Plot outline:
Party aboard a yacht owned by a billionaire playboy who owns an airline, recording and movie studios originates in the Greek Isles. On a lavish scale, reminiscent of the Malcomb Forbes affairs of the sixties, the guest number over a hundred, Hollywood's “A” list, and the rich and famous of American and European society, including Carla Sarkozy, the wife of the French President.
The Party transits through the Suez Canal, the Red Sea and is enroute to Bombay (Mumbai) to participate in the Bollywood equivalent of the Oscars. President Sarkozy, involved in affairs diplomatic is to join the group in Bombay.
As the yacht transits the Gulf of Aden it is attacked by Somali pirates. Realizing the potentials ransoms available from their wealthy prisoners, the pirates decide to take the prisoners ashore to a sanctuary in Puntland, a semi-autonomous section of Northern Somalia where they enjoy the protection of the regional government.
Once news of the highjacking is made public, world press, especially the French, voice their outrage. A special emergency meeting of the U.N. Security Council is called to deal with the growing abuse of the Somali pirates. France, and its President express particular outrage since the first lady of France is among the hostages, an inexcusable insult to French honor. Unwilling to await a response from the Security Council. France orders it’s military to respond immediately.
In Djibouti: The Foreign Legion demi- brigrade of the 13th legion, is put on immediate alert. U.S. Air Force . Which share the legion base at Camp Lemonier put up an AWAX recon aircraft to gather intel on the location of the pirate’s safe house. Two companies of the second parachute regiment of the Foreign Legion 2nd REP stationed in Corsica, are ordered to Djibouti, to support the 13th demi-brigade.
The government of Puntland, meeting with delegates from UAE, Kuwait, Bahrain and Qatar, disavow any knowledge of the pirates or their safe haven. UN Security Council, unwilling to offend Arab oil states, delay action and hold more meetings.
Meanwhile the AWAX has located a likely village, inland from the coast as a likely safe haven for the pirates. The French, acting independently, and in secret, parachute elements of the 2nd REP, legionaries, into the area while the 13th demi-brigade launch an overland force to effect a rescue.
The pirates spokesman, one Sugule Ali, in Nairobi, Kenya, announces that a ransom of 200 million is demanded for the safe return of the hostages.
Elements of the U.S. Navy, dispatched from the Persian Gulf, are to far away to be of any assistance.
In a classic encircling maneuver, the 2nd REP legionaries pin down the village where the hostages are held, while the recently arrived, 13th demi-brigade launch a full out assault, capturing the pirates and successfully rescue the hostages.
Ignoring the protests of the Puntland government concerning the violation of their territory. the legionaries escort the rescued party back to Djibouti.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The Wall
With Memorial Day just past and July 4th on the horizon it is once
again appropriate to consider America’s wars and our war dead.
Custom called for war memorials as part of our observance, a show of
reverence. Most southern town squares still display a statue of a
confederate soldier facing north. Other memorials reflect on a
particular campaign and the sacrifice and hardships.
One memorial stands out distinctly and unambiguously in its message.
The Vietnam wall. The wall does not celebrate any particular battle or
campaign. It’s message is stark, and simple. It is the collective yet
personalized memorial to each of 58,000 men who died in the Vietnam
War. Just that. You can read their names inscribed, the name of every
man whose life was lost as a result of that war. It is devoid of
heroic symbol since none is needed.
There is no editorializing, no history of their battles, no eulogy,
and no accolade to their accomplishment. Just a solemn, respectful,
very long list of names of those who died. Yet in its stark
simplicity it is more eloquent than a cathedral, more meaningful than
a discourse on the evils of war.
It is a catalogue of war’s ultimate result. The names of the dead.
again appropriate to consider America’s wars and our war dead.
Custom called for war memorials as part of our observance, a show of
reverence. Most southern town squares still display a statue of a
confederate soldier facing north. Other memorials reflect on a
particular campaign and the sacrifice and hardships.
One memorial stands out distinctly and unambiguously in its message.
The Vietnam wall. The wall does not celebrate any particular battle or
campaign. It’s message is stark, and simple. It is the collective yet
personalized memorial to each of 58,000 men who died in the Vietnam
War. Just that. You can read their names inscribed, the name of every
man whose life was lost as a result of that war. It is devoid of
heroic symbol since none is needed.
