Addicted To War

WIKILEAKS: American Gov't Kept Quiet About Murders Of Gays In Iraq

Gay City News reports today that according to a portion of latest documents revealed via Wikileaks, the Pentagon knew about the murders of gay men in Iraq for more than a year before news outlets reported them. Via Duncan Osborne:

“The male was shot (___) times in the chest, and a note was discovered on the body stating that the man had been killed by ___ for stealing cars and being homosexual,” read the January 1, 2005, memo, in which some words were redacted. The body was discovered in Ramadi, a city in central Iraq, and a note was left at the scene by the gunmen who killed the man. The fact that the note was written in advance of the killing suggests that the gunmen knew whom they were targeting and why they were killing him, and had time to plan and prepare for the murder.

“After talking with the locals (through an ___), a CO discovered that the male was killed at approximately 1545C by gunmen driving past in a vehicle,” the memo read. “The vehicle drove past, fired, dropped the note, and then fled. The note is being brought back to - -___ for further analysis. No friendly casualties or damage to equipment reported.”

Gay City News found the memo by searching on wikileaks.org with keywords such as gay, lesbian, homosexual, fag, and faggot. The 2005 memo was the only document Gay City News found that related to the killings of gay Iraqis. Gay City News first reported on such killings in March of 2006. Reporter Doug Ireland, who authored that first story, found killings that occurred as early as April of 2005. An April 2006 report from the United Nations added further evidence that gay, lesbian, and transgender Iraqis were being targeted.

Read Duncan Osborne's complete report.

Michael Luongo Returns To Baghdad

This week Gay City News launches a four-part series from Michael Luongo in which he examines "what changed and what didn't" since he last investigated gay life in Iraq in 2007. Here's an excerpt from the first installment:

This visit would be full of stark contrasts. It was as if there were two different Baghdads — at least. I would interview men from Sadr City, one of the poorest, most dangerous districts, who talked about friends killed by sprays of bullets in drive-by shootings, their gathering places firebombed, their names posted on lists, others raped and disappeared by militia-infested police squadrons at checkpoints. I would see a hospital where the bodies of gay men had been dumped, their anuses closed shut from a heavy glue used to torture them. I would visit a safe house, chatting with gay men and transgender Iraqis who hid for safety, yet at the same time were welcoming and life-affirming, teaching me gay Arabic slang and joking about sex with gay Saddam-look-alikes.

And I would meet other men from different parts of Baghdad, young, fashionable, masculine, with far less to fear, who did in fact cruise along the colorful banks of the Tigris on Abu Nuwaz Street and spend their evenings at fashionable cafés popular among gays in West Baghdad, flirting with men they met through the website Manjam as they sat back in comfortable seats visible from the street. I would grow to fall in love with a newly vibrant Baghdad. Not that I didn’t still have much to fear as a visiting gay journalist — from conversations that could be tapped to entrapment, spies, and the bullets of panicked Iraqi soldiers.

Read the entire first installment.

Rachel Maddow On Iraq Withdrawal

Well, that was a few trillion well spent. Thanks, Dubya.

Snake Eggs & Saddam Hussein

Pastor Chuck Pierce, head wacko of the Glory of Zion International Ministries, says that his prayers to God allowed U.S. troops to capture Saddam Hussein. Right Wing Watch has posted this excerpt from Pierce's book, which recounts a prayer meeting between Rev. Cuckoo and other pastors:

The Lord then showed me a nest of snake eggs. He said "There are four snake eggs that are lying in wait, and from this state I am giving you the power tonight to crush those snake eggs. In this state tonight, you will be able to decree to Babylon that the strongman that has not been found will now be found in the next seven days." Then Pastor Dutch said "Expose him. We declare exposure. We declare the eggs are being crushed under our feet in Jesus' name. Under our feet, under our feet, under our feet. Break it! We say witchcraft is broken that hides him in Jesus' name."

