Convert

A year ago today in London adherents of the religion of peace detonated four bombs in four separate metro locations, killing 52 and wounding nearly 800 others. July 7 - 7/7 – a date somehow supposed to be symbolical, of something, I guess. This is, after all, how the Islamist homicidal mind functions, as I’ve already pointed out – and we need not beat that dead mohammad. The anniversary was observed with two minutes of silence, and speeches from dignitaries and bereaved spouses.

Al-Jazeera (which in Arabic means Bastards Lying in the Cause of Allah – or so I understand) also commemorated the day, by debuting a video featuring Shehzad Tanweer, one of the mohammad bombers. Young Shehzad killed only seven real human beings, and himself – thus falling far short of the champion bomber for the day, Jamal Lindsay, a Jamaican convert to Islam whose score was nearly four times higher. Still, the bombings were not to be the last we heard from the lad.

Wearing a lovely head scarf, the nipped-in-the-budding prophet Shehzad jabs his finger at the camera in a very masculine way and declares, “What you have witnessed now is only the beginning of a string of attacks that will continue and become stronger.” So far, however, Shehzad is as false a prophet as one would expect from one of his faith. Unless we count the pain caused by his video as a partial fulfillment of the promise of further attacks.

Nader Mozakka, whose wife was killed by Jamal's bomb, called the video and its timing “abhorrent.” "It is like a smack in the face - the timing especially. They have released it at the time when a lot of survivors are going through hell." Of course, the dead terrorists are also going through hell, but that’s cold comfort to Mr. Mozakka.

What, then? Is any comfort or consolation to be found in all this? There is an enemy who delights not only in death, but in the torment of the survivors. They plan ahead, making videos and releasing them at select times for maximal hurt. They have a cheering section, or rather a PR firm, in al-Jazeera, whose anchors wear ties and expensive suits, and look sincerely or soulfully or sternly at the camera lens, assuring their viewers that their cause is just and its outcome assured. Hmm. At least some corporations are evil. Give me Enron every time.

But that doesn’t answer the question. Is our only response to be our expression of yet further pain? We are inhibited, and rightly, by our own decency. The fact that we have enemies who delight in the deaths of the innocent is outside human redress. Al-Jazeera does have the right to be vile. Not a Constitutional right – they are outlaws in this regard – but a right granted by us, in our own self-imposed adherence to principles that allow distant cowards to torment victims of terrorism. We might gnash our teeth at this inconvenient integrity of ours, or we might suck it up. As long as we gauge their support for the enemy to be merely propagandistic, we have only our own maturity to comfort us, and no more bloody a recourse.

But let us draw some line, somewhere. Let us define a place where they cannot go, and when they do, let us have a plan of action that involves violence, as war must involve violence. Right now al-Jazeera is merely the Prophet of the Beast, the mouthpiece that utters words of blasphemy. But let it work false signs and lying wonders – let it act in a way that causes material rather than solely emotional harm – and then let us act in return, with fire called down from the heavenlies. For it is safe to be our enemy, in words. But blood requires blood.

Here is our comfort. They can speak. They can be unkind and insensitive. But if they cause loss of life, or if they give material aid to those who do, they make themselves enemy combatants. Sort of like the NY Times is doing. And enemy combatants are enemies, who should be combated.

But mine is a primitive mind, incapable of apprehending nuance. This may render all my observations and opinions suspect. If I were made to believe this, I just don’t know what I’d do. I’d be cast adrift in a sea of uncertainty, in search of some new system, some new philosophy, some new religion that might offer me the assurance I so desperately crave. If only there were such a faith – a system of black and white morality to which I could anchor my aching and waivering soul. Because, really, it’s really frustrating to have enemies that I can’t just go out and kill. Self-restraint is such a bother. You know, I think I’ll look into it. Got the number of any mullahs? I think I’ll give ’em a ring.

J