copyright Oriana Fallaci
editorial in Corriere della Sera, 12 April 2002
by Oriana Fallaci
I find it shameful that in Italy there should be a procession of individuals
dressed as suicide bombers who spew vile abuse at Israel, hold up photographs of
Israeli leaders on whose foreheads they have drawn the swastika, incite people
to hate the Jews. And who, in order to see Jews once again in the extermination
camps, in the gas chambers, in the ovens of Dachau and Mauthausen and Buchenwald
and Bergen-Belsen et cetera, would sell their own mother to a harem.
I find it shameful that the Catholic Church should permit a bishop, one with
lodgings in the Vatican no less, a saintly man who was found in Jerusalem with
an arsenal of arms and explosives hidden in the secret compartments of his
sacred Mercedes, to participate in that procession and plant himself in front of
a microphone to thank in the name of God the suicide bombers who massacre the
Jews in pizzerias and supermarkets. To call them "martyrs who go to their deaths
as to a party."
I find it shameful that in France, the France of Liberty-Equality-Fraternity,
they burn synagogues, terrorize Jews, profane their cemeteries.
I find it shameful that the youth of Holland and Germany and Denmark flaunt the
kaffiah just as Mussolini's avant garde used to flaunt the club and the fascist
badge.
I find it shameful that in nearly all the universities of Europe Palestinian
students sponsor and nurture anti-Semitism. That in Sweden they asked that the
Nobel Peace Prize given to Shimon Peres in 1994 be taken back and conferred on
the dove with the olive branch in his mouth, that is on Arafat.
I find it shameful that the distinguished members of the Committee, a Committee
that (it would appear) rewards political color rather than merit, should take
this request into consideration and even respond to it. In hell the Nobel Prize
honors he who does not receive it.
I find it shameful (we're back in Italy) that state-run television stations
contribute to the resurgent anti-Semitism, crying only over Palestinian deaths
while playing down Israeli deaths, glossing over them in unwilling tones.
I find it shameful that in their debates they host with much deference the
scoundrels with turban or kaffiah who yesterday sang hymns to the slaughter at
New York and today sing hymns to the slaughters at Jerusalem, at Haifa, at
Netanya, at Tel Aviv.
I find it shameful that the press does the same, that it is indignant because
Israeli tanks surround the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, that it is not
indignant because inside that same church two hundred Palestinian terrorists
well armed with machine guns and munitions and explosives (among them are
various leaders of Hamas and Al-Aqsa) are not unwelcome guests of the monks (who
then accept bottles of mineral water and jars of honey from the soldiers of
those tanks).
I find it shameful that, in giving the number of Israelis killed since the
beginning of the Second Intifada (four hundred twelve), a noted daily newspaper
found it appropriate to underline in capital letters that more people are killed
in their traffic accidents. (Six hundred a year).
I find it shameful that the Roman Observer, the newspaper of the Pope -- a Pope
who not long ago left in the Wailing Wall a letter of apology for the Jews --
accuses of extermination a people who were exterminated in the millions by
Christians. By Europeans.
I find it shameful that this newspaper denies to the survivors of that people
(survivors who still have numbers tattooed on their arms) the right to react, to
defend themselves, to not be exterminated again.
I find it shameful that in the name of Jesus Christ (a Jew without whom they
would all be unemployed), the priests of our parishes or Social Centers or
whatever they are flirt with the assassins of those in Jerusalem who cannot go
to eat a pizza or buy some eggs without being blown up.
I find it shameful that they are on the side of the very ones who inaugurated
terrorism, killing us on airplanes, in airports, at the Olympics, and who today
entertain themselves by killing western journalists. By shooting them, abducting
them, cutting their throats, decapitating them. (There's someone in Italy who,
since the appearance of Anger and Pride, would like to do the same to me. Citing
verses of the Koran he exorts his "brothers" in the mosques and the Islamic
Community to chastise me in the name of Allah. To kill me. Or rather to die with
me. Since he's someone who speaks English well, I'll respond to him in English:
"Fuck you.")
I find it shameful that almost all of the left, the left that twenty years ago
permitted one of its union processionals to deposit a coffin (as a mafioso
warning) in front of the synagogue of Rome, forgets the contribution made by the
Jews to the fight against fascism. Made by Carlo and Nello Rossini, for example,
by Leone Ginzburg, by Umberto Terracini, by Leo Valiani, by Emilio Sereni, by
women like my friend Anna Maria Enriques Agnoletti who was shot at Florence on
June 12, 1944, by seventy-five of the three-hundred-thirty-five people killed at
the Fosse Ardeatine, by the infinite others killed under torture or in combat or
before firing squads. (The companions, the teachers, of my infancy and my
youth.)
