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Today's
Stories
December 9, 2003
Ron Jacobs
Remembering
John Lennon
December 8, 2003
Newton Garver
Bolivia
at a Crossroads
John Borowski
The
Fall of a Forest Defender: the Exemplary Life of Craig Beneville
William Blum
Anti-Empire
Report: Revised Inspirations for War
Tess Harper
When Christians Kill
Thom Rutledge
My Next Step
Carol Wolman, MD
Nuclear
Terror and Psychic Numbing
Michael Neumann
Ignatieff:
Apostle of He-manitariansim
Website of the Day
Bust Bob Novak
December 6 / 7, 2003
Alexander Cockburn
The
UN: Should Be Late; Never Was Great
CounterPunch Special
Toronto Globe and Mail Kills Review of "The Politics of
Anti-Semitism"
Vicente Navarro
Salvador Dali, Fascist
Saul Landau
"Reality
Media": Michael Jackson, Bush and Iraq
Ben Tripp
How Bush Can Still Win
Gary Leupp
On Purchasing Syrian Beer
Ron Jacobs
Are We Doing Body Counts, Now?
Larry Everest
Oil, Power and Empire
Lee Sustar
Defying the Police State in Miami
Jacob Levich
When NGOs Attack: Implications for the Coup in Georgia
Toni Solo
Game Playing by Free Trade Rules: the Results from Indonesia
and Dominican Republic
Mark Scaramella
How to Fix the World Bank
Bruce Anderson
The San Francisco Mayor's Race
Brian Cloughley
Shredding the Owner's Manual: the Hollow Charter of the UN
Adam Engel
A Conversation with Tim Wise
Neve Gordon
Fuad and Ezra: an Update on Gays Under the Occupation
Kurt Nimmo
Bush Gives "Freedom" Medal to Robert Bartley
Tom Stephens
Justice Takes a Holiday
Susan Davis
Avast, Me Hearties! a Review of Disney's "Pirates of the
Caribbean"
Jeffrey St. Clair
A
Natural Eye: the Photography of Brett Weston
Mickey Z.
Press Box Red
Poets' Basement
Greeder, Orloski, Albert
T-shirt of the Weekend
Got Santorum?
December 5, 2003
Jeremy Scahill
Bremer
of the Tigris
Jeremy Brecher
Amistad
Revisited at Guantanamo?
Norman Solomon
Dean
and the Corp Media Machine
Norman Madarasz
France
Starts Facing Up to Anti-Muslim Discrimination
Pablo Mukherjee
Afghanistan:
the Road Back
December 4, 2003
M. Junaid Alam
Image
and Reality: an Interview with Norman Finkelstein
Adam Engel
Republican
Chris Floyd
Naked Gun: Sex, Blood and the FBI
Adam Federman
The US Footprint in Central Asia
Gary Leupp
The
Fall of Shevardnadze
Guthrie / Albert
RIP Clark Kerr
December 3, 2003
Stan Goff
Feeling
More Secure Yet?: Bush, Security, Energy & Money
Joanne Mariner
Profit Margins and Mortality Rates
George Bisharat
Who Caused the Palestinian Diaspora?
Mickey Z.
Tear Down That Wal-Mart
John Stanton
Bush Post-2004: a Nightmare Scenario
Harry Browne
Shannon
Warport: "No More Business as Usual"
December 2, 2003
Matt Vidal
Denial
and Deception: Before and Beyond Iraqi Freedom
Benjamin Dangl
An Interview with Evo Morales on the Colonization of the Americas
Sam Bahour
Can It Ever Really End?
Norman Solomon
That
Pew Poll on "Trade" Doesn't Pass the Sniff Test
Josh Frank
Trade
War Fears
Andrew Cockburn
Tired,
Terrified, Trigger-Happy
December 1, 2003
Fawzia Afzal-Khan
Unholy
Alliances: Zionism, US Imperialism and Islamic Fundamentalism
Dave Lindorff
Bush's
Baghdad Pitstop: Memories of LBJ in Vietnam
Harry Browne
Democracy Delayed in Northern Ireland
Wayne Madsen
Wagging the Media
Herman Benson
The New Unity Partnership for Labor: Bureaucratizing to Organize?
