[wvns] In Search of Islamic Fascists
Alexander Gainem embarks on a special mission to Syria — one of George
W. Bush's primary Axis of Evil states — where he begins his search of
the American president's proclaimed "Islamic fascists." Gainem
describes in detail his encounters with Syrians — the primary suspects.
In Search of Islamic Fascists Part 1: Entering Syria
By Alexander Gainem
http://www.islamonline.net/servlet/Satellite?c=Article_C&cid=1158658479977&pagename=Zone-English-Muslim_Affairs%2FMAELayout#**1
Every few years, the Bush administration comes out with puzzling
phrases and monikers to label issues it believes the world must take
note of.
For example, there is Rumsfeld's "dead-enders" quip. Is someone dead
when he reaches the end (of what, we don't know) or is death the end?
How do you apply to become a member of the dead-ender society?
Then we had the ethically flawed campaign trail diatribe of "war on
terror." War is terror, so does this mean this is a war on war? Or
terror to outflank terror?
But the best had to be Bush's latest brainstorm in calling all his
enemies in the Arab and Muslim world "Islamic fascists." Just what on
earth is that? Fascism and Islam, or even radical Islam? By their very
definitions these two terms are at odds with one another.
OK, George, maybe someone forgot to explain the difference to you,
like the time you didn't know there was a difference between Shiites
and Sunnis on the eve of the Iraq War.
I decided to play the devil's advocate and wanted to see where these
Islamic fascists could be hiding. Because Bush had used that term in
reference to the recent war on Lebanon, I decided to head to Syria.
After all, Bush and Condi were falling over each other, competing for
who could say "Syria," "Iran," "Lebanon," and "terrorism" the most in
the same breath.
Islamic fascists, here I come.
No Beheadings?
I arrived in Damascus International Airport rather late one night a
few weeks ago and as I headed to baggage claim, I saw a kiosk for
Syriatel, one of the local mobile phone providers. I couldn't believe
it. I mean this was like a sign that Syria was in the wireless
communications age and they had two competing networks to boot. OK,
but that didn't prepare me for what came next.
A woman, yes, an actual young woman was behind the counter, and she
wasn't veiled, wasn't put on a leash, and had no burka or chador in
sight. But how could that be? I mean, didn't Islamic fascists imprison
women and beat them and cut their hair and do all sorts of monstrous
torture? I was so afraid she would be beheaded for daring to be a
woman. I mean, that is what Bush told the world Islamic fascists do —
wait, that is also what the first lady Laura Bush told us in her
numerous radio addresses on women in the Muslim World.
Hmmm … haven't heard from Laura in a while. Guess the kids are keeping
her busy.
I shook as I asked the young woman for a chip for my phone. She looked
up at me, her eyes confident and green, her face masked in make-up,
her countenance rather cheerful and somewhat attractive. Maybe she was
wearing a prosthetic guise, and the Islamic fascist was hiding underneath.
I wanted to ask her if she really was a woman.
"Yes, um … I want a temporary phone line for visitors …" I couldn't
control my shaking. It was embarrassing but maybe she would chalk it
up to constant-flier fatigue.
"Of course, sir," she replied, displaying her pearly white teeth. Her
smile unhinged me from my nervousness. I mean come on; they're all
Islamic fascists, right? Maybe she was going to kill me or something.
Instead, she was extremely hospitable, very cheerful, and genuinely
interested in helping me. I got my phone card and my bag, and was
zipping out of the airport in a taxi, headed for the ancient city of
Damascus.
No Turbans?
The cab driver was rather an ox. I mean, he was huge, his stomach must
have swallowed many a WMD in his time. I felt I needed to get on a
soapbox to get on just to see if there was a turban on his head.
Nope, no turban. Maybe this was his night job and he used his turban
during the day when all the Islamic fascists came out to play and
pray. "How long have you driven a taxi?" I asked him rather suddenly.
He looked at me surprised, perhaps thinking the alien can speak after all.
He said he drove a taxi for six years as it provided him with better
income than his agriculture-related job. Apparently, he had an
agriculture degree from one of the local universities. I wondered why
he didn't get a degree in Qur'anic recitation or Osamabinladenism.
I made a mental note to check on schools and universities in Damascus.
As we sped to my hotel (thank God, they have hotels and not
camel-infested tents) we talked about the country, where to go. He
told me of the Roman ruins of Latakia. Roman ruins? I looked at him
quizzically and blurted out, "Why didn't you blow them up?"
He stared at me in disbelief. "Blow them up? Why would we do that?
These are part of our history, our heritage, and we take pride in the
history of our country.""Syria is rich and diverse in its ancient,
Islamic, and modern history. This is for all the world to see. You
should visit the city," he said.
I might very well do that. I remember reading on the plane that as the
principal port of Syria, Latakia had wonderful sea views and plenty to
see for any tourist headed to the country. Apparently, the city had
been a vital part of the trade routes between Ancient Rome and the
marvel of Alexandria in Egypt. It was steeped in ancient Greek and
Roman lore, as well as Crusader and Salah Ad-Din legends. Hmmm …
Room Service
We got to my hotel, unloaded my bags, and I was shown to my room. It
was a splendid room, although the view was rather bland. If I hadn't
known any better, the room could have been in one of the finest hotels
in Europe. Sure beat staying at the Best Western or Motel 8 somewhere
over the ocean.
I was famished. All that fear raging in me as Bush and Laura and
Condi's words replayed in my mind made me hungry.
I called Room Service and, much to my surprise, a young woman answered
and took my order (yes, they had 24-hour room service). A few minutes
later, a feast of mezzeh (traditional Syrian appetizers) including
hommous, some eggplant dish, tabouleh, and their famous kibbeh arrived.
I ate like a … er ... fascist, gulping everything down like there was
no tomorrow. Well, who knew, I might be poisoned or something.
I switched on the television and saw some BBC World and EuroNews,
before allowing CNN to bore me into sleepdom. I tried not to focus on
the fact that international satellite stations were available here. I
did spot several hundred satellite dishes atop buildings on my way
into the city.
As I lay in bed, I reflected on the end of the first day. I started to
suspect that King George hadn't been very honest with me. I mean, this
was really hard for me to swallow because Bush and his clique had been
right all along about everything, telling the US and world public
everything we needed to know and with such candid and honest fervor.
Still, I decided to wait till day two; maybe the Islamic fascists
would come out of the woodwork then.
Alexander Gainem is a freelance journalist who has written extensively
on Middle East issues.
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