http://www.ductapefatwa.blogspot.com/2004/10/yes-america-there-is-zarqawi.htmlYes, America, There Is a ZarqawiSome say he is a historical figure, now dead, others say he never existed at all, still others insist he is a living breathing human being, like you and me.
All are correct, in a manner of speaking.
There has always been a Zarqawi, though in other times he may have been called a different name. What form he takes, whether it be man or legend, is as irrelevant as is the frequency and intensity with which it is debated.
For a few, Zarqawi is the evil that opposes the will of wealthy men, the ogre that stands between them and more gold, no matter in whose pocket it may currently reside.
For others, Zarqawi is the adrenaline of rage that annihilates my fear. If you harm those I love, my brain unleashes its Zarqawi and I will run screaming at a tank with a rifle, a rusty knife, or a beltful of plastique, already you have taken my life, my death will be an upgrade.
Zarqawi is what you see when you look into the eyes of an eight year old boy, his ragged clothes covered the blood of his little sister, who died from your bomb, your bullet, your fist.
Zarqawi blazes from the blistered eyes of hundreds, thousands, who lie gasping, sobbing, screaming in your dungeons, your "interrogation facilities."
Zarqawi fills and bursts the heart of the father who clasps the ruined, beaten body of what was once his young daughter, she breathes now, but does not speak, she will never be young again, those dreams of graduation, wedding, grandchildren are gone now.
Zarqawi gives strength to the old woman, who stoops to save what she can of what to her is holy, from the rubble of the little home her husband built with his own hands, hands that will never caress her body again, in their place hooks, he is lucky.
It is because of her grandfather's Zarqawi that a little girl born in a refugee camp, like her mother, like her father, can draw for you in the sand a map, and show you exactly where her home is, grandpa's house, the family's house, though no one in the family has been anywhere near it for over half a century.
It is Zarqawi that screams through the throats of millions, billions, NO! You cannot have my home my country my oil my daughtersonsandmosque!
The secret of Resistance is joy, the spirit of Resistance is Zarqawi.
And it is Zarqawi who collects the payment due when you shoot into the screams.
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