There is no editorializing, no history of their battles, no eulogy,
and no accolade to their accomplishment. Just a solemn, respectful,
very long list of names of those who died. Yet in its stark
simplicity it is more eloquent than a cathedral, more meaningful than
a discourse on the evils of war.
It is a catalogue of war’s ultimate result. The names of the dead.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Image and Illusion -The cars we drive
Coming home from the dentist today I passed a shining black 1950 Studebaker, parked on the side of the road. One of the local exterminator outfits uses vintage cars as an advertising gimmick and this one caught my eye, and triggered a recall of an event of almost 50 years ago.
My wife had acquired such a vehicle, in 1961, a clunker, but our second car for perhaps $25 or 30 bucks, so as not to be isolated in the house with 2 kids while I was at work. Unfortunately I frequently had to give her the use of the better vehicle (whatever that was ) while I drove the powder blue Studebaker clunker to the office. I minded only a little, although our accountant had advised “if you drove a Cadillac so would most of your clients,” not a subtle hint that my wheels were not good for business.
Nevertheless one bright morning, while stopped for a red light, a lawyer of my acquaintance pulled up along side, nodded hello and in response to his passenger’s query said I was a new lawyer in town. Eying my ride disparagingly, the passenger said, “Gee he must be honest.” The comment chilled me although to this day I cannot figure out why being thought to be honest was a source of great embarrassment. I was young and I guess I figured as a young professional I should have been ensconced in a more elegant, pricey vehicle, a material badge of economic success. Yet here I was in a powder blue, 11 year old clunker, arguably on of the ugliest cars Studebaker ever made, frantic for the light to change.
Later that year I changed to a 544 Volvo, the little turtle back model, looking something like a VW beetle on steroids. It was really an econobox but with a rugged, almost sporty quality about it and I thought - image wise- it tended to compensate for my receding hairline. Another cherished illusion.
Meanwhile my partners drove Mercedes and trendy GM convertibles. Trading up to a more recent Volvo did little for my image but it at least had a European road car posture, twin S U carburetor’s, fog lamps and a good suspension system. I still hadn’t gotten the message and parking lot attendants tended to leave me in the back 40 where I had to fend for myself, after closing time, fishing on a pegboard for my keys and ruining a perfectly good pair of imported Swiss made Bally loafers as I sloshed through the wet grass to retrieve my vehicle.
Finally, I acquired an elegant, new, sand colored Buick Rivera, all the rage that season which gave me the illusion, if not the reality of success. True, it was only a long term rental but gave me a rung up on the prestige ladder of phony hallmarks of success which so dominated the community at the time. But- it was not to last. After my second divorce, and a downward spiral in my personal fortunes, there came the day when I first surrendered the key to my studio to the realtor who handled the sale, then the key to my office to my ex-partner who had voted me out of the firm, and lastly the key to the car rental agency upon surrender of the Rivera. I was left with that most frightening image of rejection; an empty key chain, an unambiguous symbol of total failure, no where to go, no door to lock against the world. I was truly alone.
I flew to Washington and after a few months of job shopping (in the midst of what the government agencies called a hiring freeze) I finally was hired by the Agency for International Development. I acquired a small apartment near the office and bought a used Alfa Romero GTV, a small elegant Italian speedster, with panache and style, a perfect counter point for my new pose as an international lawyer and diplomat. (Will it never cease ?) It set my style around D.C. and went well with my new tweeds and velour Tyrolean hat, (which covered my hairline) and I thought gave me the image of a lesser, impoverished , Italian nobleman. (At least nobly impoverished.) I sold the Alfa and went to Vietnam.
In Vietnam, I now had to be content with a new kind of vehicular absurdity. To appear low profiled, but avoiding traffic difficulties, most of staff, USAID and Embassy tooled around town in chauffeur-driven Ford Falcons. A greater absurdity could not be imagined. My driver, Ong Chau, would never have qualified as a sidekick for the Green Hornet, but, oh well ! Enough.
On my return to the states and in a near Watergate apartment, in an unthinking moment I acquired an old Mark X Jaguar, replete with two locking gas tanks and pull out tables in the rear. While my kids were for a time delighted with this English relic (I was doing an imitation of Rex Harrison with my new Irish tweed hat ) but the beast was a mistake and I soon traded (at quite a loss) for another Alfa Romero GTV - my first love. It served me well in and around D.C. and its environs but when I moved to Key West and could not find a mechanic worthy of the name who knew how to service SPICA fuel injectors. My little Milanese miracle slowly faded and I was forced to trade away for a (gasp) Toyota - which proved dependable if not stylish.
