Olbermann on Rumsfeld, the transcript

Stolen from Thomas Paine’s Corner (hat tip to jaq for the pointer to an immediately blogroll-worthy site).

Video, for those who can’t read without moving their lips, here. For those who can’t watch video without using their lips, there’s always Fox.

Commentary by Keith Olbermann(in the spirit of Edward R. Murrow)

8/30/06

MSNBC

The man who sees absolutes, where all other men see nuances and shades of meaning, is either a prophet, or a quack.

Donald H. Rumsfeld is not a prophet.

Mr. Rumsfeld’s remarkable speech to the American Legion yesterday demands the deep analysis—and the sober contemplation—of every American.

For it did not merely serve to impugn the morality or intelligence — indeed, the loyalty — of the majority of Americans who oppose the transient occupants of the highest offices in the land.

Worse, still, it credits those same transient occupants — our employees — with a total omniscience; a total omniscience which neither common sense, nor this administration’s track record at home or abroad, suggests they deserve.

Dissent and disagreement with government is the life’s blood of human freedom; and not merely because it is the first roadblock against the kind of tyranny the men Mr. Rumsfeld likes to think of as “his” troops still fight, this very evening, in Iraq.

It is also essential. Because just every once in awhile it is right and the power to which it speaks, is wrong.

In a small irony, however, Mr. Rumsfeld’s speechwriter was adroit in invoking the memory of the appeasement of the Nazis. For in their time, there was another government faced with true peril—with a growing evil—powerful and remorseless.

That government, like Mr. Rumsfeld’s, had a monopoly on all the facts. It, too, had the “secret information.” It alone had the true picture of the threat. It too dismissed and insulted its critics in terms like Mr. Rumsfeld’s — questioning their intellect and their morality.

That government was England’s, in the 1930’s.

It knew Hitler posed no true threat to Europe, let alone England.

It knew Germany was not re-arming, in violation of all treaties and accords.

It knew that the hard evidence it received, which contradicted its own policies, its own conclusions — its own omniscience — needed to be dismissed.

The English government of Neville Chamberlain already knew the truth.

Most relevant of all — it “knew” that its staunchest critics needed to be marginalized and isolated. In fact, it portrayed the foremost of them as a blood-thirsty war-monger who was, if not truly senile, at best morally or intellectually confused.

That critic’s name was Winston Churchill.

Sadly, we have no Winston Churchills evident among us this evening.

We have only Donald Rumsfelds, demonizing disagreement, the way Neville Chamberlain demonized Winston Churchill.

History — and 163 million pounds of Luftwaffe bombs over England — have taught us that all Mr. Chamberlain had was his certainty — and his own confusion. A confusion that suggested that the office can not only make the man, but that the office can also make the facts.

Thus, did Mr. Rumsfeld make an apt historical analogy.

Excepting the fact, that he has the battery plugged in backwards.

His government, absolute — and exclusive — in its knowledge, is not the modern version of the one which stood up to the Nazis.

It is the modern version of the government of Neville Chamberlain.

But back to today’s Omniscient ones.

That, about which Mr. Rumsfeld is confused is simply this: This is a Democracy. Still. Sometimes just barely.

And, as such, all voices count — not just his.

Had he or his president perhaps proven any of their prior claims of omniscience — about Osama Bin Laden’s plans five years ago, about Saddam Hussein’s weapons four years ago, about Hurricane Katrina’s impact one year ago — we all might be able to swallow hard, and accept their “omniscience” as a bearable, even useful recipe, of fact, plus ego.

But, to date, this government has proved little besides its own arrogance, and its own hubris.

Mr. Rumsfeld is also personally confused, morally or intellectually, about his own standing in this matter. From Iraq to Katrina, to the entire “Fog of Fear” which continues to envelop this nation, he, Mr. Bush, Mr. Cheney, and their cronies have — inadvertently or intentionally — profited and benefited, both personally, and politically.

And yet he can stand up, in public, and question the morality and the intellect of those of us who dare ask just for the receipt for the Emperor’s New Clothes?

In what country was Mr. Rumsfeld raised? As a child, of whose heroism did he read? On what side of the battle for freedom did he dream one day to fight? With what country has he confused the United States of America?

The confusion we — as its citizens— must now address, is stark and forbidding.
But variations of it have faced our forefathers, when men like Nixon and McCarthy and Curtis LeMay have darkened our skies and obscured our flag. Note — with hope in your heart — that those earlier Americans always found their way to the light, and we can, too.

The confusion is about whether this Secretary of Defense, and this administration, are in fact now accomplishing what they claim the terrorists seek: The destruction of our freedoms, the very ones for which the same veterans Mr. Rumsfeld addressed yesterday in Salt Lake City, so valiantly fought.

And about Mr. Rumsfeld’s other main assertion, that this country faces a “new type of fascism.”
As he was correct to remind us how a government that knew everything could get everything wrong, so too was he right when he said that — though probably not in the way he thought he meant it.

This country faces a new type of fascism – indeed.

Although I presumptuously use his sign-off each night, in feeble tribute, I have utterly no claim to the words of the exemplary journalist Edward R. Murrow.

But never in the trial of a thousand years of writing could I come close to matching how he phrased a warning to an earlier generation of us, at a time when other politicians thought they (and they alone) knew everything, and branded those who disagreed: “confused” or “immoral.”
Thus, forgive me, for reading Murrow, in full:

“We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty,” he said, in 1954. “We must remember always that accusation is not proof, and that conviction depends upon evidence and due process of law.“We will not walk in fear, one of another. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason, if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men, not from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate, and to defend causes that were for the moment unpopular.”

And so good night, and good luck.

