Terrorism

No, I'm not going to be all political, calm down.

Terrorism is a concept that’s thrown around HEAPS these days. I’ve heard everything ranging from forest fires to interest rate rises blamed on terrorism. I’ve heard of terrorism supposedly affecting the theatrical industry, I’ve seen droughts blamed on terrorism… Makes me think of the episode of Family Guy where Lois won an election just by repeating 9/11 over and over again.

So amid all the hoo-ha of the War on Terror, what are the real effects of Terrorism on people? I don’t mean the effects of a terrorist attack on the people involved; I mean the aftershocks, if you will. The consequences. I’ll tell you, by sharing a few little anecdotes with you. First, the Commonwealth Games.

The Commonwealth Games, for the uninitiated, is a sporting competition similar to the Olympic Games, the only difference being that only countries who are, or who have been, members of the Commonwealth can participate. Last year, they were held in Melbourne, which so happens to be the city I live in. So, as you can imagine, I had a very nice view for all the commotion it caused.

The point I’m trying to get at, however, is that security was tightened one-hundredfold, and all because of the global bogeyman who is supposedly haunting our every step, the Terryrists. NINE ELEVEN! NINE ELEVEN! People were actually avoiding the central business district, because they were paranoid that there would be a terrorist attack during the games. My family was all set to go to see some professional level athletes competing, but then my mother “remembered” the global threat of terrorism, so she didn’t end up going. She’d been looking forward to these games for over a year, she’d bought tickets, and the mere THREAT of terrorism kept her from attending.

That’s right. Despite the fact that statistically, there is less chance of being killed by a sewing needle than being killed by a terrorist in Australia, less chance of being killed by a pig than a terrorist in Australia, less chance of lightning striking you one hundred times in a day than being killed by a terrorist in Australia, it’s the FEAR that is their real tool.

Terrorism in the modern sense is violence or other harmful acts committed (or threatened) against civilians for political or other ideological goals.

Source

Threatened is the key word here, if only because the global population is threatened by the possibility of a terrorist attacking them.

My second and final example is my school. Last week, our school had an “Out of Uniform” day, where students could pay to come to school in casual clothes. My friends and I always treat these days as a “Dress Up” day, and this time we decided to come as Ninjas (I did Piracy the time before, so I had to even the scales). I was all dressed up as a Ninja, I had my face mask, black turtleneck, I looked wicked. When I walked out of my bedroom that morning, my parents immediately suggested I take the mask off on my walk to school. Of course, being the petulant teenager I am, the first question that came to mind was “Why?”
My dear mother’s answer said everything I’m trying to say here quite eloquently:

”Because you look like a Terrorist.”

So, I assuaged their fears, took the mask off, and promptly put it back on as soon as I reached the school. Almost immediately, I was accosted by a teacher, asking who I was and demanding I take my mask off. I was then escorted to the Principal’s office with one of my friends to explain my actions. Thankfully, he was absent from his office, otherwise I could have been “suspended.” Suspended for dressing up as a Ninja?

When I questioned the teacher who was leading me to the Principal’s office, he replied that “a bad guy could see you doing that, and then could get the idea to come in here with a mask on.”

Is this the kind of thing we have to live with now? Are we just to accept that it is no longer acceptable to go out in public dressed as a Ninja? Are we to accept that the fear of Terrorism looms over us as an ever present bogeyman?

I say, that if we can’t let ourselves laugh in the face of this fear, then we’ve let the terrorists win.

The Ronan of the 19th Century

In 1897, a little girl named Virginia was pissed off that her friends were trying to teach her something about the facts of life, specifically that (ZOMG SPOILER) Santa Claus doesn't exist. Shock horror, she shat a brick and went to her dad, Dr Phillip O'Hanlon. Thanks to recent time travel technology, I've been able to uncover the conversation that transpired that day:

Virginia: Daddy..?
Dr Phil: Shut up, you little brat, I'm as drunk as your mother was when you were concieved.
Virginia: Daddy, the other little girls at school tried to tell me that Santy Claus wasn't real, but I was able to almost completely ignore their obviously true statements. However, I know feel a slight sense of disillusion towards the Christmas Season. Can you assuage my fears?
Dr Phil: Alright, Vaginia, here's what I'll do. Instead of playing the "good parent" and telling you exactly what your frail, spongelike mind needs to hear, I'll refer your question to the editor of a newspaper, because I am still under the mistaken belief that newspapers exist to inform us of what is true, not to sell papers.
Virginia: Okay Daddy, I'll go wager the innocence of millions of children in New York on your drunken gamble. Thank you for being so honest.
Dr Phil: *grunts and passes out*

So, little Virginia, full of hope and naïveté, wrote off a letter to the New York Sun. Here's the transcript of her letter, preserved with all the original Christmas Spirit:

Dear Editor:

I am 8 years old, and still too young to see through the veil of innocence that every other child my age has torn through already. Some of my little friends have attempted to tell me that there is no Santa Claus, but me being so quite sincerely dull, I'm refusing to listen to them and instead relying on the proprietor of a commercial newspaper to tell me what's right or wrong. Papa says, "Why the hell can't you stay at your mother's more often?" Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O'Hanlon

Obviously, with a letter like that, any editor would have the balls to crush this little girl's dreams. Unfortunately for us, Francis Church (the editor in question) failed to have the guts to kick the shit out of this poorly worded letter, and instead fed her little naïve mind. His response is here:

Vaginia, your little friends are just trying to rationalise their own self doubt. They believe that it is impossible for a fat man to fly around the Earth in an enchanted sleigh, pulled by magical reindeer, visiting the home of every Christian, in one night. Clearly, they are wrong. Of course he can break into the house of every single child in the world in one night."If it's in the Sun, it's so." That's our slogan, and so help me God if you don't believe it.

Yes Vaginia, there is a Santa Claus. He lives at the North Pole (the South Pole when the Easter Bunny decides to throw a wicked Kegger), and commands a massive slave army of Elves (in time, they shall prefer to be called "Little People"). He really makes millions of toys each year, and carries them around in a single sack.

How DARE your little friends suggest that there is no Santa Claus. They might as well suggest that your Mother never made a drunken pass at your father eight years ago. Without the tantalising thought of "I'll get presents if I'm good", how else would parents be able to keep their bratty children in line? The shining light in the eyes of parents everywhere after using that line to get their kids to shut up is testiment to the miracle of Santa Claus.

You might say "but if he's real, how come I can't see him?" Why don't you try getting your dad to pay men to sit inside your house all night looking for him? It's as good an idea as any I've ever heard, and it will definitely work. Just remember, though, "he knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake."

No Santa Claus? Of course he's real. I'm a journalist, I don't make stuff up.

Needless to say, our buddy Francis got laid, bigtime, after that, and Virginia was harassed for the rest of her life by people who'd read the letters in the Sun. Merry Christmas, everyone!