Where's the Love?

I'm reading the Guardian today, and I'm thinking about friends. Specifically, I'm thinking about the suffering our friends invariably bring upon us, in one form or another. It happens to everybody, be they cool, "normal," or not-so-cool. We feel comfortable in our little cliques, our "alliances," let's say, but there generally comes a time in which we have to suffer some degree of humiliation for that inclusion. When you hang out with somebody new, for instance, you are, when you finally get around to introducing your old friends to this new friend, automatically judged by both sets of friends. Their evaluation of one another becomes their evaluation of you, or at least your taste in friends. Sometimes this goes well, other times it goes poorly -- we tend to remember the latter. Sad, but true. In the end, we need and resent the walls of identification that make us who we are. If there is a good thing about gift-giving holidays, it is that your friends, the same ones who cause you this kind of hell the rest of the year, give you a token of the friendship. In l ight of this, I sure to God hope Bush gave something really good for Valentine's Day to Tony Blair, Jose Maria Aznar, and Silvio Berlusconi. (Note: ripping Lauren Bush away from London is the exact opposite thing I had in mind!!)

By now, most of you Stateside readers know about Blair's popularity problem here in Britain, in the face of a few million ethnically and culturally disparate people who are unified primarily by their exasperation. I live surrounded by this exasperation so, quite frankly, it's a bit too boringly British. Ah, but let's head south and east, where we have ourselves the passionate revelry of discontent and intrigue that only Spain and Italy can provide! In Spain:

Spain's prime minister, Jose Maria Aznar, was coming to terms yesterday with the fact that his unswerving support for George Bush on Iraq had inflicted heavy political damage that could cost his conservative People's party its hold on power.

Ministers admitted that the government's position was "causing significant electoral damage" and Mr Aznar's wife, Ana Botella, was quoted as saying his party was going through "one of the worst moments in its history".

Between 2 million and 3 million people took to the streets of Spanish cities to protest at the weekend in what was said to the biggest overall turnout in the world. As many as one in 15 Spaniards marched.

"But Brad, what's the difference between that and Britain," you ask -- you and your petulant questions!

Mr Aznar also faced embarrassment yesterday when it was revealed that in 1997 he had offered to pay Baghdad in "aid" if it gave oil contracts to the Spanish-owned Repsol company. The government was ready to make a "donation" if Repsol was given a concession in the Nasiriya field, despite the fact that the UN had just issued a series of resolutions condemning Iraq's continued blocking of inspections, according to El Mundo newspaper, which quoted official documents.

The amount of money involved was described as "a sum to be set later". But Repsol never managed to close the deal.

"But Brad, I thought it was France who was knee-deep in Iraqi oil contracts," you wonder, flummoxed -- oh, you with the up-turned eyebrow, I've seen you before here.

And, of course, let us not forget Italy's prime minister (not to mention richest man), media mogul, and uncertain U.S. ally, Silvio Berlusconi, who, in addition to having millions of people Italians flouting his good name in Rome on Saturday, is getting ready to receive his own personal UN smackdown, due to his general disregard for the Italian judiciary. (I'm not saying this was caused by his friendship with Bush, but I am saying it certainly isn't helping garner any sympathy for him in Italy.)

So, here we are, these three friends under the derisive gaze of their own citizens because of their friendship to one man. Three men, I should guess, who will also soon again be united in a new message to Mr. Bush, after he has long forgotten them, because his memory is not nearly as good as their constituents: Where's the love?