|
|
A new twist on a drearily familiar tale:
The officer responsible for the Navy’s computer networks across the Middle East was fired Saturday after an investigation discovered she was carrying on “inappropriate relationships” with other people in her command, the service announced.
(The commander) of Naval Computer and Telecommunications Station Bahrain, was relieved of command by Rear Adm. Edward Deets, head of Naval Network Warfare Command, after “a preliminary investigation into allegations that she had been involved in inappropriate relationships with other Navy personnel,” according to a statement from 10th Fleet. “The investigation results call into question (her) ability to continue to effectively lead in her command…”
(She) is the 13th skipper fired in 2010 and the third since Aug. 12. Fifteen commanding officers were fired in 2009, according to Navy and Navy Times records. Since 2000, 145 Navy skippers have been relieved for cause — or, from 2000 through last year, an average of 13.2 firings per year. The highest annual total over that time span, 26 firings, was recorded in 2003.
The beat goes on.
Update: Google cache reveals that one of the commander’s prior jobs was service as an instructor at the Defense Equal Opportunity Management Institute.
I think I’ll just leave that there.
The chief of the CIA mission in Afghanistan has a number of unenviable tasks. Not least among them is hand-holding the sometimes mercurial Afghan president, according to the WSJ:
The relationship with Mr. Karzai isn’t handled on a daily basis by the station chief; rather, he is called on at critical times. With the administration trying to get all of its leaders in Afghanistan on the same page following Gen. McChrystal’s dismissal, others including Mr. Eikenberry and new Allied commander Gen. David Petraeus, as well as senior North Atlantic Treaty Organization officials, also are working to build closer relations with Mr. Karzai…
The station chief, a former Marine in his 50s, is known to some colleagues by his nickname, “Spider.” The CIA didn’t make him available for an interview.
Besides his relationship with Mr. Karzai, he serves the more traditional role of running CIA operations in Afghanistan, a growing component of the war. The CIA is expanding its presence there by 20% to 25%, in its largest surge since Vietnam. The several hundred officers assigned to Afghanistan outnumber those in Iraq at the height of that war…
The chief met Mr. Karzai before the Afghan war, when U.S. officials were working with Mr. Karzai and other Afghan tribal leaders against the Taliban. Mr. Karzai was in Pakistan, where the chief and his intelligence colleagues were trying to hunt down Osama bin Laden and al Qaeda. After Sept. 11, 2001, as the CIA prepared for the U.S. invasion to rout al Qaeda’s Taliban protectors, the chief was assigned the job of working with Mr. Karzai.
“He’s spent time with Karzai like no one else has,” said a former senior intelligence official.
In the chaos of battle in December 2001, a U.S. military officer accidentally ordered a bomb drop on a meeting between Mr. Karzai and other tribal leaders. The chief leapt on Mr. Karzai to shield him, U.S. and Afghan officials say. He was credited with saving the soon-to-be Afghan president, cementing their relationship.
Well, the personal touch is important.
Reading the article, I also learned that the station chief had been in the ground branch of the CIA’s Special Activities Division.
Which led me to the realization that there might be an air branch of SAD.
True, as it turns out. Color me intrigued.
Secular: Of or relating to the doctrine that rejects religion and religious considerations.
Muslim: A believer in or follower of Islam
I would have thought that the words “Secular Muslim” were oxymoronic in conjunction. One may speak of secular Jews, since Jewishness is both a faith and an ethnic identity, but we speak of “lapsed Catholics”, not secular ones. If one is an “anti-Semite,” one has a non-specific aversion to Jews, but whether that is based on religion, culture or ethnicity is unknowable. Therefore, to be a generic anti-Semite is to be a racist.
Some have claimed that Islamaphobia is similar to anti-Semitism, and ergo a form of racism. However, Islam is not a race but a set of learned beliefs and inherited attitudes. After all, most Arabs are Muslims, but most Muslims are not Arabs. So when one is an Islamophobe, one “fears” Islam. This does not necessarily mean that one is afraid of a the dusky hued denizens of parts east, but rather to the things that they believe to be true, and the consequential actions flowing from those beliefs. Chief of which is that the will of God as revealed by his prophet is complete, perfect and inalterable. Which there’s the rub, the world having moved on in 14 centuries.
