It’s been another six-day week for Gretchen and me, with appointments today that started at eight-thirty in the morning and ran until six-forty-five at night. At two, she showed Bhadwe Ki-Nasal Bhenchot, First Deputy Under Assistant Embassy Counselor for the Nation of Pakistan in the United States, into my office, and unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know what was on his mind.
“Tom,” he indignantly huffed as he seated himself, bolt upright, in the chair immediately in front of my desk, “sometimes I cannot help but wonder, just who you Americans think you are!”
“You’re referring, I presume,” I presumed, “to the recent visit of Navy SEAL Team Six to the lovely city of Abbottabad.”
“They were not,” he emphatically emphasized, “I must point out, with duly emphatic emphasis, invited! Their flagrant violation of Pakistani air space, their wanton trespass upon a private Pakistani property, and their callously perpetrated acts of arson, bombing, theft, mayhem, assault and murder are totally unacceptable to the government of Pakistan and, I might add, the Pakistani people as well!”
“Nice sound bite,” I told him. “Succinct, yet comprehensive, very carefully worded and forcefully delivered. Quite impressive, overall.”
“By now,” he shrugged, “it should be. I’ve been saying it about ten times a day for nearly a week.”
“And I’m certain,” I assured him, “that the international community and, indeed, ordinary people all over the world, understand how upset you must be about two top-secret stealth helicopters full of American commandos swooping into the midst of a major Pakistani military area to locate and kill Osama bin Laden, then getting away Scot free with his body.”
“Do you really think,” Bhenchot asked, “we’re making our case that well?”
“Certainly,” I vouched. “There’s absolutely no doubt that everyone understands your outrage. It’s just that very few folks anywhere outside of Pakistan actually care one way or another about your country’s sovereignty, pride, image, or concept of self-worth. The fact is, most of the people on this planet who know anything much about Pakistan think you’re… well… to be completely frank about it, they consider you a bit of a nuisance, really.”
Bhenchot’s nostrils flared. His eyes widened. His fists clenched. If he could have sat up any straighter, I’m sure he would have done that, too. “Thank you,” he coldly and quietly replied, “for your polite honesty.”
“You’re welcome, First Deputy Under Assistant Embassy Counselor,” I said in my most evenly tempered voice. “Now, what can I do for the great nation of Pakistan this afternoon?”
“Well,” Bhenchot began, relaxing somewhat as he gathered his thoughts to tell his tale, “the issue at hand is that, since the… bin Laden incident… there have been constant accusations, from all quarters, of complicity and collusion between Al Qaeda and the Pakistani Directorate for Inter-Services Intelligence, and, perhaps, other parts of the Pakistani government, also.”
“And,” I added, “a similar relationship between the Pakistani Taliban and the ISI, perhaps as well as other parts of the Pakistani government.”
“Yes,” he sighed, “that, too. But it’s all completely untrue!”
“Come, come,” I chided, “let’s not delude ourselves here, shall we? How could Osama bin Laden be living in a huge, million-dollar compound located in what is the Pakistani equivalent of West Point, New York – the city where we Americans have our Army military academy – right under the noses of your finest generals, and the Pakistani government know absolutely nothing about it?”
“I will concede,” Bhenchot admitted, “that the situation does appear rather… suspicious. But reasonable explanations exist. The compound’s owner claimed to be from a tribe which places a very high value on privacy. They don’t mix with others to any significant extent. They rarely go out. They keep to themselves. They don’t socialize.”
“And,” I noted, “they apparently don’t use telephones or the Internet, either.”
“No,” he agreed, “apparently not.”
“But,” I continued, “they nevertheless consumed plenty of electricity.”
“Everyone,” he remarked offhandedly, “likes air conditioning and appliances, I guess.”
“And so,” I pursued, “it’s Pakistan’s resolute and unshakable position that no one in the ISI, your armed forces or your government has been aiding or cooperating with Al Qaeda or the Taliban?”
“It is absolutely inconceivable,” Bhenchot insisted, “that could be the case! Until last Sunday, we knew nothing of Osama bin Laden’s whereabouts! And what is more, no less a personage than Pervez Musharraf has publicly stated that he, too, does not believe we knew anything! Musharraf himself was President of Pakistan when it is alleged that Osama bin Laden moved into that compound, and Musharraf never knew anything, either!”
“But what other explanation could there be?” I prodded.
“Exactly the one Musharraf suggested earlier this week,” Bhenchot shot back. “Incompetence! Incompetence, pure and simple! Sheer, unadulterated incompetence!”
“Well, certainly,” I agreed, “nobody who has actually met a Pakistani should have too much trouble believing you’re all dumb as a sack of hammers.”
“Right!” Bhenchot exclaimed excitedly. “I mean… that is… uh… yes… um… no… ah… oh, whatever.”
“It definitely explains why it took you over forty minutes to scramble jets in response to the intrusion upon your airspace,” I observed.
“I will have you know,” Bhenchot asserted, “that the Pakistani Air Force is perfectly capable of scrambling jet fighters within no more than nineteen point seven-five minutes!”
“Then why,” I wondered, “didn’t they do so?”
