A NEW STRATEGY FOR IRAQ Under pressure from a California watchdog group that tracks military spending, the Pentagon recently admitted that it received a proposal from the Air Force’s Wright Laboratories back in 1994 to build a “gay bomb."  The project to develop new non-lethal weaponry for the American military requested $7.5 million from the DOD to investigate chemical agents including a “distasteful but completely non-lethal” concoction of “strong aphrodisiacs” which might be applied to enemy troops, inducing “homosexual behavior” such that “discipline and morale (are)…adversely affected.”   Though the Pentagon says it remains committed to the development of non-lethal weapons, it insists the turn- the-troops plan was “quickly dismissed.”    If a substance existed that could be sprayed on or served to a target to induce uncontrollable homo desire, you can bet some enterprising gay person would have figured it out long ago.  But orgiastic fantasies aside, the government’s consideration of this plan only confirms its complete lack of imagination.  While the uniforms in Washington bluster about getting rid of gays in the military (while simultaneously doing their best to ignore the 65,000 or so gay troops currently serving with distinction, as well as the uncounted thousands who have served throughout our nation’s history), they’ve completely missed the potential in their hands.  Certainly no one is more expert than a member of the rainbow tribe when it comes to building a life in a place surrounded by people who do not want you around.  If the brass could find the courage to accept the elephants in the room that have been there all along, all they’d have to do to wrap up the Iraq mess is give a direct order to all gay soldiers to “get to Iraq and do whatever it is You People do.”   First of all, nothing would be more horrifying to a bunch of radical fundamentalists (of any ilk, from Baptist to Islamic) than the possibility of having 65,000 gay people airdropped into their neighborhoods.  Can’t you just picture it—the Rainbow Brigade bailing out of planes swooping low over Baghdad, purple parachutes floating gently to the ground as strains of “I Will Survive” ring out from speakers strategically placed around the city? Of course the Lavender Liberators would immediately set about renovating the historic districts.  A Home Depot would mysteriously appear.  (I know—conditions being what they are in Iraq, you wouldn’t think so.  But I'm telling you, if there were a pack of lesbians in Baghdad on a nest-building mission, a Home Depot would appear.)    Within two Sundays of the Brigade’s arrival, there’d be a T-dance at somebody’s villa.  In two months, there’d be a softball league.  In six months, there’d be a weekly potluck and a classic gay ‘hood.  Property values would creep up, and ads would appear in the gay mags back in the States: LOVINGLY RESTORED HOMES AVAILABLE IN WARM, EXOTIC BAGHDAD—UP-AND-COMING-OUT NEIGHBORHOOD!  Ex-pat LGBTs whose dreams of stateside home ownership were dashed on the rocks of exorbitant taxes and insurance would flood in.  Since lots of them would also be real estate people whose careers have taken a beating on those same rocks, Baghdad’s crumbled buildings would quickly become Hot Properties and Handyman Specials.   Bookstores and cafes would sprout like mushrooms from the scorched earth.   And since an inordinately large number of LGBTs seem to work in the mental health field, lots of counselors would be able to introduce the novel concept of nonviolent conflict resolution:  “Now, Ali, remember what we talked about last week.  Is beheading your obnoxious brother-in-law really your only option?”   When the population hit a certain density (I don’t know the magic number, but at some particular concentration we are compelled to do this), there would be a Pride event—maybe a block party with a short parade, perhaps followed by a production of Hairspray by the cast of the New Little Theatre of Dragdad. At this point, most of the radical fundamentalists would simply drop dead from brain embolisms brought on by toxic levels of self-righteous indignation, finally breaking the logjam that inevitably occurs when some people become convinced of the superiority of their own ideas regarding the lives of other people.  The remaining fundies would unite behind their shared apoplexy when they learn that their women have been sneaking off to the Saturday poetry jam at the new Butches’N’Burkhas Club downtown, but their power structures would begin to unravel when several of their leaders are photographed in Baghdad’s new leather bar, The Bunker, and outed in the underground tabloid, Here & Queer.   Mission accomplished. ###