Make no mistake, I‛m all for disarmament. Any disarmament, from sidearms to nuclear bombs, is just fine with me. But forgive me if I no longer become unduly excited when a particularly evil weapon is discarded – or slated to be discarded.
Again, make no mistake, I do applaud the idea that Syrian lethal gas might be destroyed without the need of destroying civilians along with it – or, for that matter, of destroying soldiers along with it. But of course here, as always, all combatants will continue to acquire non-excluded lethal weapons. The suppliers – including the major negotiators and friends – will continue to feed weapons to their favourite factions.
We‛ve been this way before, although this time the political ball of wax is even more sticky than usual. Even so, in keeping with the original concept of this blog, let‛s take a peek into my files. I don‛t even remember now what particular thrilling disarmament was underway but I penned it (keyboarded), away back in the last century — in 1987.
A Disarming Song
They were fast, they were keen,
They were ugly and mean
As they warily circled the floor.
On their hips, on their thighs.
From their toes to their eyes,
They were armed with weapons galore.
They had guns, they had clubs,
They had bullets in tubs,
They had knives, they had arrows, and more,
And so fierce was their stance
In their bullet proof pants
That we customers sloped for the door.
“I will kill you,” said one,
“If you reach for your gun,
Or try to accumulate more!”
“At the moment you fire
You, too, will expire,”
Said the second, and rifled a bore.
So they stood there an age,
Like two bears in a cage,
At the ready to claw or to roar,
And the weight of the lead
In their clubs and their heads
Made their muscles and brains become sore.
Said the first, with a smile,
“Let us alter our style
And relax and unload, I implore.
I will venture my life
And deposit one knife,
A small gun, a wee club, on the floor.”
“Well done,” said the other,
“I embrace you my brother,
Equivalent arms I deplore.”
And so, soon, on the ground,
He did scatter around
A revolver, three dirks, a claymore.
“I regret,” said the one,
“That your elephant gun —
It is something I can’t quite ignore!”
“Oh, of course, my dear friend,
But please kindly defend
Your claim to that mean bangalore.”
So they spent the whole day
In a sociable way
Thus disposing of weapons that gore,
And we locals returned
To the drinks we had spurned,
Had forsaken, forgone and forswore.
There was cheering and song
From our good-natured throng
To find quiet and calm as of yore,
And we idiot folk
We did jostle and joke
Thinking peace would remain evermore.
As we stared at the boards
And saw piles, indeed hoards,
Of weapons enough for a corps,
‘Twas so cheering a sight
We were much too polite
To question the ones they still wore.
They had razors and flails,
They wore iron-link’d mail
And had bombs and bazookas in store,
But we stood there impressed,
By disarmament blessed,
As they warily circled the floor. ♣
♣ Copyright © Munroe Scott
From: Down Paradox Lane
Lindsay This Week, 15/12/87