R.l.P. (Roast in Purgatory), you bloody terrorist

Yasser Arafat, the United Nation's Personal Terrorist, died at age 75. That's roughly 50 years longer than most of the men he murdered or he ordered to be killed to maintain leadership of the Palestinian Liberation Organization. They were not good men, just rivals, wannabe terrorists in their own right, men like him, men who would kill as easily as he would. Only Arafat prevailed, with much assistance from his European salon friends. He was the Designated Terrorist much beloved by Internationalists who wish to ride roughshod over the laws created by democratically elected representatives while totally ignoring any wishes of the ruled. Arafat was publicly embraced by a fawning Nobel Peace committee, rewarded recognition by the U.N. in his capacity as a Permanent Observer. European governments, mostly Old Europe, used the pretext of the PLO cause to skim money from their own coffers and their own citizens, billions to wage a proxy war with the U.S., billions more padding the bank accounts of European politicians.

Some future time historians will write of the fall of the Old Europe and they will start the narrative in the 1960s when Europe embraced the terrorist strategy as a way to circumvent international laws and demonstrate how European politics, once again, trumps human decency. Making use of German terrorists, providing refuge for celebrity terrorists like the Jackal, the wholly amoral Europeans allowed the extranational terrorists to promote Internationalism that was no different than the dreams of the Comintern albeit without the Russian language, no less lethal than any of the European isms that are the filth of the 20th century. Fascism, Communism, Socialism. The Isms that killed millions upon millions of their own as they struggled for power against each other at least until the 1960s when they moved the battleground elsewhere for their amusement and lucrative armaments deals, propping up their governments with illicit deals with every despot from Africa to Asia.

The New York Times embraced Arafat. He was, as they called him, a Romantic Revolutionary. Never mind the innocents he killed, the families at pizza parlors, the people in those buses, the children and adults permanently maimed by bomb fragments tainted by rat poison. The people who did not die but were crippled or blinded, hideously scarred. Nevermind the pitiful plight of Palestinians raised with hatred instead of hope, carefully nurtured on hatred like Pol Pot's tiny murderous brigades. Nevermind Palestinian children encouraged to throw rocks at guns and strap bombs to their young bodies. Nevermind the women deprived of the stability of homes and the luxury of having their children grow to adulthood. They were all fodder for political folly, like a generation of German youth who had been sacrificed to delusions of power and grosser immorality.

Yasser Arafat was a monster embraced by evil men, including most of what we think of as the mainstream media in this country and most of the world press. May he rot in hell. And may those who help obscure his past find the same hell themselves.

For a much more eloquent denounciation that nails this miserable sod, see Max Boot's "How Arafat Got Away With It."