Gilad Atzmon
About
"World Peace"
Bill Christison
US
Foreign Policy and Intelligence: Monstrous Messes
November 29 / 30, 2003
Peter Linebaugh
On
the Anniversary of the Death of Wolfe Tone
Gary Leupp
Politicizing War on Fox News: a Tale of Two Memos
Saul Landau
Lying and Cheating:
Bush's New Political Math
Michael Adler
Inside a Miami Jail: One Activist's Narrative
Anthony Arnove
"They Put the Lie to Their Own Propaganda": an Interview
with John Pilger
Greg Weiher
Why Bush Needs Osama and Saddam
Stephen Banko, III
A Soldier's Dream
Forrest Hylton
Empire and Revolution in Bolivia
Toni Solo
The "Free Trade" History Eraser
Ben Terrall
Don't Think Twice: Bush Does Bali
Standard Schaefer
Unions
are the Answer to Supermarkets Woes
Richard Trainor
The Political Economy of Earthquakes: a Journey Across the Bay
Bridge
Mark Gaffney
US Congress Does Israel's Bidding, Again
Adam Engel
The System Really Works
Dave Lindorff
They, the Jury: How the System Rigs the Jury Pool
Susan Davis
Framing the Friedmans
Neve Gordon
Arundhati Roy's Complaint for Peace
Mitchel Cohen
Thomas Jefferson and Slavery
Ben Tripp
Capture Me, Daddy
Poets' Basement
Kearney, Albert, Guthrie and Smith
November 28, 2003
William S. Lind
Worse Than Crimes
David Vest
Turkey
Potemkin
Robert Jensen / Sam Husseini
New Bush Tape Raises Fears of Attacks
Wayne Madsen
Wag
the Turkey
Harold Gould
Suicide as WMD? Emile Durkheim Revisited
Gabriel Kolko
Vietnam
and Iraq: Has the US Learned Anything?
South Asia Tribune
The Story
of the Most Important Pakistan Army General in His Own Words
Website of the Day
Bush Draft
November 27, 2003
Mitchel Cohen
Why
I Hate Thanksgiving
Jack Wilson
An
Account of One Soldier's War
Stefan Wray
In the Shadows of the School of the Americas
Al Krebs
Food as Corporate WMD
Jim Scharplaz
Going Up Against Big Food: Weeding Out the Small Farmer
Neve Gordon
Gays
Under Occupation: Help Save the Life of Fuad Moussa
November 26, 2003
Paul de Rooij
Amnesty
International: the Case of a Rape Foretold
Bruce Jackson
Media
and War: Bringing It All Back Home
Stew Albert
Perle's
Confession: That's Entertainment
Alexander Cockburn
Miami and London: Cops in Two Cities
David Orr
Miami Heat
Tom Crumpacker
Anarchists
on the Beach
Mokhiber / Weissman
Militarization in Miami
Derek Seidman
Naming the System: an Interview with Michael Yates
Kathy Kelly
Hogtied
and Abused at Ft. Benning
Website of the Day
Iraq Procurement
November 25, 2003
Linda S. Heard
We,
the Besieged: Western Powers Redefine Democracy
Diane Christian
Hocus
Pocus in the White House: Of Warriors and Liberators
Mark Engler
Miami's
Trade Troubles
David Lindorff
Ashcroft's
Cointelpro
Website of the Day
Young McCarthyites of Texas
November 24, 2003
Jeremy Scahill
The
Miami Model
Elaine Cassel
Gulag
Americana: You Can't Come Home Again
Ron Jacobs
Iraq
Now: Oh Good, Then the War's Over?
Alexander Cockburn
Rupert Murdoch: Global Tyrant
November 14 / 23, 2003
Alexander Cockburn
Clintontime:
Was It Really a Golden Age?
