Monday, August 25, 2014
To My Dearest,
So much has happened in the last few days, but I’ll try to summarize the highlights in chronological order. And I should really start by telling you my thoughts on the email that Julien sent me two days ago, with his journal entries attached.
During one of our very first dates, Julien once mused about how “cheap” communication is today, compared to the days of his youth, when people wrote letters by hand, stuffed them into envelopes, wrote out the address of the recipient, paid for postage, and had to go to a mailbox, and sometimes even the post office, to send them. Today by contrast, it’s all free, easy, and instantaneous, so the exchanged messages are almost taken for granted – from basic spelling to the depth and precision of the thoughts expressed. According to Julien, the quality of any given message sent today is, on average, markedly inferior to the missives sent in the days when they required so much more time, money, and effort to send. So perhaps an intense relationship is today measured more in quantity than in quality. Whereas lovers of long ago composed lengthy and beautifully crafted letters that maybe numbered in the dozens or hundreds over the course of a serious relationship, today’s close couples might exchange tens of thousands of poorly drafted, sloppy, telegraphic messages during the totality of their time together. The sheer volume of communications, with its ebb and flow, becomes a kind of testament to the fluctuating intimacy between two people over time. I thought about how Julien and I have that same record, and if we were to graph the number of words sent back and forth (on every messaging platform or technology) since the day we met, an outsider could probably tell from that visual representation, when we were growing closer, quarrelling, in love, or broken up. And with this latest email from Julien, the graph would skyrocket because of how many words were included in the attachment he sent over. More importantly, that attachment suddenly showed me how – even in the era of “cheap messages” – a single communication can be so qualitatively enhanced that it stands far above the mass of regular exchanges, in terms of its impact and meaning.
Needless to say, the symbolism of his gesture was powerfully touching. In fact, I was so moved and impressed that the task of composing an adequate email reply became too daunting and I kept deferring it. I eventually tried to write my response but must have rewritten and then scrapped that email at least a dozen times. In the end, about twenty-four hours had passed since he had sent me his email, and I still hadn’t answered him in any way. Part of the time was lost just reading through his journal entries, which were generally fascinating – particularly the parts where he detailed his interactions with and/or impressions of me at various stages of our relationship. There was something incredibly intimate about entering his mind and viewing how it perceived and related to me.
At around 3 p.m. yesterday, I realized that I had to leave my laptop and rush to the protest that Michael had organized, or I would arrive late. As I rode the subway down to Union Square, I decided that, upon returning from the demonstration, I would just call Julien because otherwise I might spend another few weeks obsessing over how to craft an email response that honored and reciprocated the exceptionally special message that he had sent me.
The gathering at Union Square was bigger than any of the previous ones, vindicating Michael’s assumption that more people would show up and care about the issue now that the brutal barbarism of ISIS had targeted a U.S. journalist. There were speakers from the Christian, Jewish, and Yazidi communities, urgently warning the public to stop the genocide being committed by Islamist forces in Syria and Iraq. Michael was one of the three Christian leaders who spoke at the rally, and the signs held up by many of the MCA members there all echoed his core message that the ISIS threat could no longer be ignored. Maria and I stood together, each of us with a placard in one hand, watching Michael forcefully urge the U.S. to take military action.
“Wake up, USA! Islamists have been beheading us for centuries. And now they are beheading you,” he boomed into the megaphone. “We have been the canary in the coal mine – serving as your early warning system, as we suffered unspeakable atrocities at the hands of violent Islamists. You preferred to look away, after growing weary of war. But today the world is too small and interconnected to run away from it. You can cover your eyes when ISIS turns Syria and Iraq into the slaughterhouses of religious minorities, but eventually they will come for you. Because you represent everything they oppose: religious freedom, human rights, freedom of speech, women’s rights, and countless other values that you take for granted but are the very basis of your civilization. Like Nazism in the 1930s, the cancer of Islamist extremism will not go away on its own. On the contrary, it will fill every power vacuum it can find and take root there, growing stronger by the day.”
The people gathered in Union Square listened intently and I spied Maria looking with intense admiration at her new love. She noticed me looking at her and smiled. I jokingly whispered to her, “I’m a pretty good matchmaker, aren’t I?” She chuckled and nodded gratefully.