To claim submission to the word of God as revealed by Mohammad and simultaneously hold that one rejects that religion and faith seems to stretch the English language to its breaking point. Which is why this NPR opinion piece from Reza Aslan struck such a strange chord with me:
No matter what your feelings are about the proposed community center, there can be little doubt that Islamophobia is on the rise in America.
A Washington Post poll released last year found that nearly half of Americans — 48 percent — have an unfavorable view of Islam. That’s nine points higher than in the months after the Sept. 11 attacks. A new national survey by the Pew Research Center found that 30 percent of those who disapprove of President Obama’s job performance believe he is Muslim.
Before the Sept. 11 attacks, most Americans had no fully formed opinions about the Islamic faith. It was something that chiefly concerned Israelis, Indians, Thais and others. Not us. The number of people who have in the interim formed unfavorable opinions about one of the world’s three, great monotheistic faiths have been greatly more exposed to the fruits of that particular tree than they had been previously. Mr. Aslan may find that education unfortunate, but it is what it is.
So, is Islamophobia a natural and reasonable reaction to the awareness of a sere, messianic vision fundamentally at odds with the Western Enlightenment and notions of personal liberty? Or is it an over-blown reaction to the barbarous acts of what may be, after all no more than one or two percent of a population numbering over one billion people? I.e., somewhere between a million and two million souls.
Mr. Aslan evidently feels that latter is true, and that this is somehow our problem to solve, since European Islamophobia “has made much of Europe inhospitable to its Muslim citizens is now threatening to seize the U.S.”
Let us put aside for the now the issue of cause and effect with respect to Europe’s supposed intolerance, that continent being far closer to and historically far better acquainted with the East than we are here on our island.
Let us focus instead on Mr. Aslan’s self-description in his closing paragraphs – which by the way, sounded more menacing on the air than perhaps they read on the page:
I am a liberal, progressive, secularized American Muslim. But when I see that bigotry against my faith — my very identity — has become so commonplace in America that it is shaping into a wedge issue for the midterm elections, I can barely control my anger.
I can’t imagine how the next generation of American Muslim youth will react to such provocations. I pray that we never find out.
Mr. Aslan’s liberal, progressive secularity – perhaps even his “Americanness” – has apparently been subordinated to his Muslim identity. None of those things, not his politics, not his secularism, and not his nationality are as important to him as a tribal identity whose foundations he claims to reject. And in his essay against Islamophobic intolerance of a “cultural center” hard upon the site of the worst US domestic disaster in history, he ends with a veiled prediction of “reactions” to “provocations,” while wondering what all the fuss is about.
If this is what it means to be a liberal, progressive, secularized American Muslim then I rather prefer the blind, unreasoning hatred of Sayyid Qutb.
With the Qutbists, at least, one knows precisely where one stands.
Rangin Dadfar Spanta is Afghanistan’s National Security Adviser. Based on the tone of his current op-ed in the WaPo, the new role fits him better than his previous job as Foreign Minister. That title required a certain degree of tactful delicacy.
The new one does not:
There is ongoing domestic and international confusion in identifying Afghanistan’s friends and foes. The Afghan people are wholeheartedly grateful to the international community for its sacrifices in blood and treasure. Unfortunately, the military-intelligence establishment of one of our neighbors still regards Afghanistan as its sphere of influence. While faced with a growing domestic terrorist threat, Pakistan continues to provide sanctuary and support to the Quetta Shura, the Haqqani network, the Hekmatyar group and al-Qaeda. And while the documents recently disclosed by WikiLeaks contained information that was neither new nor surprising, they did make public further evidence of the close relations among the Taliban, al-Qaeda and Pakistani intelligence.
It’s very much an open question whether, in embracing the Pakistani government and national security apparatus as allies in the GWOT we have bowed to the dictates of necessity or nurtured a viper to our bosoms.
All the more reason to ensure that when aid money flows towards the stricken people of Pakistan’s flood basin – as it must – it doesn’t flow through the sticky, blood stained fingers of President Asif Ali Zardari or his minions.
They’ve had quite enough.
