I am currently neither updating this blog all that much, nor am I capable of writing anything that is funny or witty. Instead, I listen to the world screaming. It is screaming to me through Twitter, and all I can do is to amplify that scream, to hope that somebody out there, somewhere, somebody, please, listen to it as well.
I'm tired, and there are jet fighters bombing cities in Libya, and nobody in power does anything. Not only that, in the European union as well as in America, our governments are either implicity or explicitly backing Gadhafi while he is committing genocide on his own people.
The EU released a statement urging "all sides to show restraint", as if this was a labor dispute, the same language, they are using the damn same language for the massacres of innocents. From the Czechs and the Italians, there even comes explicit backing of this murderous thug.
And I am tired.
I am lucky. I don't have to be there. With them. Being shot down. Literally begging, screaming at the rest of us to please help, with Twitter and Al Jazeera as their 911 lines, but our governments are too busy, they are too careless, they only care about one thing, the same thing they have ever cared about. They call it "stability", but what they really mean is "cheap oil".
Oil is thicker than blood.
And as long as it flows freely, we allow people like Gadhafi to murder.
It's almost half past ten in the evening now. And not a single world leader has stepped forward yet. Not one. Not one of them has the courage to step out into the light and say, "it is enough." Not even that increasingly more pathetic excuse of a man who sits in the White House and is probably polishing his Peace Nobel like a knob right now. Nor my own government. Nothing. Nowhere.
I am tired.
This is not the first time this has happened, although the last time it was not on this scale. It was, however, the first time that we showed them, that we showed Muslims around the world than when they come for you, you are on your own.
That last time was a town named Srebenica. In Bosnia. I remember it well. It was supposed to have been a safe haven. It was supposed to have been protected. By us. By the United Nations. Thousands fled there, women and children, running from the butchers.
And we let them in. The butchers. And we apologised and we explained how we couldn't really do anything, but we lied back then, and whatever excuse our leaders will find in the coming hours, days or weeks, it doesn't change a simple fact.
We showed them that they are on their own.
I once told a friend of mine that Srebenica was the West's Alamo moment, named after that mythical historical moment in the United States, when a few brave fighters defended a small fortress against an overwhelming force, where the legend of Davy Crockett was born. The Alamo moment. It is that one, singular moment in time and space where history is made or unmade. These moments are rare. What you do in them, in these hours or days, defines decades.
As Srebenica, as much as we pretend it didn't, has defined the way the Muslim world looked at us since 1995. We are alone, they knew. We are alone like the Jews were alone in Nazi Germany and occupied Europe, they knew. Nobody will come to help us. We are not their brothers and sisters.
We are worth less.
While the West's promises, our big words about "freedom" and "dignity" and "human rights" became worthless. Srebenica was our last Alamo moment. And yes, I know all of the military and strategic reasons the UN soldiers didn't fight.
They would have lost.
They would have likely been killed. I am perfectly aware of that. And guess what? That is why it is called an "Alamo moment". It is that one moment where you have to fight, where you must stand up, knowing that you will lose.
Because that loss will be remembered.
By those you fought for.
It would have been been a whisper, told from mother to daughter, from father to son, that tale. They were there for us, they would have said, when all hope was lost and we thought we would die, they were there for us. And they were brave. And they were few. And they fought like lions. And they fell like men. They bled for us, and in turn, we will bleed for them, for this world is one, my child, remember that, however you pray, whatever name you give god, this world is one. And we are all god's children.
Tonight is another Alamo moment for us all.
For us as citizens, but more than that, for our governments. We have troops in the region. We have fighter jets that can outlfy any junk the Libyan army can put in the air. We have helicopters that can get on the ground, that can drop supplies and medical aid. We have naval ships out there. We have the means. We need to have the will.
We have an Alamo moment.
We will break any and all international law, if we were to do this right now. We would get involved in what - as everybody always tells us who has a stake in "stability" - internal matters.
That great "liberator" George W. Bush once said, and it has been quoted very often and by many people, that "freedom is god's gift to all of mankind".
And I said it back then, and I say it now.
If he had meant it, if he had truly meant it, he would have had me at "hello."
But we don't mean it. And he didn't.
It was merely a new excuse to cover up the old selfish interests of a small elite that doesn't care about right or wrong, that only uses and abuses the citizens to support policies that make them rich, and damn those who might stand in the way.
Tonight is another Alamo moment for us all.
I pray to god, and I am an atheist, that should tell you how important this is, I pray to god that we are not going to waste it. Not again. That this time we show them.
We must show them.
That we mean what we say.
And that they are not alone.