Hired finally by the County I was given a new Ford Crown Victoria, large, sturdy, taken for a police cruiser at a distance. All in all a comfortable, non-controversial choice for a new bureaucrat desirous of keeping a low profile. But the damn thing performed well and I kept it after we left the keys.
Finally, at the 100,000 mile mark, Becky persuaded me to trade the Crown Vic before it fell apart and we settled on a 2000 model Mercury Grand Marquis, a near twin to the Victoria, but a bit more finish. I had finally dropped into the middle of the middle class motoring public, driving a car indistinguishable from the other Grand Marquis made between 1998 and 2010, varying only slightly in detail of tail light configuration and wheel cover designs. Lost at last in a sea of Detroit iron and glass. The silent (no invisible) majority.
No panache, no status, no style yet when I view it across the street or down the parking lot damn but it looks as neat and elegant as when it was brand new. So much for image and illusion.
My wife had acquired such a vehicle, in 1961, a clunker, but our second car for perhaps $25 or 30 bucks, so as not to be isolated in the house with 2 kids while I was at work. Unfortunately I frequently had to give her the use of the better vehicle (whatever that was ) while I drove the powder blue Studebaker clunker to the office. I minded only a little, although our accountant had advised “if you drove a Cadillac so would most of your clients,” not a subtle hint that my wheels were not good for business.
Nevertheless one bright morning, while stopped for a red light, a lawyer of my acquaintance pulled up along side, nodded hello and in response to his passenger’s query said I was a new lawyer in town. Eying my ride disparagingly, the passenger said, “Gee he must be honest.” The comment chilled me although to this day I cannot figure out why being thought to be honest was a source of great embarrassment. I was young and I guess I figured as a young professional I should have been ensconced in a more elegant, pricey vehicle, a material badge of economic success. Yet here I was in a powder blue, 11 year old clunker, arguably on of the ugliest cars Studebaker ever made, frantic for the light to change.
Later that year I changed to a 544 Volvo, the little turtle back model, looking something like a VW beetle on steroids. It was really an econobox but with a rugged, almost sporty quality about it and I thought - image wise- it tended to compensate for my receding hairline. Another cherished illusion.
Meanwhile my partners drove Mercedes and trendy GM convertibles. Trading up to a more recent Volvo did little for my image but it at least had a European road car posture, twin S U carburetor’s, fog lamps and a good suspension system. I still hadn’t gotten the message and parking lot attendants tended to leave me in the back 40 where I had to fend for myself, after closing time, fishing on a pegboard for my keys and ruining a perfectly good pair of imported Swiss made Bally loafers as I sloshed through the wet grass to retrieve my vehicle.
Finally, I acquired an elegant, new, sand colored Buick Rivera, all the rage that season which gave me the illusion, if not the reality of success. True, it was only a long term rental but gave me a rung up on the prestige ladder of phony hallmarks of success which so dominated the community at the time. But- it was not to last. After my second divorce, and a downward spiral in my personal fortunes, there came the day when I first surrendered the key to my studio to the realtor who handled the sale, then the key to my office to my ex-partner who had voted me out of the firm, and lastly the key to the car rental agency upon surrender of the Rivera. I was left with that most frightening image of rejection; an empty key chain, an unambiguous symbol of total failure, no where to go, no door to lock against the world. I was truly alone.
I flew to Washington and after a few months of job shopping (in the midst of what the government agencies called a hiring freeze) I finally was hired by the Agency for International Development. I acquired a small apartment near the office and bought a used Alfa Romero GTV, a small elegant Italian speedster, with panache and style, a perfect counter point for my new pose as an international lawyer and diplomat. (Will it never cease ?) It set my style around D.C. and went well with my new tweeds and velour Tyrolean hat, (which covered my hairline) and I thought gave me the image of a lesser, impoverished , Italian nobleman. (At least nobly impoverished.) I sold the Alfa and went to Vietnam.
In Vietnam, I now had to be content with a new kind of vehicular absurdity. To appear low profiled, but avoiding traffic difficulties, most of staff, USAID and Embassy tooled around town in chauffeur-driven Ford Falcons. A greater absurdity could not be imagined. My driver, Ong Chau, would never have qualified as a sidekick for the Green Hornet, but, oh well ! Enough.