California is in yet another of its perennial budget crises. The governor has declared a state of emergency as the legislature tries – and fails – to address a $19 billion revenue gap in a spending bill that is already almost two months late. Services are being slashed or off-sourced to municipalities, government employees face weekly furloughs, teachers in our already crowded and under-performing schools are being laid off and the state is all set to issue IOUs in lieu of actual payments to creditors, a move which stands to ruffle both bond markets and the entrepreneurial set who have historically made the Golden State economy sing.
With all that in mind, today’s news from the AP was more than just a little enraging:
Next month’s opening of the Robert F. Kennedy Community Schools will be auspicious for a reason other than its both storied and infamous history as the former Ambassador Hotel, where the Democratic presidential contender was assassinated in 1968.
With an eye-popping price tag of $578 million, it will mark the inauguration of the nation’s most expensive public school ever.
The K-12 complex to house 4,200 students has raised eyebrows across the country as the creme de la creme of “Taj Mahal” schools, $100 million-plus campuses boasting both architectural panache and deluxe amenities.
“There’s no more of the old, windowless cinderblock schools of the ’70s where kids felt, ‘Oh, back to jail,’” said Joe Agron, editor-in-chief of American School & University, a school construction journal. “Districts want a showpiece for the community, a really impressive environment for learning.”
Not everyone is similarly enthusiastic.
You bet. Especially since LA is already projecting a $280 million deficit that threatens more jobs, and the district pocketed its share of $10 billion provided by the feds without rehiring any of the nearly 3000 laid off teachers and support staff that the stimulus was targeted towards.
If the school district really cared about educating their students, they’d have found a way to attract and retain high quality teachers. Instead, they have built for themselves a pleasure dome, and pronounced themselves well satisfied with their own efforts.
It’s a travesty, but that’s what you get when you let bureaucrats spend Other Peoples’ Money.
Don’t know what makes the adventurers come to Sandy Eggo in search of trunk rides in the mighty Varga Kachina. Don’t know how someone who’s never flown feels the need to try something Really Different behind someone they don’t know at all. I guess I’m just glad that they do. Not for the $25 per hour that I get flying them around, really. And not only for the quiet joy it brings me to make total strangers appreciate, for however short a time, the gift of flight. Not even for the extra 0.9 in my log book. It’s a little bit of all those things of course. But mostly I fly because I have to.
And it’s nice when someone else pays.
Three flights today down at the local patch. The first were a father and son team from the Great White Up taking turns on half hour “learn to flies”, which are basically a few turns to get the swing of it, then a trip down south via the shoreline transition route through San Diego Lindbergh’s Class B airspace from Crystal Pier in Pacific Beach to the Ocean Beach pier. From OB pier we tune up North Island Tower for the trip through San Diego Bay – don’t overfly the warships – tagging up on the east end of the Coronado Bay Bridge before heading back north and crossing over Lindbergh over their Delta Taxiway at 1000 feet or above. Jet liners landing beneath us every few minutes or so.
Dad took his spin at the wheel before deciding that, all things considered? He’d rather leave the flying to me. Which, no problem, that’s what I’m here for.
The second set were a pair of young men up from Mexico, one of them hailing from the capital city, t’other being a Brazilian. My man was all smiles and gollies throughout, cabron. The third set were a pair of Frenchmen living in Los Angeles down for a dog fight, the one an antique and classic car dealer – it’s my passion! – and his friend a restaurateur. The antique car dealer was my man, and he was all about “his passions.” Whether it was his cars, or whether it was going to be flying, or whether it was leaving go of the flight controls when it was my turn to fly. Which I had to remonstrate with him for on several occasions. For I do not mind a guest pilot gently following me on the stick when I’m demonstrating some maneuver. But I do take issue with one that sees it fit to countermand my inputs. Especially in a head-on merge, or when flying in close formation.
“My airplane,” I’d say. Followed by, “Show me your hands.” Not infrequently followed in turn by, “Both of them.”
Passion is all well and good, but the better part of flying is analytical. Which, when you come to think of it, is a kind of passion of its own.
On Friday I got the chance to rent that beat up old Citabria that I’ve been making friends with over at Gillespie. The airplane has been in an extended annual inspection, and I hadn’t flown it – or any other tailwheel aircraft – since early June. Two and a half months is a long time to go between conventional landings, and I toyed with the idea of hiring an instructor. But the winds were mostly calm, and I believed that I’d mostly figured that particular airplane out.
Which was mostly true. I forgot to haul aft on the stick while starting the engine, which is considered points on for style among the conventional gear set. It being remotely possible that an engine surge can kick the tail up in the sky – and the prop down to the tarmac – if you haven’t got the former properly pinned to the ground. I get that right about half the time, and when I forget it’s because with one hand on the starter button on the dashboard and the other on the mixture control, ready to go full rich when the engine catches, I often find myself one hand short of the absolute need. The guilt that comes from not having three hands on start reminds me to properly position the controls for taxiing on downwind and crosswind. “Climb into the wind, dive away from it.”
On the runway, power up and stick forward. The tail comes up at maybe 30-35 knots, and it’s only a 150HP engine so the nose only kicks to the left from gyroscopic precession just a little, if only to make sure you’re paying attention. At sixty knots it’s time to tease her into the air, and with just me on board she’s only too happy to comply. Eighty knots is best climb, and it seems like we’re on an elevator as the ground falls away. Runway 19 falls behind me, and with it the opportunity to bail out crosswind if the engine quits. I’ve still got the parallel runway going the other direction, but now it’s time to turn downwind, leading the aileron input with just a little rudder. She seems to appreciate just a little rudder.
Out by El Capitan I put her through an aileron roll, just because I can. In a military jet you pick the nose up maybe ten degrees, and the maneuver is done with roll inputs only, the nose ending right back on the horizon again when you’re done. The Citabria seems to prefer about twenty degrees nose high, and it takes full aileron and rudder in the direction you want to go, the nose burying itself 20 degrees nose low. Back comes the throttle to prevent the fixed pitch prop from overspeeding on the recovery.
Three perfectly acceptable stall landings at Ramona, followed by some of the best wheel landings I’ve done to date. There was a good article in AOPA about landing technique that touched specifically on wheel landings, something I’ve always struggled just a little with. Never knowing if it was going to be perfect, acceptable or an abortion. Lacking that necessary confidence that, should a wheel landing be necessary, I had what it took to peg it. There are many different teaching techniques.
This one worked for me:
My own breakthrough at tailwheel landings came in a Cessna 170, a close civilian cousin to the Bird Dog, on a summer day in Memphis. I had been going around and around the pattern at my local airport trying—and failing—to “pin” the mains to the ground on wheel-landing attempts. Things would go just fine until I was one or two feet off the surface. Then I’d get ready to decisively add forward pressure to pin the mains on. But as soon as I tried, I’d bounce back into the air.
The more I pushed, the bigger the bounces got. Eventually, I’d admit defeat, add power, and go around. Three-point landings were no problem.
I finally put the airplane away after leaving an inordinate amount of rubber on the pavement. Frustrated, sweaty, and miffed by my inability to gracefully land the slow-moving Cessna, I stubbornly resolved to keep trying. But I needed a Coke first and went inside the airport’s FBO to retrieve one.
The old guy had been watching, and he followed me to the vending machine. There, he asked if I wanted him to share the secret of wheel landings. Of course!
He stood close and softly said: “Don’t land.”
I stared back blankly.
“I mean it,” he said. “Don’t land. Try to fly one foot off the ground the entire length of the runway. Intellectually, we both know you won’t be carrying enough power to maintain level flight that long. But just project your mind down the runway—all the way down the runway—and tell yourself you’re going to keep on flying. Be surprised when those main wheels kiss the ground.”
But what about the forward stick? Don’t I need to be ready to push at just the right instant? If I wait a fraction of a second too long, won’t I miss my chance? The old man shook his head.
“As long as you’re working the stick aft when the wheels touch, your descent rate will be next to nothing, and the mains will just roll on,” he said. “You’ll have all day to add forward stick. But if you anticipate the landing, then you’re relaxing the back-pressure too soon, and that’ll cause a bounce every time. As you’ve already seen, once the bouncing starts, it just gets worse.”
The old man’s advice cracked the code, and I started consistently making smooth wheel landings soon after. As long as I thought about flying, the landings went fine. The second I thought about landing, the mains touched too hard, the tail sank, the angle of attack increased, and I was airborne again.