Saul Landau
Words
of War
Noam Chomsky
Invasion
as Marketing Problem: Iraq War and Contempt for Democracy
Stan Goff
An Open Letter to GIs in Iraq: Hold on to Your Humanity
Jeffrey St. Clair
Bush Puts Out a Contract on the Spotted Owl
John Holt
Blue Light: Battle for the Sweetgrass Hills
Adam Engel
A DC Lefty in King George's Court: an Interview with Sam Smith
Joanne Mariner
In a Dark Hole: Moussaoui and the Hidden Detainees
Uri Avnery
The General as Pseudo-Dove: Ya'alon's 70 Virgins
M. Shahid Alam
Voiding the Palestinians: an Allegory
Juliana Fredman
Visions of Concrete
Norman Solomon
Media Clash in Brazil
Brian Cloughley
Is Anyone in the Bush Administration Telling the Truth?
William S. Lind
Post-Machine Gun Tactics
Patrick W. Gavin
Imagine
Dave Lindorff
Bush's
Brand of Leadership: Putting Himself First
Tom Crumpacker
Pandering to Anti-Castro Hardliners
Erik Fleming
Howard Dean's Folly
Rick Giombetti
Challenging the Witch Doctors of the New Imperialism: a Review
of Bush in Babylon
Jorge Mariscal
Las Adelitas, 2003: Mexican-American Women in Iraq
Chris Floyd
Logical Conclusions
Mickey Z.
Does William Safire Need Mental Help?
David Vest
Owed to the Confederate Dead
Ron Jacobs
Joe: the Sixties Most Unforgiving Film
Dave Zirin
Foreman and Carlos: a Tale of Two Survivors
Poets' Basement
Guthrie, Albert, Greeder, Ghalib and Alam
Congratulations
to CounterPuncher David Vest: Winner of 2 Muddy Awards for Best
Blues Pianist in the Pacific Northwest!
November 13, 2003
Jack McCarthy
Veterans
for Peace Booted from Vet Day Parade
Adam Keller
Report
on the Ben Artzi Verdict
Richard Forno
"Threat Matrix:" Homeland Security Goes Prime-Time
Vijay Prashad
Confronting
the Evangelical Imperialists
November 12, 2003
Elaine Cassel
The
Supremes and Guantanamo: a Glimmer of Hope?
Col. Dan Smith
Unsolicited
Advice: a Reply to Rumsfeld's Memo
Jonathan Cook
Facility
1391: Israel's Guantanamo
Robert Fisk
Osama Phones Home
Michael Schwartz
The Wal-Mart Distraction and the California Grocery Workers Strike
John Chuckman
Forty
Years of Lies
Doug Giebel
Jessica Lynch and Saving American Decency
Uri Avnery
Wanted: a Sharon of the Left
Website of the Day
Musicians Against Sweatshops
Hot Stories
Alexander Cockburn
Behold,
the Head of a Neo-Con!
Subcomandante Marcos
The
Death Train of the WTO
Norman Finkelstein
Hitchens
as Model Apostate
Steve Niva
Israel's
Assassination Policy: the Trigger for Suicide Bombings?
Dardagan,
Slobodo and Williams
CounterPunch Exclusive:
20,000 Wounded Iraqi Civilians
Steve
J.B.
Prison Bitch
Sheldon
Rampton and John Stauber
True Lies: the Use of Propaganda
in the Iraq War
Wendell
Berry
Small Destructions Add Up
CounterPunch
Wire
WMD: Who Said What When
Cindy
Corrie
A Mother's Day Talk: the Daughter
I Can't Hear From
Gore Vidal
The
Erosion of the American Dream
Francis Boyle
Impeach
Bush: A Draft Resolution
Click Here
for More Stories.
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December
9, 2003
Goo Goo Ga Joob...
Remembering
John Lennon
By RON JACOBS
It's easy to remember the date: December 8, 1980.
