
Chicken Rice Ball at jalan besar.... *drools*
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T_T
I'm hungry...and craving for chicken rice balls....


A Pause for Hindsight
Published: July 16, 2004
Over the last few months, this page has repeatedly demanded that President Bush acknowledge the mistakes his administration made when it came to the war in Iraq, particularly its role in misleading the American people about Saddam Hussein's weapons of mass destruction and links with Al Qaeda. If we want Mr. Bush to be candid about his mistakes, we should be equally open about our own.
During the run-up to the war, The Times ran dozens of editorials on Iraq, and our insistence that any invasion be backed by "broad international support" became a kind of mantra. It was the administration's failure to get that kind of consensus that ultimately led us to oppose the war.
But we agreed with the president on one critical point: that Saddam Hussein was concealing a large weapons program that could pose a threat to the United States or its allies. We repeatedly urged the United Nations Security Council to join with Mr. Bush and force Iraq to disarm.
As we've noted in several editorials since the fall of Baghdad, we were wrong about the weapons. And we should have been more aggressive in helping our readers understand that there was always a possibility that no large stockpiles existed.
At the time, we believed that Saddam Hussein was hiding large quantities of chemical and biological weapons because we assumed that he would have behaved differently if he wasn't. If there were no weapons, we thought, Iraq would surely have cooperated fully with weapons inspectors to avoid the pain of years under an international embargo and, in the end, a war that it was certain to lose.
That was a reasonable theory, one almost universally accepted in Washington and widely credited by diplomats all around the world. But it was only a theory. American intelligence had not received any on-the-ground reports from Iraq since the Clinton administration resorted to punitive airstrikes in 1998 and the U.N. weapons inspectors were withdrawn. The weapons inspectors who returned in 2002 found Iraq's records far from transparent, and their job was never made easy. But they did not find any evidence of new weapons programs or stocks of prohibited old ones. When American intelligence agencies began providing them tips on where to look, they came up empty.
It may be that Saddam Hussein destroyed his stockpiles of banned weapons under the assumption that he could restart his program at a later date. His cat-and-mouse game with the weapons inspectors may have been the result of paranoia, or an attempt to flaunt his toughness before the Iraqi people. But we're not blaming ourselves for failing to understand the thought process of an unpredictable dictator. Even if we had been aware before the war of the total bankruptcy of the American intelligence estimates on Iraq, we could not have argued with any certainty that there were no chemical and biological weapons.
But we do fault ourselves for failing to deconstruct the W.M.D. issue with the kind of thoroughness we directed at the question of a link between Iraq and Al Qaeda, or even tax cuts in time of war. We did not listen carefully to the people who disagreed with us. Our certainty flowed from the fact that such an overwhelming majority of government officials, past and present, top intelligence officials and other experts were sure that the weapons were there. We had a groupthink of our own.
By the time the nation was on the brink of war, we did conclude that whatever the risk of Iraq's weaponry, it was outweighed by the damage that could be done by a pre-emptive strike against a Middle Eastern nation that was carried out in the face of wide international opposition. If we had known that there were probably no unconventional weapons, we would have argued earlier and harder that invading Iraq made no sense.
Saddam Hussein was indisputably a violent and vicious tyrant, but an unprovoked attack that antagonized the Muslim world and fractured the international community of peaceful nations was not the solution. There were, and are, equally brutal and potentially more dangerous dictators in power elsewhere. Saddam Hussein and his rotting army were not a threat even to the region, never mind to the United States.
Now that we are in Iraq, we must do everything possible to see that the country is stabilized before American forces are withdrawn. But that commitment should be based on honesty. Just as we cannot undo the invasion, we cannot pretend that it was a good idea — even if it had been well carried out.
Congress would never have given President Bush a blank check for military action if it had known that there was no real evidence that Iraq was likely to provide aid to terrorists or was capable of inflicting grave damage on our country or our allies. Many politicians who voted to authorize the war still refuse to admit that they made a mistake. But they did. And even though this page came down against the invasion, we regret now that we didn't do more to challenge the president's assumptions.