Members of the local pastoral leadership and the national military agreed with the prophetic decree. Pastor Darrell Feemster declared that the Fourth Infantry Division from San Antonino would be blessed to bring down the spirit of Babylon and to raise up a Christian nation in Iraq. Greg Jackson, a representative of the military, proclaimed "As a witness to this prophetic word in this house, as a representative of the Armed Forces in the state of Texas, I declare in the name of the Lord, it shall be!" A roar went up from the crowd. That roar entered the atmosphere and, I believe, traveled by the Spirit of God all the way to Iraq ... Troops from the Fourth Infantry went in and found Saddam Hussein three days later! Even though many were praying around the world, I believe it takes corporate gatherings at times to express God's purpose in the earth. I could see why God had wanted this revelation decreed in San Antonino, Texas.

Pierce's book, The Future War of the Church: How We Can Defeat Lawlessness and Bring God's Order to the Earth, is now available in paperback.

Obama Announces End Of Combat Operations In Iraq As Of August 31st

Today President Obama announced that combat operations in Iraq will cease on August 31st, with a transitional occupation force to remain for another year.

“As a candidate for President, I pledged to bring the war in Iraq to a responsible end. Shortly after taking office, I announced our new strategy for Iraq and for a transition to full Iraqi responsibility. And I made it clear that by August 31, 2010 America’s combat mission in Iraq would end. That is exactly what we are doing—as promised, and on schedule.” The president says that by the end of the month more than 90,000 troops will have come home from Iraq since he took office. “As agreed to with the Iraqi government, we will maintain a transitional force until we remove all our troops from Iraq by the end of next year,” Obama said of the 50,000 transitional force that will remain, “During this period, our forces will have a focused mission—supporting and training Iraqi forces, partnering with Iraqis in counterterrorism missions, and protecting our civilian and military efforts.”

Meanwhile the number of U.S. troops in Afghanistan continues to increase.

Matrix Directors Plan Gay Love Story

The quirky Wachowski siblings, whose Matrix trilogy earned bajillions, are planning to film a love story between a gay American soldier and an Iraqi man.

Production Weekly took to Twitter to report that casting on the film has begun. There's not a wealth of information out there about CN9 -- in fact, all we really know for sure at this point is that it's going to be a "hard-R war picture about a homosexual American soldier who falls in love with an Iraqi." But, before you assume it's just Brokeback Mountain set in the Middle East, consider that CN9 could stand for the ninth cranial nerve (it does in medical terminology), which is the nerve responsible for receiving information from the tongue, middle ear, and tonsils according to website Playlist. When you do that, the site suggests that it doesn't seem like a stretch to picture the filmmaking duo once again venturing into the world of strange alternate realities and sci-fi.

The movie will be set in the "near future" and work backwards through the war, according to the above-linked story.

The Global Peace Index

According to the Global Peace Index, Iraq is the most dangerous place in the world for the fourth year in a row. The most peaceful: New Zealand. Interactive timeline, map, and stats at the link. The United States ranks 85th, just above Angola.

(Via - Andrew Sullivan)

Mr. Fleet Week

Originally posted May 28th, 2007

Mr. Fleet Week is climaxing. Waist-deep in the Hudson River he stands, back arched, toes curling, straining...UGH...to blow his patriotic load of bipedal cannon fodder one last time over America's well-fingered g-spot, Midtown Manhattan. That spot, after six nights of polite (compared to the locals) but woefully unskilled (ditto) attention, is currently wavering perilously between grateful, exhausted satiety and "not tonight fuckwads, I have a headache." As I watch the streets of Gotham swell a final time with jarheads and swabbies - all of them young perfect happy bounding eager horny puppies, their arrival again strikes me with feelings of envy and apprehension. They also make me think of boobies, but we'll get to that in a bit.

