What are these Taliban?

What are we up against in Afghanistan?  What are these Taliban?

On Wednesday, December 30th, 2009, a man, reportedly wearing an Afghan National Army uniform detonated an explosive device concealed on his person at Forward Operating Base Chapman, a CIA counter-terrorism hub in the Khost region of Afghanistan.  Seven persons were killed and six wounded.  The dead included CIA officers, contractors, and the Agency's base chief.  CIA officers have described the attack as "devastating."

According to reports, Chapman base focuses on infiltration.  That is, they work on "turning people," acquiring informants, infiltrating enemy networks.  The bomber is thought to have been a double-agent. He was a person whom the CIA thought they had "flipped."

On MSNBC's Morning Joe, host Joe Scarborough said that, the way he heard it, the bomber had contacted the Agency, communicating that he had urgent information and needed to meet with them immediately.  His communication was so convincing, and he was held in such trust, that the base chief and other high-placed officers wanted to be on-hand for the briefing.

And then, disaster.

When one reflects on the significance of the event, one is compelled to pause for a befuddled moment and wonder just what in hell we are up against in Afghanistan.

This monstrous attack conjures dark thoughts and images.  Dwell for a moment on the evolution of reasoning and emotions that must have occurred in the mind of the bomber.  He carefully and skillfully deceives experienced CIA officers trained (I assume) to be wary and suspicious.  Using the utmost caution and care, he constructs an elaborate ruse that must certainly have been the endeavor of many months.  He so completely wins the trust of the CIA that he is brought into the presence of the base chief and high level staff without being subjected to a personal search.

And now, imagine those final seconds before the detonation.  Did the bomber shout something?  Did the victims become aware of the deception before they died?  What final acts of desperation and heroism occurred in that room in that instant?

These are horrible contemplations.

This terrible act was a message from the Taliban.  "We are unbowed and unbroken.  We are fanatic in our determination.  We can get to you."  And also this:  "We cannot be 'flipped.'"

I am utterly at a loss as to what to do in the face of such savagery.  If the United States withdraws from Afghanistan, we unleash these Taliban on the long-suffering Afghan people.  If we escalate, we are drawn deeper into a conflict that has the potential to bankrupt our country and ignite a full-scale world war in which every country on the face of this Earth is forced to choose sides.

President Obama gave us some straight talk last month in his Afghanistan speech.  His remarks were stark and sober.  With the bombing at Forward Operating Base Chapman, the Taliban makes its rebuttal.

Movie review: Invictus

When Maty and I went to view the new Clint Eastwood effort Invictus, I have to admit I was a bit leery.  After all, how many so-called "feel-good" flicks have I endured only to leave the theater feeling sheepish and let down? All too often have I come away from such films feeling like some ill-willed curmudgeon because I found the sentiments therein to be shallow and juvenile.  Nonetheless, hope springs eternal, as they say.

Invictus is an account of the early days of post-apartheid South Africa with President Nelson Mandela (Morgan Freeman) newly-elected and stepping into office. It is 1995 and South Africa is host to the Rugby World Cup.  In seeking to reconcile the various racial factions in the new era, Mandela recognizes the national rugby team, the Springboks, as a vehicle to define a new national identity.  The problem is that the green-and-gold Springboks are a symbol of the oppressive apartheid regime and therefore despised by the nation's coloreds.  Even though his aides and advisers warn him that he risks alienating his political base, Mandela recruits the captain of the national rugby team, Francois Pienaar (Matt Damon), to his cause.

As events proceed, South Africans slowly overcome their mutual mistrust and fall in behind their underdog rugby team.  The culmination occurs when the Springboks face down the intimidating All Blacks of New Zealand in the championship match.  By this time, the attitudes of all South Africans, coloreds and whites, have changed considerably from those displayed at the opening of the film. 