“Death is always less painful and easier than life! You speak true. And yet we do not, day to day, choose death. Because ultimately, death is not the opposite of life, but the opposite of choice. Death is what you get when there are no choices left to make. Am I right?”
“Fool?” I called aloud in the darkened room.
“What?” He did not open his eyes but his ready reply showed he had not yet slipped toward sleep.
“You are not the Fool anymore. What do they call you these days?”
A slow smile curved his lips in profile. “What does who call me when?”
He spoke in the baiting tone of the jester he had been. If I tried to sort out that question, he would tumble me in verbal acrobatics until I gave up hoping for an answer. I refused to be drawn into his game. I re-phrased my question. “I should not call you Fool anymore. What do you want me to call you?”
“Ah, what do I want you to call me now? I see. An entirely different question.” Mockery made music in his voice.
I drew a breath and made my question as plain as possible. “What is your name, your real name?”
“Ah.” His manner was suddenly grave. He took a slow breath. “My name. As in what my mother called me at birth?”
“Yes.” And then I held my breath. He spoke seldom of his childhood. I suddenly realized the immensity of what I had asked him. It was the old naming magic: if I know how you are truly named, I have power over you. If I tell you my name, I grant you that power. Like all direct questions I had ever asked the Fool, I both dreaded and longed for the answer.
“And if I tell you, you would call me by that name?” His inflection told me to weigh my answer.
That gave me pause. His name was his, and not for me to bandy about. But, “In private, only. And only if you wished me to,” I offered solemnly. I considered the words as binding as a vow.
“Ah.” He turned to face me. His face lit with delight. “Oh, but I would,” he assured me.
“Then?” I asked again. I was suddenly uneasy, certain that somehow he had bested me yet again.
“The name my mother gave me, I give now to you, to call me by in private.” He took a breath and turned back to the fire. He closed his eyes again and his grin grew even wider. “Beloved. She called me only ‘Beloved.’”
“Fool!” I protested.
He laughed, a deep rich chuckle of pure enjoyment, completely pleased with himself. “She did,” he insisted.
“Fool, I’m serious.” The room had begun to revolve slowly around me. if I did not go to sleep soon, I would be sick.
“And you think I am not?” He gave a theatrical sigh. “Well, if you cannot call me ‘Beloved,’ then I suppose you should continue to call me ‘Fool.’ For I am ever the Fool to your Fitz.”
“Tom Badgerlock.”
“What?”
“I am Tom Badgerlock now. It is how I am known.”
He was silent for a time. Then, “Not by me,” he replied decisively. “If you insist we must both take different names now, then I shall call you ‘Beloved.’ And whenever I call you that, you may call me ‘Fool.’ He opened his eyes and rolled his head to look at me. He simpered a lovesick smile, then heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Good night, Beloved. We have been apart far too long.”
I capitulated. Conversation was hopeless when he got into these moods. “Good night. Fool.” I rolled over in my bed and closed my eyes. If he made any response, I was asleep before he uttered it.
About 15 percent of those who undergo genital mutilation, mainly women in the Horn of Africa, suffer the most dangerous and extreme version, infibulation. Isnino Shuriye, who was also at the Nairobi meeting, performed infibulations among the Somali community in northern Kenya. She would cut off the clitoris and all the labia of 7-year-old girls. She would sew up the girls to be totally smooth, with a pencil eraser-sized opening for menses and urine. Each girl's legs were bound together for weeks so scars could form. Ms. Shuriye used no anesthetic.
All types of female circumcision have huge psychological and physical dangers. Some girls bleed to death during the operation, or die of tetanus or infection shortly after. But for infibulated women, the dangers are even greater. Many infibulated women suffer constant infections and other health problems because urine and blood back up. Their husbands must bring a knife to their wedding night to cut them open. Childbirth often is fatal for infibulated women and their babies, and their wounds make them much more vulnerable to the AIDS virus.