I was sitting at a friend's house in Berkeley listening to music
and talking. Another fellow was in the house kitchen talking
with his parents who lived in North Carolina. Somewhere in the
house a television was broadcasting Monday Night Football. It
was just another Monday night when a shriek came first from the
kitchen and then from the room with the television. The nature
of the shriek caused the conversation I was having to stop as
we went to investigate.
"John Lennon is dead! Someone fuckin'
murdered him!"
The house was suddenly silent. Not knowing
what else to do, I went to the record collection and found the
house's copy of John's first solo album, Plastic Ono Band, and
put "Working Class Hero" on the turntable. We listened
to that song and then I headed out the door, wondering what was
happening at my place of residence. When I arrived there, at
least a dozen friends were sitting in the common room listening
to Beatles records and drinking beer and wine. A wake was in
progress. It continued for days in Berkeley and around the world.
What follows is a slightly enhanced account of one in Berkeley.
Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.
"Sure do wish I'd get a ride."
thought Creamcheese as she crossed 28th Street where it intersected
Telegraph Avenue near downtown Oakland. Nothing but loudmouths
driving their road monsters -- the orange glow of the sunset
reflecting off the windshields -- and shouting hey baby I'll
give you a ride but what'll you give me? Assholes I ain't riding
with that's for sure. She reached 41st and went into a liquor
store directly  across from the Doggie Diner where she
bought her third quart of malt liquor for the day. Beatles'
music played there, too. The Lebanese guy behind the counter
whistled the tune as he rang up her purchase. Everywhere you
went since Monday all you heard was Beatles or John Lennon music
since that asshole killed John. Everybody seemed kind of estranged
from each other and the world, too. More than usual, even.
Hopefully, the public wake would clear some of the wierdness
from the air. That's why she was going. Even if she had to
walk the whole five miles. She slung her leather jacket over
her shoulder, tucked the quart bottle under her arm, and continued
north on Telegraph.
I stood at the bus stop on San Pablo
Avenue, reading a handbill I'd found in the street on the walk
from my house closer to the bay.
JOHN LENNON WAKE
Singing and meditation
for our recently murdered brother
1st Unitarian Church
Berkeley, CA.
7:30 PM Thursday
Bring instruments and refreshments
Underneath was a picture of John Lennon.
It was the one from the white album, where his hair is pretty
long but he doesn't have a beard. I had heard about this thing
on Tuesday but this was the first time I'd seen any of the details.
I pocketed the leaflet, noticed the bus was one stop away, and
dug in my pocket for the fare. It stopped in front of me and
I boarded the bus and sat down. Silently singing the words to
"Nowhere Man", I looked blankly out the window at the
traffic and other human activity on the street. By the time
I got to the second chorus, it was time to disembark. I pulled
the bell cord, and when the bus stopped, left through the rear
door, walked to the corner of the block and turned left, the
setting sun at my back.
Hurrying past the first two apartment
buildings on Channing Way, I turned left into the third driveway,
walked up the front steps of the house and knocked. Somebody
inside opened the door a crack, saw that it was me, and let me
in.
"Hi, Z," I said. "What's
up?"
"Hey, Ron," said Z, his huge
beard sudsy from drinking beer. "How ya' doin'? Got any
smoke? We're just sitting around watching the tube."
"Oh, yeh?" I closed the door
behind him and pulled a cigarette-sized joint from my jacket
pocket. "What's on?"
"Some special on John Lennon."
replied Z, taking the joint and lighting it with a cigarette.
"See, there's some footage from that Live/Peace in Toronto
concert. In fact, there's ol' what's his name on lead."
"Eric Clapton." I responded.
"Yeh, right. He sure looks different."
agreed Z, handing the joint to some girl sitting behind him on
the floor.
"Shit, they all do. Man, I love
Klaus Voorman's bass playing at this show."
Z sat down on the floor and rolled another
joint. When he was finished he stuck it between his lips and
lit it. After a long draw, he handed it to me, just as I remembered
the handbill in my pocket and handed it to Z.