On my return to the states and in a near Watergate apartment, in an unthinking moment I acquired an old Mark X Jaguar, replete with two locking gas tanks and pull out tables in the rear. While my kids were for a time delighted with this English relic (I was doing an imitation of Rex Harrison with my new Irish tweed hat ) but the beast was a mistake and I soon traded (at quite a loss) for another Alfa Romero GTV - my first love. It served me well in and around D.C. and its environs but when I moved to Key West and could not find a mechanic worthy of the name who knew how to service SPICA fuel injectors. My little Milanese miracle slowly faded and I was forced to trade away for a (gasp) Toyota - which proved dependable if not stylish.
Hired finally by the County I was given a new Ford Crown Victoria, large, sturdy, taken for a police cruiser at a distance. All in all a comfortable, non-controversial choice for a new bureaucrat desirous of keeping a low profile. But the damn thing performed well and I kept it after we left the keys.
Finally, at the 100,000 mile mark, Becky persuaded me to trade the Crown Vic before it fell apart and we settled on a 2000 model Mercury Grand Marquis, a near twin to the Victoria, but a bit more finish. I had finally dropped into the middle of the middle class motoring public, driving a car indistinguishable from the other Grand Marquis made between 1998 and 2010, varying only slightly in detail of tail light configuration and wheel cover designs. Lost at last in a sea of Detroit iron and glass. The silent (no invisible) majority.
No panache, no status, no style yet when I view it across the street or down the parking lot damn but it looks as neat and elegant as when it was brand new. So much for image and illusion.
Changing Course
This too, is the time that try men’s souls. The ranting of neocons and the uninformed all but obscure the real crises faced by our nation. While perhaps not as grave as Tories defecting to the side of British General Howe in the winter of 1776; nevertheless, the defection of recently deposed Republican politicians to the side of neocons who place party above country during a time of crisis, we are beset by nay sayers who would rather run the ship of state aground in order to say “I told you so” than bend every effort to assist the government by solving our many problems.
After misreading the charts and “staying the wrong course “ for eight years, they now object to any, ANY, efforts by the administration to ameliorate the crises and change course. Changing course takes time. Perhaps a maritime analogy would be of use. In turning a ship from one course to another, a phenomenon known as “advance and transfer” comes into play, a determination of how far the ship will continue on its old course before settling down on the new. This will depend on a number of factors, which include the size and weight of the ship, its speed, the size of the rudder and its angle off center at which it is set. All of these factors combine to bring the vessel to its new course, to effect change. Moving the rudder does not achieve an instantanious change.
Why then, should we not anticipiate similar conditions effecting the ability to change the course of the “ship of state,” to being it to a new course, out of the troubled waters to which its last pilot brought it. It takes time.
Rather than carping at every single decision made by the new pilot, modifications in direction might be suggested rather than NO ! being shouted as a response to every decision. After all a ship can have but one captain at a time. Rather than criticize Obama for not yet achieving promised changes one should reflect on the difficulty of getting Congress on board. After all it is Congress who plots the course.
After misreading the charts and “staying the wrong course “ for eight years, they now object to any, ANY, efforts by the administration to ameliorate the crises and change course. Changing course takes time. Perhaps a maritime analogy would be of use. In turning a ship from one course to another, a phenomenon known as “advance and transfer” comes into play, a determination of how far the ship will continue on its old course before settling down on the new. This will depend on a number of factors, which include the size and weight of the ship, its speed, the size of the rudder and its angle off center at which it is set. All of these factors combine to bring the vessel to its new course, to effect change. Moving the rudder does not achieve an instantanious change.
Why then, should we not anticipiate similar conditions effecting the ability to change the course of the “ship of state,” to being it to a new course, out of the troubled waters to which its last pilot brought it. It takes time.
Rather than carping at every single decision made by the new pilot, modifications in direction might be suggested rather than NO ! being shouted as a response to every decision. After all a ship can have but one captain at a time. Rather than criticize Obama for not yet achieving promised changes one should reflect on the difficulty of getting Congress on board. After all it is Congress who plots the course.
Lafitte the Parrot
In one of my more quixotic moods, in 1980 I applied to the Congress for letters of Marque in order that I might operate as a privateer and make war on the drug smugglers in the Caribbean, although the last time Congress saw fit to issue letters they were to Jean Lafitte, the pirate, during the War of 1812.
In order to participate in my temporary flight of fantasy, my wife Becky purchased a green parrot who was to pose on my shoulder, a la Long John Silver in order that I might appear as a bona fide pirate/privateer.
