(Disclaimer: any reference here to Thomas
Friedman’s private behaviour is 100% fiction. I know nothing about his personal
life or his credit cards)
On May 22,
2012, Thomas Friedman published (in The
New York Times) yet another essay placing full responsibility for peace in
the Middle East (or the lack thereof) exclusively upon the shoulders of Israel.
Poor man: he’s like a American businessman who went to a prostitute while
travelling in the Middle East, got his pocket picked and doesn’t realize his American Express card
is missing. Having become one of the West’s most ardent defenders of the
‘Palestinian cause’, he cannot repeat often enough how oppressed the Arab is
and how terrible the Jew is. If love is blind, Mr Friedman is in love, for he consistently
ignores the secret of dealing with the Arab: before you open your mouth, learn
Arabic--or get a reliable translator. This is important because the Arab is not
like Westerners. He is smarter. He can,
poetically speaking, pick your pocket before you realize what has happened. The
Arab might look stupid; but if you have ever been to the Arab Shuk, you know
that looks can deceive. Apparently, Mr Friedman hasn’t noticed this. As his
appearance on the American game show, Jeopardy, reveals, his general knowledge-base
is not exactly encyclopaedic. The same might be said of his knowledge of the
Arab-Israel conflict.
Mr Friedman
believes that the Arab is a victim of Jewish ‘colonialism’. Israel ‘oppresses’
the Arab—and thereby threatens her standing as a democracy. Israel must give
the Arab what he wants. Peace will come only when the Jew surrenders land--immediately.
Mr Friedman may not use these exact words to defend his ‘Palestinians’; but
these words appear to capture the essence of his message.
It’s a good
story, this tale of ‘Palestinians’
oppressed by Jews. Misleading pictures
portraying Jews as Nazis are terrific, and lies-as-news sell extremely well. A writer
can make a living defending the Arab. It’s a good deal for Mr Friedman.
There’s just
one problem: that stupid-looking Arab you are helping isn’t stupid. He knows a
good deal, too; and if (poetically speaking, of course) he convinces you to
proclaim to the world the virtue of his town prostitute, he could then earn a
commission on her increased business; so he will not silence you. Instead,
he’ll tell you that the prostitute is his sister who once wanted to join a
convent but couldn’t, because the Jews ruined her reputation.
Why wouldn’t
he tell you that? The more eagerly you
promote his claims, the more he gains.
That
prostitute is not his sister. He doesn’t have a sister. Instead, he has a lie:
the Jews stole his ‘Palestinian’ homeland. How do we know this is a lie? We
know because we do something Mr Friedman doesn’t do--or can't: we listen to what the Arab
says in Arabic: Palestinians are not the indigenous population of modern-day
Israel who yearn to regain their family homes (what they apparently tell Mr
Friedman); rather, they are what Hamas Minister of the Interior and National
Security Fathi Hammad (no minor functionary or ordinary Gaza citizen) recently told
his Arab brothers (h/t calevbenyefuneh.blogspot): “we all have Arab roots, and every
Palestinian, in Gaza and throughout Palestine, can prove his Arab roots—whether
from Saudi Arabia, from Yemen, or anywhere. We have blood ties…Brothers, half
of the Palestinians are Egyptians and the other half are Saudis” (see also,
Caroline Glick, Column One: the eternal
liberation movement, Jerusalem Post, April 5, 2012).
The Arab
knows the truth: there are no indigenous ‘Palestinians’. ‘Palestinians’ are
Arabs who came from someplace else. ‘Israel is ours’ is a lie. Their ‘homeland’
is a lie.
When Mr Friedman
refuses to do his homework well or honestly he ends up (poetically speaking)
promoting the virtue of a town prostitute who, because the spotlight Mr
Friedman gives her increases her business, supports that entire town. Her
fictitious virtue becomes the town’s pride. His fictions turn her into a civic
income source. Naturally, this being the Middle East, the more the men of her
town promote her fictitious virtue to an eager Mr Friedman, the more money she
pays them from her increased business—and the more they expect from her in
return. It’s something like American capitalism, Arab-style.
This entire
enterprise depends upon Mr Friedman’s Western friends who, the Arab
understands, depend upon Mr Friedman. That’s a relationship the Arab men of
town understand: everyone depends upon someone else—until the men with money
get what they want.
The Jews are
central to the success of this enterprise. Without Jews to play the role of
villain, the town prostitute goes out of business; and if she goes out of
business, the men with money not only lose their recreation, they lose their
cash flow.
The
prostitute and her handlers understand this form of capitalism. It’s simple.
It’s personal. It works. Mr Friedman is the perfect American traveller. He
brings to the Middle East a sharp eye for beauty, reduced inhibitions because
he is out of country-- and little knowledge of local customs. He is the perfect
customer for enterprising locals with a story to sell.
Too bad he
hasn’t thought to look for his American Express card.
No comments:
Post a Comment