Z read it and looked up. "You goin'?"
he asked.
"Yeh."
"Maybe I'll see ya' there."
"All right." I turned towards
the door. "Well, I've gotta' go get something to eat somewhere
and get to that wake all on the same transfer. Ciao."
"I'll see ya' there," yawned
Z.
I found the Unitarian church easily.
Once there, I opened the door and heard the piano. Somebody
was banging out "Love Me Do" and ten or fifteen people
were more or less singing it. They sounded drunk and out of
tune. As I entered the meeting room, I was surprised at how
few people there were but glad to see plenty of beer and wine.
Maybe more people would show up later. Most people didn't like
thinking about death anyway.
By the time I finished my first beer
the place was filled with people -- mourners, if you will. A
couple guitarists and a woman playing flute had joined the guy
playing piano. When she played it sounded a little jazzy. Looking
around after grabbing another beer from one of the ice and beer
filled trashcans in the room, I noticed Z entering through the
door. I watched him open a beer and and head towards a circle
of people on the floor in the center of the room. There was
a lit candle in the middle of the circle and everyone was holding
hands. Oh jesus, another om-ing circle. Z and I were perpetually
making fun of this kind of pseudo-spiritual stuff. I chuckled
as I watched a grin appear beneath Z's unruly facial hair, rose
from my chair and wandered across the room, slipping between
and around clusters of people until I stood next to Z.
"Hi, Z. What's up?"
"Hey, Ron. Cheers." said
Z, clanging his beer can against mine. "Or don't you say
'cheers' at a wake?"
"No, you just get drunk, I think."
I deadpanned, watching the people in the circle. They were
moving their joined hands in a series of motions and chanting
something I couldn't quite make out. "What are they saying?"
Z swallowed a mouthful of chips and replied,
"It sounds like something from the Book of Law or some other
Aleister Crowley craziness."
"Oh yeh," I remembered. "I
forgot you know that shit. What? Are they trying to bring John
back from the dead?"
Those in the circle now let go of each
other's hands and formed themselves into a pentagram. Someone
blew the flame in the center out and the chanting stopped.
"I don't know," answered Z.
"They never will though. I think he likes it there."
"We'll see. Couldn't be much worse."
I agreed. "How was the rest of that TV show?"
"You saw the best part. After that,
it slipped into typical TV docudrama emptiness. You got any
herb? I left mine at home."
I pulled a bag from my pocket and handed
it to Z. We both sat down on the floor and Z began to roll.
Maybe that friggin' church is on the
next block thought Creamcheese. She'd been there before during
the day for some women's meeting. Looking behind her fearfully
for that white Fairlane and hoping she wouldn't see it, she continued
to run blindly towards where she thought the church was. She
couldn't believe that after being so careful about her rides
she got picked up by those assholes. It must be because she
got too drunk and her psychic sense short-circuited. Whatever
it was...those assholes holding a knife on her and hitting her
with their fists while that fat pig stuck his -- she can't even
think about that part 'cause it makes her want to puke. She's
gotta' block it out. Or she might kill the next man she sees
even though all men aren't pigs it's hard to remember that in
times like this. Shit, where is that church? She must have
run a mile by now. At least from San Pablo she thought. It
seemed like it was just a couple blocks north of University where
those assholes pushed her out of the car. Near that ribs place
-- only on the other side of the street. It's hard to remember
the fuckin' details when all she keeps seeing in her mind is
that fat pig's dick and that knife in her face. If they hadn't
had that hunting knife she probably would have bit his fuckin'
thing off. Just so he could never do to anyone else what he
did to her. Hell...she can't remember where they took her or
their license number or even their faces just that fuckin' knife
and that, that.... Goddam, where is that church?
Wait, looks like there's a lot of cars
up ahead -- maybe that's the place. Whatever it was maybe she
could find someone to talk to. Someone who could help her calm
down at least enough to try and remember. She ran to the outer
doors and pulled them open. She heard the Beatles' music. "A
Hard Day's Night" in fact, sung by what sounded like a bunch
of drunks.
