The national news networks continue to give evidence of their contemptible hypocrisy.
As Jack Dunphy writes:
And now we are deluged with the outraged reactions from "the Arab street," which finds more offense in the death of this terrorist than it does in the execution of Margaret Hassan, a gentle woman who devoted her life to helping Iraq's most desperately needy citizens. This is the same Arab street that says a mosque is desecrated when Americans are shooting into it but not when terrorists are shooting out of it, that images of prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib are more appalling than those of mass graves, or of innocent civilians being butchered by savages gleeful in the task.
But of course, the media do not make these sorts of contrasts for us. They show endless parades of pictures of Abu Ghraib, but never show the beheadings of kidnapped civilians. We are treated to the audio of the crack of a rifle as a wounded terrorist is killed, but we aren't allowed to hear "Allah akhbar!" chanted above the tortured screams of the dying.
We see the endless replays of the soldier and hear the self-righteous pundits infallibly declare this a war crime, but we're never treated to the other facts that surround the incident:
This is just one most don't hear:
A young Marine and his cover man cautiously enter a room just recently filled with insurgents armed with AK-47s and RPGs. There are three dead, another wailing in pain. The insurgent can be heard saying, "Mister, mister! Diktoor, diktoor (doctor)!" He is badly wounded, lying in a pool of his own blood. The Marine and his cover man slowly walk toward the injured man, scanning to make sure no enemies come from behind. In a split second, the pressure in the room greatly exceeds that of the outside, and the concussion seems to be felt before the blast is heard. Marines outside rush to the room, and look in horror as the dust gradually settles. The result is a room filled with the barely recognizable remains of the deceased, caused by an insurgent setting off several pounds of explosives.
The Marines' remains are gathered by teary-eyed comrades, brothers in arms, and shipped home in a box. The families can only mourn over a casket and a picture of their loved one, a life cut short by someone who hid behind a white flag. But no one hears these stories, except those who have lived to carry remains of a friend, and the families who loved the dead. No one hears this, so no one cares.
This is the story everyone hears:
A young Marine and his fire team cautiously enter a room just recently filled with insurgents armed with AK-47s and RPGs. There are three dead, another wailing in pain. The insurgent can be heard saying, "Mister, mister! Diktoor, diktoor (doctor)!" He is badly wounded. Suddenly, he pulls from under his bloody clothes a grenade, without the pin. The explosion rocks the room, killing one Marine, wounding the others. The young Marine catches shrapnel in the face.
The next day, same Marine, same type of situation, a different story. The young Marine and his cover man enter a room with two wounded insurgents. One lies on the floor in puddle of blood, another against the wall. A reporter and his camera survey the wreckage inside, and in the background can be heard the voice of a Marine, "He's moving, he's moving!"
The pop of a rifle is heard, and the insurgent against the wall is now dead.
Minutes, hours later, the scene is aired on national television, and the Marine is being held for committing a war crime. Unlawful killing.
I have some words I'd like to say to the media, but this is the Nativity Fast, so I'll stay silent.
Posted by Clifton at November 19, 2004 10:08 AM | TrackBack