Deeper Darkness Behind the Wolfowitz Scandal

If the neocons all hopped a spaceship for the Hale-Bopp comet tomorrow – indeed, if the cult had never arisen at all – we would still be right where we are today: neck-deep in the Big Muddy.

That's not to say, of course, that we weren't misled into Iraq, or that strings aren't being pulled for a war on Iran, or that flames aren't being fanned to widen the Middle East war – or that the gaggle of third-rate thinkers and first-class troublemakers loosely grouped under the rubric "neocohn" aren't intimately involved in all of these affairs. They are, in spades. But to accuse them of playing the central role in America's on-going Götterdämmerung gives them an importance they don't deserve – and unduly mitigates the guilt of the true culprits: the good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon boardroom buccaneers of the American Establishment, bred for generations to feast on war and rumors of war, and to regard the hoi polloi as mere cannon fodder and cash cows to be mulched and milked as needed.

In a sense I feel bad for Wolfowitz. He's been a faithful errand-boy for the world's richest people his entire career, providing their various rape-and-pillage schemes with an intellectual veneer they could never come up with themselves. During these decades he must have witnessed scenes of decadence and corruption that would make Caligula blush. Yet when he tries to imitate his patrons on one-millionth the scale, his career is ruined. Life is so unfair!