It Was Mother

It Was Real

It Was Real
Wayras Olivier

Real life always seems to bend and spread when it can no longer resist the advances made by those who believe in sure things. Only when one is left alone to obsess over the shaky details of an affair (When did protection fail? In what position did entry occur? How many rounds went off?) can one ably conclude that people, not life, get off when turning tricks. As one can certainly see, this is a November issue. A presidential one that precedes, if not trumps, anything Clinton's husband did in the oval office. Few ever ask the question why it happened. It's been tuned out. It's this tuning out then, (either manually or automatically), of November 22nd 1963, that qualifies as the real "conspiracy.' A bandwidth of information was indeed corrected to sound polished, less offensive and simple, by a cabal of engineers who didn't want the reasons behind "white noise" to alarm you. High fidelity is a public guarantee, evidently, (for those who didn't touch the knob) that when a swan song reaches ones eardrum—zero distortion, suppression, alteration, or loss of source material occurred when the tracks were, in private, laid down.

Engineers do not conspire, so to speak, to compromise on this guarantee even when they record and deliver a cover. Yet they manage, somehow, to go unrecognized as the intelligence that balances the notes that spin history. Keep others entranced, they may think, in the mystery of how a one-hit wonder is made, and they will never ask why it is made. So, since we're on the subject, how about all those records scheduled for release next year? One must still face the challenging scope of how to—assuming there will be more than just bullet points—handle and riffle through them with care. That is:

  1. 5 million pages of records in the JFK Act collection
  2. 300,000+ documents in the JFK Act database

when they are declassified in their entirety on October 26th, 2017. From the above figures, according to Martha Murphy, Chief of Special Access and Freedom of Information Act (FOIA), 1.1% continue to have partial redactions, and 3,000+ are currently unattainable. Does one care? Let's say, just for a moment, one does. Now consider reading all the above documents and then referencing them against the 888 page prosecutorial document, The Warren Commission, in its entirety. All 10 volumes of "evidence" that, by design, would purportedly align with the 15 volumes of testimony from 552 witnesses, which you would then have to tabulate to see if and how a magic wand was used. Not to mention a quick browse through a few books from both camps:

Lone Gunman Theory Disputed Lone Gunman Theory
Deep Politics Reclaiming History
By Peter Dale Scott By Vincent Bugliosi
JFK and the Unspeakable Case Closed
By James W. Douglass By Gerald Posner
The Devil's Chessboard  
By David Talbot  

And then in the interim, reconstruct fragments of forgotten conversations one may have overheard, at one time or another about some guy: Anthony Larry Paul, a ballistics expert, and that laughable laser bullet trajectory analysis he did that "proved" (because lasers were used) that the magic bullet came from the 6th floor. Or Dr. Vincent Guinn's neutron activation analysis, that besieged "the bullet" with neutrons that made something or another radioactive which then made it possible for him to uh, isolate them on uh, I think it was called uh, a gamma ray spectrometer, which then...listen, it wasn't magic; it was science. Conclusive proof for those on the right side. On the above reading list, that is.

And why is this "evidence," in its entirety, important to consider? It's important to consider because one can be seduced into taking shortcuts to prevent being Snowden' by an avalanche of facts n' figures. You know, to the point where, like black ice, it's everywhere and nowhere, the unseen obstacle to traction. It's enough to make one melt. Down where most people live, on the outside looking in—the best position to remain objective—is, as it were, the least suitable position if one's objective is to be objective about information released from the inside. One is certainly grabbing at salt, not straws, when they (whoever that may be) lead you to believe something is not happening on the inside. That's the thing about higher intelligence, if you're not careful it can MOLD—Misrepresent, Omit, Lie and Distort—one's conclusions through positivist thinking, (you thought I said positive, didn't you?) leaving one with nothing to examine and assess other than information that is directly front and center. Look outside the box and you make other people right when they nod cynically and say "you need help."

"You had a correspondence and working relationship with Mr. Garrison, could you tell us a little about that?" asked Jeff Steinberg of the man he was interviewing on The LaRouche Connection in November 1992, a year after JFK was released. The man jumped right in:

"Well, I know you know that Garrison wrote a book On the Trail of the Assassins and because we had corresponded for years he sent me a manuscript of his book and I thought the book was wonderful but it was the story of Miami, New Orleans, Dallas and it didn't think about Washington, New York, Frankfurt Germany—the money centers. To me you got to follow the money line. So I would write to Jim and I'd say look the book is good but you got to put this in, or this, and he respected that."

