'s gift to the world…seriously. I said this when he stole the election, and this may indeed turn out to be his legacy.

Dubya's Gift – To Drive The Train Wreck

Commentary By Thom Rutledge  3-25-3

My friend, Billy Bird, offered an uncharacteristically favorable comment about George W. Bush. He said, “Dubya is the perfect engineer to drive the train wreck.”

I tend to agree. Maybe Dubya really is — as he likes to think — following his destiny in some way. And maybe that destiny really is to help save us all. Maybe he will save us, not from the Bush family arch enemy, Saddam Hussein, not from any axis of evil, and not from wimpy should-be allies who seem to think war should remain an action of last resort, but maybe he will help save us from ourselves. Maybe Dubya is here for o­ne specific and very important reason: to drive the train wreck.

The potential upside of this global mess George W and his cohorts have gotten us into can be found in the possibility of awakening. In my experience, insight does not bring about awakening, pain does. And train wrecks can be mighty painful.

Consider motivation from a psychological perspective. Whether an organism is o­ne human being, a family, a business, a nation, or an entire world, pain is what inspires change. And if Dubya has given us nothing else, he has certainly given us pain.

Pain will either drive an organism to work harder to hide from the truth — ignoring and dulling the pain — or toward awakening, characterized by a willingness to experience pain for the purpose of learning how to solve problems in the most effective way possible. In either scenario — moving toward or hiding from the real problem — pain is the primary ingredient in motivation.

Insight alone, without the experience of pain, will not provide sufficient motivation for change, at least not sufficient motivation for the degree of change that is needed now, in the midst of o­ne of the great political train wrecks of modern time. Like the alcoholic who has reached the bottom, being smart will not save us. In fact, it is my contention that we humans have a bad habit of using our intelligence to avoid learning the lessons of our history, individually and collectively.

In my work as a psychotherapist, I tell my clients that insights are the tools we use to fine-tune our change, but o­nly after pain has inspired the initial transformation. In the context of Dubya's war, the pain we must become willing to feel is extreme because it is the pain not just of the past three years, but of a human history that persists in believing that the violence of war is a viable option for civilized societies. (What better example of an oxymoron is there than “civilized war?”)

Dubya's gift to us is ironically to be found in his apparent lack of knowledge and/or respect of history. Again, like the untreated alcoholic, attempts to make changes to avoid recurring consequences will bring about o­nly temporarily positive results. Until the bigger problem is addressed directly, be it a belief that alcohol works or a belief that war works, the vicious (yes, vicious) cycle continues. As I began recovery from alcoholism many years ago, I remember a counselor explaining to me that bringing flowers home to make peace with my wife was every bit as much a symptom of alcoholism as throwing the toaster across the room the night before. It is no accomplishment to get to the other side of the cycle. What we have to do is break the cycle completely.

Dubya's gift is perhaps to be found in his ignorance. Because he seems so incapable of understanding the bigger picture, because he thinks he is already seeing the bigger picture, the results of his words and actions are as blatant as a stumbling drunk telling us that he is okay to drive. Dubya's gift is in his lack of subtlety. Since he apparently models himself straight from the old westerns that he and I both grew up watching, there is really no question about the overly simplified model in which he has appointed himself sheriff of the world. What is left to do is for us — this organism we call the United States of America — to hit bottom. And Sheriff Bush is the perfect guy to take us there.

Get o­n board. Let's get this train wreck over with, and hopefully get o­n with our lives in a world in which we can at least begin to comprehend that violence begets violence and stupidity begets stupidity.

Let us pray for — and work for — awakening. Like the alcoholic who has reached the bottom, let us transform our pain into enlightenment.

Thom Rutledge [thomrutledge@earthlink.net] is the author of Embracing Fear & Finding the Courage to Live Your Life (HarperSanFrancisco).

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This was in the L.A. Times Opinion section yesterday. It’s an eye opener. This could be the piece of writing that changes forever the picture of our day. After the American Century, we chose a new course. This piece describes the old and the new directions.

The Nation at War

Force Has Emerged as the Preferred Instrument of American Policy

By Andrew J. Bacevich

March 20, 2003

The United States won the 20th century. It became, as the journalist Henry Luce had prophesied, “the American Century.”

By the end of the 1990s — victorious in two world wars, emerging triumphant from the long, twilight struggle with the Soviet Union — the United States had achieved a position of unrivaled strength.

