by anna at 09:01 AM on May 23, 2004
Soon after 9/11 some wag observed that now everyone we happen to dislike will be branded a terrorist. And that has proven to be a pretty accurate prediction.
Go on al-Jazeera and listen to them jabbering about American terrorists in Iraq and Afghanistan. Ariel Sharon's goons bulldozing occupied homes out of spite are terrorists. Right-wing militias are terrorists. Every rinky-dink radical Islamic group is described as a terrorist organization "with links to al-Qaeda."
Of course the most obvious example is W's insistence on including the conquer of Iraq in "the global war on terror." First of all, that's a misnomer. We're not at war with terror. Terror is an emotion, one that can be caused by terrorists, soldiers, final exams and job interviews. More importantly, Iraq wasn't exactly a hotbed of traditional suicide-belt-style terrorism unti we took over. Now resentful locals with nothing to lose are indeed hooking up with jihad-minded nuts to wreak major havoc. Is that terrorism, warfare or part of "the resistance?" It depends on who you ask.
Ah, the resistance. Arab leaders love to wring their hands at the wretched plight of the Palestinians under Israeli "occupation." Do they offer any help aside from arming them with paltry weapons that time and time again have proven useless in the face of overwhelming Israeli military superiority? Hell no. From what I've read, Palestinians rank right above Kurds at the bottom of the pecking order in that region. And their continued suffering makes it convenient to label the so-called "Zionists" as, you guessed it, terrorists.
And could someone please 'splain why we're paying $2.25 a gallon while in control of the 2nd largest oil reserve in the word? Could this too be the handiwork of those shifty "terrorist" saboteurs? Or is that we just can't get it together to start those wells to pumping and ships to shipping crude over here?
I don't have the answers any more than Linz does. But I do know that one place to start is by laying aside all this needlessly inflammatory rhetoric that is only diluted in meaning through its endless repetition.
I think you are hot. I am twenty-two, four foot three and two-hundred-and-thirty pounds. I want your mustache! It looks like a caterpiller! A really, really, prickly caterpiller that climbs up your nose and eats your brain-cells! Spleen. My Grandma's old and dead.
by Steve Kent at May 31, 2005 4:11 PM