Olbermann: the nexus of politics and terror

Keith Olbermann’s broadcast from August 14, 2006. Think about that timing, in light of subsequent events.

From the Youtube notes:

MSNBC’s Keith Olbermann updated his top 10 list of occasions that the Bush Administration has gained political benefits around the same time that the public’s fear of terrorism was at a peak. Olbermann describes it as “The Nexus of Politics and Terror.”

In this video from last night’s broadcast, Olbermann includes the latest foiled terrorist plot in Britain with the newest edition of the “Nexus of Politics and Terror Top 10 List”. Olbermann concludes that if these occasions are more than just coincidences then, he says, “it underscores the need for questions to be asked in this country, questions about what is prudence and what is fear-mongering.”

The Manolo sez: help The Hoff

From, obviously, The Manolo, with whose suggestion we beg to differ. Photobucket - Video and Image HostingSeems The Hoff is looking for a lovely lady to swank with him through the sad remains of his life as a popcult oddity.

Former Baywatch star David Hasselhoff is refusing to allow his recent divorce get him down – he already has plans to find a new “chick”…

He says, “I’m coming to England in September and I want to find myself a beautiful girlfriend. But I don’t want some dumb blonde. I’d like a woman who’s really intelligent.

“I saw this girl recently who must have stepped out of the office during her lunch break and was wearing work clothes and glasses, and I thought to myself, ‘That’s what I want, a chick who’s career-orientated.’”

Think of the lifestyle available to the consort of an icon such as The Hoff: rivers of champanski on the house, the valet lets you jump the line when picking up your Acura, unlimited partying with other superannuated action figures such as Jan-Michael Vincent and their wizened, bleached concubines of the moment, and fighting off hordes of deluded German blondes…ah, that’s the C-list life!

We at the raincoaster blog have a suggestion for the trophy doxy.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

Think about it. She comes with her own load of Internet infamy. She’s already both famous and notorious worldwide, so it’s inconceiveable she’s not already popular in Germany. She’s apparently going to star in the Spanish Big Brother, despite perhaps not even speaking the language. She’s legal. And, most importantly, she’s an engineer, so when it comes time for The Hoff to capitalize on the new Knight Rider movie, she’ll undoubtably be able to whip up a new KITT for the occasion.

A match made in Internet Infamy heaven.

ghost story part two

From the Archive.

So there I am again, staying with James, only this time I brought my friend Katy. Because she is “new” she gets the upstairs room, which I forget to mention to her is haunted. But it is. But she doesn’t notice. Odd.

But maybe not, because there I am, staying in the basement, right near the Indiana Jones tomb which I see has a nice new wooden frame around it now, all polished in an unhealthily obsessed way. I mean, if you had an unexplained little half-tunnel in your basement that looked like a home for a coffin, would you fix it up nice? Anyway, I have to pass through the room with the tomb every time I go upstairs, which is a trial in the dark, let me tell you.

But if the ghost does not bother Katy it sure bothers me. It doesn’t poke, it bangs. Kathunk, kathunk, ping, ping, ping, BANG. **BANG**. Ping, ping, ping. Kathunk…you get the idea. It was a long night, especially when I went upstairs to get a drink and it banged and pinged its way up the stairs ahead of me. I told it it was dead and it should be quiet and go back to sleep or whatever it is that dead people who are not haunting do.

James’s partner Tony says it’s just the heater, but that fails to explain how the heater can preceed me invisibly up stairs, or how it can stand in the hall, all invisible and everything, waving and doing for all I know jumping jacks to get us to notice it. I notice it. I glare at it. It does an invisible Tasmanian Devil routine every time I pass it to go to the bathroom, but all I ever say is “You’re dead. Get over it.”

You know, I think it’s very much like a little dog that wants to play. Give it a little attention and it’s a happy puppy. I bet it lives for my visits…on second thought there’s got to be a better way to put that.

Ghost Story Part One

From the Archive

So this is the story:

There I am up in Vernon, staying with my friend James. His house is haunted. I told him that last time I stayed up there, told him that not only did his new house have ghosts, but they were very pushy ghosts, poking at me every time I got up to go to the bathroom.

And he just looked at me like I had just crawled out of the gin bottle, which I had but that was not related!

If I’d been sober I’d never have told him at all.

James goes to sleep early, but I stay up till all hours and thusly encountered the poky ghosts. They poked me all the way from the living room (which I think aught to be reserved for the living; I mean, just look at the word but you can’t get these dead people to listen to reason, you can’t even get them to stop poking you and pay attention. You sure can’t get them to agree to split up the house, even though it’s just so obvious that the basement room with the unexplained Indiana Jones tunnel just big enough for a coffin has to be ghost territory and the living room, I mean **hello?** the living room, should be for the animate to lie on the couch and watch Space Channel in peace with no spiritual visitors, no, not even if the Omen is on again) through the French doors, all the way down the hall and into the guest room, where they continued to poke at me from time to time as I lay in the bed, until finally, finally I was forced to address the issue directly.

Now normally there is nothing I avoid so much as addressing an issue directly. Now normally there is nothing I avoid even more so much as confrontation with a disincorporated intelligence; it’s faintly embarassing, as my own fleshiness points up the issue of their ectoplasmicism. We are both made uncomfortable. So this is something I generally avoid. I am not, however, normally poked at so agressively. Sure, one or two quick tentacle-feels, maybe even a tentative arrow prick, but nothing like what I was undergoing now. I **had** to take action.

“You’re dead. Leave me alone.”

And did it do me any good at all? Hell no! Got not a moment’s peace from that time on; poke-a-rama it was, with me all the time going, “hey, stop that, you’re dead! Leave me alone! Oh, fine, ignore me, but you’re still Dead! And I’m Not! Ow!” You know, it wasn’t my finest hour.