City of Gold

The Book of the Week is “City of Gold, Dubai and the Dream of Capitalism” by Jim Krane, published in 2009.
Location and entrepreneurial opportunists played a big role in making the city of Dubai the westernized hub of modernity it is today. It is located across the Persian Gulf from Iran.
Beginning in 1894, Dubai’s ruling family paved the way for it to become a trading hub, providing financial incentives to Arab, Persian, Indian and Baluchi merchants to use Dubai’s port rather than Iran’s ports. However, a side effect of prosperous trade invited smuggling of black-market goods including firearms, gold, slaves, diamonds and drugs.
The mid-twentieth century finally saw the game- changing discovery of oil in Dubai. In September 1958, the city got a new ruling sheikh who began to introduce better living to his people through infrastructure and utilities. In December 1971, Dubai and other territories in the region shed their British-protectorate status. At the last minute, Iran made a land-grab, but the remaining areas of the seven sheikhdoms became the United Arab Emirates.

Abu Dhabi held 88% of the land and 90% of the oil. So, through the 1970’s, Dubai’s ruling family further reduced Dubai’s financial dependence on oil by branching out into trade, construction and services– importing cheap labor to do it. The city built an aluminum smelter, a seaport and a dry dock– which in the 1980’s, repaired vessels from Iran that were damaged in its war with Iraq. The gentrification trend inevitably involved a little eminent-domain abuse, Arab-style, but Dubai citizens and capitalist expatriates needed luxurious places to live in the desert.

From the late 1990’s into the 2000’s, with the introduction of the Internet, Dubai lured the world’s biggest technology and media companies with generous financial incentives, building corporate villages for them. In 2000, Dubai allowed foreigners to buy real estate. The following year, the city had a stock market.

After 9/11, Arab investors transferred their money from the United States to Dubai. In February 2006, New York State Senator Charles Schumer and the media whipped up a frenzy of anti-Arab hysteria by telling the public that Dubai owned some of America’s most important Eastern-Seaboard ports. Hillary Clinton and hate-spewing pundits piled on. “Yet Dubai and the UAE remained among America’s closest Arab counter-terror Allies, even though the United States government has problems with Dubai’s freewheeling trade with Iran.”

Fast forward to 2007. Dubai’s small population of about a million citizens (mostly royal family members) allowed the government to adopt a socialist policy of generous entitlements, including an average annual $55,000 in stimulus money, and low-cost or no-cost: cooling of their lavish homes, car-fuel, food, education, healthcare, and water.

One last factoid: Dubai keeps its population safe because “The government is on the lookout for any form of radical expression, whether it’s Saudi Wahhabism, Salafism, or radical Shiite theology from Iraq and Iran. The Muslim Brotherhood cannot operate openly.”

Read the book to learn about: how the British stifled Dubai’s growth, and many more details on the city’s political, economic and cultural history, beginning with ancient times.

Do It Again

DO IT AGAIN

(regarding the impeachment trial, of course)

sung to the tune of “Do It Again” with apologies to the Beach Boys.

It’s nostalgic when I
confer with old friends,
like the Constitution
and the Trump we knew
when his behavior was bad and mean
and the court was the place to go.

Legal logic and
waves of questions,
the Washington crowd and
beautiful drama,
warmed up lawyers. Let’s
get together and do it again.

With reams of evidence the latest case looks good.
The Dems can’t help but take a parting shot.

Time to move on.

Move.
Move.
Move.
Move.
Move.

Mm hmm.
Mm hmm.
Mm hmm.
Mm hmm.
Mm Hmm.

Well, I keep looking at

all the things we’ve Tweeted and posted
and all the

zingers we’ve missed so let’s get
back together and do it again.

Call Me American

The Book of the Week is “Call Me American, A Memoir” by Abdi Nor Iftin with Max Alexander, published in 2018.

“There were more guns in the city than people. There was more ammunition than food. It became a thing to own a gun to save your life. Most people slept with a loaded AK-47 sitting next to them.”

The above was the author’s description of lawless Somalia (not the future United States) during the 1990’s.

Somalia, formerly two different colonies– of Britain and Italy, became a sovereign territory in 1960. Born around 1985 in Somalia (where birthdays aren’t important), the author had an older brother and later, younger sisters. Years before, his father’s side of the Muslim family, the Rahanweyn clan (farmers and nomads) was forced, due to drought, to give up herding as their livelihood. Fortunately, the father was able to become a professional basketball player. The mother was a traditional female of Islam– expected to bear and raise the children, and do all the chores and housework.