“Because,” Bhenchot sheepishly acknowledged, “once we got the telephone calls about the raid, we noticed that the Americans had drones hovering all over the place and we concluded that on this particular Sunday night, they probably weren’t looking for Taliban warlords. In fact, we were convinced that if we had tried to stop the SEALS, those drones would have shot down our jets. And besides… we couldn’t find the American helicopters on our radar anyway.”
“Okay,” I conceded, “You’ve convinced me – incompetence it is. That’s the explanation.”
“As it should be,” Bhenchot concurred. “Which brings me to what I need from you – advice on how to convince the world that explanation is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
“To do that,” I recommended, “I recommend you have the various members of the Pakistani leadership publicly declare how stupid they are.”
“I see,” Bhenchot murmured as he took out a notebook and pen. “Very well. How stupid are they?”
“President Asif Ali Zardari should call a press conference,” I explained, “and tell the world that he’s so stupid, he studied for a blood test.”
“Studied…” Bhenchot slowly repeated as he wrote, “for… a blood test.”
“Prime Minister Makhdoom Syed Yousaf Raza Gillani should announce that he’s so stupid, he thought Hamburger Helper comes with an extra person.”
“… comes with… an extra person…”
“Lieutenant-General Ahmad Shuja Pasha, head of the ISI, should declare that he’s so stupid, he went in for jury duty and got convicted.”
“… jury duty… and got convicted…”
“General Ashfaq Parvez Kayani, Pakistani Army Chief of Staff, should say that he’s so stupid, he yells for help when the escalator gets stuck.”
“… yells for help… when the escalator gets stuck…”
“Admiral Noman Bashi, leader of the Pakistani Navy, should issue a press release which states that he’s so stupid, he can’t spell BMW.”
“… can’t spell BMW…”
“Pakistan Air Chief Marshal Rao Qamar Suleman should call every Urdu and English radio talk show in Pakistan and India and say that he’s so stupid, when Veena Malik asked him what his favorite position is, he said ‘wicket-keeper.’”
“… Veena Malik… wicket-keeper… my God… by the Prophets’s beard, that is really stupid…”
“Dr. Fahmida Mirza, Speaker of the National Assembly, should call in on The View in America and say that she’s so stupid, the first time she ate at an Italian restaurant, she thought al dente was the chef.”
“… thought Al Dente… um, who is this ‘Al Dente’ person, anyway?”
“It’s the proper form of address for the head waiter at an Italian restaurant,” I told him.
“Oh, really?” Bhenchot remarked. “Interesting. Won’t my colleagues from the embassy be impressed with my sophistication when I show that off?”
“I’m sure they will,” I dryly responded.
“But then,” he protested, “in that case, it’s not that much of a mistake, is it? And it doesn’t make Dr. Mirza look all that stupid, does it?”
“I was trying to go easy on her,” I confessed, “because she’s a lady. If you insist, however, have her say that she’s so stupid, she tripped over a wireless telephone.”
“… tripped over… wireless phone… okay, that’s stupid enough.”
“Now, Farooq Hamid Naek, Chairman of the Pakistani Senate, he should call The Howard Stern Show and declare himself to be so stupid, he protested America’s violation of Pakistan’s sovereignty by burning an effigy of Uncle Ben.”
“… burned effigy of… who is this Uncle Ben?”
“Americans will know,” I assured him. “He’s Aunt Jemima’s back-door man. Syed Nayyar Hussain Bukhari, Leader of the House, should tell reporters from Pakistan Dawn that he’s so stupid, when he got his new cell phone, he accidentally took a photo of himself on the toilet with it and e-mailed the picture to his mistress.”
“… on toilet… e-mailed picture to mistress… Um… what if the reporters ask her, and she denies it?”
“Of course she will deny it,” I replied. “Anybody would, whether it was true or not. That’s the beauty part. Now, your boss, Hussain Haqqani, Pakistani Ambassador to the United States, should call a joint press conference with US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and announce that he’s so stupid, it takes him three hours to make Minute Rice.”
“… three hours… Minute Rice…”
“Haider Zaman, the Nazim of Abbottabad, should take out full page advertisements in newspapers all over Pakistan declaring that he’s so stupid, he went to the dentist to get Bluetooth.”
“…. went to the dentist… blue-tooth. Uh… what’s blue tooth?”
“Never mind,” I advised. “Just tell him to say that.”
Bhenchot looked up from his notes. “What about Parvez Musharraf?”
“He should get an interview with Christiane Amanpour and tell her that he’s so stupid, he went to New Zealand to go skiing – in January; he spent a hundred million rupees on a Web domain, forgot to renew it and had to buy it back from a nine-year-old kid; when President Obama announced the United States had killed Osama bin Laden, he started yelling at the television, and,…”
“… hold on, you’re going too fast… yelling at the television… and?”
“He asks for price checks at the Dollar Store.”
After that, we spent the remainder of the consultation discussing subjects which, for reasons of national security, I can’t post on the Internet. Bhenchot left reasonably satisfied with my proposed strategy, but requested more material. I told him I’d try, but actually, I’m so busy and also somewhat too exhausted to think of anything else. So, if anyone reading this knows (or can think up) some additional things for the leaders of Pakistan to say about how amazingly, astoundingly, incredibly stupid they are, I invite you to call the Embassy of Pakistan in Washington, DC at (202) 243-6500, and ask to speak with Bhadwe Ki-Nasal Bhenchot.