Framing the debate: everything's a bid for a headline

Three dead by suicide at the USA's oubliette at Guantanamo Bay, and the Deputy Assistant Secretary of State for Public Diplomacy calls it a "good PR move". Aren't you glad you're not her press secretary? I should think killing yourself to get some press would rate as more than just "good."

This comes on the heels of the Washington Times (aka "The Moonie News") headline "Democrats call Zarqawi killing a stunt". I guess it's OK for Republicans to dismiss suicide as a PR move, but not for Democrats to acknowledge the obvious PR benefits the Bush administration will reap from killing one of its favorite enemies.

Apparently the Bushies can't conceive of taking life, even one's own, for any reason except to create headlines and frame the national debate. If a man imprisoned half a world away from home and family, with no trial or release in sight, takes matters into his own hands in the only way he can, we are not to consider the obvious reason, that he found himself in unbearable conditions and without hope; we are to believe that he killed himself because he hated freedom and wanted to hurt us however he could.

Thank you, President Bush, for protecting us from those who would cold-bloodedly hang themselves in their prison cells!

I'm reminded of the death of Bobby Sands, who starved himself in a futile attempt to shame Margaret Thatcher's government into treating him and others like political prisoners. At least the Iron Lady was principled, in her way: in her eyes, Sands was a criminal and would be treated as one. Bush's thugs can't even come up to that level of civilization: the prisoners at Guantanamo are neither prisoners of war nor accused criminals, they're just people who are being detained because it's necessary to detain them. Because, uh, they're evil and they hate freedom, and that's the reason for every single thing they do.

And so the country of Thomas Jefferson and James Madison continues to imprison people indefinitely without charge or trial -- 500 at Guantanamo, and an unknown number at secret prisons elsewhere. That's how much Bush and his thugs love liberty.

Two things from a rant I came across by mere chance have turned my attitude around. First, this bit:

MYTH: If only I could meet the right woman, my life would have meaning.

TRUTH: If your life doesn't have meaning right now, when you're single, then a relationship isn't going to help. [ . . . ] The only way to have a happy life is to develop one for yourself, then leave an opening for someone else to come and share it with you.

Second:

Nobody gives a shit about your problems. Nobody ever will. I know that sounds harsh, but it's the reality of being a man. Want to tell people about your problems? Get a sex change. Or join a men's group; the flip side is that you have to listen to their problems, but it helps.

It's not really true, that second one -- there are people who give a shit about my problems, maybe even two shits, and maybe even sympathy and/or helpful advice -- but at the end of the day my problems are still mine.

The first one was something I should have known, of course; probably did know, once, but forgot somehow. Putting my relationship with -- let's call her Grace O'Malley -- at the center of myself was a colossal mistake. Putting any relationship with another person at the center of one's self is a colossal mistake; it's not putting the cart before the horse, it's putting the horse in the cart, or the cart on top of the horse -- something will get damaged in the process. At the center must be oneself, self-standing, making connections with others but not depending on others, or even a particular connection with one, for meaning.

Seeing this has freed my mind wonderfully, and (paradoxically) made me a better partner. Seeing Grace as a separate person, one with whom I have a relationship but is not me, not part of me, not indispensable to me, has enabled me to relax and enjoy her, and be nice to her.

This is all so banal I can hardly stand it. I sound like an adolescent. But what the hell, there it is.