The enlisted men, who comprise a mammoth portion of the visiting servicefolk, trod confidently, five abreast, down the almost deserted streets of midtown, streets that only hours earlier were abandoned by legions of locals fleeing to their summer refuges in the Hamptons, Fire Island, Newport, Cape Cod. The swabbies stream past posh drinkeries where smiling men in suits stand at the open doors, welcoming all. (They have spirited away the "not you, maybe you, never you" ropes. ) Hey Navy! No cover! Fleet Week specials! The jarheads that come inside are probably well-aware that if they were employees here, they'd likely always be "back of the house" material to most of these beaming restaurateurs, who this week are eagerly waving Puerto Rican gunners and Mexico-born supply clerks into their depopulated VIP sections. But it's OK. Everybody who's anybody is out of town.

The swabbies don't know that the folks who live behind the darkened-till-September windows of that fly penthouse duplex (with roof garden access!) consider Fleet Week the start of the "stink season," an expression that means exactly what you think it doesn't. These are the Ugly New Yorkers, the folks who spend a rilly, rilly unappealing amount of their time making it loudly known that Manhattan is the only place in the world to live if you are a Worthwhile and/or Important Person. (Except, you know, in the summer, when it isn't.) We hate them. And if we had a bajillion dollars we would go right out and buy a ginormous house in Upper Hamptaukategue Bay-On-Ocean and spend all summer long glaring at them from the cabana on our private beach. We'd give those plus-one Conde Nasties and guest list Viacommies a frowning they wouldn't soon forget, we tell you what. 'Course, all that frowning would be one way, cuz...well, you know.

Sorry. Back to reality. On the corner of 10th Avenue and 50th, street vendors have cagily created a push-cart gauntlet, an obstacle course of crapola. Later tonight, this Spanglish Armada of bootleg reggaeton CDs, counterfeit Yankee hats and Twin Towers snow globes will prove irresistible to beer-goggled ensigns as they stagger towards the forbidding superstructure of the U.S.S. Wasp, which intimidates even the nearby Notable NYC Landmarks. And they are Official Kodak Photo Spots (™), so that there's some high-end intimidatin', missy. Must be the nuke-tipped missiles. The vendors lie in wait, confident, relaxing. It's way early. It's gonna be a while before that first Tupac Lives t-shirt gets airbrushed, before somebody gets their baby mama's name burned onto a plaque bearing the likenesses of the Holy Trinity: Mother Teresa, the BVM, and Jennifer Lopez. Don't be mad at the rocks that they got.

But, you know, fuck all that noise, dude. Because right now, on this last night, especially fucking tonight, dude, Fleet Week has better things to do with its money.

Bro, we gotta roll. Leave dat shit on the table, son. We get it the way back, aiight? Long as you ain't throwed you money at every bitch you seen. (HIGH FIVE!)

You see, right now most of the men in Manhattan who are wearing white bell bottoms are likely carrying a fat roll of singles, a rubber-banded roll of dollar bills smirkingly acquired from the too-bored-to-be-disgusted tellers at every midtown branch of Chase or Commerce or Citibank. The tellers know where those singles are headed. Walking away from the bank, the roll of ones is fingered anxiously in each man's pocket. This is everything left over from his entire leave, savings harvested via hot dog carts, bottom shelf whisky, and walking back to the Wasp instead of taking a cab, even though there's five of you and it woulda only cost about 4 bucks each. Five, tops.

But, ah, five extra dollars to add to the roll of singles means five extra individual opportunities to place those dollars where they been destined to go. And that's to UNICEF's Feed The Children Fund. Snort. No. Actually, like Boy George, those singles are headed for a very short but closely scrutinized life on the NYC stage. There they will be shoved into the gaping orifices and glittery sweat-soaked thongs of the most popular and well-paid dancers of the New York City stage. Just like Boy George. Hah! Hey, the drummer just give me a rim shot! Just like Boy George! You're. Welcome.

