On the way to Baghdad in 2003, in the aftermath of “prolonged, ferocious combat” in the Euphrates Valley around Najaf, General David Petraeus talked about the invasion with journalist and historian Rick Atkinson. When the interview was over, Petraeus hooked his thumbs into his flak vest and adjusted the weight on his shoulders. “Tell me how this ends,” he said.
The English poet Percy Bysshe Shelley could have told him how it ends. It ends in death and desolation, it ends in ruin. No ruler, no matter how powerful, no matter how arrogant, can escape the judgment of history. It does not redeem tyrants, it exposes them as posturing frauds . . .
I met a traveler from an antique land,
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone,
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay,
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Round the decay of that colossal wreck Dick Cheney, the boundless crimes of his torturers are being exposed and laid bare. But with a sneer of cold command . . .
he has told America to look upon his mighty works, and despair that Obama will not keep America “safe” like Dick Cheney did, with rape and sodomy and torture.