This film works.  The narrative is understated and blissfully free of obvious tug-at-the-heartstrings kitsch, which I believe is the only way a film like this can succeed.  Eastwood is subtle and dispassionate as he depicts the transition, from mistrust to fraternity, of South Africans from all walks of life:  Mandela's personal security team (which includes former officers of the feared apartheid-enforcing Special Branch), slum-dwelling children, black political activists, middle-class Boers, and the rugby players themselves. 

Morgan Freeman's portrayal of Nelson Mandela is nuanced and disciplined.  Matt Damon also does a fine job as the tough-as-nails rugby captain who recognizes Mandela's motives and, compelled by admiration, steps forward to help in the effort.

And, to the extent that the film is historical, it is an homage to Mandela himself, who is endowed with rare wisdom and the strength that comes only to those who have survived hell. 

With Invictus, Director Clint Eastwood demonstrates that he has come a long way from earlier works like The Outlaw Josey Wales or High Plains Drifter.  His long years of experience are definitely paying off.  The man just gets better with age.

Longing for grassland

Barren desert ridge is the old cracked plaster at which I stare
Lying face-up bed to ceiling
Imaging the surface as an arid wind-swept plain that is devoid of all
But most hearty vegetation:

Gray-green sagebrush perhaps
Sap-sweating juniper like grumpy old men
Stingily yield their hard sour little berries
Which no one would eat;

Or maybe even that is too much...

A plain of grass cropped close by equine heirs wild and wise and free
Of those mad conquistadores
With each lone oak the king of a domain from which he might build
His own deciduous kingdom

Danger in such a place
Needs must nakedly approach with fangs bared
Hunger-driven as might invading lion pride
Rush on with roaring vanguard;

Out of just a crack in the ceiling;

Clock's a-tickin' 2009

Most of us recognize this day as the end of an arbitrary chapter in the chronicle of humankind.  Planets spin in rote; somewhere the digits of some chronological counter fall.  December 31st is come; a year ended, another to begin.  The date falls in regimen, part of the New Age clockwork that is derived loosely from the old Pagan recognition of the winter solstice.  A token, perhaps, of how far removed we are from the natural rhythms of our world. 

In our modern world, we pay small respect to the magic of the shaman, the wisdom of the druid.  We insist that the world is run by gears and wheels.  "Reason is King!" we proclaim.

We may be stripped of that luxuriant ignorance ere long.  Nonetheless, let's go with it for now.

This year saw no ebb in the cruel tides of war.  Nor has there been any indication of a new consciousness emerging from the riot of humanity.  I've mostly given up looking for such.  I attribute it to my own terrible awakening on November 2nd, 2004.  I lost much of my faith in people on that day.  The wounds I suffered back then are still raw, five years later.  (But, at the least, the monkey is gone... merci mon Dieu... the monkey is gone.)

To me, and to mine, the year 2009 has been gentle.  No dire health problems; no destitution; general harmony amongst the Tribe of Ross.  We've been lucky.  And I know it.  And please believe, I've got a hand out to those less fortunate souls whom I can help.  No friend of mine should imagine that I won't do what I can for him.

So, here we go.  Another spin around the solar whirligig.  I'm standing ready. 

Let's see what the new year brings.

Best to all. 

Torin, Seth, and Gino

New Year's reading list

Blah, blah, blah...

More narcissistic navel-gazing, I'm afraid.  Days of short sunlight will do that to me.

Ever am I plagued with fears of excessive complacence.  It's true that I love my life, every bit of it, and I never tire of reminding myself  (and everyone else) of that truth.  But, the danger of succumbing to comfort and contentment must be guarded against.

Hey, people, the springtime may be a memory, but there is still some sap in the tree.  (Don't take that metaphor anywhere you think you shouldn't.)  I dislike the idea that I have let life soften me.  I deny it.

Rather, I believe I have come to a better understanding of which battles are worth fighting and which are pointless and futile.  Of the former, there is that a man should not become a bigot; or, if he finds that he has become one, that he not remain so.  Of the latter, there is the attempt to change the mind of a bigot; experience teaches that only himself can do it.

I have found two endeavors that are perfect antidotes to encroaching bigotry:  travel and reading.  Both will open windows in the psyche and cleanse away bias with the light afforded by dilated perspective.

