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Famous last words: "So what if the guy threw a shoe at me?"In the movie Wag the Dog the hurling of shoes was used to show support to a cause. Cultivated by White House spin doctors, the action was reported in the media and thus spread far and wide. In a bizarre twist into the "reality" of war propaganda, shoe-hurling has taken another form. In a carefully controlled media event, after all the participants had been searched several times for possible weapons, a pair of shoes have expresed the scorn and contempt of Iraqis for the US invasion. Bush, ever the masterful diplomat, skipped passed rehearsed media "answers" expressing the reasons for being there. It was less important to discuss "an Iraq that can sustain itself, govern itself and defend itself" than to get back to talking about the shoes:
A digression: I organised a little event to celebrate Australian Prime Minister John Howard's visit to Adelaide not long after the invasion. An unintended result of tipping-off media and activists to an unscheduled stop was the arrival of people to throw eggs at Howard's limo. I wonder what he thought as he heard, from inside, the "thwack, thwack" of the missiles hitting their target? "No worries, it'll only be eggs" would certainly not have been my first thought. Anyway, the egg-story made an otherwise fairly unreportable event travel quite a distance. I'm pretty sure that these were the first missiles thrown at a Coalition leader. So, while Bush was ducking that first shoe, do you reckon he was thinking "No worries, only a shoe" or "what the hell was that?" No wonder, then, that discussing the event was more important than explaining his improvements to Iraqi security and freedom.
Bush has obviously forgotten that beautiful component of the "Saddam Toppling" scene that was supposed to be the media's perception of the end of the invasion in Iraq. According to CNN at that time:
A person who witnessed this event once explained to me that much pertaining to the scene was paid for with AK-47 rounds. It wasn't long after this, it seems, when the U.S., quite aware of the propoganda implications, were removing evidence of another President Bush copping a shoe to the head. The BBC's Martin Asser explains:
You can be certain that if Bush Jnr understood Arabic,he might have thought twice before belittling and dismissing the event. Perhaps, in hindsight, he might have been better off had he first been given the media pool translation (perhaps by the apologising Iraqi journos?) of the words hurled with the shoes: Swoosh!
Whizz!
In the worst of bad luck, Bush's comparative of a "two-fingered salute" commits a cultural denigration in belittling the magnitude of the audio-visual, "made for television" epithet. And now, according to today's SMH, the U.S. and Iraq have a martyr in custody:
Once upon a time, as the Coalition forces gathered at the Kuwait/Iraq border, a publicist brought along some representative national flags and placed them in the hands of invading soldiers. This provided an image of international unity behind the invading of Iraq to sieze Saddam's Weapons of Mass Destruction. Now, whether it be by accident or design (I prefer to think the latter) the Iraqi cameraman has given the U.S. a living flag, representing resentment of perceived injustice. Worse, there's an associated physical action that can be used to show support of Al-Zaidi, something that anybody can do, and with something that can't be regarded as a weapon. They can throw a shoe. How many shoes can be thrown at how many American targets? How many Americans can voice their final disapproval of what Bush has done in their name by taking shoes to their local congressman's office, or to a television or radio station? How many Australians can dump their old sneakers in front of their local U.S. embassy or consulate, or (as Darwin has used for a substitute) KBR office? And what's the bet there's a video game on the net in a few days? How far will the world travel in Al-Zaidi's footsteps? I can't wait to find out! It would be, given all the spin and lies the Bush/Cheney Administration has peddled these last eight years, a more-than-fitting method of ensuring that these people depart the world stage with the contempt that they deserve.
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Heres' s a good myth
Refugees are "illegals" and catching a boat to Australia to seek asylum is "smuggling".
Even though the courts, the Senate and everyone else has agreed since February 2000 that there is no smuggling because the passengers are desperate to be found to seek asylum.
But after 50 years of acceptance that refugees can arrive to seek asylum Ruddock turned that on it's head and claimed that people are only refugees when we say so, not when they leave the place of persecution.
It's like the myth of peace in Iraq when "only" 18 or so people are killed with a car bomb somewhere.
