The First
The first man who whistled
thought he had a wren in his mouth.
He went around all day
with his lips puckered,
afraid to swallow.

Upon opening his mouth at the end of a long, dry day of walking about with a bird trapped in it, only to discover that nothing flies out, no telltale trace of feathers left behind, that the song, all along, was him and only him, is the point of both the title and the poem. The next day there could not have been another mouthful of bird. If there had been, then something would have been horribly wrong, a brain dysfunction of some stripe or other. You can only whistle first once.

It’s like throwing shoes at world leaders, after it’s been done before. It’s nothing but shameless cliché.  It’s consciously choosing to be publicly stupid, anouncing to the entire world, “I am incapable of anything but base rote. I am wholly unoriginal. My mother should have left me on a rock in the wilds the day I was born. I can do nothing else but make noise and drool!”

This cross-cultural copping of a regionally – as well as moment-in-time – specific act of demonstration makes about as much sense as burning a cross in front of Wen Jiaboa’s hotel. It’s all about set and setting. A western white boy tossing a shoe at a Chinese leader in England? I mean, come on! It’s like trying to Save the Whales by setting yourself on fire in the middle of a forest. I can only hope that he gets what he deserves, which will be his photo on the front page of every newspaper throughout the world, with the bold caption

World’s Stupidest Protester Returns to Primary School
Wants to try to get it right the second time around.

That ought to do it. This one goes into the same drawer as the John Watterberg file.

But Munatadar al-Zaidi … Well that was something else, altogether. Both of those shoes fit! But only the first time. And only there in Baghdad, at that particular moment. You can’t paint the Mona Lisa twice.

“This is from the widows, the orphans and those who were killed in Iraq!”

These were the words that accompanied the second shoe that Muntadar al-Zaidi hurled at POTUS Bush as it sailed harmlessly over the Texan’s head. The first shoe nearly nailed the US commander-in-chief, and while Mr Zaidi didn’t make contact with either, he clearly made his point, one that the whole world, with the exception of the current White House, had gotten a long time ago.

It is still unclear what will happen to Mr Zaidi, who is now a hero throughout the Middle East. I cannot speak for the rest of the world – though it appears that favorable reactions are coming from every burgh and roadside turnout around the planet – I can say that he has very favorable ratings in one little corner of Tianjin, and I suspect that corner is bigger than I know.

Mr Zaidi, who remains in custody facing seven (7) years for “an act of aggression against a visiting head of state,” has presented Iraqi Prime Minister Nuri al-Maliki with a classic dilemma. I am sure that there is an Arabic saying that mirrors the sentiments that when you swim with piranhas you best not bleed. Mr Zaidi has drawn Mr Maliki’s blood, and he might very well get eaten. I expect that this one might not be resolved until after January 20, 2008.

If Mr Bush had the least lick of sense – a quality which, if he has it, has been effectively kept secret for the last eight years – he would publicly ask for Mr Zaidi’s immediate release, invite him to the White House and present him with a new pair of shoes, an act that could be amazingly disarming, while giving justifiable anger a semi-civil forum (‘civility’ will not be restored to that office for another five weeks), and which might salvage the thinnest shred of international respect for this lamest of ducks as he heads for the infamous corral of history (or Trent Lott’s porch). I feel quite certain that Mr. Bush, who has never been accused of being disarming, will once again miss a golden opportunity to rise above the baseline of common, just as he did with 9/11, confirming once again that he failed to follow his true calling of bussing tables at a Texas diner, making small talk with the early morning biscuits ‘n gravy Stetson crowd and fetching them the newspaper as they head for the john.

If Mr Bush’s PR people would rise from the dead, the White House could sponsor a Shoes For The Homeless Holiday Drive, or a Toss A Shoe at the President fundraiser for veterans and Iraqi civilians who have lost limbs in this senseless occupation. There are so many ways that they could positively turn this, though the only thing that we can count on is that they’ll continue to do as they’ve always done. It’s so much easier to hunker in the bunker and pray for the assault to end. Unfortunately for them, their long record of crimes and villainies will dog them to their graves. Perhaps that’s the only justice we can hope for.