How to get Gaddafi: Hire a Hollywood tough guy

Apparently the International Criminal Court (ICC) has just issued an arrest for warrant for Libya's bastard son, Muammar Gaddafi. Problem is, no one is brave enough to pass him the subpoena requesting that he get his genocidal arse to the Hague, pronto.

Like those TV party mommas who spoil their children with extravagant Sweet Sixteen's and plastic surgery, the ICC is mostly impotent in bringing down the hammer on Gaddafi (or gavel in this case). With a yearly budget of more then €101,000,000, you figure they'd be able to get something accomplished. But then again, in the words of Austin Power's father, Nigel:

You'd figure that in the very least the Americans would be able to do something about this. Coming off their win gunning down Osama Bin Laden, the US Navy Seals would be perfect candidates for this kind of nab mission. However, the US government and ICC haven't always had the warmest of relationships.

Despite having initially signed the Rome Statute (the treaty that established the ICC) back in the Clinton days, the whole arrangement has been a bit of a headache for the Americans.

George W's invasion of Iraq in 2003 created a sticky situation for US military personal and private contractors being subject to criminal charges, particularly with regards to the human rights violations at Abu Gharaib, the Blackwater contractor mass shootings, as well as an expired UN mandate (not to mention that pesky issue of an illegitimate and bogus premise for the 2003 Iraq debacle).

In response, the US opted out of the Rome Statute, and added the caveat that any country requesting US military aid do the same – which Israel in turn complied to.

Fears that the ICC would violate the US Constitution, override the Supreme Court or otherwise affect national interest and self-determination, were given as justification for unsigning from the treaty. The US Congress even went so far as to pass the American Servicemembers' Protection Act, also known as the “Hague Invasion Act”, permitting the President to authorize military force to free any U.S. military personnel held by the court.

But the US is not the only one unsubscribing to the ICC. India's objections to the court are notable, if not genuinely hilarious. Their tiff related to the hypocrisy of the Rome Statute signatories not including the use of Weapons of Mass Destruction under the category of war crimes and crimes against humanity. My guess is that someone in the room (ie: any country with nukes) didn't want to be held accountable for letting that genie out of the bottle.

China, quite obviously, isn't interested in subjecting itself to the scrutiny of the International Community either -- not that it has anything to hide on the humanitarian front. Along with Russia and the world's second most populous county, India, China's objections echoed America's -- with a particular fear of being judged for domestic human rights violations, as well as worries regarding “external” interference in internal political affairs.

And China's shunning of the ICC knows no lengths. A recent visit by Sudan's Omar al-Bashir (another ICC fugitive) showed just how far China is willing to go to thumb it's nose at the whole ICC idea. According to Al Jazeera: “Bashir is wanted by the International Criminal Court (ICC) for alleged genocide, war crimes and crimes against humanity that occurred in Sudan's western Darfur region, where about 300,000 people have died since 2003.”

But it is also economically advantageous for China to play the bad guy. Western democracies have recently found it distasteful to buy crude oil from despots and tyrants, so Chinese access to Sudanese crude has never been greater.

But China isn't the only country that has embraced al-Bashir. Nigeria and Kenya (both a signatory of the ICC) and Egypt (not a signatory) have also welcomed al-Bashir post-warrant onto their soil, clearly mocking the authority of the court.

As a result of the ICC warrants against him, al-Bashir expelled several NGOs from Sudan, including Oxfam, claiming them to be “spies in the work of foreign regimes.” Interestingly, much has been written of the relationship between the NGOs (aid agencies, human rights organizations) and the ICC. The ICC relies on the information garnished by the NGOs intimate relationship with affected populations in order to produce evidence required for the prosecution of offending regimes.

Despite the Rome Statute being ratified by over 115 countries, the objections of only a half dozen (albeit populous and influential) countries have seemingly hindered the effectiveness of the ICC. There is no enforcement mechanism (ie: nab squad) and the ICC must therefore rely on a each member's national police force to arrest suspects. National or religious sympathies often stymie such apprehension efforts, as was the case with Radko Mladic, whose sixteen-year evasion made a mockery of international efforts.

