Public Address - Speaker (Home)

Potus visits | Dec 02, 2003 09:19

GUEST David Williams' Dateline London

He's the laughing stock of the free world. It just so happens he's also the leader of it.

The great thing about him is that he provides so much material to giggle at. Let's enjoy some classic quotes:

"More and more of our imports come from overseas." September, 2000.

"The problem with the French is that they don't have a word for entrepreneur." July, 2002

"They misunderestimate me." November, 2000.

Of course I'm talking about US President George W Bush. Some call him Dubya. Officials, so they tell us, call him Potus - which is short for President of the United States. Last week tens of thousands of people marched through central London to mark the great man's visit to Britain, all with differing reasons and agendas. They had a few different names for Mr Bush, most of which I can't repeat here ...

Whatever you call him, last week was a good chance for protesters to gather and indulge in an evening of good old-fashioned Bush bashing; a tantalising tongue-lashing for the Toxic Texan.

"The pretzel that almost saved the world," read one sign (with picture) being carried by a young woman in Trafalgar Square. Another sign made assertions about Blair's "WMD" and Bush's "orifice". Enduring images of a Bush effigy being toppled, and then mockingly smacked by hand-held shoes, were beamed around the world - in an obvious piss-take of the Saddam statue-toppling in Baghdad.

Bush was seen as a bit of an easy target, however. Most "serious" demonstrators seemed more concerned with reminding the British public that Blair (or B.liar as he is known at these marches) "lied" to the public over the Iraq war, hoping that would strike a mortal blow to his re-election campaign.

I wonder, then, what these people make of Mr Bush's Thanksgiving visit to Baghdad?

In an audacious stunt, Mr Bush secretly flew into the country he helped to make the most dangerous place in the world, spending a couple of hours with about 600 stunned soldiers. It was so secret that White House communications director Dan Bartlett told a handpicked group of journalists "if this breaks while we are in the air, we‚re turning around".

It was obvious what London's Independent made of it. "The turkey has landed" the headline said, over a picture of Bush, resplendent in military jacket, carrying said (cooked) bird. "Moment of pure theatre for tearful President" said the cynical Times headline. A surprisingly neutral Guardian blandly stated "Bush's surprise trip to Baghdad".

Bush aides had obviously decided his worldwide lap of honour for the "successful" campaign in Iraq hadn't yielded enough photo opportunities. There was Dubya in Australia's parliament (minus a public gallery and two outspoken MPs). There was Dubya and wife Laura with Her Maj and Prince Philip (minus a Daily Mirror reporter - so we didn't get to find out if the Presidential dog ate his bacon sandwiches). And of course there was Dubya with the British public (Blair's neighbours in Sedgefield and a few footie-playing school kids under strict instructions not to do anything but smile and whoop).

What a photo opportunity his flying visit to Baghdad turned out to be, dominating the front pages of most British broadsheets on Friday.

I think we're seeing the lengths to which President Bush the Second will go to, to be re-elected. He doesn't want to follow the same road as Bush Snr - a war in Iraq and then getting booted out of the White House. As a party, the Republicans have obviously decided after lean times during the Clinton years, they quite like being in power, thank you very much.

The problem Bush and Co. face is the Democrats have a fairly large, and convincing, file against a second term for the incumbents. This includes his pulling out of treaties on greenhouse gas emissions and anti-ballistic missiles, running up the biggest deficits in US history and making the rich richer with tax cuts. International relations have been hampered by the Israel saga and, more recently, steel tariffs. Oh, and that Iraq thing.

But while the Democrats are fluffing around trying to find the ideal candidate, Mr Bush's campaign team is in full re-election mode. And despite their poor record in a number of areas - a booming economy being a notable exception - the Republicans still command solid support.

You've got to remember Mr Bush was appointed to a post after an election he didn't win. This guy may come across as a buffoon, but either he, or the people close to him, must be as clever as a shithouse rat - otherwise he, and his people, wouldn't be there.

One of the subtle changes in recent months, which I believe shows how clever this regime can be, is the gradual sidelining of the president's "hawks" - Vice-President Dick Cheney and Defence Secretary Donald Rumsfeld. This has been coupled with the rise of "doves" Secretary of State Colin Powell and Condoleezza Rice, the National Security Adviser.

Cheney and Rumsfeld, who have dropped off the international media radar of late, could be paying the price for telling Mr Bush how to win a war but not the peace. The Vice-Pres has been dogged with allegations of favouring his old firm Halliburton with $US2.5 billion of Iraq reconstruction money. Meanwhile, Rummy's hard line statements on Arab nations, like Syria, and coining the phrase "Old Europe" wouldn't have won him too many friends abroad.

Powell might have been promoted to the front bench after being the "sacrificial lamb" at the UN before the Iraq war and last year's Earth Summit in South Africa, while Ms Rice is believed to be one of the president's closest advisers. The Rice-Powell combination is a much more conciliatory diplomatic face in light of the Iraq debacle.

There was no greater sign of this phenomenon than in Bush's keynote foreign affairs speech in London last week. Powell and Rice were there in the front row, side-by-side, clapping like library monitors at a primary school assembly.

While there has been some playing with pawns in the shadows, in daylight we now have this astounding visit by Mr Bush to Baghdad to mull over. Just look at the coverage he's getting - albeit not all positive. Already it is being hailed as a masterstroke, with Times diplomatic editor Richard Beeston describing it as "one of the most daring stunts in modern American history".

