Blatantly, overtly, unashamedly political. Oh, and there’s something about writing in it too.

The United States hasn’t liked Somalia for a long time. It’s been personal (which, of course, is exactly how it should be between sovereign nations, right?) since the dead American soldier episode in Mogadishu, and that interlude with the bunch of US Rangers cornered in a house for hours, until they were finally rescued by — hello! — Malaysians! Would it really have been that much effort for Hollywood to get it right in Black Hawk Down?

But onto the real subject of this blog, which is the recent Esquire article written by US embedded journalist, Thomas Barnett, about his time in the Horn of Africa (Ethiopia, Somalia, Dijibouti) with the newly-born, US brainchild, “African Command”. I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to see some really strange journalism coming out of the world’s hotspots. I’m used to straightforward interviews, historical snapshots, callouts of the major players, things like that. However, what I’m starting to get is more like this:

Camp Lemonier, home to CJTF-Horn of Africa, is one nasty, hot, and oh-so-stanky chunk of rock adjoining the Red Sea …

Stanky? What’s “stanky”? Stinky? Skanky? A hip mash-up of both? Or

Africa Command promises to be everything Central Command has failed to become … It will “reduce the future battlespace” … It’ll be Iraq done right.

Oh, save me! Or this

The transitional Somali government … is faltering, and in scenes reminiscent of America’s last misadventures in Mog, both Ethiopian troops and African Union peacekeepers are taking fire from 360 degrees’ worth of pissed-off Somali clans … Osama bin Laden himself couldn’t have written a better ending.

He’s big with the terms, is our Tom. “Mog”, which must be the embedded hipster’s term for “Mogadishu”. (I might call “Washington DC” “Wash Dic” from now on; you know, just to get into the spirit of things.) “Future battlespace”. “Kinetics” instead of the passe “killing”. “Human intelligence”. “Downrange”. “Spycraft”. It goes on. And on. And on.

Sitting atop the building in the warm night air, we are serenaded from three sides in a mash-up only Tom Friedman could love. The Coptic priest is haranguing his parish in an endless sermon … the looming mosque tower is booming its taped call to prayers; and … Eminem joins in about what a whore his mother is … Popping beers and shouting through the din, Captain Wright steers the conversation …

For. Six. Freaking. Pages! Srsly, when I want to read a serious article on a war involving an horrendous number of atrocities, I — believe it or not — want to read a serious article on a war involving an horrendous number of atrocities. I want to know casualties, who committed them, and who they were committed on, with several conjectures on why. I want to know what infrastructure has been destroyed and who by. I want to know background on all the lead players — alliances, past slights, previous strategies, and possible future actions. I want to know where the money’s coming from, where it’s going, and where it’s been stored in the meantime.

What I do NOT want is some wanker who — as an embedded person has greater access to military intelligence than any of his existing independent peers, and obviously — sees himself as some kind of real-life Dirk Pitt meets James Bond meets Sam Spade, trying out his “gritty” prose style via something that purports to be serious journalism, in obvious preparation for hunting around for a literary agent. When I am reading a serious journalistic article, I do not want twee little nicknames. I do not want American writers or singers being name-dropped in an effort to appeal to some hip demographic (or possible future endorsement). When I want serious journalism (and nothing is more serious in journalism than the reporting of human death), I expect facts and substantiated conjecture, not half-giggling insouciance and macho appeals to all the armchair Rambos out there.

[Dijibouti] … is a great example of the tectonic stresses at work here, its battered visage almost exemplifying the numerous civilizations that have crashed into one another here on the streets of this ancient port city.

Aaarrrghhh! Enough already! So, what I’m saying to you is, look out for an action-packed, so-real-you’ll-think-you-were-really-there novel from Thomas Barnett to hit the bookshelves very soon. That’s the only explanation I have for the dreck I forced myself to wade through, in search of some small nuggets of actual, you know, JOURNALISM. ‘Cos he, sure as hell, ain’t writing that!

The book he’s working on will probably involve a political assassination plot (my money says US Vice-President, UK Prime Minister or UN Secretary-General), action that ranges from the rich avenues of Wash Dic to the poor desperation of Mog and the dangerous streets of terrorism-funding Kuala Lumpur (er, KL), and involve some lone gun who screws attractive blonde lobbyists while trying to reconcile with his divorced high-powered attorney wife, and his desperate race to rescue his kidnapped daughter, reach the White House/New York/London/Geneva in time and prevent the killing before Islamic fundamentalists, Swiss cheese-makers and misguided yet brawny US Special Forces hunt him down and kill him. Can’t wai…ZZZzzzzzz…

POSTSCRIPT: The new United States Africa Command is so “with it”, so “in tune” with Africa that “for the forseeable future”, its headquarters will be in … drumroll please … Stuttgart, Germany. Well done.