The ICCs' predecessors -- the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda and the similarly named Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia -- demonstrate that these courts are somewhat effective. A recent string of convictions in the case of Rwanda demonstrate that while justice may be a long time coming (the tribunals were established around 1994), it does eventually come.

Problem is, most of these ICC “fujitives” were (or currently are) high ranking, influential and beloved leaders that are protected by their own populations. And it is silly to suggest that the current Sudanese and Libyan incumbents -- al-Bashir and Gaddafi -- will order their own arrests any time soon.

If anything, the warrants for these sitting heads of state will only help to further entrench their position. Aware that defeat will inevitably lead to a padded jail cell, they will likely grow even more ruthless and tyrannical in defense of their fiefdoms.

So that leaves us with one option: let's hire a hit team of washed up, Hollywood action stars to bring these ethnic-cleansing buggers to justice. With all their quasi-military training, chiseled features and overblown paychecks, I'm sure the likes of Steven Seagal, Chuck Norris and Sylvester Stallone could make this happen. Heck, even Arnie's currently looking for employment, right?

How to get rich (or die trying)

Recently I've been doing some renovations for someone with inheritance money to burn. The residents of the home I'm working at (all three of them) sleep, eat, and watch TV -- and that's about the extent of it. They eat out at restaurants so they don't have to cook or clean up dishes, and hire others to do everything else -- from cutting the grass to replacing light bulbs.

And it's not that the man of the house isn't able bodied -- he is. It's just that they would rather have someone else do the work for them. Which is fine with me.

So there I was, slathering peach coloured paint on the wall when I came to two conclusions. First, in a less affluent era I'm sure these lazy people would have died off long ago. Second, that the path to success isn't always found by those who vigilantly strive for it.

See, I was under the impression that hard work, determination and self-discipline would be enough to guarantee the American dream. Impressed upon me by teachers, parents and media alike, the concept that work equals success has become a hollow theory for me – and one that I've observed is consistently mocked by several annoying anomalies: those of nepotism, good genetics, inherited social status and good old fashioned luck.

Take Petra Eccelstone for example. Despite never having held paid employment, she's just purchased Aaron Spelling's $91 million Los Angeles estate (the one fashioned after Buckingham Palace, complete with a bowling alley, gift wrapping room and bomb-proof anti-terror room).

Recipient of her Formula One father's $2.4 Billion estate, she's a living, breathing example of being a recipient of someone else's hard work.

As if this wasn't insulting enough to 'Joe the average factory worker' (putting up with a 12-hour continental shift for $10 an hour), an Eccelstone family friend had to rub it in with the following statement: “At least this LA house will give Petra something to do. The trust is paying for it. In fact, the payment is coming in cash — paid from the interest on the interest.” Interest on the interest? I wasn't aware there was such a thing.

And did I mention Petra is drop dead gorgeous?



Apparently a side effect of your dad having lots of money means that he'll chose for you a genetically pleasing mother. So Petra has that going for her too. Which leads me to those who have been fortunate enough to benefit from Mother Nature's finest DNA -- chiseled features, good bone structure, and any other pleasing physical aesthetic feature that would get you noticed by a talent scout, casting agent or otherwise horny producer.

A bizarre by-product of the evolutionary “survival of the fittest” (where the most beautiful specimens are more likely to attract a mate and therefore bear offspring) is the smorgasbord of talentless eye-candy (the likes of Paul Walker and Megan Fox come to mind), supermodels and otherwise unproductive people (anything Kardashian) who receive untold riches and fame in return for simply being themselves.

And how many times have I heard a story of our hero celebrity or model being “discovered” eating doughnuts in a cafe or simply walking down a city street?

In a similar vein, another category of enviable individuals we cherish and reward are sports stars. Drawing on their predetermined superior genetic code, they inevitably break from the pack of us mere mortals in order to humble us with their amazing feats of awesomeness.