Appropriately named Lafitte, and installed in the screen cage at the rear of our Key West house, Lafitte and I became an immediate mismatch. Although the feathered fury responded to Becky , as soon as I appeared in the doorway he would assume his most threatening pose and squawk a warning at me, advising me that my next step might prove quite painful. Over time this condition worsened, Lafitte remaining firm in his conviction that he wanted nothing to do with me. Adding insult to injury, Lafitte proved to be a dud at human impersonation, his only learned trick was to mimic the noise of the 7:00 A.M. 727 taking off. Nevertheless I tolerated him and resisted my impulse to pluck him clean and feed him to the cats.
One day while showing some visitors around the house, Becky opened the screen cage door to the outside and Lafitte made his escape. Roosting in a tall tree down the street, he remained 40 feet above the ground and indifferent to Becky’s entreaty and offers of food. After several hours of trying to recapture the bird we accepted the inevitable that Lafitte was now a free bird.
The weather of Key West was salubrious for parrots and Lafitte soon discovered and joined a flock of parrot escapees who lived off the natural flora of the area and were quite at home in the keys. With a life expectancy of 60 years I suspect that Lafitte is now an honored member of the flock and has probably taught them all to imitate a 727.
In order to participate in my temporary flight of fantasy, my wife Becky purchased a green parrot who was to pose on my shoulder, a la Long John Silver in order that I might appear as a bona fide pirate/privateer.
Appropriately named Lafitte, and installed in the screen cage at the rear of our Key West house, Lafitte and I became an immediate mismatch. Although the feathered fury responded to Becky , as soon as I appeared in the doorway he would assume his most threatening pose and squawk a warning at me, advising me that my next step might prove quite painful. Over time this condition worsened, Lafitte remaining firm in his conviction that he wanted nothing to do with me. Adding insult to injury, Lafitte proved to be a dud at human impersonation, his only learned trick was to mimic the noise of the 7:00 A.M. 727 taking off. Nevertheless I tolerated him and resisted my impulse to pluck him clean and feed him to the cats.
One day while showing some visitors around the house, Becky opened the screen cage door to the outside and Lafitte made his escape. Roosting in a tall tree down the street, he remained 40 feet above the ground and indifferent to Becky’s entreaty and offers of food. After several hours of trying to recapture the bird we accepted the inevitable that Lafitte was now a free bird.
The weather of Key West was salubrious for parrots and Lafitte soon discovered and joined a flock of parrot escapees who lived off the natural flora of the area and were quite at home in the keys. With a life expectancy of 60 years I suspect that Lafitte is now an honored member of the flock and has probably taught them all to imitate a 727.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
China the long view
When I was living in Saigon in the late 1960’s, one of my more interesting acquaintances was a Chinese gentleman named Sam Wan. Sam had been a colonel in Chiang Kia Shek’s Kuo-Min Tang Army and had repaired to Taiwan when the People’s Republic ran them out of mainland China. Sam had reemerged as the president of a company known as RSEA (Retried Serviceman’s Engineering Agency) a quasi governmental agency of the government of Taiwan, which worked as a contractor for USAID in Vietnam. Although Sam was always trying to co-opt me in an effort to secure leverage in negotiations, held at arms length he was a source of great insight into how Chinese view time and problems, how Chinese think as t were.
My breakthrough in understanding came through our discussions, (usually over lunch or drinks) was what was then being called “the two China” problem. Chiang, offshore on Taiwan still insisting he and his were the legitimate government of China while the apparent reality was Mao and the “little red book” people were quite obviously in control.
Although questions of “face” not easily dismissed in that part of the world, played a part in keeping the controversy alive, there was another undercurrent which seemed to mollify some concerns about the potential for crisis. Sam counseled me not to be over concerned about the saber rattling or other issues, saying in effect that you in the west are too eager to have a resolution to the problem, that we cannot deal with ongoing conflict. He said confidently that it was a Chinese issue, not a world issue and that it would be solved in a Chinese way -- in Chinese time.
This was my first realization that Chinese do indeed have a long view of time, and that patience and the passage of time are very useful ingredients in problem solving. He would say, after all we are both Chinese (and that is vastly more important than the west realizes ) and we will solve this temporary difficulty in the Chinese way.
