Let’s see, in 1950 North Korean soldiers, materially aided by China and Russia, attacked and mauled South Korean troops, which then received massive aid from American and other United Nations forces to repulse the invaders but then the rescuers became invaders and, despite many warnings from the Chinese, continued to charge further north, bombing and shooting hundreds of thousands of civilians and threatening to cross the Yalu River into China. A few hundred thousand Chinese soldiers, while General Douglas MacArthur puffed his foot-long pipe and pontificated about the need to destroy the communist Chinese, preferably with nuclear weapons, slipped undetected into North Korea and routed U.N. troops, knocking Americans into their biggest military retreat in history. Forces in the south eventually recovered and drove Chinese and North Korean soldiers back onto their side of what we now call the DMZ, and that’s about where we are today, except the North has nuclear bombs and continues to develop and test fire missiles, twenty-one since February this year.
Last week Kim Jong Un and his cowed commanders launched a Hwasong-12 intermediate range ballistic missile over Japan, an appalling affront to the only nation ever struck by atomic weapons. The Hiroshima and Nagasaki attacks were carried out by the United States, which often drops bombs on civilians, as in Viet Nam and Iraq, to name the two most egregious examples since World War II. I refuse, however, to single-out Americans for barbarism since it’s heretofore an incurable human characteristic – imagine what would’ve happened if Tojo or Hitler had possessed the bomb. Today, if you’re paying attention, you’re concerned about what immature and reckless Kim Jong Un might do with his missiles when they and their nuclear tips are operational.
In the United States we have our own reckless and immature leader. His name is President Donald Trump. He responded to North Korea’s provocation of Japan, which above all was a warning to the United States, by saying all options are being considered. “The U.S. has been talking to North Korea and paying them extortion money for twenty-five years. Talking is not the answer.”
If talking, which hasn’t been tried at a high level, isn’t the answer, what is it, Mr. Tough Guy? Is it putting you and your family on the front lines in a war with North Korea? Will the other blowhard, Kim Jong Un, and his brood, be on the other side of the battlefield, facing you and yours? Those who order the slaughter of millions shouldn’t be permitted to cower in bomb shelters.
If Kim Jong Un and Donald Trump refuse to talk in person, or if they prove as diplomatically inept as one fears, this is what may happen, as a future news reports reveals:
Helmeted and bold at dawn this morning, Donald J. Trump and Kim Jong Un simultaneously shout: attack, attack, attack. They thus unleash nuclear and conventional missiles, artillery shells, and bombs as well as hundreds of thousands grim and determined soldiers. The Dear Leaders, teeth clenched, are thrilled to start World War III, but missile technicians don’t push their launch buttons, artillery officers fail to shout fire, and troops on both sides put down their arms and say, let’s gather in the DMZ and watch the fight. Trump and Kim keep shouting fire and attack, but their soldiers simply grasp their elbows and say, this way.
In a few hours countless troops march, drive, and fly to a huge natural amphitheater around which they intermingle and talk as they order hot dogs and beer and other delicacies. The two leaders have meanwhile been relieved of their uniforms and attired in boxing trunks. No other garments, undergarments, or gloves are permitted. The referee summons them to the epicenter and says, okay, gentlemen, I don’t have to go over the rules since there are no rules. You each have the full complement of limbs and natural weapons and are free to use them in any way you please. Are you ready? Attack.
At last a martial order is obeyed, and young Kim, a relative babe at age thirty-three, grunts, lowers his head as a battering ram, and hurls his five-foot-seven and three-hundred-pound frame at The Donald, who’s seventy-one and listed at six-two and two thirty-six. He’s quite modest about his weight, focused in his belly and hips, which appears to be at least two-seventy. And Kim, I believe, isn’t really three bills but only ten pounds or so heavier than his opponent, who braces and absorbs the young man’s porcine face in his Trumpian belly and with both arms reaches under the Korean’s chin and locks in a chokehold. Short arms flapping at his sides, a distressed bird, Kim is in great danger until, like a pro, he shoots each hand up into Trump’s groin, grabbing a testicle in each hand and pulling. Trump shrieks but he’s a warrior and joins both hands to form a mighty hammer he brings down on the back of Kim’s neck, breaking the grip and knocking the young leader face down on hot Korean earth. He jumps on top of Kim, facing the same way, and tries to reattach his chokehold but this time Kim bites deep into The Donald’s right wrist.
Trump screams, and both men roll onto their backs, Kim holding his neck and Trump sucking his wounded wrist, and breathe like buffalos, disinclined to move.
Let’s call it a draw, shouts a soldier.
A draw it is, says the referee, a Korean woman barely twenty.
One tank arrives and the Dear Leaders are loaded inside, and the tank moves away.