Now again, the Process.
It’s hard not to be nauseated – in the most visceral sense – by its every representation and permutation. Its endless recapitulation by people who don’t know better or by cowardly or two-dimensional people who do. A rank and stiff load on a public dais. Infused periodically with amphetamines. That’s what’s on offer.
The set: Tony Blair is somehow relevant. Martin Indyk with his irritating grin and Dennis Ross, a success or a failure depending on where you stand, trading stories. Tzipi Livni, who’s managed to stay one step ahead of the law but cannot outrun her legacy. Saeb Erakat and Mahmoud Abbas, two inflatable characters whose unbearable lightness cannot mask the yawning hole in the wall. And Grand Marshall Kerry… the object of all vicarious embarrassment in the world.
It’s a circus act in sagging tent. Shabby clowns deliver earnest lines in an empty space.