Discover Politics

Before he went on to conquer, terrorize and generally lay waste to the known world, Genghis Kahn was big into animal husbandry. He wanted nothing more than to live the shepherd’s life; tend the sheep, oxen, ride the ponies, lay around the Mongolian steppe all day chewing on a blade of wild grass, hunt a bit, play with the kids then head back to the ger at night, responsibly sip fermented ox milk and maybe if the moon and stars aligned just right partake in a little romance with the wife. You could say that Genghis Kahn’s first aspirations were that of a bucolic dairy farmer.

But bad things kept happening to him. Bad things like his father getting murdered by rival clan members, his new bride getting kidnapped on their honeymoon by rival clan members (he got her back but that is another story), his own kidnapping as a youth by rival clan members; just bad deal after bad deal. If it wasn’t enough for rival clans to pour all sort of misfortune on the budding shepherd, his own clan abandoned him and his family after his old man unknowingly drank the poison that took his life; essentially a death sentence for his family in those days. Survival on the steppe was difficult enough with members of clan helping out, but to be clanless was nigh well impossible (except for someone of remarkable fortitude like our protagonist) to make it. Not a lot of Mongolian safety net in the 12th century. So Temujin, as he was known as a youth, finally said “I’m mad as hell and I’m not gonna take it anymore,” changed career paths, and decided to become king of the world just so people would leave him and family alone.

If life failed to give him peace, he would take peace. He would demand peace by revolutionizing the art of war, and with overwhelming force—shock and awe. With peace, he would establish rule of law for all, including himself and his family members (most of whom he thought very little), happily dismantle any aristocracy with which he happened to cross paths, put in place the first real meritocracy known to humankind (talent, not seniority or who ya’ knew mattered to the Great Kahn), was tolerant of all religions (no fatwas allowed), and generally initiated the creation of the modern world*.

Genghis Kahn is my hero.

There are timely lessons to learn from his story.

Most importantly is the inviolable fact that peace doesn’t just happen, it is made to happen through strength. Nowhere in history has peace been made by just talking about it. A solid study of the bad old days shows that peace is made by talking about it after strength is established. That’s why dogs bare their teeth before they tangle. They are saying: “These great big fangs will cause all manner of pain and disfiguring scars upon you if you have the bad judgment to take one more ill-advised step forward. I dare you.”

Neville Chamberlain was the prime minister of the United Kingdom in the late 1930’s. Back then an odd German corporal was rearming the Teutonic state for war. England decided, under the Prime Minister’s weenieish leadership, to talk about peace with the odd German corporal. Chamberlain flew to Germany and asked for peace rather than baring the famously crooked and poorly maintained collective British teeth and demanding peace: “These great big, albeit crooked and poorly brushed, fangs will cause all manner of pain and disfiguring scars upon you if you have the bad judgment to take one more ill-advised step forward. The British people dare you.”

No, Neville came on bended knee, giving away a part of Czechoslovakia that wasn’t his in something called the Munich Agreement. What he got in return for his supplication was a worthless piece of paper, pure vapor, signed by the odd German corporal promising peace between the two countries. Chamberlain, upon his inglorious return home, famously waved the agreement above his head in the opened door of his airplane and declared “Peace in our time!”

Hail the conquering hero!

A year later Hitler ordered the blitzkrieg of Poland, and the rest, including the bombing of London, is quite literally history.

Neville Chamberlain, that ignominious appease-nick, is not my hero.

A few years ago a strange dictator in the cradle of civilization not only rattled his scimitar he frequently pulled it from its scabbard. He invaded Iran and Kuwait with the fourth largest army in the world. With constant glee he threatened stability in the Middle East and went to bed at night dreaming of wiping the United States and Israel off the face of the earth. He saw himself as the reincarnation of Suleiman who would wipe out the modern-day crusaders. Sorry Saddam, Suleiman was indeed magnificent. You were merely a vile and strange dictator. Strange and vile dictators with big armies cause lots of problems.

Just ask the ghost of Neville Chamberlain.

When the Iraqi government found Saddam guilty of crimes against humanity, justice was served. When the Iraqi government executed Saddam for crimes against humanity justice was really served. It is not quite possible for a strange and vile dictator who hates America to cause problems when his head is separated from his body. I bet 1940 Londoners wish they would have invaded Germany in 1938 rather than, as they say, bending over, and captured the odd little corporal, tried him, found him guilty and then separated his noggin from his torso.

My father, and his generation, was the last of the tough, hard men in America. He told me few things that stuck because he was much adverse to talking to wimpish and soft bookworms. But he broke his silence one day to impose wisdom on me that was never lost. He said, “My wimpish and soft son, if you ever think you are going to get in a fight, Heaven help you, throw the first punch. Whoever throws the first punch has the advantage.” Then he returned to his barstool, emptied his draft and called for another.

Genghis Khan threw the first punch, Winston Churchill threw the first punch, George Walker Bush threw the first punch, my old man who never lost a fight in his life threw the first punch.

Neville Chamberlain never lifted a finger.

Think about that.

Until later, Winston Smith

*Thank you Jack Weatherford for your wonderful book. I read it three times.

Winston Smith observes life, or as he puts it “The Slow Parade of Lemmings, ” with a 12-year old single malt scotch in hand, and a Fuente Fuente Opus X in the ash tray.  He scratches out his thoughts on parchment with a well-dipped fountain pen.

In his spare time, Winston enjoys swimming the English Channel, and tinkering in his basement medical device and pharmaceutical shop.  He is currently working on a cure to help the millions suffering from the scourge of political indifference.