Auguste Deter Quotes

During the London riots in August 2011, I witnessed looters forming an orderly queue to squeeze, one at a time, through the smashed window of a shop they were looting. They even did the ‘paranoid pantomime’, deterring potential queue-jumpers with disapproving frowns, pointed coughs and raised eyebrows. And it worked. Nobody jumped the queue. Even amid rioting and mayhem – and while committing a blatant crime – the unwritten laws of queuing can be ‘enforced’ by a raised eyebrow.

DON’T ATTACK SADDAM,” read the headline of a Wall Street Journal op-ed on Thursday, August 15, 2002. The twelve-hundred-word opinion piece argued that the invasion and occupation of Iraq would be “very expensive” and have “very serious” and “bloody” consequences. It cautioned that a campaign against Iraq would divert the United States from the real war against terrorism for an “indefinite period” and that such a war, if conducted without full international support, would strain relations between the United States and other countries. And without “enthusiastic international cooperation,” especially on intelligence, it was by no means clear the United States could win the global war against terrorism.1 The op-ed argued that Saddam Hussein was first and foremost a “power-hungry survivor” who had little cause to join with Al Qaeda and that he could be deterred just like other aggressors. It warned, too, that should the United States attack Iraq, the ensuing war could “swell the ranks of terrorists,” sidetrack US foreign policy from grappling with the more important Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and possibly “destabilize Arab regimes in the region” (the irony being that “one of Saddam’s strategic objectives” was precisely such destabilization).

To discourage "colored" people from using the Thomas Jefferson Pool, Moses, as he had done so successfully at Jones Beach, employed only white lifeguards and attendants. But he was afraid that such "flagging" might not be a sufficient deterrent to mothers and fathers from the teeming Spanish Harlem tenements who would be aware on a stifling August Sunday that cool water in which their children could play was only a few blocks away. So he took another precaution. Corporation Counsel Windels was astonished at its simplicity. "We [Moses and I] were driving around Harlem one afternoon—he was showing me something or other—and I said, 'Don't you have this problem with the Negroes overrunning you?' He said, 'Well, they don't like cold water and we've found that that helps.' " And then, Windels says, Moses told him confidentially that while heating plants at the other swimming pools kept the water at a comfortable seventy degrees, at the Thomas Jefferson Pool, the water was left unheated, so that its temperature, while not cold enough to bother white swimmers, would deter any "colored" people who happened to enter it once from returning.

Zeira’s confidence was rooted in the protocols of meetings at the highest levels of the Egyptian government. The protocols were provided by Dr. Ashraf Marwan, Nasser’s son-in-law. Marwan had approached Israeli intelligence after the Six-Day War and offered his services. He provided Israel with a large number of internal Egyptian documents. Two documents in particular stood out to Israeli intelligence analysts. The first was a transcript from a meeting held in Moscow on January 22, 1970, between Nasser and the Russian general staff. Nasser explained that to regain the Sinai, two preconditions must be met. First, he needed Scud missiles to attack Israel’s cities. Second, his air force needed long-range fighter bombers capable of striking deep into enemy territory and destroying their fortified command centers. The second document was a letter written by Sadat to the Soviet premier on August 30, 1972, reiterating Nasser’s position that without bombers and missiles, Egypt could not retake the Sinai. When these requests were denied, Israeli intelligence concluded that the possibility of an Egyptian attack was close to zero. Intelligence also concluded that Syria would not go to war without Egypt. Zeira maintained that war was not to be expected because the Arabs did not have enough air power to allow them to strike deep into Israel and challenge the Israel Air Force and did not possess long-range ground-to-ground missiles to deter—by threat of retaliation—deep Israeli air strikes.

Wait right there!” Caleb had barreled out the front door in his one-piece pajamas. He was pallid, eyes sunken, as if he hadn’t seen the light for days. He hardly resembled his son at all. “Who’s this?” Hackstedde said. “What’s the boy saying?” George introduced Caleb, then shook his head vehemently, urging his son to quit. But Caleb was so stirred to action, so resolute in his demeanor, that there was no deterring him. “I’d like to make a confession,” he declared. “Caleb, no—” George said. But the boy waved him off, tears welling and spilling down his cheeks. “No more lies,” he said. “I’ll let the truth be known.” George lowered his head. Just as his son had told him about August’s crime, it was now all, in one stream, given over to Hackstedde. * * * A day had passed since Landry’s murder. The stench of the body had intensified, though not a word was spoken about it, and Prentiss continued to walk around the barn as if there was no smell at all. He was packing a small duffel that George had given him, and George himself was standing at the entrance to the barn, watching on while keeping his distance. If Prentiss bore him any resentment over his son’s inaction, he kept it concealed. “I should be back with the coffin shortly,” he said. “There’s a furniture maker in town who has a roomful of coffins in the back. Had a racket going all through the war. He should have exactly what we’re looking for. We can hold the ceremony later today if that sounds right to you.” “It does.” “Good. Good.” “You want help?” Prentiss asked. George shook his head. “I can manage with Ridley. You keep packing.” The donkey was lethargic in the heat, but George harnessed him with his cart and took him to the main road at a slow clop. The day was not friendly. The screech of a mockingbird struck him like the clapper of an alarm. Exhaustion plagued him. He had slept fitfully last night, a problem so common recently that he’d begun to wonder if a good dream, or the fine mood that follows a true slumber, might ever find him again. The morning had been weighed down by the chaos of Caleb’s confession, which soon led to the emotional unraveling of the entire home. Isabelle was quick to take responsibility for Caleb’s actions, having gone upstairs and pleaded with him to come clean with the sheriff, not knowing how dubious Hackstedde’s title of sheriff might be. After