4 april 2004

Fallujah

It is not clear what the four Americans were doing in Falluja or where they were going. But just as they were passing a strip of stationery stores and kebab shops around 10:30 a.m., masked gunmen jumped into the street and blasted their vehicles with assault rifles. Witnesses said the civilians did not shoot back. […]

Men with scarves over their faces hurled bricks into the blazing vehicles. A group of boys yanked a smoldering body into the street and ripped it apart. Someone then tied a chunk of flesh to a rock and tossed it over a telephone wire.

“Viva mujahedeen!” shouted Said Khalaf, a taxi driver. “Long live the resistance!”

Nearby, a boy no older than 10 ground his heel into a burned head. “Where is Bush?” the boy yelled. “Let him come here and see this!”

Masked men gathered around him, punching their fists into the air. The streets filled with hundreds of people. “Falluja is the graveyard of Americans!” they chanted.

Several news crews filmed the mayhem. […]

Some witnesses said the Americans were still alive when one boy came running up with a jug of gasoline. Soon, both vehicles were fireballs.

“Everybody here is happy with this,” Mr. Furhan, the taxi driver, said. “There is no question.”

After the fires cooled, a group of boys tore the corpses out of the vehicles. The crowd cheered them on. The boys dragged the blackened bodies to the iron bridge over the Euphrates River, about a mile away. Some people said they saw four bodies hanging over the water, some said only two. At sunset, nurses from a nearby hospital tried to take the bodies away.

Men with guns threatened to kill the nurses. The nurses left. The bodies remained.

[warning: graphic photo follows]

With whom are we at war?

It is called the “War on Terror.” But nations do not wage war against abstractions. This, perhaps, is the first time in history that one side in a major conflict has refused to publicly acknowledge the identity of its enemy, for reasons of cultural sensitivity and political expediency. Yet one side only, for the jihadis have no qualms about naming their foes: the Crusaders and the Jews, Western liberal democracy, and the Muslims whose governments dare to make alliance with those beyond the ummah. For us, the war began three years ago in Manhattan and Washington, or if we have longer memories, a half-generation ago in the streets of Teheran. But our enemies brood still over the loss of Al Andalus in 1492, and perceive in the very existence of the Israeli state an affront to Allah. Any territory once claimed by Muslims must remain Muslim: and as the Prophet turned to the sword to spread the revelation, so those who model themselves as the faithful remnant hold that Islam must have bloody borders.

By their fruit you will know them—by blood spilled in New York and Bali and Madrid; and in Algeria, Tunisia, Morocco, Nigeria, Sudan, Egypt, Somalia, Yemen, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Jordan, Israel, Lebanon, Turkey, Russia, Uzbekistan, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Bangladesh, Thailand, Indonesia, and the Philippines: violence against both the infidel, and the fellow Muslim who is judged insufficiently pious. These jihadis, and the several governments who still support them, are our primary foe. Yet it is far easier to call our fight a battle against “terror” rather than a war against a militant Islamic extremism that is both atavistic and revolutionary, as the latter and more truthful appellation is too uncomfortable a reminder that we also face a clash of civilizations.

This clash is not a hot war, though in the worst of cases it might come to that. For from its inception Islam divided the world into the Dar al-Islam and the Dar al-Harb—the House of Islam and the House of War, where the boundaries of the former may be enlarged by force if persuasion fails. Today there is but one multinational group meeting under the banner of a single religion: the Organization of the Islamic Conference, which last October made clear its views on the relations between Islam and the rest of the world.

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