From the Archives

Cleaning out my sent-mail folder the other day, I discovered the following email which I had sent to president@whitehouse.gov. The subject line read "your resignation, please," and the date--and this is most significant--was 3/4/2003. Here is what I wrote to the man I frequently refer to as "that imbecile son of privilege" (when I'm in a forgiving mood):

Dear Mr. President Un-Elect: By listening to the coterie of Rasputins with whom you have surrounded yourself (the axis of evil including Wolfowitz, Cheney, Rice, Rove, Perle, et al), you have artfully painted yourself into a corner over the issue of Iraq's fictional stockpiles of WMDs. The only decent thing to do at this point would be to resign. Please be assured that your fellow citizens, myself included, wish you only the best in your future endeavors and would consider complete amnesty for your illegal usurpation of the oval office should you do the right thing and go now, and take your axis of evil (let's not forget Ashcroft and Ridge) with you when you go. Your fellow citizen, [name omitted here].


I would note two things for the record: first, the date (3/4/2003) was 15 days PRIOR to the US invasion of Iraq. And second, I referred to "Iraq's fictional stockpiles of WMDs."

I knew I had been telling students in the run-up to the Iraq war that it was obvious to me that Iraq represented no imminent threat to the United States or its allies; I had forgotten that I had gone on record to this effect with the White House.

No doubt I am also on record to this effect with the FBI--since I assume a copy of my email to that imbecile son of privilege and now mass murderer is on file.

What can I say that Dylan did not say in "Masters of War"?

Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big 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 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
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 o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead