More flotilla thoughts

All day yesterday I felt down. Lethargic. Uninterested. Blah. It’s the Gaza flotilla miasma. I can’t stop thinking about it.

Partly about it itself: The racist hatred and inhumanity of the subhumans masquerading as humanitarians. Their premeditated violence. The bleeding heart naiveté of those Mavi Marmara’s passengers who were hoodwinked by the barbaric islamist savages. The duplicity of the flotilla’s organisers who professed non-violent passivity that eventually morphed into their denial of any blame at all despite ample footage that contradicts them on both counts. The sheer bravery of the Israeli navy commandos who landed on the Mavi Marmara, and despite mortal fear didn’t fire live ammunition for many minutes.

And partly about world reaction. Knee-jerk. Pure anti-Israel reflex. Brain not in the loop. Not concerned with the facts. In many cases not bothering to learn the facts. Hyperbolic political drum banging. Strategic blindness. And deafness. Wondering what these armchair admirals would do if they faced armed and murderous maniacs. Or if their sons did. Musing about left-wingers aligning with islamofascists.

As usual I’m disappointed by, and furious with, prime minister Rudd. Unquestioning. Cringing. Sanctimonious. Judgemental. Unstatesmanlike. No presumption of innocence. In an election year, too. That’s confidence for you. He makes me sick. Literally, almost.