She needed to talk to someone. Someone
who could help her -- a woman. But she didn't see any women
she knew. There sure were a lot of people, though. Three or
four hundred at least. She looked around a bit more slowly now
and thought she saw Rollerboy and Z by the coolers of beer.
Well, if there wasn't anybody else, they could help her.
"Hey, Ron," asked Z. "Isn't
that Creamcheese?"
I looked in the direction Z was pointing
and saw Creamcheese's head above the crowd. She seemed out of
it. More than that, she looked like she'd been hurt. Pretty
bad. You know. Her hair all tangled. A few cuts. Dazed. Z and
I watched her walk across the room. The closer she got, the
worse she looked.
"Damn," said Z. "She
doesn't look so good."
"Really."
"I mean, she looks like hell."
exclaimed Z. "Like she's totally freaked." She was
almost next to us now.
"I've been raped, Ron!" screamed
Creamcheese, crying and trying to talk at the same time. "Some
guys picked me up on Telegraph near Alcatraz and took me somewhere
and held a knife on me and -- oh, man, it was rude, it --"
"Creamcheese," I said, trying
to sound calm. The music had stopped completely and everyone
in the room was staring at us. "Let's go sit down. Can
you do that?"
"Yeh, but raped, Ron. Those pigs.
I just can't block it out." She grabbed Z and I as if
she were afraid we might leave.
"Don't try to right now, Creamcheese."
comforted Z. "Let's go sit down somewhere. Maybe smoke
some weed."
"That might help," she agreed,
her grip on the two of us loosening a bit. We headed to a corner
of the room, stopping by one of the trashcans and grabbing three
beers on the way.
The piano player began playing again
and the singers singing and everyone else went back to what they
were doing before, eager to pretend they never heard what Creamcheese
said. I knew that none of them really wanted to involve themselves
in someone else's problems even if it was their problem, too.
It was easier to mourn the dead. We walked over to a bench
setting against the wall opposite the piano. I helped Zoe sit
down while Z rolled another joint. As he rolled, the pianist
and his drunken choir sang the chorus to "Nowhere Man".
You know, when John sings:
"Just sees what he wants to see
Isn't he a bit like you and me?"
Ron Jacobs
is author of The
Way the Wind Blew: a history of the Weather Underground.
He can be reached at: rjacobs@zoo.uvm.edu
Weekend
Edition Features for Nov. 29 / 30, 2003
Alexander Cockburn
The
UN: Should Be Late; Never Was Great
CounterPunch Special
Toronto Globe and Mail Kills Review of "The Politics of
Anti-Semitism"
Vicente Navarro
Salvador Dali, Fascist
Saul Landau
"Reality
Media": Michael Jackson, Bush and Iraq
Ben Tripp
How Bush Can Still Win
Gary Leupp
On Purchasing Syrian Beer
Ron Jacobs
Are We Doing Body Counts, Now?
Larry Everest
Oil, Power and Empire
Lee Sustar
Defying the Police State in Miami
Jacob Levich
When NGOs Attack: Implications for the Coup in Georgia
Toni Solo
Game Playing by Free Trade Rules: the Results from Indonesia
and Dominican Republic
Mark Scaramella
How to Fix the World Bank
Bruce Anderson
The San Francisco Mayor's Race
Brian Cloughley
Shredding the Owner's Manual: the Hollow Charter of the UN
Adam Engel
A Conversation with Tim Wise
Neve Gordon
Fuad and Ezra: an Update on Gays Under the Occupation
Kurt Nimmo
Bush Gives "Freedom" Medal to Robert Bartley
Tom Stephens
Justice Takes a Holiday
Susan Davis
Avast, Me Hearties! a Review of Disney's "Pirates of the
Caribbean"
Jeffrey St. Clair
A
Natural Eye: the Photography of Brett Weston
Mickey Z.
Press Box Red
Poets' Basement
Greeder, Orloski, Albert
T-shirt of the Weekend
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