What I then thought was Sam’s groundless overconfidence has during the last 40 years proved to be essentially correct and has provided me with a different insight (damned near a third eye) when viewing China’s role in world affairs. It seems from the Chinese viewpoint, and their long view that they are usually less concerned about immediate results (although not of appearances) and have a great ability to manifest less concern about short view or intermediate objectives. A dynamic issue, one that seems to change quickly bothers them less than the west. China has by training and tradition been willing to play a waiting game rather than act precipitously. Their view on ambigious or unclear situations is therefore usually to wait until the fog lifts.
This, in turn has me thinking about the current problems with North Korea, with their on again, off again nuclear projects and their missile development. As part of the so-called six power talks concerning North Korea’s activities and potential for disruptive behavior , the U.S., Japan and of course South Korea, seem most agitated while China by contrast seems somewhat less concerned China, of course has all of the economic leverage imaginable to bring Kim to heel, and a military force capable of overrunning Korea in a weekend. Yet China is quiet with respect to its view of North Korea’s activity.
I have begun to suspect that China is most willing to use North Korea’s unpredictable behavior as a stalking horse, using its twists and turns to smoke out U.S. and western intentions and attitudes without itself committing to any plan of action or course of conduct to reign in the North Koreans. Apparently China does not regard them as as much of a threat as do we, since in the short view North Korea is little more than a pebble in the Chinese shoe.
This in turn is a useful clue in measuring Chin’s policies in other parts of the world, less interested in short term problems, able to deal with an unstable dynamic and wait out developments before committing to a policy or an involvement.
Our inclination is to resolve problems in the shortest possible time by the most expeditious means at hand. China is content to wait and we should understand that as a tactic, not an indication of disinterest. It explains, to some extent, their seeming disinterest with Iran (for the moment), their aggressive commercial interests in Africa and South America. “The long view”
My breakthrough in understanding came through our discussions, (usually over lunch or drinks) was what was then being called “the two China” problem. Chiang, offshore on Taiwan still insisting he and his were the legitimate government of China while the apparent reality was Mao and the “little red book” people were quite obviously in control.
Although questions of “face” not easily dismissed in that part of the world, played a part in keeping the controversy alive, there was another undercurrent which seemed to mollify some concerns about the potential for crisis. Sam counseled me not to be over concerned about the saber rattling or other issues, saying in effect that you in the west are too eager to have a resolution to the problem, that we cannot deal with ongoing conflict. He said confidently that it was a Chinese issue, not a world issue and that it would be solved in a Chinese way -- in Chinese time.
This was my first realization that Chinese do indeed have a long view of time, and that patience and the passage of time are very useful ingredients in problem solving. He would say, after all we are both Chinese (and that is vastly more important than the west realizes ) and we will solve this temporary difficulty in the Chinese way.
What I then thought was Sam’s groundless overconfidence has during the last 40 years proved to be essentially correct and has provided me with a different insight (damned near a third eye) when viewing China’s role in world affairs. It seems from the Chinese viewpoint, and their long view that they are usually less concerned about immediate results (although not of appearances) and have a great ability to manifest less concern about short view or intermediate objectives. A dynamic issue, one that seems to change quickly bothers them less than the west. China has by training and tradition been willing to play a waiting game rather than act precipitously. Their view on ambigious or unclear situations is therefore usually to wait until the fog lifts.
This, in turn has me thinking about the current problems with North Korea, with their on again, off again nuclear projects and their missile development. As part of the so-called six power talks concerning North Korea’s activities and potential for disruptive behavior , the U.S., Japan and of course South Korea, seem most agitated while China by contrast seems somewhat less concerned China, of course has all of the economic leverage imaginable to bring Kim to heel, and a military force capable of overrunning Korea in a weekend. Yet China is quiet with respect to its view of North Korea’s activity.
I have begun to suspect that China is most willing to use North Korea’s unpredictable behavior as a stalking horse, using its twists and turns to smoke out U.S. and western intentions and attitudes without itself committing to any plan of action or course of conduct to reign in the North Koreans. Apparently China does not regard them as as much of a threat as do we, since in the short view North Korea is little more than a pebble in the Chinese shoe.
This in turn is a useful clue in measuring Chin’s policies in other parts of the world, less interested in short term problems, able to deal with an unstable dynamic and wait out developments before committing to a policy or an involvement.
Our inclination is to resolve problems in the shortest possible time by the most expeditious means at hand. China is content to wait and we should understand that as a tactic, not an indication of disinterest. It explains, to some extent, their seeming disinterest with Iran (for the moment), their aggressive commercial interests in Africa and South America. “The long view”
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