The "gentlemen's establishments" 'round here seem tireless in their efforts to direct testicle-owning Gothamites to their nipplistiscated nightclubs, but even with their Howard Stern promotions, their taxi ads, their billboards, and their vampiric army of creepy Night Of The Steve Buscemi Living Dead guys handing out flyers all over Times Square, nobody seems to know where the strip clubs are. I can tell you without exaggeration that over the last week I have been asked, "Where the pussy at?" about a hundred million jillion times. Wait, it was three times. Whatever. The third time you mention pussy to the average gay man, his spam filter has kicked in. You can keep talkin' all you want, but like that guy who wants to share his Nigerian lotto winnings with you, you're just lying there unnoticed. Just like Boy George! (Yeah, still funny.)

I'm just about to cross Broadway when the intersection becomes flooded in a sea of white. An ill-organized flotilla of swabbies, perhaps one hundred in number, is milling around, anxious, excited, wanting to get somewhere really fast but having no idea where they are going or how to get there. The scene reminds me of a certain comic-book themed gay activist group. Some of the sailors shout conflicting directions to the others, but they do not appear to be in charge. Again, I am reminded. One of them says, "Dude, this sucks. We're almost outta time. Let's just all go do our own thing." Reminded.

Then the light changes, the sailors surge, and somebody shouts, "Don't nobody know the fuck where the pussy at?" And I die a little inside. At least they didn't ask me. Somebody says, "Ask the hot nuts guy!" And still they don't ask me. How rude. Some dude cups his hands and shouts, "Fellas, y'all just gotta stay going on 7th Avenue down to 23rd. It's 'bout a thirty minute walk, fifteen if you double-time it." And in a Broadway choreography miracle that is the stuff of which Tonys are made, one hundred young men instantly coalesce into a united multi-legged creature, a single-minded, purpose-driven, white bell-bottomed Naval sperm in search of an egg, probably one named Autumn, or maybe Summer, who is currently working her way through law school by stripping.

I stand there smiling, thinking there can't possibly be enough ho's in da house for when all those boys arrive. I watch them disappear past Red Lobster and I turn back to 42nd Street, thinking how I hope those boys at least get a good thrill from the dancers. And how I hope that a lot of them get to shove their damn singles wherever they want. Then I realize that all the titty bars I happen to be familiar with seem to be on 11th Avenue, not 7th Avenue, and I wince at the thought that those boys may have blown the last hours of their last night in New York City swimming up the wrong Fallopian tube. I can't imagine what grim nightmare the U.S.S. Wasp may have in store for her crew. But I hope every. single. one. of them gets this pussy thing that intrigues them so. The ones that want it, anyway. Including the girls. Especially the girls.

IRAQ: Army Orders Soldier To Remove Anti-Gay Facebook Video

A U.S. soldier stationed in Iraq is being investigated for posted a Facebook video in which he mocks two young Iraqi boys, asking if they are little "faggots" who are good at gay sex and whether they will grow up to be terrorists. Army officials have ordered the solider to remove the video from his page, but it has already been widely copied elsewhere.

The soldier, Spc. Robert A. Rodriguez, posted the video with the title “future gay terrorist” with the description, “i got bored in iraq…so i kept myself entertained!” The person on the video (it’s unclear it is Spc. Rodriguez, although the description certainly makes it sound like it is) asks whether the two young boys are gay, using a gay slur, and if they engage in a sex act. Next, he asks, “You gonna grow up to be a terrorist?” while the boys give a thumbs up, presumably not understanding the question. One soldier who WRAL played the video to called it “stupidity and boredom” and the army’s official response so far is that the video is “disgraceful” and the matter is “currently under investigation.”

IRAQ: Soldiers Show Support For Gays In The Military With Sexy Dance Video

Via Towleroad, soldiers in Iraq show support for gays in the military with a silly and sexy routine set to Ke$ha. From the clip description: "Created by Codey Wilson and his elite step team of volunteers. Don't give us a hard time for this, please? We're just a few good men trying to enjoy ourselves and get this deployment over with. No one is gay... that we know of. Not that there is anything wrong with that!"

Andy Towle opines: "Popped collars, go-go dancing atop heavy equipment, nudity, lip-dubbing in the showers. These are all things to be extremely concerned about if gays are allowed to serve openly in the military! Though it appears the straight guys have beat them to it."