I have read with some bemusement the extended comments on this blog about the charges that Russia interfered with the American election. At first I was put in mind of a fine old 1967 comedy, The President’s Analyst, starring James Coburn. The plot is far too convoluted to summarize. Suffice it to say that for most of the film, the story seems to be about a conflict between the FBI and the CIA. The FBI agents are all identically dressed in dark suits, ties, and hats, are utterly humorless, and are all 4’11” tall. The CIA agents are dressed in shaggy sweaters and tweed coats with elbow patches, and look like a gathering in a Senior Common Room of an elite private college. In a brilliant dénoument, it is revealed that the real power behind the throne is neither the FBI nor the CIA but – wait for it – THE PHONE COMPANY. I believe the whole thing is on YouTube. It is lots of fun.
But then I thought, What am I supposed to make of these ever more convoluted speculations about false flag operations and political leanings of the FBI and the CIA, not to speak of the bizarre fantasy that Trump will achieve a rapprochement with the remnants of the old Soviet Union? What do I know?
Well, I do not know what the CIA wants [although I was once interviewed for a job by someone representing himself as a CIA recruiter.] And I do not know what the FBI wants [although I have been interviewed twice by two somber men, claiming to be from the FBI, who were charged with determining whether I was sufficiently loyal to the United States to be trusted as a private in the United States Army.]
Did Russia attempt to interfere in the American election? Of course it did. How do I know? Because it was in its interest to do so, and I assume it acts in its interest.
Where does this stop? Did the Holocaust really happen? Were six million Jews killed in the Death Camps? I don’t know. I wasn’t there. Perhaps it is all a terrible slander on the noble German people. I do know that twenty-one Jews were killed in the Death Camps. How do I know? Because they were my relatives. Here are their names:
Henri Isaac Levy
I suggest that we all stop this idle armchair quibbling and put our energies to trying in some way, any way, to make this a better world. Which brings me to Jerry Fresia, but I am too angry to respond to his thoughtful and moving comment. Sufficient unto the day …