My two o’clock appointment on Friday was Dr. Sharmoot bin Ssum-izi al Humar-Hasawee, Cultural Subject Matter Expert at the The People’s Bureau of the Great Socialist People’s Libyan Arab Jamahiriy, otherwise known as the Libyan Embassy. I offered him tea, of course.
“Do you prefer it,” I cordially asked, “with mint or cardamom?”
My guest threw me a worldly wink and a wry smile. “It is well known in Washington, Mr. Collins, that your liquor cabinet rivals that of the Australian ambassador.”
“I’ll take that,” I replied diplomatically, “as a compliment. What would you like?”
“A B-52…” he answered, licking his lips, “floater.”
It’s in the genes – I put my bartending heritage into full play as I slowly poured first Kahlua, then Bailey’s Irish Cream, and finally Grand Marnier down a bar spoon into a liqueur glass, creating, via the theory of specific gravity, the three-layered concoction known as a B-52 floater.
He knocked it off in a single gulp, handing the glass back to me with a nod. I grabbed a clean glass and made him another – that one, he sipped.
“I assume,” he began, “you are familiar with my country’s current… problems with Switzerland.”
“Let me see,” I reminisced, “as I recall, your Fearless Leader, Muammar Abu Minyar al-Gaddafi, has eight children. The fifth eldest, named Hannibal, has… shall we say, a bit of a temper, and consequently, was perhaps not the best choice for someone to represent Libyan oil exports to Europe. While there, he has attacked Italian police with a fire extinguisher, allegedly beat up his girlfriend in Paris, then, later, according to witnesses, beat his wife in London…”
“Same woman, by the way,” my guest interjected, following the remark with a futile shrug. “There’s nothing to those accusations. She’s a bit clumsy, apparently. Falls down a lot.”
“So,” I observed, “do his servants, apparently. The Swiss arrested him for assault in Geneva back in 2008. They held him for two days and released him on bail. Since then, Libya has ceased granting visas to Swiss citizens, recalled its diplomatic mission from Bern, closed down every single Swiss business in the country, withdrawn over five billion dollars from Swiss banks, halted oil shipments to Switzerland, and, recently, has begun to detain Swiss citizens…”
“Spies,” my client interrupted pointedly.
“… and characterized Switzerland as ‘a world mafia’ organization.”
“Well, you see,” he explained between sips of his B-52, “Muammar gets rather… carried away at times.”
“So does Hannibal,” I added. “He has publicly stated that he wants Libya to obtain nuclear weapons so it can ‘wipe Switzerland off the map.’ That’s a pretty harsh response for not being allowed to beat your personal servants while staying at a Swiss hotel.”
“Beating one’s personal servants,” Humar-Hasawee carefully explained, “is a venerable and highly-respected Libyan tradition, one that goes back to our noble ancestors, the first masters of the mighty Sahara. Beating one’s wives, children, servants and animals ensures the obedience necessary to survive in our harsh native environment. The practice is therefore integral to our way of life. For the Swiss to persecute Our Fearless Leader’s beloved son for observing it is therefore an outrageous example of Swiss cultural insensitivity.”
“Perhaps,” I reasoned, “but you must admit, there’s a certain… disparity between arresting and briefly detaining someone for assault and national nuclear annihilation, even if one does know how to think like a Libyan. Certainly, you must agree, no native North African Bedouin or Berber tradition could possibly entail the use of atomic warheads.”
“No,” he sighed, “I suppose not.”
“And now,” I continued, “Libyan police have surrounded the Swiss embassy in Tripoli in order to obtain two Swiss citizens, whom your government claims have problems with their visas…”
“And tax evasion, as well,” my client gently insisted.
“Followed,” I pressed on, “by Libya’s refusal to honor the passports of any country participating with Switzerland in the Schengen Agreement. That’s twenty-six European countries. Wouldn’t you agree, when that happened, your game of political tit-for-tat with Switzerland might have gotten just a bit out of hand?”
“Interesting,” he mused, “this ‘tit-for-tat,’ of which you speak. I know what the first half of that phrase means in English, I think; but tell me, just what the hell is a ‘tat,’ anyway?”
“To ‘tat,’” I informed him, “is to construct a durable lace of knots.”
“So… ‘tit for tat.’ To trade back and forth, knotted lace for…. no, no, I cannot see it at all in the eye of my mind,” my guest admitted. “I am afraid that I once again fail to comprehend the English idiom.”
“Not to worry,” I consoled, “nobody does, really.”
“Thank you,” he acknowledged with another nod, handing me his empty glass. We paused a while as he watched me make yet another B-52.
“What you have said, however,” he vouched as he accepted his third glass of liqueurs, “about things getting out of hand, this is, in fact, why I am here for a consultation this afternoon. You see, as I am sure you are aware, Switzerland’s latest move has been to ban minarets on mosques.”
“In all fairness to the Swiss diplomatic corps,” I reminded him, “that was not something they came up with. It was the Swiss people themselves who voted in a referendum to ban minarets.”
“But,” Humar-Hasawee countered, “the Swiss government did nothing to stop them.”
“Switzerland,” I remarked, “is a democracy. If the law allows a referendum on minarets, and the voters use that referendum to ban them, then there is nothing, legally, that the government can do.”
“Exactly the problem with democracy,” he gloated, having scored, in his mind, at least, a very palpable hit. “And a perfect example of what places like Switzerland can learn from our Fearless Leader. However,” he persisted, “even he does not always display completely flawless judgment, and consequently, there is concern within the Libyan government that when he called for jihad against Switzerland, things may have, in fact, gone a bit too far.”
“Colonel Gaddafi has,” I noted, “declared that any Moslem who trades with Switzerland is an apostate.”
“True,” Humar-Hasawee agreed between sips.
“And the Holy Qur’an,” I recalled for his consideration, “says that all apostates must die.”
“Now,” he conceded, “we are approaching the reasons why some think this whole affair may have, as you said, gotten out of hand.”
“Because,” I concluded, “Colonel Gaddafi has not only called for the death of every Swiss citizen, but also for the death of any Moslem who does business with Switzerland, and, in the bargain, implied that anyone who does not engage in jihad against Switzerland, killing all Swiss and killing any Moslem who does business with the Swiss, has betrayed both Allah and the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon Him.”
“Yes,” he confirmed, killing his third B-52 and gesturing for a fourth, “you are quite correct. Those are the philosophical and religious implications of our Fearless Leader’s latest pronouncements.”
“At this point,” I slowly and deliberately pondered aloud as I prepared another glass of potables for my guest, “it quite piques my curiosity – the incident that began this unfortunate chain of events, the beatings at the Geneva hotel. Why, exactly, did Hannibal assault his servants in the first place?”
My guest regarded me with an air of mild surprise. “Why? Are you serious? You want to know why he beat them?”
“Ah, yes,” I replied as I handed him his drink. “Why, indeed?”
“Why do your IRS here in the United States come at three in the morning to the wrong address, break down the door and shoot the dog?” Humar-Hasawee answered as he accepted his glass. “Because they can, that’s why! Same thing with Colonel Gaddafi and his family.”
“In that case,” I asserted, “it is certainly interesting to know our government has something so significant in common with yours.”
“Just so,” he snorted, somewhat skeptically. “Now, then, Mr. Collins, as I am sure you can imagine, not everyone in the Libyan government is as enthusiastic as our Fearless Leader is about beating people up, shooting people’s dogs, or declaring jihad on an historically neutral country famous primarily for its clocks and cheeses. And what I wish to explore with you is some… alternatives… that might be… ah, tactfully suggested in order to defuse further escalation.”
“Because,” I speculated, “if the industrial nations get too annoyed by all this, they might take steps to embargo Libyan oil…”
“Yes, yes,” he confessed, “that is, of course, an important concern.”
“Understood,” I assured him. “On the other hand, however, Libya can’t just drop the whole Switzerland thing overnight, because then, Libya might look… indecisive.”
At that, my guest raised his eyebrows in admiration. “Nicely put. I think I will use that one myself.”
“By all means,” I invited. “You’re paying for it. So, to avoid appearing indecisive, Libya needs another object to which it can direct its attention, such as… oh, just thinking off the top of my head, here, how about Italy?”
“Italy?” He leaned forward, betraying intense interest.
“Sure,” I brainstormed, “in Milan, they just convicted three Google executives on privacy violation charges, all over a video they had nothing to do with; Italy looks like a country full of moronic chumps for that alone. And then there’s this Berlusconi clown running the show – he’s such a tool, there’s a good chance his responses to a few well-aimed Libyan brickbats would end up making Gaddafi look reasonable. No offense.”
“None taken,” my client assured me, turning his glass bottoms up and gesturing for another B-52.
“Then, of course,” I suggested as I poured him a fifth drink, “there’s Greece. They’re totally bankrupt; plus, last week, they were caught in cahoots with Goldman Sachs cooking their books to hide the fact. Your Fearless Leader could start beating up on them and absolutely nobody would care. Why, the Turks would probably be very pleased with Colonel Gaddafi, actually, what with them and the Greeks being traditional enemies. Then there’s Denmark. Gaddafi could jump on the jihad bandwagon there very easily, and Libya would have plenty of company, too. What’s more, come to think of it, France is a very tempting target, mostly because they’ve managed to brass off nearly everybody in the world at one time or another lately. I bet the Algerians would love that, too.”
“All very good ideas,” he commended as he accepted another drink, “but I think Italy is too close to Libya, and Berlusconi is so crazy, might bomb us. We don’t like the Turks that much, actually, so it wouldn’t be a good idea to go in on their side against the Greeks. Denmark? Well, that’s so 2005, isn’t it? Our Fearless Leader would not take kindly to being criticized for a lack of originality… of being, how do you say it? Of being a copy-cat, or a follower; some kind of fellow traveler; someone who adopts a ‘me too’ strategy; no, I think not. And we do way too much business with the French.”
“Okay,” I explored, “how about we go outside of the box? Why does the alternative have to be a European country? Why, in fact, does it have to be a country at all? How about Colonel Gaddafi declaring jihad on Texas?”
“Texas?”
“Yes, Texas,” I confirmed. “It’s perfect – the place is crawling with infidels and every other state in the Union despises it.”
“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “I hear Texans can be pretty mean. They aren’t easy to push around, like Europeans. Frankly, I think, possibly, our Fearless Leader might be… afraid of them.”
“True,” I allowed. “Texas can be mighty tough to handle. How about the Falkland Islands, then?”
“The Falkland Islands?”
“That’s right. They’re a bunch of total sissies down there, for sure; sheep shagging farmers, mostly. And Libya would have Argentina, the United States, the United Kingdom, the British Commonwealth, the Organization of American States and the United Nations completely flummoxed. Nobody would know what to do. Hugo Chavez would be contacting Gaddafi for instructions on what to say!”
“I would have serious misgivings,” he complained, “about something so complicated.”
“Really?” I asked innocently. “How come?”
“This affair with Switzerland,” he confided “is already proving to be too intricate for us to figure out. Dealing with what you just suggested might cause heads to explode.”
“Okay,” I told him confidently, “I understand; no problem. How about Colonel Gaddafi declares jihad on tsunamis?”
“Tsunamis?”
“Yeah, you know – tidal waves. They are obviously the work of Satan, right? How can Gaddafi lose if he declares a holy war on those?”
“But ‘tsunamis’ is just a concept,” he protested in a bewildered tone. “It has no substance to it. We could be in a jihad against ‘tsunamis’ forever! How would we know we had won? How can we fight an unending holy war against a word?”
“It’s easy,” I assured him. “America’s been waging war against the word ‘terrorism’ for over eight years. If we can do it, you can, too!”