I never met the old codger, but his advice worked perfectly for me. Fly formation off the runway, ease the power back and once the mains kiss the tarmac, take your time going forward on the stick. Reset back aft again once the tail starts to stall. A big part of this business is passing it all along.
In flying, you never really want to say that you’ve got something licked, because it tempts fate. You never really want to believe it, even if you don’t say a word, because complacency breeds contempt, contempt antagonizes fate, and the gods of aviation will be appeased.
Headed back to Gillespie for an uneventful landing, taxi clear, put her to bed. There’s an older gentleman who flies a Piper Cherokee on Friday afternoons, about the same time I do. We’ve chatted half a dozen times, and I finally introduced myself.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said.
“Well, the plane’s been in annual.”
“She’s looking good he said,” clearly intending it as a kind of compliment. His own machine showing a fair amount of TLC.
“It’s not my plane,” I answered, looking at the knocked about Citabria. “Just a rental. I’ve got daughters.”
Which might have seemed a non sequitur to the uninitiated.
He nodded sagely.
All of this, I realize, reading over it: It’s all a long walk to a small house. I can’t really explain the feeling of taking flight. Of performing an aileron roll that recovers right on the entry heading. Of pegging a wheel landing. The feeling of being alone with your thoughts for extended moments and just. Living in each and every one of them. I can’t paint that canvas in the way that a stranger passing by can stop, look and suddenly see. See what he hadn’t seen before.
I just know that there’s something inside me that needs it. And that part of this business is passing it all along.
The North Korean succession struggle may not play out precisely as Kim Chong Il hoped it would:
South Korean and Japanese news media have reported that North Korea’s propaganda agencies have printed millions of pictures of Kim Jong Eun to be distributed to the homes of ordinary citizens, who already keep photos of the older Kims.
That the family is attempting another generational succession has become accepted wisdom among North Korea observers, but some have recently started to express doubts about the regime’s ability to pull it off. They point to a recent personnel exodus in a propaganda office that was believed to be working on Kim Jong Eun’s behalf and chatter among North Korean traders in China that the son, at age 26 or 27, is perceived by many people as too young to hold power.
“Kim Jong Il believes that the only way for him to maintain his power is to establish the hereditary succession of his son,” Kang Chol-hwan, a defector who wrote a book about growing up in a North Korean prison camp, wrote in South Korea’s Chosun Ilbo newspaper this week. “But it is doubtful the entire party agrees.”
I’d like to wrap this up with some pithy piece of predictive analysis, but I’ve got nothing.
Scary thing? I don’t think anyone else does, either.
SecDef Gates promises to ensure that the Department of Defense takes proper steps to reduce incidents of “workplace violence,” like that committed by Army Maj. Nidal Hassan:
Gates pledged to provide leaders with the necessary tools to deal with potential issues among their ranks.
“As the department takes steps to strengthen its approach to force protection,” he said, “I ask leaders and commanders across the force to remain mindful of the unique requirements of the profession of arms –- that military service is grounded in an oath to support and defend our Constitution, but also may necessitate the sacrifice of some of the very rights we defend.”
There are 713 words in the Defense.gov article. See if you can find the one that is glaringly conspicuous by its absence.
A US Navy Curtis Helldiver that has been at the bottom of Sandy Eggo’s Otay Reservoir since 1945 has been salvaged, and the son of the pilot manning the aircraft when it when down was on hand to see the old girl out:
With a crowd of hundreds on shore, many applauding the sight, the SB2C-4 World War II Helldiver, which crashed into Lower Otay on May 28, 1945, finally was lifted from its muddy grave. Hundreds of people had gathered at the lake all week as the long and tedious process of raising the plane took longer than expected and involved more equipment. The plane was known as “The Beast” because pilots struggled to control it, and it was a monster to retrieve from Otay’s mud…
“Oh man, look at that big old engine and tail; now there’s a plane that hasn’t been in the air in 65 years,” said Richard Frazar, whose father, E.D. Frazar, of Richmond, Tx., was forced to ditch the Helldiver into Lower Otay when the engine on the plane failed. He and Army Sgt. Joseph Metz of Youngstown, Ohio, survived the crash, swam to shore and hitchhiked back to their base at Ream Field in the South Bay. Both have since passed away, but some members of their family enjoyed the day of remembrance that came with the sight of the men’s plane.