Times being what they are, it will be a while before I can manage any overseas travel.  So, today I took a walk down to Powell's Books on Hawthorne and picked up three titles:

• In Evil Hour - Gabriel García Márquez
  
  
• Leaves of Grass - Walt Whitman
  
  
• Poems and Songs - Robert Burns
  

The Burns compilation is annotated with modern English interpretations of the Scottish dialect that I find delightful.  I haven't read much poetry, and since I occasionally dabble on this blog, I feel I ought to have a look at what the masters have done.  And Don Márquez always imparts gifts of wisdom and compassion.

A reading list is a wonderful thing to have during winter.  If you're looking for something to read, I'm always happy to suggest titles.  I suppose it is no secret by now that I'm always willing to offer an opinion!

Heh.

ASL: Fight for the Barrikady (Pt. II)

Note to readers: This post won't make a lick of sense to anyone who isn't familiar with the Advanced Squad Leader game system.

Fellow Berserk Commissar Sonny Eberts (Santino, the Bull) and I are enmeshed in a savage struggle for the Stalingrad Barrikady, CGIII.  Sonny and I will each maintain a blog correspondence as the game progresses with the agreement that neither will read the other's blog until given express permission to do so.  Readers are encouraged to comment!  Got a problem with where I placed my AT gun?  Speak your piece!  Just be sure not to inadvertently reveal any information about Sonny's plan to me or vice-versa.

You can read my entry for the previous game day here.


Aftermath of Day 1:  Big acorns, small oaks

The biggest roll of the day for Campaign Game Day 1 was the "1" I rolled at the end of turn 5, thereby ending the game just as Sonny's Germans were poised to rush uncontested into building K10 and the L10 factory. The perimeter at the end of the day looked like this...

Perimeter at the end of Day 1

Sonny purchased two rifle companies and a Stuka group for Day 1.  With the benefit of hindsight, I think this may have been a mistake.  Sonny was attacking across a very narrow front with four companies!  His force was massive and unwieldy.  The attack was ponderous.  Sheer weight of numbers carried him up into building F5 and beyond, but he did not get into any of the factories, and I was still contesting building M6 when the day ended.

On my side of the table, my Molotov capability led to building B12 burning down, which was good.  But beyond that, it did nothing.  Methinks the 2 CPP I spent on it could have been better used for Fortification points or artillery.

The casualty ratio for the day kept pace with German needs, but it was hardly a shellacking.  The Russians suffered 25 CVP, while the Germans suffered 14 CVP.  Considering the size of Sonny's force, he didn't put a very big hurt on me. 

I came away from the day with my force largely intact.  My biggest losses of the day were a dug-in KV tank (lost to a Stuka), and one of my AT guns (malfunctioned, then disabled).  Although I lost the scenario within the limited confines of the daily victory conditions, I counted the day as meeting my overall strategic goals:  the Germans had not reached the river, and I kept all my leaders and heavy support weapons.

And now comes the dawn...

My retained forces for Day 2 are as follows:

• 426 x 13
  
• 527 x 5
• 628
• 447 x 18
• 228 x 2
  
• 10-2, 8-1 x 2, 10-0, 8-0
• KVII M42, dug-in, hex U9
  
• 45LL ATG
• ATR x 3, MMG x 3, HMG x 2, LMG x 2, Lt. Mtr. x 3
  

Not bad.  One and a half rifle companies, a militia company, and a depleted sub-machine gun company.  Decent leadership.  And my fortifications guarding the river are still intact. 

Sonny sees this...

