Terror

The London bombings were enough to make me focus some loose-ended thinking about this so-called war on terror we're fighting.

Imagine a conversation between Dad, a stalwart Bush-backer, seemingly at whatever the cost; and Daughter, a stalwart San Francisco BoHo, wishing that we could all just get along (based loosely on a true story).

He wonders if she harbors sympathy with those window-breakers and eco-terrorists protesting the G8 meetings. Of course she doesn't, and how could he even think such a thing, Dad? It's just a few bad apples that spoil the bunch.

She wonders of he harbors sympathy for the Abu Graib reservists torturing prisoners. Of course he doesn't, and how could she even think of such a thing--my daughter? It's just a few bad apples that spoil the bunch.

Interesting that both of these stories take on such iconic meaning in a world where everyone knows everything about anything the second that it happens. And that we're now trained to digest these narratives as representations of other's ideology.

We don't fight wars of attrition anymore. We don't even fight wars anymore. We fight for the better story, for control of the narrative, for brainspace among the global rabble.

And what's the cost? Am I safer? Is the world safer, or more free, or more peaceful than the world my parents knew at my age? My Grandparents? Does the answer to that question have anything to do with terrorism, or Iraq or the London Tube?... More loose ends....