HENRY KISSINGER WON, IDIOT

or, the internationally respected war criminal died peacefully in his bed

A brief imagined dialogue with kissinger’s ghost

ydde: Hey Hank, people on twitter are fucking owning your ass now that you’re dead.

Hank: What’s twitter?

A Brief Parable

Once there was a boy. This boy desired power, though he could never be king because he was not of the right bloodline.

But he found a different path.

He learned a bit of magic. At least enough to speak with dragons. And, as everyone knows, dragons only insist on destruction so much of the magery involved in speaking with them is simply convincing them to go burn down this or that.

Well, when the young wizard came to the king and promised him the power of a dragon, the king gave him position and power and status. The wizard unleashed the dragon where the king wished, yes, but, more often, he told the king where to unleash the dragon.

He seemed preternaturally gifted at identifying the king’s enemies before they became powerful enough to put up any resistance. This kind of talent intuition would not go unrecognized.

This was all well and good to the king and his successors, who made the wizard rich, respected, and quite important. He wore medals, was draped in awards. And he unleashed his dragon often, indiscriminately, and those places and people destroyed never really had much to say about the one guiding the dragon.

They were dead, after all.

Some did, though. Some rivals and peasants noticed how cruel and unusual this power was, but most kings and those with eyes on noble powers brushed such criticisms away.

After all, best to have the wizard and his dragon nearby, in case annihilation is required.

At this point, the parable should twist back on the boy and his naked ambition and the horrors he unleashed would fall back upon him. His own dragon would make all his accomplishments turn to ash.

But this is not really a parable.

Decades ticked by, as they do, and the wizard whose dragon killed so many fell asleep in his bed, surrounding by family, in a grand villa built for him by the king, and he died in peace and in quiet.

The new king gave a eulogy to the great wizard and his great dragon.

And his great dragon remained as the kingdom’s guardian, unleashing his power on the kingdom’s neighbors whenever orders came.

The Myth of Comeuppance

Because I was sick this last weekend I did the normal thing and watched the best version of King Lear, which is Akira Kurosawa’s Ran, which also happens to be my favorite movie. Then I watched the 2008 Shakespearean version starring Ian McKellan.

A brief summary of both movies: A powerful man makes a poor decision for his succession and everyone dies.

Perhaps too brief?

I’ll stick with Ran because it’s better (take that, nerds!) and also different enough that it kinda sorta isn’t really a version of King Lear.

Ichimonji Hidetora is a powerful warlord who forged his kingdom through 50 years of war. He’s now setting the sword down to prepare for peace for his final years. He chooses to split his kingdom between his sons (classic Charlemagne!) and to live with each of them in turn.

Well, this goes poorly! And, of course, leads to more violence and war, with each of his sons being killed by the others. His kingdom, forged in violence, in war, in pillage, collapses with him.

All is lost. None are saved.

This is what we tell ourselves happens to terrible men who do terrible things.

We want—nay!—need to believe that there is some ultimate form of justice in this mad universe. Call it karma or whathaveyou.

But the title Ran means Chaos in Japanese.

Perhaps there’s a lesson there.

We Got Him!

Henry Kissinger died at the age of 100 in his home in Connecticut. He died peacefully, surrounded by family, respected by his peers and numerous international magazines for his role in decimating other countries.

In no way, shape, or form did we, or anyone else, get him.

He won.

He got everything.

The respect. The awards. The laudations. The influence. The money.

Henry Kissinger succeeded so immensely at everything in his career, despite the very real and very accurate criticisms of his work. Books have been written about the horrors Kissinger inflicted upon the world.

Celebrating his death is not owning him even a little bit.

This man saw no repercussions for his actions. Even up to the moment of his death, his opinion was valued and preferenced with regard to any political topic.

This was one of the final public statements he made, and it was denouncing Muslim immigration into Germany:

It was a grave mistake to let in so many people of totally different culture and religion and concepts, because it creates a pressure group inside each country that does that.

Thank god we all got to hear that! And thank god it was spread internationally!

Henry Kissinger may be hated by your favorite twitter accounts and the writers of Jacobin and Current Affairs and maybe even you hated him (for good reason!) but your hate and their collective hate meant nothing.

Henry Kissinger died but first he lived. And during that life, he shaped the United States into a terror.

Henry Kissinger caused the deaths of literally millions of people.

He was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for it.

to celebrate

I mean, go on and celebrate. Be happy he’s dead.

Who cares.

But I think it’s important to recognize just how neutered this is. His influence doesn’t die with him, nor do his political tactics.

Henry Kissinger is dead but we’re living in his benighted world, babies.

So, yes, absolutely, pop some champagne and put on your favorite album, but let’s not pretend that we won anything here.

He lived to be 100!

Never spent even a moment in prison. Was never tried for war crimes.

You may all celebrate in relief that he died, but he never faced a significant consequence for his savagery.

There may be better worlds than this, but we live in the world where this happens. Where this is commonplace. Where crimes go untried and unpunished if they’re big enough.

Perhaps this, too, is a lesson. Though not a kind one.