One of my Paulestinian buddies asked me, "What's wrong if some Russians living in Ukraine want to be Russian again?
Answer: Nothing. Let them move back to Russia.
Ukraine separated from Soviet Russia by popular vote. The Russians living there moved in under Soviet Communism. Saying the Russian separatists have a right to take Ukrainian land just because they moved there and transfer it back to the motherland is like saying the millions of illegal aliens in the US have the right to take parts of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California and hook it back up to Mexico. Or maybe the Italians could take part of Brooklyn and give it to Italy. There are enough Irish in Boston to make the town Ireland's western-most county. The idea that immigrants can move into an established country and then just peel off part of a country for themselves is just stupidity. And before you shout "What about Israel?" that was a special UN sanctioned case done for a refugee population that had been displaced by war and in real danger. Russian separatists aren't in any real danger from the Ukrainian government.
My buddy went on to state categorically that we should not do anything to irritate the Russians, like stand up to them. "Nothing," he says, "Is worth the risk of nuclear war, even a limited one."
I've got to ask. What are you, Paulistas anyway? French? Do you have any idea what that would mean as a foreign policy simply to let every third rate would-be dictator with an army to run wild?
It means the same thing it does in a junior high classroom where the teacher is weak. The bully that is willing to be the craziest, most violent, most cynical and evil rules unless someone is willing to get beaten up to stand against him. Back in my junior high, we had one particularly aggressive 8th grader who enjoyed tormenting younger, smaller kids. He once punched me in the face for objecting to his taking a basketball away from a group of smaller kids. I told him to his face he had done wrong and I may have used less than diplomatic language. He cold cocked me.
I stood there and took it and even turned the other cheek, but I did not lose eye contact. When Mr. Pauly, the school principle came out and saw my bloodied face, he asked who had done it, I didn't rat my tormentor out. I said I'd been hit by a basketball and went in to clean myself up. Mr. Pauly let it go, but he knew better. The boy left me alone after that, but I had had to take the risk of being punched in the face to make him stop. Even though I wasn't big enough to survive a fight with him, his own over-reaction to being confronted nose-to-nose and the consequences he endured as a result in terms of general disapproval from the rest of the class and a few words from Mr. Pauly encouraged him to greater self-control in the future. It didn't last. He wound up shooting up a bar, killing some folk and ending his short life in Angola prison's Old Sparky. Those in attendance said he wore a look of surprise on his face as they strapped him in.
My Uncle Art taught 8th grade for years and one year he had this huge gentle boy name Harold in eighth grade. Harold was big and muscular, but he wouldn't willingly harm a fly. He was a friend to all the underdogs in the class. One day one of the school toughs started to torment a younger kid who was a friend of Harold's. Harold approached and instructed the young thug to let the kid go.
"What are YOU going to do about it?" the bully sneered. He woke up flat on his back with a very bloody nose and the entire schoolyard cheering for Harold. Uncle Art had a strict rule about fighting, but he knew what had happened. He told Harold he'd have to be punished. Harold said, "I understand, Mr. Bell." Uncle Art couldn't bear to give him swats for rescuing a younger child from a bully, but his law about fighting was written in stone. He tried to make it easier on the boy and gave Harold the option of serving detention instead of taking swats. Harold said, "No, Mr. Bell. I knew I'd get swats for it. I'll just go ahead and have those now and get it over with."
Uncle Art didn't go easy and the kids in the schoolyard heard three loud pops clear out in the schoolyard. When Harold walked out standing straight, his jaw firm and steady, he became a legend. Word got round among the bullies that Harold would punch you in the face and take swats for it if you messed with any of the little kids. Uncle Art said bullying disappeared from the school almost overnight.
And that's why I have the attitude I do with regard to isolationism - that and I do read history. I'm never going to change my attitude about it. I'm tired of being called stupid by dim-witted ideologues. I was invited to become a member of MENSA for crying out loud and I do qualify. I have the intellectual chops to figure out what's so and what ain't. I will never support the idea that the United States of America, the only decent country on the planet that anyone can even halfway trust and the only power left that could actually stand up to any sort of geo-political threat, should sit back and let the worlds bully boys have their way. Ain't gonna happen. You Paul-bots are wasting your delusional emails on me. All this conspiracy claptrap and twisted ideology is unconvincing and has yet to survive even half-hearted scrutiny on my part.
What I'm concerned about is that the loony left and the loony right are now the craziest people in the room. My fear is that if we don't some of us stand up to them, they're going to rule and that's when the world will sink back into semi-feudal barbarism.
I would like to thank my Paul-bot buddies for the blog post material, though. You guys stop by often and remind me how stupid I am. I get advertising dollars every time you do.
© 2014 byTom King
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