The man was Leroy Fletcher Prouty. And you begin thinking to yourself, having missed the opening of the interview when introductions were made, this is the guy—the help—who in JFK went by the name Mr. X. The man Donald Sutherland played who knew about National Security Action Memorandum NO.55, a document Kennedy published in the summer of 1961, after the Bay of Pigs blunder, that, depending on who was reading it, had several fatal bullet points. Chief among them was the one that declared that the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) would be culpable for all hostility protocols (extreme and conventional) he advised Kennedy on; protocols that would then go on under the purview of the National Security Council—not the CIA. This would make it decidedly difficult for certain operations to remain unscrutinized, one in particular that paired the CIA and the FBI with the Mafia and the S-Force (Anti-Castro Cubans in Florida) to a single nexus called Operation Mongoose, a clandestine operation that was trying desperately to book an appointment with the Beard in Cuba to give him a good clipping. The head barber was a general, who in the film has his desk plaque obscured by a paperweight so the audience can only see M/GEN. E.G. followed by a barely visible NS and the last letter of his last name E. He is referred to as General "Y" in the film, and the blanks of his name, should you care to check, can be filled in to make: Edward Geary Lansdale, who at the time was a real United States Air Force General working for the CIA. The one who, at least in the film, gets the phone call that informs him it's a go [to murder Jack], and that they need him: "to come up with a plan."

Does it make a difference where one chooses to separate X and Y? Of course it does. For the same reason that if one can no longer fit into their jeans, it's because one is pretending to be someone they're not. So how about this? Born after 1963 one is Generation X; born after 1977 one is Generation Y. Here's how it lays out if you were a Y, barely starting high school when JFK was released in 1991; the ethical implications of eugenics, that history is written by the victors, and in turn can be subject to historical revisionism, were all proteins that teachers did not want to shake for consumption. (Christopher Columbo, he was the black pimp in Vacation who refused to give Chevy Chase directions to the freeway, right? I thought so.) On the other hand, if one were an X, routinely high as a bird or wormed into books, making it relatively easier to see subjects (perhaps not with clarity) but at least at a greater distance, Mr. X (who incidentally is from the G.I. Generation) wouldn't have come off as such a trip. But I can't speak for all X's. Many conservative ones out there would have taken Mr. X's food for thought as an insult to swallow; junk that would have made it hard for them to zip up if they took on any extra weight.

So how then did the film tip the scales? It's rather simple. Keeping in line with the Kennedy Administration, Mr. X is really just Merlin birthing another Arthur inside our—and Garrison's (Kevin Costner's)—imagination so that the Camelot mythos survives. A narrative that blurs the line between verifiable history and urban legend is the fastest way to turn a man's crank. It will keep him up all night. Marilyn Monroe knew how to do this. It's called intrigue.

Watch how on D.C.'s "hill," Stone ingeniously shows—ingenious because the real Garrison never met Prouty before the trial—to the audience what reality looks like when it has become a commodity. That's what Garrison and Mr. X's meeting is really all about. Dètente. Between whom? Those who manufacture reality and those who consume it. It could just as easily then, as it is now, be manufactured. Reality, that is. And if necessary, carefully traded in, or even returned for a version that doesn't squeak when it is sold. Could it be that Stone is asking the viewer to examine silence? Something that is beyond the capacity of a sheep but something a shepherd on a hill is obligated to be suspicious of. That's right, where you stand is a function of where you sit. On that hill and bench, Mr. X is not asking (with his story) for the viewer to take another seat; he can't. He is merely reflecting back to the viewer where they stand. In layman's terms:

  1. How do you perceive and react in general to authority?
  2. What do you do with information given to you by an authority?
  3. And most critically, can you discern where the authority (who is giving you the information) sits on "the spectrum," or, worse, leads you to believe they sit.

Talcott Parsons divided it five ways but it can also, for simplicity's sake, be divided three ways. I like the version by Daniel Sheehan, author of The People's Advocate, who divides the spectrum seven ways. It leaves more wiggle room, reducing the tendency to compartmentalize and hold hostage a political issue any time it begins to irritate one's borders. When graphed:

  1. Left Systematists (Utopianists)
  2. Left Marginalists (Progressives)
  3. Left Middle Marginalists (Liberals)
  4. Middle Marginalists (Moderates)
  5. Right Middle Marginalists (Conservatives)
  6. Right Marginalists (Reactionaries)
  7. Right Systematists (Authoritarians)

You get the point. It makes no difference how you divide the spectrum—three ways or seven ways—if you're watching a "classic" like The American President. Rob Reiner and Aaron Sorkin's sweeping take on how Spartacus Jr. manages the country's public and foreign policies while softening a journalist's stink eye. A walkover, that is to say, a marginal spectrum: left, middle, and right works well on any narrative that clearly distinguish between, red, white and blue. Impose this model on positions or scenarios with multiple colours, for instance the ones taken by that other American president who indeed engages in three ways, administers people's last goodbye in cold blood but also shows genuine concern for the welfare of the man who makes him those killer baby back ribs, and you'll find yourself placing that midnight call to your mother: "Ma, I'm supposed to hate Kevin Spacey, right?" "Um, hello," she'll quip. To get your answer requires that you, this time around, think inside the box. Along with Situations, Values, Principles and Loyalties, the most common names ascribed to the four quadrants that construct "the box," there are at least half a dozen other names.

Daniel Sheehan was a student who didn't want another name. He spent two years at Harvard badgering Ralph B. Potter, professor of comparative social ethics and creator of the Potter Box, for the insoluble subject from which each of the box's quadrants are based. Potter finally caved in and gave Sheehan the answer to how a person constructs, pursuant to their worldview, their politics.