We turned our attention back to Michael’s speech. “So you can destroy the threat now, when it is still relatively small, or you can fight it later, at a far greater cost. Two years ago, ISIS had under two thousand combatants. Today, in August of 2014, they reportedly have at least ten thousand fighters. They now control about 35,000 square miles of territory, bringing about six million people under their rule. By seizing banks, oil supplies, antiquities, and the property of those it subjugates, ISIS today has about two billion dollars, making it the best financed terrorist organization in the world. And experts estimate that every day ISIS makes up to another three million dollars from oil revenues. It’s built an extensive and sophisticated web of connected Twitter accounts that can amplify every single message up to fifty thousand times. This is ISIS today. It quickly grew to this size because no outside force stopped it. How will the ISIS threat look a year or two from now?”
I looked around the crowd and it seemed to have grown to a few hundred people. I wondered why ISIS had chosen to antagonize the world’s last superpower, rather than stay below the radar to facilitate their vicious growth. On the other hand, such a brazen move was perhaps an effective way to recruit those who might be impressed by the organization’s willingness to defy and threaten the United States.
I turned my attention back to Michael, as he continued. “Does the U.S. prefer to confront ISIS when they control half of the Middle East, including much of the world’s oil supply? Today it is raising a generation of children to convert or kill non-Muslims – do you really want them to get this jihadi education, so that they can later target your interests throughout the Middle East and carry out terrorist attacks in your cities? The U.S. has conducted all of about ninety airstrikes in the last two weeks since it finally decided to take action. But that is not fighting to win. Compare that to the air campaign of the Gulf War in 1991, after Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait. In about one month, coalition forces flew over 100,000 sorties, and dropped nearly that many tons of bombs, producing a fast and decisive victory. But the U.S. apparently thinks that there is plenty of time to manage the ISIS threat.”
Maria and I both shook our heads in disappointment, as we agreed with Michael’s assessment, and held up our signs, which both read “US: Stop the ISIS Genocides.” We saw that we were both reacting in the same way and smiled at each other. It was nice to share this moment with her, and I thought about how, if our parents and other siblings were still alive and in New York, they’d all be at this protest with us, equally impassioned about having their voices heard and just as impressed at Michael’s leadership.
I focused again on what Michael was saying. “And weak U.S. leadership invites other bad actors into the game, like Iran. Yes, Iran, a Shiite Islamic state, has just happily offered to help the U.S. fight the Sunni Islamic State in exchange for lifting sanctions on the Iranian nuclear program. But the Islamic Republic of Iran also persecutes Christians and other religious minorities. Iran has an abysmal human rights record and is the world chief state sponsor of terrorist organizations, including Hezbollah, which – until September 11 – was responsible for more American deaths than any other terrorist group. So having Iran take care of the ISIS threat would be the height of strategic folly. That’s like giving nukes to a far larger and more dangerous Shiite enemy because you’re afraid of a smaller, rising Sunni enemy. There are no shortcuts here for the U.S. You can fight ISIS today, or you can keep waiting as the Islamic State grows ever more potent, and acquires more territory, fighters, and resources – and maybe eventually chemical or even nuclear weapons. But one way or another, a confrontation is inevitable.”
A few minutes later, Michael introduced the next speaker and handed him the megaphone before stepping off the podium. He walked through the crowd until he reached us, at which point Maria gave him a big hug while still holding her sign. “That was brilliant,” she remarked, beaming.
“Thanks, Babe. When are you going up there to speak?” he asked her teasingly.
“Can I use my violin instead of English?” she replied playfully.
“Hey, that’s actually a great idea!” I exclaimed. “Why don’t we organize some kind of benefit concert for the MCA where Maria performs for everyone?”
Maria’s face lit up. “I would love that!”
Michael smiled enthusiastically. “Let’s do it! Inās, you’re in charge of the planning committee for that one.”
My sister and I high-fived each other victoriously. Moments later, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a gathering of bearded men, some of whom looked vaguely familiar. Then I recognized them as the men who had threatened me at the last Union Square protest, when Michael knocked out their biggest member, a thug who had towered over him.
