Thursday, November 11, 2004

Yasser Arafat Is Finally Dead

He died in bed, in a Paris hospital. He should have died at the end of a rope. The Black September organization, the Munich Olympics, the failed revolution in Jordan, the murder of Christians and the razing of their villages during the Lebanese civil war, the bombing of the Beirut Marine barracks, allowing his thugs to seize the Church of the Nativity: these are a small sample of the works of his twisted mind. Need I go on with everything he's done to Israel as well, or should I mention his organization's numerous attacks on Americans instead? How about what he's done to his fellow Palestinians, leaving them in fetid refugee camps while he embezzled UN relief funds? This is a "world leader" worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize? All of the accolades given to him were something akin to propitiating sacrifices to old gods: gain favor, avoid wrath. Gain Arafat's favor, and maybe he won't send his terrorists into Europe, just Israel. Thanks to these gifts and praise, Yasser Arafat transformed into a celebrity and governments (including our own) accorded him status as an equal player. He died in comfort, surrounded by friends. His victims had no chance to do the same. If anyone's name should be spoken in damning, irreverent tones, it should be his. If anyone's life should be held up as a more modern example of evil covered by a layer of mealy-mouthed capitulation by his betters, it must be Arafat's.

At least one newspaper columnist agrees with me on Arafat's death, thank goodness. Would that there were more around the world.

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