And each sport has its own genetic prerequisite. Basketball players are probably the easiest characters to cast. Ask anyone over six-foot-five how many times people have asked them if they're a basketball player-- chances are they've heard that assumption implied ad infinitum. By default, the taller player will win out against the shorter regardless of talent. He's just that much closer to the hoop.

Even racial characteristics play into success. African-American athletes often fare better in high-impulse, short endurance activities due to inherent superior fast-twitch muscle fibres.

According to an article in the Times, “Black athletes have monopolized every Olympic 100 metres for the past quarter of a century, without a white man making the final. The same dominance asserts itself at the World Championships, in which every sprinter in eight of the past nine 100 metres finals has been black.” That's not to say that training, dedication and skill can be discounted, but I think the record speaks for itself. White men can't jump, and apparently can't sprint, either.

And while I understand stereotypes influence our perception of who does “what” well, there usually is a kernel of genetic truth helping the winner along the way. We usually see Kenyans excelling at endurance running, the Chinese cleaning up at ping-pong, and the Russian's winning at arm wrestling, shooting things to hell, and drinking you under the table.

And then there are the environmental factors. To say that a child living in a mud hut on the drought ravaged plains of the Sahara or the slums of New Delhi has the same opportunity as their upper-class peers from the Hamptons is simply ludicrous. Which speaks volumes regarding the myth of the self-made man.

Besides those destined for inheritance or genetic superiority, nepotism is another powerful factor in the creation of successful individuals. The nepotism crowd ride the coat-tails of their parent's reputation and success, undoubtedly finding it easier to access otherwise insular and elitist occupations.

As with most jobs, success still rides on whether or not someone likes you (or your parents) and is willing to vouch for you (I myself once received a promotion this way after it turned out both my boss and a co-worker previously worked with my father). However being associated with a household name probably doesn't hurt the job hunting effort.  

And I'm often surprised to discover just how endemic nepotism is in our culture: it's present in everything from entertainment to finance to construction to politics. What else can explain the impossibility of George W Bush clinching a two-term tenure in the Oval office?

Now this does not preclude every beautiful, genetically blessed person with a recognizable surname from achieving instant stardom, but it certainly increases their chances of achieving success.

I suppose until that distant rich relative kicks the bucket (or I develop some newfangled and yet untapped athletic ability) I'll have to resort to screwing in light bulbs for the overprivileged.  

  

Fear, and the psycho next door

Coyotes. I never had reason to fear them. That was until I visited the Parks and Wildlife booth at our local springtime maple syrup festival. Mounted on a table was a stuffed coyote, its massive snarling yapper and menacing jagged-claws threatening me from beyond the grave. Suddenly, these wolf-sized creatures stopped being the cute and cuddly fox-like canines I somehow thought they were.

Now something like this generally wouldn't effect me, except for the fact that the forests surrounding my neighbourhood are teeming with these deadly grey beasts. Often while walking my hulking seven-pound Papillon guard dog Bo-bo, I hear the chilling howl of the coyote packs. And I'm not the only one getting freaked out here.

While conferring with neighbours, I often hear stories of old folks out for their evening strolls being stalked by lone coyotes. One senior even resorted to carrying a spiked-cane in a vain attempt to ward off any hypothetical attack by the sneaky varmints.

Most of the time I'd take these tales with a grain of salt. Problem is, it's all starting to effect me. Going for walks now leaves me feeling like a shell-shocked vet, with every snap of a twig sending me scanning for the tell-tale silhouette of a stalking coyote.

I guess I've probably grossly exaggerated the threat in my own head, because I can't recall hearing of anyone being taken down in a coyote attack (at least not in my area). My bet is that they'd rather feast on a bunny rabbit or a tethered wiener dog then tackle a six-foot tall man, but something inside me has changed toward the outdoors – and placed in me a fear I never had before.

Funny thing is, until I had a family of my own I feared little. I walked when and where I wanted. I killed spiders (although millipedes and snakes and anything else that slithers fast kinda freaks me out), climbed 40-foot ladders, skydived and did pretty much anything else without fretting about it. Perhaps the lack of concern was due to the naivety and ignorance of my youth -- that invincibility complex older generation's like to remind the young about.