It's also like the myth outlined in my case for Akram Al Masri who was brutally slaughtered when any reasonable person could conclude that seeing his mother murdered and carrying a chunk of bullet in his own head would have made Akram a refugee.
A myth for our times
"It's like the myth of peace in Iraq when "only" 18 or so people are killed with a car bomb somewhere."
That's a bit like the myth of Iraq being at "peace" under Saddam Hussein when "only" 100,000 Kurds were murdered during the Anfal genocide.
Extraordinary, Eliot
I am well aware that Kurds were slaughtered by Saddam Hussein in 1988. And in 1989 James Baker went to Iraq to assure them that they still loved him.
Allow me to salute your courage, power and indefatigability
Marilyn Shepherd: " And in 1989 James Baker went to Iraq to assure them that they still loved him."
So, that was about five years before this picture of George Galloway, the millionaire oil smuggler and 'peace activist', shaking hands with rapist/murderer/ torturer Uday Hussein, Saddam 's son.
As George said to Saddam that year: “Sir, allow me to salute your courage, power and indefatigability.”
A proud moment for the 'peace' movement, that. Says it all, really.
26677297 virtual shoes hit Bush in support of "Baghdad Clogger"
Interestingly enough, mostly from the U.S., followed by France, Australia, U.A.E, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Egypt and the United Kingdon. I can still only manage nine hits at a go. Tip: aim from the right hand side of the head.
A note to foreign readers looking at Justin's mental picture of Marilyn throwing thongs at Bush. Over here it's a piece of footwear.
Eliot, I'll have to hunt the source of that sentiment you concur with. I'm pretty sure it was the White House, maybe even the lady who copped the shiner.
Anyway, from the Guardian:
There are also reports of a broken hand and internal bleeding.
I bet Visiting Hours are fun, especially when the judge comes to you. I agree with al Ziadi's bro, there's no way that a beaten-up face would be let out to appear on world television.
As you'll see by my next post, the story is still rolling. I'll give you this, Eliot: this story has a good chance of eventually becoming enshrined in mythology.
Iraqi parliamentary President (maybe) resigns
From AP:
Naturally, there's more to the story:
[Kurdish Gobe]
It sounds like the al-Zaidi incident was more of a catalyst; the straw that broke the camel's back.
Naturally, there's more to the story...
Richard: "Naturally, there's more to the story..."
I'll say...
Luxury!
Shoes? Which grasping, selfish, lucky bastard has shoes?
Bush got it right.
(Finally). As Bush said, the shoe throwing incident is an excellent example of democracy. A single person, with a bit of will-power and ingenuity can make a powerful statement to the world (and suffer only a few broken ribs – With Saddam, Al-Zaidi's whole village would have been razed.).
And all the terrorists please note – the statement does not need to hurt others. I was less than ten at that time, but I still recall Buddhist monks setting themselves on fire to protest the Vietnam war.
I look forward to Hamish’s piece on Democracy.Dancing Thief
While rewriting the song, I realised the second verse was already fine
Sunday night and the lights are low
Gonna make up a TV show
Do a bit of pop media
make yourself look fine
Georgie, you look divine
Anybody could be that guy
Screaming curses, shoe held high
Then he throws another
(any shoe will do)
You're in the mood for a dance
and as you start to prance
You are the Dancing Thief, Boss of Iraq!
You're the World's Top Chief
Dancing Thief, dodging shoes
of Iraqi giref (oh, yeah)
You can dance, you can deny
How many people must die?
See that Bush! Hail to the Chief! Dig it, the Dancing Thief
You're a teaser, you turn them on
leave them burning, then you're gone
Looking for another, anyone will do
You're in the mood for a dance
And when you get the chance ..(repeat chorus
Channeling Marilyn Sheppard
Why nobody takes Barthes seriously
Paul Walter: "As Roland Barthes and others have explained, the reason myths are so pernicious is because they operate below the level of consciousness."
So, how do they know about them? Or how they work?
It works like this - but silicon and duct tape fixes it.
It works like this:
Myths are tiny creatures that live in pillows. Sometimes you can hear them walking around inside your pillow; especially if your ear is pressed up against it. Myths make a sound that goes: boom boom, boom boom, boom boom.