I find it shameful that in part through the fault of the left -- or rather,
primarily through the fault of the left (think of the left that inaugurates its
congresses applauding the representative of the PLO, leader in Italy of the
Palestinians who want the destruction of Israel) -- Jews in Italian cities are
once again afraid. And in French cities and Dutch cities and Danish cities and
German cities, it is the same.
I find it shameful that Jews tremble at the passage of the scoundrels dressed
like suicide bombers just as they trembled during Krystallnacht, the night in
which Hitler gave free rein to the Hunt of the Jews.
I find it shameful that in obedience to the stupid, vile, dishonest, and for
them extremely advantageous fashion of Political Correctness the usual
opportunists -- or better the usual parasites -- exploit the word Peace. That in
the name of the word Peace, by now more debauched than the words Love and
Humanity, they absolve one side alone of its hate and bestiality. That in the
name of a pacifism (read conformism) delegated to the singing crickets and
buffoons who used to lick Pol Pot's feet they incite people who are confused or
ingenuous or intimidated. Trick them, corrupt them, carry them back a half
century to the time of the yellow star on the coat. These charlatans who care
about the Palestinians as much as I care about the charlatans. That is not at
all.
I find it shameful that many Italians and many Europeans have chosen as their
standard-bearer the gentleman (or so it is polite to say) Arafat. This nonentity
who thanks to the money of the Saudi Royal Family plays the Mussolini ad
perpetuum and in his megalomania believes he will pass into History as the
George Washington of Palestine. This ungrammatical wretch who when I interviewed
him was unable even to put together a complete sentence, to make articulate
conversation. So that to put it all together, write it, publish it, cost me a
tremendous effort and I concluded that compared to him even Ghaddafi sounds like
Leonardo da Vinci. This false warrior who always goes around in uniform like
Pinochet, never putting on civilian garb, and yet despite this has never
participated in a battle. War is something he sends, has always sent, others to
do for him. That is, the poor souls who believe in him. This pompous incompetent
who playing the part of Head of State caused the failure of the Camp David
negotiations, Clinton's mediation. No-no-I-want- Jerusalem-all-to-myself. This
eternal liar who has a flash of sincerity only when (in private) he denies
Israel's right to exist, and who as I say in my book contradicts himself every
five minutes. He always plays the double-cross, lies even if you ask him what
time it is, so that you can never trust him. Never! With him you will always
wind up systematically betrayed. This eternal terrorist who knows only how to be
a terrorist (while keeping himself safe) and who during the Seventies, that is
when I interviewed him, even trained the terrorists of Baader- Meinhof. With
them, children ten years of age. Poor children. (Now he trains them to become
suicide bombers. A hundred baby suicide bombers are in the works: a hundred!).
This weathercock who keeps his wife at Paris, served and revered like a queen,
and keeps his people down in the shit. He takes them out of the shit only to
send them to die, to kill and to die, like the eighteen year old girls who in
order to earn equality with men have to strap on explosives and disintegrate
with their victims. And yet many Italians love him, yes. Just like they loved
Mussolini. And many other Europeans do the same.
I find it shameful and see in all this the rise of a new fascism, a new nazism.
A fascism, a Nazism, that much more grim and revolting because it is conducted
and nourished by those who hypocritically pose as do-gooders, progressives,
communists, pacifists, Catholics or rather Christians, and who have the gall to
label a warmonger anyone like me who screams the truth.
I see it, yes, and I say the following. I have never been tender with the tragic
and Shakespearean figure Sharon. ("I know you've come to add another scalp to
your necklace," he murmured almost with sadness when I went to interview him in
1982.) I have often had disagreements with the Israelis, ugly ones, and in the
past I have defended the Palestinians a great deal. Maybe more than they
deserved. But I stand with Israel, I stand with the Jews. I stand just as I
stood as a young girl during the time when I fought with them, and when the Anna
Marias were shot. I defend their right to exist, to defend themselves, to not
let themselves be exterminated a second time. And disgusted by the anti-Semitism
of many Italians, of many Europeans, I am ashamed of this shame that dishonors
my Country and Europe. At best, it is not a community of States, but a pit of
Pontius Pilates. And even if all the inhabitants of this planet were to think
otherwise, I would continue to think so.