I suppose there are several types of fears. Childhood fears are usually illogical and based on lack of understanding or untruthful representation by those is authority (parents). These usually include things like fear of the dark, or dogs -- or that the bedroom ceilings and walls are going to cave in.

You figure by the time most of us reach adulthood, we've outgrown such concepts. But over my short 32 years, I've found that a lot of people haven't. If anything, those fears are as powerful today as they were when they were five.

Often times fear is created through trauma or violence -- events like combat, car accidents or assault. That's not always the case though. An experience that may deeply affect one person may have little bearing on another.

When I was in college, my fiance (now wife) and I had just gotten off a bus in the inner city after a lovely day at the mall. Unbeknownst to us we were followed by a gang, who quickly initiated (what turned out to be) a fight for our lives. Never in my life had I experienced an adrenaline rush like this – tunnel vision, loss of hearing, heart pounding in my chest.

Perhaps they didn't expect me to fight back. And after a fury of punches I dived my way out of the swarm, over a snow pile and onto a busy city street.

And from a distance I watched helpless as a few of them continued the assault on my fiance. Exhausted and battered, I collected myself enough to make it back to her. Thanks to the intervention of a bystander, we made it home relatively intact.

For days after I refused to wear the jacket and hat I had been wearing the night of the attack for fear of being spotted by the gang. My overall senses were heightened, and my mind was full of all kinds of irrational thoughts like “what if they find out where I live” or “where can I get an Uzi.”

To this day, I carry this experience with me. The event took my “fear virginity” as it were, leaving me a little less trusting and a little more cautious every where I go.

But I have other fears: fears of improperly cooked chicken, fears of my bi-polar psycho neighbour showing up at my door with a loaded shotgun – and the like. However I think these fears are not necessarily irrational. Most are based on real-world experiences that had significantly threatened my physical existence.

I do find it interesting when other's fears become apparent. Usually it comes as a surprise that someone is afraid of this or that. I've known people to be afraid of some strange stuff: balloons, clowns, and even seaweed. And then there's the usual suspects: mice, heights, flying, sharks, claustrophobic spaces, and Elvis impersonators.

One time I witnessed a fully grown and otherwise normal looking man have a panic attack in a public washroom. Unable to pick out a suitable stall, he left the washroom in frustration only to return with his middle-age father. His father then visited each toilet stall, offering his opinion on whether or not it was suitable for his son to perform a #2. Eventually the whole thing was just too much for the poor guy, and he broke down and left.

But fear is also contagious, if not hereditary. Look at how many children inherit their parents dislike of dogs or insects or heights or blood. And when fear grips an entire society, it gets a lot worse. Events like the overblown H1N1 flu pandemics or child kidnappings are just such examples, where everything from random rumours to over-repeated media coverage seem to intensify the paranoia and make everyone think that everyone else is infected or going to steal your children.

The fear of the unknown is a powerful force, and is an easy emotion for society to embrace -- particularly if the circumstances in question are unfamiliar, uncommon and dramatic/horrific.

And it makes for great entertainment too. Horror films by far prey on the mostly irrational fears we all have: It's dark. You're in the woods, alone. And a guy in a hockey mask is chasing you with a chainsaw... I mean, who wouldn't be freaked out? And what would those Japanese monster films be without the hilarious screaming masses?

And fear is not simply psychological. Often the physiological effects of what fear does to the body is quite profound. While not a doctor, I can tell that my mother-in-law's “jumping onto the couch to avoid a tiny spider” routine is probably an automatic reaction, and not one actively thought out or internally debated. Then there's the sweaty palms, the heart palpitations, the tossing of the stomach -- reminds me of grade school speeches.

Inevitably, I believe it is our innate sense of self-preservation that causes us to collect (and exhibit) fears as we age – accompanied by the instinct to protect one's family -- that drives us mad with what-if's and worry.