What do you think of this little tidbit from the Wall Street Journal:
The Obama administration is offering to cede some control over nighttime missions into Afghan village homes, U.S. officials say, in a bid to ease tensions with Afghan President Hamid Karzai. . . .
The administration’s most significant proposed concession on night raids would subject the operations to advance review by Afghan judges, U.S. military officials said. One option under discussion in U.S.-Afghan talks would require warrants to be issued before operations get the green light.
Come again? Our soldiers will have to go to Afghan, i.e. Muslim, judges to get warrants to conduct nighttime raids against Taliban and al-Qaeda cells? How’s that going to work out? How, in other words, does this “concession” differ from a capitulation?
Here are a couple of possible scenarios:
1. Marine infidel goes to local imam judge and says: “We think some baddies are hiding out in cave number 276 just behind that pack of dusty lean-tos off the second dirt path on your right. Can we raid ‘em tonight?” Imam judge says, “By all means, but give it a few hours, will you, so I can tip off my cousin and he and the boys can round up some more AK 47s and be waiting to ambush you when you come?”
2. Marine infidel goes to local judge (there must be one or two) who is not part of the Islamist network. He says “OK, good to go,” but winds up like that horse’s head in the first Godfather movie.
The Obama administration is worried about “tensions with Afghan President Hamid Karzai,” especially after Sgt. Bales lost it last week and shot up the joint. Here’s my advice: If President Karzai doesn’t like the way the U.S. military does business, fine: we should pull out and leave him to his Korans, beheadings, and primitive misogynistic dustbowl. It’s become pretty clear that we are not in Afghanistan to win, but merely to help manage Obama’s political capital. If dozens of U.S. soldiers have to be sacrificed along the way, well, you know the story about making an omelet without breaking eggs. (Though as Orwell asked: where’s the omelet?)