I am allotted 17 CPP for Day 2.  My purchases are as follows:

• SMG Guards Coy (reserve) 6 CPP
  628 x 9
  DC
  9-0, 8-1
  
• Militia Coy (depleted)  4 CPP
  426 x 9
  MMG, ATR, Lt. Mtr.
  6+1
• 120 Fort Points 3 CPP
  Trench x 3
  AP mine factors x 18
  Wire x 2
  2 squads HIP
  Dummy counters x 9
• T60 M42 Pltn 3 CPP
  T60 M42 x 3
• 80mm Mtr OBA module 1 CPP
  

My long term strategy is to build a line of defense that runs the entire length of the board, running roughly along the V thru X hex rows.  So, I will add to my fortifications in the north, extending them southward.  Meanwhile, my militia will fight and die in the factories, buying time for the troops behind them to dig their trenches.

I'm buying the elite SMG company and the armor platoon for one reason:  to guard my ELR.  I saw what happened to Dave Hauth in our recent game and I'm going to try to avoid a similar fate.  With these two purchases, I add a -3 modifier to my ELR roll at the end of the day.

Day 2 setup

It will be interesting to see how the T60s fare on this battlefield.  Ideally, I would purchase them as dug-in tanks, but this time, since I can't easily predict where the German will attack, I'm opting to keep them mobile.  There are a couple reasons that lend to the attractiveness of this option:  1) weather is overcast, so I have no fear of Stukas; 2) Sonny's platoon of MkIIIs was recalled at the end of day 1, so there will be no German armor set up on board. 

The 80mm Mortar OBA will be directed by the 6+1 in the second level of O18 where he can see over the "low" O10 factory.  From this vantage, he can drop shells to either side of the O6 factory, and even all the way out to the jump off point of any German attack toward the river, around hex W3.

I've placed trenches in X8 and Y8 to link up the Chemist's shop with the defenses to the north.  This sector is manned by my reinforced rifle company.

My two militia companies have affixed their bayonets and are hunkered down in the factories awaiting Jerry.  A political officer is on hand to provide patriotic instruction and the 10-2 has a kill stack backing them up. 

The elite SMG company is in reserve to the south in the L14 and F16 factories.  The 1st line SMG company guards against any southward advance along the railway.  My 45L ATG backs them up further south.  And the reinforcing T-60s may be coming this way in response to a serious German effort.

So far, so good.  Sonny is going to have to hit me harder than he hit me yesterday, or I'm going to quickly become too strong for him.  But I expect he knows this...

To be continued...

Willamette Valley Christmas 2009

Fog-shrouded trees in the southern Willamette Valley

This holiday season has been one of those that serve to remind how blessed and lucky I am.  (But then again, they all are.)  On Christmas Day, Maty and I had our own little holiday celebration (despite the fact that neither of us are Christian).  We exchanged gifts, took a jaunt out to the theater to see Sherlock Holmes, and had supper at home.  Just the two of us. 

Roasted lamb, garlic mashed (sweet) potatoes, gravy, french bread, salad.  Blueberry tart (from France) for dessert.

Next day, we set off for Eugene, Oregon, about 120 miles to the south, to visit sister Mia and brother Eric and their respective families.  We stopped in Tigard along the way to deliver gifts to our dear friends the King family.

The King family sans Kadija (Philip is hiding)

Nephew Gino is growing up fast. He's about average height for his age, but his weight is in the 90th percentile. He's a stocky kid destined, no doubt, for the wrestling mat.  Or perhaps he'll be fighting for position down low in the paint, intimidating would-be rebounders.

Nephew Gino and Mama

Then, yesterday, it was back up to Portland, there to meet sister Paige and family.  The drive along the interstate was a patchwork quilt of fog and sun breaks.

Cold and clear December

Paige, Tim, and Torin arrived in the mid-afternoon. Mi sobrino Torin ha estado estudiando en una escuela de inmersión del español.  Y él habla muy bien.  Eric and Kristi drove up as well, Calee made the cross-town trip and we all went for Thai food at Authentic Thai on Division Street.

Front row:  Torin and Maty
Back row:  Tim, Calee, Paige, moi, Kristi and Eric

Boy, I'll tell ya:  Any man who is not a fool knows enough to say thanks when he hits a stretch of road like this.  And I don't want to think I'm a fool.  So I'll say it:  Thank you, Great Whatever.  Thank you.

See why I'm smiling?