Sometimes these tiny creatures escape from your pillow; always while you are sleeping, and crawl into your ear where they travel all the way to your brain.
Sometimes they crawl up your nose but those guys end up in your stomach. They're the ones that make people fart. And some crawl into your mouth then hide in your lungs - they make you cough.
NB. Some people actually believe that Myths also cause hiccups - but in reality that is a myth or more a wive's tale really (some people really are stupid).
The ones than get into your brain occasionally appear as dreams while others tend to make your believe stuff that is not rational. Like your cat loves you, or your wife thinks you are the best looking dude in the universe, or you really do care about the 30,000 kids that died from hunger today, or alcohol is bad for you, etc.
In general I don't have any problem with Myths for the simple reason I don't know what is real or what is not real anyway - so it makes no difference to me.
The cure for Myth infestation is quite simple; before you retire at night shove silicon plugs into your ears and nose (make sure no air can get in for Myths are very very tiny) and then tape up your mouth. Problem fixed - and you will have a really lovely long sleep.
Now Eliot, is there anything else I can assist you with?
I salute you, Roland Barthes
"Now Eliot, is there anything else I can assist you with?"
No, that's fine.
Talking about Barthes and myths, my favourite Barthes myth concerns his elaborate deconstruction of the Paris Match magazine cover showing a picture of a French West African soldier saluting, eyes uplifted towards the French flag.
Barthes unravels in precise detail the semiotic significance of the soldier's gesture, his salute and gaze toward the flag, in terms of the prevailing dominant bourgeois assumptions about race and empire.
- Roland Barthes, Mythologies, 1957
Great stuff, isn't it?
The famous picture , oddly enough, doesn't itself actually appear in Barthes' Mythologies, though.
Here's why...no French flag is actually evident in the image.
Oh, well...
Pictures never lie
Loved the Paris Match picture, Eliot Ramsey. You are perfectly correct that there is no French flag in the picture.
What (or who) do you reckon the soldier is saluting? My guess is a very tall officer, but he could have just been seized by a sudden urge to gaze into the air and salute.
Roland Barthes gets a haircut
Mark Sergeant: "What (or who) do you reckon the soldier is saluting?"
Well, if the picture was posed by the photographer, probably nothing specifically. Which also might explain why we can see only one soldier in the frame.
My guess is the photographer, while carefully posing the soldier for the photograph, said something like this...
Photographer: "Okay, now what I'd like you to do is sort of salute, nice and smart. Chest out. Look proud. Gaze as if looking at some existential but Ideal Other representing the imperial Gloire."
Soldier: "Like this?" (salutes)
Photographer: "Oui, that's good, mon petit Poilu. Perhaps a bit more iconic in the semiotic sense, though. Maybe 'old your head a bit higher." (click) (click) (flash)
Soldier: "Like this?" (salutes again, with chest out and head held higher)
Photographer: "Excellent. (click) (flash) (click) (flash) (bzzzztttt) Your mother back in Senegal will be sooooo ver-ry proud."
Soldier: "Well, actually, monsieur, my mother is no longer in Senegal, but is living in a squalid refugee camp across the border in Camaroon. Anyway, a single copy of Paris Match in Africa costs the equivalent of a week's salary for a plantation worker over there."
Photographer: "That's true. Mind you, the cost of a haircut on the Champs-Elysées costs the equivalent of a week's salary for a photographer over here."...
(one week later in a barber shop on the Champs-Elysées ...)
Barber: "Take a seat Professor Barthes. I'll be finished with this other chap in about 15 minutes. How are you today, anyhow?"
Roland Barthes: "Not bad. I am attempting to bridge the hiatus between my authentic being and that other, merely socially contructed consciousness by which I mediate with the objective world of class relations. And how are you, Gaston?"
Barber: (sighs) "Here, read this magazine till I'm ready for you. Okay?"
Roland Barthes: "Oh, thank you. Nice picture on the cover. And rather than project my a priori assumptions on it like any normal reader, I will penetrate to it's objective underlying 'meaning' as it exists in the transcendent."
Barber: (sighs) 'Sure. Won't be long...' (rolls eyes and thinks about jacking up prices again).