Next thing I knew, Michael was knocked down by that same guy, who came out of nowhere to push Michael back over one of his comrades who had surreptitiously crouched behind Michael so that he would trip and fall onto his back when pushed by the huge guy. After that, everything happened very fast. There were four guys punching and kicking Michael, who was on the ground struggling to parry the flurry of blows raining down on him.
“Hey, stop!” I yelled, whacking one of the guys with the wooden stick to which my sign was attached.
“Help, everyone!” Maria yelled to the people around her before jumping into the fray and hitting another guy with the wooden part of her placard.
The two guys that we hit turned their attention to us, but that still left Michael to struggle with two men, including the huge guy who was pummeling him on the ground. We were all in a brawl at that point, so it was hard to tell exactly what happened, but at one point I saw someone strike the huge guy in the head with a tablet computer, which stunned him just long enough for Michael to get on his feet and throw some powerful kicks and punches at the two men who had been beating him up. Then the loud sirens of a police car blared, and there were soon a bunch of cops standing around us with their guns drawn, telling us to freeze and raise our hands.
We were being handcuffed, but I was so shocked by everything that I wasn’t even focused on the injustice of us, the victims, being arrested along with the aggressors who had attacked us for no reason. Everyone involved was bruised up a bit, but Michael got the worst of it. Yet, even the lingering pain from the scrapes and punches I had received were overshadowed by the thing that stunned me the most: it turned out that the man who had helped Michael was none other than Julien! I couldn’t believe it. And he was being arrested with us.
Maria and I were taken into custody in one car, and the others involved in the melee were brought to the police station in other vehicles. About two hours later, we were all charged with public disorder and misdemeanor assault. By far, the most surreal part of the whole incident was when Julien, Michael, Maria, and I were all in a waiting room together with about five other people being held for unrelated, minor offenses (the police had the good sense to keep the guys who had attacked us in a separate room).
There was something laughably bizarre about the whole scene, with each of us, including Julien, standing there, in handcuffs, bruised up and sullied to varying degrees. Julien actually captured the absurdity of the moment with a perfect line of humor: “So whose brilliant idea was it for us to go on a double date like this? I really prefer restaurants.”
The four of us shared a much-needed laugh.
“How did you hear about this protest?” I suddenly asked Julien, still confused and surprised by everything.
“Don’t you know what you’re tweeting?” he teased me. “I showed up a little late, but just in time to practice my tablet-as-a-weapon skills.”
Michael gave him an impressed look. “Maybe the manufacturer should mention head-smashing as a product feature.”
Julien nodded in amusement. “True, I guess you get one solid head smash per tablet.”
I couldn’t help making fun of Julien’s nerdy qualities. “Who brings a tablet computer to a protest anyway?”
“Only I do, obviously. But I was doing some work on an investor presentation during the drive down to Union Square from an uptown meeting. Good thing I backed up my work to the cloud just before turning my tablet into a thug-swatter.”
Michael’s expression turned more serious and genuine. “It means a lot that you came to show support. And I owe you one for getting that giant off me. Actually, I owe you for a lot more than that,” he added with a humble smile.
“Don’t mention it,” Julien replied graciously. “I figured it was time to roll up my sleeves a little with this cause I’ve been supporting from afar.”
I was so touched that I moved towards Julien to give him a huge hug, only to be rudely reminded (by the handcuffs binding my hands together behind my back) that doing so wasn’t an option at that moment. But he understood from the way I looked at him, full of love and admiration, that he was meant to be hugged by me at that moment.
“I just hate that this is probably going to end up in the tabloids,” I added regretfully.
Julien tried to allay my concerns with some light irony. “Well, this city would be a lot less fun if we couldn’t all read about my adventures in the paper every other day, right?”
Michael again seemed more serious. “Unfortunately, publicity about this incident could also make you a target now.”
“What do you mean?” Julien asked.
“Well, if Islamists now see that a high-profile billionaire is attending rallies against them, they might assume that you should be stopped before you use your power to oppose them in more significant ways.”
Julien’s lips tightened for a moment of concern and then he shrugged his shoulders. “Oh well, I guess it’s too late now. As Martin Luther King Jr. once said, ‘If a man hasn’t discovered something that he will die for, he isn’t fit to live.’ And at this point, Antioch seems like a pretty good candidate to me. After all, we’re all here for the love of Antioch, and, in one way or another, we all connected as deeply as we did because of Antioch.”