As they entered the new millennium, Americans saw little reason to doubt that this era of American ascendance would continue indefinitely. They interpreted the nation’s global preeminence as evidence of a providentially ordained design, unfolding according to plan. They took it for granted that the juggernaut of democratic capitalism was destined to sweep the world. That the emerging age of globalization would be compatible with American values and interests seemed certain.

Atop this new order, the United States would preside, unchallenged, secure in the knowledge of its good intentions, its republican virtues intact.

The horrific events of Sept. 11, 2001, demolished these sunny assumptions. Developments since that day — in particular the ever-expanding dimensions of President Bush’s “war on terror” — have raised progressively more troubling questions about the implications of American primacy and the costs required to maintain it.

In this regard, the effort underway to overthrow Saddam Hussein marks a decisive turn. This war should finally clear away the underbrush of myth, obfuscation and willful denial thus far preventing Americans from seeing the momentous changes, now well advanced, in their own thinking about military power and the use of force.

Disclaimers issued by the White House notwithstanding, this war has not been thrust upon us. We have chosen it. That choice — made by Bush but endorsed by both houses of Congress and supported by the majority of the American people — reveals much.

By going to war out of a concern for what Hussein might do in the future, the United States has embraced a doctrine of preventive war. By initiating hostilities without explicit United Nations sanction and despite fierce opposition abroad, it has shown that when it comes to using force, the world’s sole superpower insists upon absolute freedom of action. Coming 12 years after a prior war with Iraq inaugurated an outburst of U.S. military activism — with Somalia, Haiti, Bosnia, Kosovo and Afghanistan being just a few of the highlights — this latest intervention makes one point unmistakably clear: The United States no longer views force as something to be used reluctantly or as a last resort.

There is great irony in this, of course. Our nation was created in the first great anti-imperial revolution. The traditional narrative of our history teaches that our greatness was thrust upon us, that we did not want to sit at center stage in world affairs but that we were drawn there reluctantly, contrary to our traditions and preferences. One hundred years ago, the U.S. was a peripheral continental power with limited influence over world affairs. But wickedness in its various guises — imperial Spain in 1898, followed by imperial Germany two decades later and eventually by the totalitarian ideologies of Hitler and Stalin — forced our hands repeatedly. We were a reluctant superpower.

True or false, that narrative no longer holds; the fact is that force, today, has emerged as the preferred instrument of American statecraft in the eyes of policymakers and taxpayers alike. Military might is no longer a necessary evil; entrusted to American hands, it has become invaluable. Thus, as a matter of policy — one to which Republicans and Democrats alike subscribe — the United States is committed to maintaining its present military supremacy in perpetuity.

With this aim in mind, the Pentagon gauges its requirements not according to the constitutional mandate of providing “for the common defense.” Global power projection, not protecting the homeland, dictates the size and capabilities of U.S. forces and justifies a defense budget dwarfing that of the next 10 largest military powers combined. That might qualify as an astonishing fact, had not Americans long since come to view it as part of the natural order.

Nor do those in authority view this well-honed and immensely versatile asset as a treasure to be carefully husbanded. Thus the Bush administration, like the Clinton administration, calls on its forces not only to win wars but also to succor the afflicted, keep the peace and repair broken nations. More broadly, policymakers today charge the armed services with “shaping the environment” — bureaucratese for nudging others into conformity with American values.

There is a word for this. It’s called militarism.

Although spared the classic Teutonic symptoms — among other things, we prefer cheering the troops on from afar to actually donning a uniform — Americans have succumbed to a strain of that disease. The present war against Iraq — justified in part by preposterous expectations that, having delivered Iraqis from their oppressor, the United States will bring liberal democracy to Iraq and then all the Arab world — makes this unmistakable.

Seduced by images of war rendered antiseptically precise, we have lost our bearings. We have deluded ourselves into believing that the best hope of safety and security lies in dispatching the cadre of military professionals whom we proclaim to be “our best and brightest” on a mad undertaking to transform the world — or, if need be, to conquer it.

In Iraq, President Bush has opened up yet another front in his war against evil. Committed, we must win. But the long march to Baghdad should give Americans pause: Exactly where is this road leading us?

*

Andrew J. Bacevich teaches international relations at Boston University and is the author of “American Empire: The Realities and Consequences of U.S. Diplomacy” (Harvard University Press 2002).