We brought this on ourselves, and we are the terrorists, too
There is no more ducking the point: It’s not terror only when it happens to us. Our “shock and awe” is terror, too
Within an hour or two of the bombings in Brussels Monday, it was plain that there were two stories worth reporting from this latest turn in what has become our global conflict. There was the news story—the boilerplate “who, what, when, where, why” of it—and then the story of how people all over the world reacted to these stunning events.
In newsrooms across the planet, these two stories would have been slugged—identified by a simple name during the editorial process—as “Brussels” and “Brussels reax.” We have read and heard volumes of both kinds of stories by now, and there are things to say about both.
New York, Washington, London, Paris, Moscow, Beirut, maybe San Bernardino, Calif., now Brussels, surely some other places: These are among the reasons we have to recognize we live amid a global crisis now. There is no more sitting comfortably in front of a television in any city or town and watching events unfold in some faraway place, moved for the duration of a cocktail hour.
Brussels tells us, first and conclusively, that there are no such comfortable places left. To me, this is the ultimate reason Tuesday’s events so quickly disturbed so many minds. It was more than the blood and carnage this time. It was the blood and the carnage so graphically in proximity not to some desert village or sun-parched urban slum, but to plate-glass windows fronting fashionable shops and the façades of staid buildings in the Belgian style.
A lot of stories reported or implied this yesterday, and they are true so far as they went. But that is not far enough. If we want a complete list of the places touched by terror, we have to include a more or less countless number of villages, towns and cities most of us have never heard of: communities—if we can still get away with calling them such—in Afghanistan and Pakistan, in Iraq, Syria, Egypt, the Gaza Strip, Libya and so on down a long list.
I do not think there is any more ducking the point: The violence, disorder and anxiety that threaten to envelop us is not “terrorism” only when visited on Western societies and arriving by primitive rather than high-technology means—exploding bags of nails as against expensive bombs. Among the victims and perpetrators of terror, it naturally follows, no part of the world is populated by the one but never the other.
Let me try that again: Most of us still try to duck these points, but all such attempts grow ever less plausible. The true meaning of our fondness for “shock and awe” creeps up upon us, to make the point another way.
A friend asked yesterday, “Why do they target civilian locations filled with innocent people?” Another asked in reply, “Aren’t they trying to disrupt our civilization?”
These are good questions, given what they almost force us to think about. The short answers are, “On purpose” and “Yes,” and these answers derive from a simple understanding most of us tiptoe around but refuse to grasp: These attacks are at bottom replies. There is nothing arbitrary or random about them, it should by now be plain.
Replies to what? Ah, now we stand a chance of getting somewhere. Now we have at least begun.
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Very few of us recognize the extent to which language defines what we think and how we think what we think. The way we say things, in other words, draws a circumference around our consciousness and conversation. There are things we will thenceforth think and say and things we can neither think nor say. Two words have been especially effective in this connection since 2001. These words are “terror” and all its variants, and “war.”
The problem with “terror,” “terrorism” and “terrorist” has been well massaged. As noted several times in this space, Richard Perle, the ideologue posing as intellectual, turned this term to purpose during the late 1990s and brought his point to prominence in the post-2001 decade, the Bush II years. He wrote of decontextualization—meaning the isolation of the terror phenomenon from its context. His well-traveled quotation was, “Any attempt to understand terror is an attempt to justify it.”
The term “war,” as in “the war on terror,” serves the same purpose without all the scholarly pretension. Dehumanizing the enemy has long been standard practice, of course: It is easier for soldiers to shoot or bomb people when they are reduced to “the Japs,” “the Gerrys,” “the gooks” (a term that dates to the American campaign in the Philippines at the turn of the 20th century) or “the Argies,” a Falklands War coinage.
We have made ourselves captives of the two terms at issue for 15 years now. Perle’s assertion that context and understanding are subversive of the most general idea of human values is too idiotic to require reply. Bush II longed to be a “war president,” O.K., but the press is to blame for accepting his phrase, “the war on terror,” and then reproducing it. We have disabled ourselves. We are preoccupied with the crisis confronting us but have no clue how or what to think about it.
Nothing brings this home more squarely than the news coverage coming out of Brussels. There is a bottomless supply of “who,” “what,” “when” and “where,” but reporting of this kind provides information—data and nothing more. We have all the “tick-tock”—moment-to-moment chronologies—one could ever ask for. We have pictures of windows and doorways and police lines and police in masks, people placing flowers in the streets and all the rest. We seem to have infinite appetites for this kind of thing, and it seems to satisfy most of us. We are given to the instrumental, we can say; the most minute details of “how” events took place is more or less all we want.
We have had not a syllable of “why,” have we? “Why” requires more than data. One must wade into the waters of context, causality, responsibility and motive. One must have some modest grasp of history. One must be prepared to consider whether one is implicated to one or another degree. With these one might eventually achieve some understanding. It is for the sake of understanding that “Why?” is bedrock in good journalistic practice, however few pay any attention to this principle.
Understanding, of course, is Perle’s forbidden fruit. And for this we have lost all appetite.