Friday, February 27, 2004
Questions about Terrorism
Can we ask questions about terrorism? Does terrorism lend itself—and open itself—to questioning? May I interrogate terrorism? What is terrorism, or is it forbidden to ask? Do we know already what terrorism is? Is it possible to know? Is terrorism always partly unknown? Is the unknown of terrorism what is terrifying? Is it better not to know and not to ask? Would terrorism be too terrible to comprehend? Would it annihilate us, contaminate us, weaken our will to act? Is it necessary simply to act? What would it mean to act—to act against terrorism, without first asking what terrorism is, even if it turns out that terrorism is unknowable?
Can terrorism be looked upon? Are we able to face it, or is it too hideous, too powerful? Must we face it, nevertheless? Where do we look to find terrorism? When it arrives, how is it readable? What is its human face?
Could you look a terrorist in the eye? Have you ever confronted one? How do you know? How would you know? Are terrorists at times not terrorists, or are they constantly terrorists? Does a terrorist smile? Does he write to his mother? Does he sing beautifully? Is anything, any action, object, idea or belief incompatible with terrorism? If not, how can we ever be safe from terrorism? Could you identify a future terrorist? How young can a terrorist be? How young is the youngest possible terrorist? How old is the oldest one? When did he become a terrorist? Before that, what was he? Are there former terrorists? retired terrorists? Can a person go through a terrorist stage, outgrow or overcome terrorism? Repent? Can someone be a terrorist without knowing it? Are you a terrorist? Is it possible you could become one, or are you different from the person who becomes a terrorist? Are you immune? Can there be a special immunity from terrorism? If you become a terrorist, will you have grown up to be a terrorist? Will you have developed into one? Will you have been trained? Does terrorism require training? Does a terrorist decide to be a terrorist? At what moment? For what reason? At what point has he gone too far? Is an unrealized “terrorist plot” terrorism? What about a meeting? What about a vividly imagined act or a passing fantasy? Can you commit terrorism in your heart? Have you ever committed terrorism in your heart?
Has anyone ever exclaimed, “I am a terrorist”? Or does the terrorist always believe that the terrorist is someone else? Is the terrorist always someone else, or could it, in principle, be me? If I am a terrorist, is my “I” the same as your “I”? Is the terrorist a monster, inhuman? Can an animal be a terrorist, or is man the only terroristic animal? In any definition of humanity, must the word terrorism appear?
Was there ever a time before terrorism? What was it like? Do you remember a time? Once terrorism is, is terrorism forever, or can it end? What would it be like to live in a post-terrorist age? If terrorism persisted, could we grow accustomed to it, or is terrorism what resists custom, hates formality, and can never be at home? When we are at home, where is terrorism? Is it here with us? When we sit to eat, does terrorism occupy a place at the table beside us? Was it always here, an uninvited guest, like death itself? And like the knowledge of death, does terrorism urge us toward communion? To live under the threat of terror and yet to exhibit grace—like the New Yorkers who showed such kindness to one another in the wake of the shock and the awe of our tragedy—is that what it means to be human? Even if humans are terrible, is it possible to confess that we are terrible, to ask for forgiveness, and to act in the hope of forgiveness? to forget about the others long enough to ask whether we can be forgiven, even though we too are unforgivable, yes, precisely because we are unforgivable, and in dire need of forgiveness?