Cosmology Teleology
Ontology Epistemology


Said another way, these are the criteria one uses, consciously or unconsciously, to mark one's own X on the spectrum above. When Mr. X shows up to hand over his "secrets" to Garrison, the audience will synthesize his verbiage with these four hitherto mentioned subjects: (1) Cosmological: how as a species did we come into existence? (2) Teleological: the function of the universe (now that it's here) is what? (3) Ontological: what (not who) is a human being? (4) Epistemological: What faculties do we as a species have at our disposal to discern for certain what is true and false? Now, if one vehemently denies that this process occurs, and says in protest, "I don't think, I merely adopted the politics of my parents, which came from their parents, so on and so forth," don't kid yourself, one of your foremothers considered this exercise as a precursor to Mr. Forefather placing another bun in the oven. The need, or desire at least, to break bread occurs when one also realizes that their operational definition of violence comes from where their X is positioned on the spectrum. One will stay put or shuffle a few seats sideways (in either direction), the moment Mr. X releases this secret:

"The organizing principle of any society, Mr. Garrison, is for war. The authority of the state over its people resides in its war powers."

That's right. To the utopianists, this statement would sound absurd, even downright cynical. They already know, somehow, that a plutocracy generates irrational wealth through the organizing principle of benevolence.

"The American fascist would prefer not to use violence. His method is to poison the channels of public information,"
Henry A. Wallace (FDR's vice president), once said. The troubling and slightly more sobering point, (the one he did not conclude with), is that poisoning the channels of public information is, itself, a form violence. If taking the role of shepherd makes one a tad nauseous, there's always the soothing and gentle, Peter Landesman's 2013 film Parkland based on Vincent Bugliosi's 2007 book Reclaiming History. It's difficult, however, to get away with a prank if you're upfront, is it not? Take note how JFK cites the two books the film is based on: On the Trail of the Assassins by Jim Garrison and Crossfire by Jim Marrs, and furthermore forgoes the title card "based on true events," while Parkland scrolls in the opening "based on true events" yet waits a few minutes into the end credits before it cites the film's one source.

"You can't distort history and he's [Stone] done that. It's okay to fictionalize history as long as you call it fiction. But Oliver hasn't done that. He wants his people to believe that his movie is the truth." Bugliosi said, in an interview back in 2007 on to promote his book. (This is the same man, one must remember, who poisoned the channels in 1986 when he starred as himself in a 300+ minute "what if' courtroom scenario in Showtime's On Trial: Lee Harvey Oswald, where real witnesses testified and a jury found Oswald guilty.) That's the thing about fake vomit, you may not be able smell how nasty it is but you can sure put your finger on it.

But it's the TFX Contract, (a mere twinge of a mention in JFK) that Prouty, in his interview with Steinberg, strangely, almost strategically, chose to end on. Which also, rather unspectacularly, left out the various tranches of players one would expect to hear about from an insider talking about the money line, not to mention the various groups involved that are spoken of so freely by conspiracy theorists in general. Prouty sets up how Kennedy ordered McNamara to strategically reallocate the TFX Contract (a fighter plane contract, worth six billion dollars), across the U.S. counties he [Kennedy] would need the greatest political support from to secure a future second term. Prouty recalls: "It was a beautiful plan. It took walls of the Pentagon covered with these maps and then McNamara, on the 23rd of November 1962, allocated that contract. Well in the halls of the Pentagon you couldn't hear a civil word. I mean, "Kennedy that' and "Goddamn Kennedy' this, because everyone knew that the contract was supposed to go to the contractor that the Eisenhower administration had set up. Things like that create pressures. Saying he's not going to put Americans in Vietnam, that war ran to a minimum cost of 220 billion dollars probably all up to 500 billion dollars. People will kill for money like that. They'll kill for contracts within that. Ten million men were flown to Saigon by commercial airlines, that was worth a billion dollars they wouldn't have gotten. So when you create that kind of pressure, you create what it takes to murder a president. And the decision then is very clean. Handled by a few people. The gunmen come from outside the United States. Nobody knows about it. There's no Cubans involved. There's no Mafia involved, there's no this involved, all of these things people talk about. That's a cover story. A cover story is the most difficult thing to run. That's been running thirty years now. And think of the pressures that cover story has been creating over the last thirty years. To keep it up front. To have really famous intelligent newspaper men say "there's no substantive history anything except that Oswald killed Kennedy' and so on and so on. It's a cover story. It's ridiculous. A cover story is a terrible thing to create. Murder is simple. Just a little scalpel and you do it."

Paranoia is a great windowpane, a point of view that does not cover a single thing and frames fight and flight together to fracture and prove that various shades of colour come together to make up one seemingly transparent beam of light. Even the moon conspires against us with its politics, covering and showing us only one side of itself indefinitely. Jack knew this. Why do you suppose he wanted to conquer it? It's in the business of timing the appearance of sure things: wealth, health and happiness. It's on the record.

"You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today And then one day you find ten years have got behind you. No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun."

That's David Gilmour warning about the politics of time on
The Dark Side of the Moon.