Oct. 2nd, 2006

occuserpens: (Default)
Вот еще один типичный для ВаПо длинный и мутный публицистический текст. Понятно только, что с Пауэллом получилось неладно, а что именно - разобрать в общем невозможно.

А на самом деле, перед нападением на Ирак генерал Пауэлл клятвенно заявлял, что у Ирака ОМП есть. Вот только аргументация его была смехотворна, и, как профессиональный военный, он не мог не понимать, что тексты, которые ему поручают зачитывать, смысла не имеют.

И действительно, в 2003-2004г. выяснилось, что никаких ОМП у Хуссейна не было. Почему? Да просто потому, что все доказательства были сфабрикованы неоконами. Только вот написать это просто и ясно ВаПо не может.

Karen DeYoung. Falling on His Sword

Powell had thrown his considerable personal and professional reputation behind the administration's charges that Iraq possessed chemical, biological and perhaps even nuclear weapons, and posed an imminent threat to the United States. In a crucial speech to the United Nations Security Council six weeks before the invasion was launched, he had single-handedly convinced many skeptical Americans that the threat posed by Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein was real.

But the war had gone sour almost from the moment U.S. troops rolled triumphantly into Baghdad two months later. Powell's credibility had been seriously undermined when the weapons he cited as the main justification for invasion turned out not to exist.

No one in his legions of admirers wanted to believe that Powell had been duped by the White House -- or, worse yet, that he had knowingly betrayed the nation's trust. Many assumed that he had privately argued against such a clearly misguided adventure and been overruled.

In fact, Powell had never advised against the Iraq invasion, although he had warned Bush of the difficulties and counseled patience. He had no reason to resign over Iraq, he told questioners.
occuserpens: (Default)
THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

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