A world of no more world wars

My immersion in the study of globalization, a vague term that as Thomas Friedman had said some time ago, can be used as a "theory of everything," has yielded at least one certainty: There is little likelihood of a Third World War, in the shadows of a First and a Second, in a globalized world, even if the reason is as simple as greater global desire for cooperation and peace.

Thus the Russian engineering of Crimea's secession from Ukraine's and Ukraine's resentment of Russia's of a 20th century style imperial muscle-flexing, isn't going to lead to a consortium of global powers starting a Third World War against Russia.

The above would have been possible in the 20th century. Not any more as veteran journalist, Roger Cohen observes:

It could not happen. Of course, it could not happen. The institutions and alliances of a connected world ensure the worst cannot happen again. The price would be too high, no less than nuclear annihilation. Civilization is strong, humanity wise, safeguards secure.

Cohen writes of the anger of an anonymous 19 year old Ukranian farm boy, who feels the same way about Russian imperialism today as the young Gavrillo Princip, the 19 year old Bosnian Serb Nationalist whose assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo triggered off the First World War.

Today's angry teenagers would rather flock to a radical student circle and communicate their disenchantment with the political system through Social Media, than commit an act of violence to start a war.

In a globalized world everybody wants peace. Violence has dwindled from a public affair to being limited to privatized zones within smaller nations.

War and the peace of baked beans

The writer here manages to embed his mother's baked beans recipe in a subtle vitriol against the American tradition of violence.

And in these days of multi-platform storytelling, the curious piece is incomplete without a more-curious mini-comic strip:

Blizzard of memos

I remember watching Errol Morris' documentary, Fog of War and feeling that I haven't had a more immersive experience in what I would call a celluloid confessional.

Fog of War allows former Secretary of State Robert Mcnamara's to speak about himself in response to a few questions asked by the filmmaker (who is absent from the screen).

We see and hear Mcnamara journey through his life, first as executive of Ford Motor company, then as an architect of the Vietnam war, as the 8th Secretary of State serving both John F. Kennedy and Lyndon B. Johnson.

Mcnamara basically assumes responsibility for creating the war as a geopolitical strategy instead of as a necessity of defence. The "fog" of the cold war strategist descends as Mcnamara alternately tries to justify the war and recuse himself from the genocidal accusations.

Morris has now made a documentary on yet another strategist cum Secretary of State, Donald Rumsfeld, who migrated from business to politics, just as Mcnamara did. 

Rumsfeld, in many ways is known as one of the chief maker of the war against Iraq.

In place of the "fog" of cold war double-speak, Rumsfeld rained "memos" on his aides and juniors.

Had there been a Noble Prize for such a category of poetry, then rumsfeld would be the winner of the era's best "bureaucratic poet."