A pair of FA-18′s buzzed the lake as the aiprlane was pulled ashore, and had your humble scribe been aware, an American Champion Citabria might well have joined them.
On hand and speaking in the video was the Naval Aviation’ Museum’s CAPT Bob Rasmussen, who was commanding officer at Naval Aviation Schools Command back when your host was an ensign.
US aid and material support is flowing into the flooded Swat Valley, food in, refugees out:
The floods give the United States a unique opportunity to shore up a crucial alliance even as it pursues a “hearts and minds” campaign, which calls for moving the focus of U.S. aid from Pakistan’s military to its deep-seated economic and infrastructure woes.
So far, the U.S. has delivered $87 million in relief, and Sen. John F. Kerry (D-Mass.), who visited Pakistan on Thursday, said Washington would raise the amount to $150 million.
The U.S. has pledged more in flood assistance to Pakistan than any other country. Fellow Muslim states have been slow to come through, exhibiting a reluctance that one Pakistani newspaper called shocking. Meanwhile, in a move that reflected this nation’s desperate need, Islamabad agreed Friday to accept $5 million in flood relief from its nuclear archrival and neighbor, India.
Much of the U.S. relief so far has targeted the northwest, particularly the Swat Valley, a region that Pakistani troops wrested from the control of Taliban insurgents a year ago only to see it become decimated by the catastrophic monsoon floods.
In Kalam, U.S. CH-53 transport helicopters land as many as eight times a day in a mountain glade to pick up scores of stranded residents. On a recent sun-scorched morning, about 70 people jammed into the CH-53′s grimy cargo bay, sitting shoulder to shoulder on stacked bags of flour. They carried whatever they could salvage from mud huts obliterated by walls of water: rugs, luggage, pots and pans and clothes stuffed into small plastic bags.
“The U.S. has been doing a good job here,” said Muhammad Din, 27, with an infant son cradled in his arm. “This should change people’s minds here about America.”
The further from the need however, the lesser the gratitude:
Many Pakistanis say they have not been swayed by the U.S. rescue missions and millions of dollars of flood relief. In Islamabad, the capital, people talk of an America they say will expect something in return for its helping hand, an America that has neglected Pakistan too many times to make amends.
“If the U.S. gives us aid, only our rulers receive it,” said Muhammad Jamshed, a 28-year-old salesman at an Islamabad clothing shop. “The U.S. wants to win the hearts of people with this aid, but it won’t happen. We do not need this aid. God is here and he will provide aid to us.”
What Jamshed fails to realize – probably because he doesn’t want to think on it – is that, in this case at least, is that while God is indeed all around us, his angels are flying heavy lift helicopters.
|
Credo "Sign on, young man, and sail with me. The stature of our homeland is no more than the measure of ourselves. Our job is to keep her free. Our will is to keep the torch of freedom burning for all. To this solemn purpose we call on the young, the brave, the strong, and the free. Heed my call, Come to the sea. Come Sail with me." -- John Paul Jones
"Pardon him, Theodotus; he is a barbarian, and thinks that the customs of his tribe and island are the laws of nature" --George Bernard Shaw, "Caesar and Cleopatra"
"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."--Friedrich Nietzsche
"A kind Providence has placed in our breasts a hatred of the unjust and cruel, in order that we may preserve ourselves from cruelty and injustice. They who bear cruelty, are accomplices in it. The pretended gentleness which excludes that charitable rancour, produces an indifference which is half an approbation. They never will love where they ought to love, who do not hate where they ought to hate."--Edmund Burke
“You say that it is your custom to burn widows. Very well. We also have a custom: when men burn a woman alive, we tie a rope around their necks and we hang them. Build your funeral pyre; beside it, my carpenters will build a gallows. You may follow your custom. And then we will follow ours.”--General Sir Charles Napier
"Μολὼν λαβέ" -- Leonidas
"Blogito Ergo Sum" -- Neptunus Lex |
Hot Mic