COMMENTARY
Terrorism war an attempt to maintain 'superiority'
By R.W. Burniske
In those giddy days at the end of the 20th century, some people claimed the World Wide Web would help us realize the utopian vision of a harmonious, global village. Now, just a few years into the 21st century, each day seems to draw us closer to annihilation rather than integration.
Clearly, it was naive to think Internet connectivity would erase the animosities that divide and define the various tribes of the human family. Yet, what destroyed the "idea" of a global village? Did our fear of globalization and the greed of multinational corporations spell its demise? Did terrorist acts and the subsequent war on terrorism force it to take cover?
Or did it implode because we lost faith in that ideal, finding more solace in home-grown xenophobia than imported internationalism?
During the past 20 years, I have lived outside my homeland as much as I've lived within it. My travels began with a honeymoon through the Middle East, where my bride and I found employment at an international school in Cairo. That led to a year in Egypt and launched our careers as expatriate educators.
After a brief return to the states, we spent five years in Ecuador, then four in Malaysia. When we returned for family reunions, incredulous relatives asked how we could live so far away from home.
"Don't you miss your family and friends?" they'd ask.
Why, yes, we'd say, but we also enjoy exploring, and thinking of the world as our home. They'd roll their eyes at this, then ask a revealing question.
"Aren't you afraid to live DOWN there?"
Regardless of where we lived, they would invariably refer to it as "down there," as though any move from the Mainland represented a step down.
However, we seldom thought of foreign countries as "beneath" America. And no, we weren't afraid of foreign lands or people.
We walked the streets of Cairo, Quito and Kuala Lumpur without fear of handguns or assault; we couldn't say the same about cities we visited on the Mainland during summer vacations. Nor could we expect a receptive audience whenever we suggested the quality of life in our homeland was in any way "beneath" that of foreign lands.
Truth is, most Americans have never really wanted to be a part of the global village. They've preferred thinking they're above it. Now, desperate to maintain that sense of superiority and to regain a false sense of security, they acquiesce to a government that knows how to manipulate them.
On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, I was leading a workshop for teachers in rural Brazil. Throughout that day, I tried to make an international phone call from the hacienda where we held the workshop, so that I could speak with my family in Texas.
"Tudo ocupado," the operator said. All the phone lines were busy.
I remained in Brazil until the end of that month, communicating with my wife and sons through e-mail and online chat sessions. I also kept the lines of communication open with friends around the world, receiving extraordinary words of comfort from teachers I had met through World Links, a nonprofit organization that helps educators in developing countries learn to use computer technology.
Heartfelt condolences came from teachers suffering tragedies of their own in Gaza, the West Bank and Tel Aviv. Generous words arrived from impoverished educators in Botswana, Ghana and Uganda. And empathy flowed from Colombia, Paraguay, Turkey and other places that know plenty about terror.
This outpouring of grief and compassion gave testimony to the goodness of humanity, re-awakening dreams of a global village. Unfortunately, the occupants of the White House chose not to pursue that dream; instead, jingoistic speechwriters championed a "crusade" to deliver us from evil.
Within days of my return to the states, bombing began in Afghanistan. Then came cavalier references to an "axis of evil" and metaphorical language that claimed bombs would "send a message" to "evildoers."
I wondered if the speechwriters had considered another metaphor: What if every bomb planted a seed for future acts of evil?
More than half a century ago, after an attack on this island that I now call home, a president told his people that they had nothing to fear except fear itself. Today, we should fear nothing more than the evil within ourselves.
The man who occupies the White House speaks like a self-righteous televangelist too proud to accept a bitter truth: Evil lurks within everyone.
His conservative advisers reject the possibility that their actions might be evil — or even construed as such.
In their reductive, reactionary world view, you are either with them or you are with the terrorists, which explains why they scoff at the dissenting views of foreign and domestic protesters. Not only are we "beneath" them, but we're also a threat to their imperial vision of America.
Unfortunately, the desire to rid this world of evil is a self-destructive one.
The day this country — or any other — fulfills that ambition is the day that we destroy the global village and all of its inhabitants. Before dismissing such claims, consider a cautionary fable:
One day, an eagle soared through the sky when suddenly an arrow pierced its breast. It fluttered down to Earth, with its lifeblood pouring from it. Looking down upon its wound, the eagle discovered the arrow had been feathered with some of its own plumes. "Alas!" it cried. "We often give our enemies the means for our own destruction."
How strange — and eerie — that the ancient storyteller, Aesop, chose an eagle for this fable.
By supplying Iraq with weapons a few decades ago, did the American eagle "give our enemies the means for our own destruction"? By bombing Iraq now, might that same eagle not give the means of its destruction to yet another enemy?
May we, at least, interrupt the bombing of our global village to ask such questions?
R.W. Burniske, assistant professor of education at the University of Hawai'i-Manoa, is co-author of "Breaking Down the Digital Walls: Learning to Teach in a Post-Modem World" (SUNY, 2001).