My headline for the visit would read: "Bush's Baghdad election stunt (Democrats and the free world beware)!"

No, Mr President, we will not misunderestimate you again.

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Beautiful game | Nov 26, 2003 12:16

GUEST David Williams' Dateline London

I expected to have a few run-ins with Englishmen the day after the World Cup Final. However I was surprised when it happened at one of the homes of English culture - the Royal Albert Hall in the snooty Kensington suburb of London. AND it was about ICE CREAM!

Yes, this sour-faced Pom had made his way to the front of the queue at the interval of Classical Spectacular when one of two women serving the frozen treats turned to me and asked me what I wanted. I told her and, ignoring the serving girl's adjacent co-worker, this grey hair whirled to me and asked angrily: "Excuse me, is there not a queue here?" I calmly assured him there was but the woman had looked at me, not him.

Enraged, he tried to stare me down but I think he realised that wasn't getting him any ice cream and he turned away. The serving girl turned back to us, but not to reassure the fuming Englishman - she'd collected my order (chocolate and sticky toffee, for the record). I suggested she might want to take my friend's order (before he spontaneously combusted) and she just pointed to her bored co-worker who was waiting for work.

Vindicated (and now in possession of ice cream) I said mockingly: "Hey buddy, you make sure you have a nice day." Obviously not used to being treated with such disdain, Mr Grey Hair said: "Don't you be smart to ME!"

It was time for the killer blow. As I brushed past him, I leaned close and said: "Whatever mate. Outside." I walked off, not allowing him to answer. I didn't see him later.

It was at Classical Spectacular that I DID hear the most gloating after England's World Cup victory, however. From the conductor as well! After the first piece of inspiring classical music Anthony Inglis welcomed us to the show, "and the home of the RUGBY WORLD CUP!". He even stopped the applause for baritone Grant Doyle to announce "he doesn't deserve it! He's Australian!"

Not content with humiliating Mr Doyle, by bringing him back on stage for a round of applause while he draped himself in the St George's flag, he later got stuck into the band of the Welsh Guards. "We beat them too! We're INVINCIBLE!" he crowed, whipping the hall into a frenzy with a rousing version of "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot". He did later admit Wales can't play rugby but they can sing - which must have made Welsh tenor Geraint Todd feel a little better.

Since I was in the company of an Australian that afternoon I very quickly reached a decision about gloating Poms. I bloody loved it! I mean, if that's the best they can throw at us then they can have the Cup (for now). The other thing is that despite getting roasted (English football players please consult the dictionary for proper usage) in the Australian press all week, their English counterparts have been so busy celebrating they've forgotten to give it back! Sure the Aussies feted England after their win (remember it was one try apiece), but I would have expected the gloating to include more running down of the opposition.

The one exception I can come up with came from The Sun. Sydney Daily Telegraph journo Peter Kent had called for fellow Aussies to make a racket outside the England team's hotel to keep players awake on the eve of the final. So the English tabloid got its own back (on a reporter working for a fellow Murdoch paper!) by printing Mr Kent's phone number and encouraging its readers to vent their spleen at him. Oh, and they did. Gotta love that, but it wasn't really a vitriolic attack on all things Australian.

Even now, The Sun and its competitors have had two days to publish comparisons between Aussies and worms (like they did with Jacques Chirac) and the normally overactive press have resisted. For once, instead of running people down the papers have been exceedingly positive - with most of them offering eight-page souvenir pullouts of the World Cup feat. It really has turned this football-mad nation on its head. Not only did the rugby make every back page, it dominated every FRONT page as well and led the BBC 6 o'clock news on Saturday night.

I guess it pays to put yourself in their shoes. I got a bit of an insight when I asked one of my workmates, Christine, if she was getting up to watch the game. She said no, she'd be too nervous. "I just want to wake up and, hopefully, hear that we won. I might watch the game later." What got me was that pleading look in her eye as she said: "It would just be nice to win something. We never win anything!" Remember this is the country of Tim Henman's Wimbledon hopes and Michael Vaughan's Ashes dreams. Poor buggers.

So they're not used to winning. That was obvious at the Greyhound Inn where I watched the game in Carshalton, south-west London. After the floor had stopped feeling like a trampoline from all the English bodies jumping up and down in celebration, I steadied myself for the belligerent gloating. But it didn't come.

The English bloke in front of me who I'd just met, Darren, just kept shaking his head, saying, "I can't believe it", over and over. Not long after he was wiping a tear from his eye. I was reminded of a telly report featuring an old English geezer who had travelled to Australia for the game. Whilst proudly clutching his wife he said if they won it would be the proudest day in his life - except his wedding day and the birth of his kids, he quickly added. One guy at the Greyhound even came up and shook our hands (I supported the Aussies, quite vocally from what I remember), thanking us for coming and told us he enjoyed our support.

The pure joy they exhibited at winning was really sweet, like that of a kid bringing home their first A‚ on a report card. Their enthusiasm, also childlike, was infectious. You couldn't help but be caught up in it. And, in the main, they were really humble in victory. Surprisingly so. Maybe things will be different when the tens of thousands of Poms arrive back from Down Under, but I'm glad I was here to partake of the magic of a country in celebration.

Well, until Sunday that is. Chelsea's got Manchester United don't you know and, as far as these blokes are concerned, there's only one beautiful game.

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