These enormous images float over the dome of the night sky as new images emerge on the computer screens and on the screens our prancing prelates see next to the TV cameras that capture their eloquence for transmission via satellite to the peoples of the world. Now this same satellite sends images of all who have been destroyed by these hangmen, these prevaricators that lured men of power to devastate the people they hated and to lay waste the homes and farms and olive groves and wells and shops that gave them life. Now they sit mute or stand silently as those they killed stream before them, thousands upon thousands of the mutilated and the maimed whose lives had been snuffed out or destroyed before it could be lived; thousands upon thousands of nameless people, forgotten souls whose time on this earth cut short by the heartless, unthinking diatribes of these self-serving men.

      And such images they are … poor Ali Abbas, tucked into bed by his mother as she kissed him good night and blessed him in the name of Allah, lying in the hospital bed, an orphan now without arms, covered in burns that have seared his skin and his soul, a hapless accident of “shock and awe”; another figure, an older man, Abdullah a-Zakh, appears on the screen as he holds the remains of his 14 year old son in his arms, a son that was buried twice, a victim of the IDF operation, “Locked Kindergarten,” where he saw his son’s body torn apart and located what he could find for burial only to find more on another day for another burial; the inhabitants of Fallujah, that once proud city leveled by American forces in imitation of the Israeli sieges of Rafah, Nablus and Jenin, move across the screen in single file, hundreds and hundreds of the dead, blackened now by the white phosphorous that turns the skin black and reveals the bones beneath, skulls visible beneath the seared face, eye sockets starring at Rumsfeld and Wolfowitz and all the instigators of this civilized state that finds “collateral damage” an acceptable way to dispose of the human detritus that stands in the way of their infamy; then the ravaged bodies of the 28 children of Qana in Lebanon, who became the innocent victims of Israeli vengeance, come slowly from the rubble of their bombed home, ghostly remnants of lives once lived in the joy of the morning glow and the laughter of their siblings, a steady silent line of children who would never see the sun rise again or see it set beyond the sea, and most sorrowful of all, poor little Abbas Hashem, only one year old, moves past with his blue pacifier still dangling from his green tank top; and, perhaps the most devastating symbol of this vileness to citizens of these United States, the mangled bodies of  their own youth sent to slaughter by these fat and satisfied Judases who thrive on the havoc and mayhem they have let loose upon the world, each one in single file stares upon the faces of these horrible clowns in the vain expectation that they might feel a twitch of human guilt.

      Throughout the Day of Lamentation, thousands of images would stream through the sky, images that depicted the savagery of Bush and Sharon, of all the tribe of Neo-Cons and their lackeys, the lobbyists that promote Christian Zionism and the state of Israel in all its Zionist racist reality, and of all the evangelicals that promoted the coming of Armageddon. Perhaps the most savage of all the icons that capture the inhumanity of this swarm of satanic locusts is the Wall of Infamy erected to imprison the indigenous people of Palestine. It exemplifies the heinous mentality that can isolate people from people, a mentality that can expend billions of dollars to wall people out, alienate them from the community of their brothers and sisters, and to do this while they are alive. This even more than the white phosphorous, the depleted uranium, the cluster bombs, the dense inert metal explosives that melt and disfigure and desecrate a person, seems to bear witness to the cold, barren innards that drive these men that find their beliefs in Straussian or Zionist ideology that makes those born to follow their lead fodder for the advancement of their progress toward some imagined utopia they were born to create.

      For twenty four hours the people of every country stand looking skyward as these images flow over the black sky. They see these men that sought prestige, power, and wealth, who believed that they alone were the chosen and all others but sheep to be led to do their bidding, sitting now mute before all, their faces and names clearly embossed on the globe of the sky, condemned to everlasting mockery, their identity to be forevermore the symbol of inhumanity. What more fitting retribution than the erasure of their meaning and purpose in life, than the desecration of their purported genius, the indelible stamping of their legacy with the silent, slow, sorrowful passing of all the lives cut short by their villainy, and arrogance, and inhumanity; thus shall justice be made manifest on this Day of Sorrows, this Day of Reflection, this Day of Lamentation.  

 
William Cook is a professor of English at the University of La Verne in southern California and author of Tracking Depception: Bush's Mideast Policy

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