At the dawn of the 1990’s in Somalia, tensions boiled over between two of the five clans who desired to run the government. Warlords took to fighting that involved looting of shops, bullets and rocket fire. Rebels ousted the “president.” Former government employees fled to America, Canada or the United Kingdom.

Common people like the author’s family who were forced to evacuate their Mogadishu homes were caught in the crossfire of the anarchy, and died anonymously and were left in mass graves in droves from the usual causes– bullets or other weaponry, disease and starvation.

The family had no car, so like thousands of others, they walked miles and miles along unpaved roads with cows, donkeys, dogs and chickens, trying not to get arbitrarily shot by sadistic child-soldiers for being in the wrong tribe, or blown up by rockets (supplied to the anti-government Somali rebels by Ethiopia, sworn enemy of Somalia). Occasionally, they got an extremely crowded truck ride from a driver who had no beef against their tribe. Word-of-mouth rumors led them to believe that the city of Baidoa was a less dangerous place to be than Mogadishu. But that was a relative assessment.

In October 1993, sixteen American soldiers were killed in a Black Hawk helicopter attack at the hands of Soviet weaponry supplied to Somali soldiers. In March 1994, the Americans left Somalia. Ethiopia and Kenya supplied qat to Somali soldiers.

Beginning in the late 1990’s, the United States government paid the warlords (as though they were bounty hunters) to catch radical and foreign Islamists. In the single-digit 2000’s, the warlords assassinated the chairman of one of the five merged Islamic Courts that resolved local legal disputes in Somalia. The merging set the stage for a radical Islamic takeover, but ordinary Somalis were angry at the Western-backed warlords.

As a way to escape the trauma and wreckage around him, in the late 1990’s, the author got caught up in the American pop-cultural scene at local storefronts that: sold boom boxes and cassette tapes of Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder, reggae and hip-hop music; and screened American movies such as Terminator. He passionately learned English and hip-hop dancing from them.

When the author’s family’s circumstances improved, his horrified parents administered the usual beatings when he put up posters of American cultural icons on his bedroom wall, including one of Madonna in a bikini. His mother thought of the United States as a Christian (evil) country.

However, the author was sufficiently street-smart to complete his seven-year education of memorizing the Koran in Arabic, all 114 chapters, 6,266 verses of it, even though the headmaster of his madrassa was a corporal-punishment tyrant.

Read the book to learn further details of the major ironies, among others, that graced the author’s incredible story: 1) the combination of his (sinful) passions and (highly praised) education that provided him with survival skills in a country where life was cheap and any minute could be one’s last; and 2) “Pictures and names associated with America were crimes, not counting the pictures and names on the American dollar bills that they had in their pockets.”

Counsel Counsel Counsel…

COUNSEL CHAMELEON

Sung to the tune of “Karma Chameleon” with apologies to Culture Club. This is the song Trump is singing now.

There are a lot of pesky laws in my way.
I lose more legal guys every day.

I don’t want a conviction.
But it’s clear I don’t know
how to sell
all my fictions.
It’s touch and go.
It’s touch and go.

Counsel counsel counsel counsel counsel chameleon,
it’s touch and go.
It’s touch and go.
Nothing is easy ’cause my lawyers don’t like my schemes.
But it’s free speech! But it’s free speech!

I’m allowed to speak my mind anytime.
And if my props obey, it’s not a crime.
You know my hate is an addiction.
What I say is never wrong.
Don’t think I’m gone, gone forever.
I will return, I will return.

Counsel counsel counsel counsel counsel chameleon,
it’s touch and go.
It’s touch and go.
Nothing is easy ’cause my lawyers don’t like my schemes.
But it’s free speech! But it’s free speech!

The Constitution allows some lenience.
I upheld it, at my convenience.
The Constitution allows some lenience.
I upheld it, at my convenience.

I don’t want a conviction.
But it’s clear I don’t know
how to sell
all my fictions.
It’s touch and go.
It’s touch and go.

Counsel counsel counsel counsel counsel chameleon,
it’s touch and go.
It’s touch and go.
Nothing is easy ’cause my lawyers don’t like my schemes.
But it’s free speech! But it’s free speech!

Counsel counsel counsel counsel counsel chameleon,
it’s touch and go.
It’s touch and go.
Nothing is easy ’cause my lawyers don’t like my schemes.
But it’s free speech! But it’s free speech!

Counsel counsel counsel counsel counsel chameleon,
it’s touch and go.
It’s touch and go.
Nothing is easy ’cause my lawyers don’t like my schemes.
But it’s free speech! But it’s free speech!

Counsel counsel counsel counsel counsel chameleon…