The War Master . . .

Juan Cole at Informed Comment sites this AP report in a post that considers whether Paul Wolfowitz was a deliberate target of the attack on the Al Rasheed Hotel in Bagdad over the weekend.

According to the AP report, the attack made with an improvised rocket launcher was most likely planned for months, implying that Wolfowitz was not a deliberate target since his visit was not scheduled until recently.

But Juan Cole thinks that, even if planned in advance, the actual attack on the hotel while Wolfowitz was inside could have been carried out opportunistically. I think Professor Cole is right; coupled with the downing of a Blackhawk near Tikrit shortly after Wolfowitz departed the area by helicopter, the attack on the Al Rasheed Hotel suggests the deputy secretary of defense was being chased.

As Professor Cole points out, "The problem with Wolfowitz's trips to Iraq is that they are clearly political" when, as a senior defense department official, he should only visit the country for military purposes.

I saw a news clip of Wolfowitz making a after the attack, and he was -- as the AP article says -- visibly shaken; he was extremely pale and his voice was quavering.

I am a product of the 60s battles about social justice and the war in Vietnam. The lesson I learned from those hard times was that peace and justice can and must be our goals, that no one should have to experience war and oppression or live in their fearful shadow.

In all likelihood Secretary Wolfowitz scoffs at my beliefs. But he spent the 60s and 70s studying at Cornell, interning at the Bureau of the Budget, earning a doctoral degree in "political science" from the University of Chicago, and teaching at Yale. So when I saw him standing in front of those microphones, drawn and trying to control his shaking voice, there was a small part of me that thought, "Well . . . good."

Mr. Wolfowitz is a master of war who never fought a battle, and I am angry with him.

Masters Of War

Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks.

You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly.

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain.

You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion'
As young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud.

You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins.

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
That even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do.

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul.

And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand over your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead.