The War Powers Act


What was meant to bring restraint to the Executive Branch, to limit presidential ability to initiate hostile or belligerent actions has actually become a Kafka gift of metamorphosis in the hands of skilled leadership.

The editorial board of the New York Times hastily scramble a poorly thought out opinion. I did not even finish reading it.  I don't do stupid.  It offends me.




Apparently, the editors are not scholars.  President Trump had forty-eight hours to notify Congress of his actions.  But why even bother?  The whole thing was over before members of Congress were even awake and stumbling into the bathroom to admire themselves in the mirror.  

The actual beauty of the War Powers Act is that it protects our military as they engage  tactical operations across the globe.  Because if anyone believes that the our Congressional body are akin to Corpus Colossus - they are more in the image of Rictus Erectus - and dim-witted enough to blow the operational cover required for such highly sensitive missions.  The goal is that none come home in body bags.  They will return to their families. There will be no funerals. We owe it to them. Really, we do.  Secrets are a sacred trust.  That trust was bound up in the War Powers Act.

So while "Mad Max: Fury Road" played out over Caracas, Venezuela with 150 air ships, Delta Forces pounding the pavement, and every damn intelligence agent worth their sweat banging away on the keyboards aboard our P-3 Orion, from our bases, and from Langley,  the operational tempo from start to finish was two hours and twenty minutes.

Congress has been informed. 

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-15431895/firefight-gunfire-spy-Trump-commandos-snatched-Maduro.html

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