The present and the absent
Profound insights, Eliot.
Soldier (thinks, saluting): "The bloody flag again!"
Or, in the alternative: "General de Gaulle!" (Now there was a very tall officer, and the embodiment of imperial Gloire as well).
Just some picky details:
Bugger
The local ABC have politely declined my idea of their office being a drop-off point for shoes. A beautifully diplomatic email reply wondered if I was really serious, and suggesting I would know why such a thing wouldn't be possible.
Ok, I'm caught out - I was only half serious, having been pretty sure that this would be a political activity well outside their charter. At any rate, it's more of a commercial radio stunt.
C'mon Austereo.. I dares ya!
The Bush Shoe
Remember in the 70s? "Mum Yvonne Goolagong wears Volley Internationals!" It was Michael Jordan who was the "face" of Indonesian sweatshop constructed Nikes. Now, though there's a new fashion trend:
The dog's still wagging.
A historical image
The Herald-Sun's Peter Coster has nailed it:
The New York Times reports that "Explosives tests by investigators destroyed the offending footwear." One can only imagine...
The Judge's Visit
From AFP:
I'm a bit suss of al Zaidi's request for a pardon, but who knows. Also, this looks a bit dodgy:
Do these folks realise how much those shoes would've been worth on Ebay? It looks like they do.
The virtual shoe-hitting on sockandawe.com has reach 47 million.
Bush to get shoe in face on Afghani TV- who's wagging this dog?
From Telegraph.co.uk:
Oboyoboyoboyoboyobyoboyo........
So when did Afghanis start watching television again?
So they have television in Afghanistan these days? I thought the Taliban banned television?
Oh, wait....
Deconstructing Eliot
Eliot's capacity not to see to the forest for the trees continues to truly dumbfound me.
We have the blog equivalent of someone who, on seeing Christ walking on water, can do no better than grumble at the colour of the thongs he's wearing during the event.
But I will stay hopeful against all odds. If Barthes can't, nobody will.
...
I understand the fellow who heaved his shoe at Bush copped a right walloping in the cells afterwards.
The ghost of Hussein looks on, a wry smile on that mustachioed face. He sees the triumph of US policy in Palestine, Iraq, Afghnistan, etc and revels at his own posthumous dark victory.
Enough now.
Am waiting on news concerning whether the Webdiary equivalent of Stuffy Derma or Bob Cratchett sleeps under the Ovingham bridge or in the Parklands tonight .
Nessun Dorma.
How myths start...
Paul Walter: "I understand the fellow who heaved his shoe at Bush copped a right walloping in the cells afterwards."
It's interesting you should say that.
If what you say is true, and I don't condone such a thing in the least, it would seem that not everyone in Iraq was so delighted by his actions.
Imagine he'd thrown his shoes at Saddam Hussein.
Cold comfort
I've read similar sentiments to yours elsewhere, Eliot, along the lines that you can tell that Iraq's a democracy because this bloke only copped a rifle butt to the head and a broken rib (not to mention Bush's spokeswoman copping a black eye) whereas under Saddam his village would've been razed to the ground. For some reason I find this cold comfort.
Bloody good thing "my" egg-throwers weren't doing something similar in Baghdad. They would've been machine-gunned down by Blackwater rent-a-soldiers, and I've had my balls wired to a battery at Abu Graib.
A note on the shoes, Geoff. Al-Zaidi apparently went and bought a new (Iraqi-made) pair that day, especially for the occassion.
Paul, glad to see you survived the night at the Gov.
Good point
"...whereas under Saddam his village would've been razed to the ground."
Good point.
Found the game.. getting better with practice.
shibboleths
As Roland Barthes and others have explained, the reason myths are so pernicious is because they operate below the level of consciousness. They form thought without informing it; give it the appearance minus the substance.
So great to see Germaine Greer's dismantling of exploitationist Langton and her infatuation with Howardist white armband/ black shirt history in the SMH this morning. The last thing Australians need is Luhrman/Kidman Mills and Boon soap opera reinforcement of Australian history and mindset.
Everywhere, there is evidence of Australians living in gross fantasy worlds, some utterly grotesque in their dishonesty, come to think of it...