Our white whale flew planes into buildings, murdering thousands. We chase him round the maelstrom, through perdition's flames, and we will never give up until we have him. This, we are told, is Justice.
We've gone down a rabbit hole so deep that it's impossible to know up from down, eyes closed in a sleep so sound that blackness is projected against our eyelids as a blinding white. Perhaps we tell ourselves that the nightmares are just that, nightmares, and when we wake up and rub the sleep-snot from our eyes they'll be gone. They may never have existed.
This article should bother you. It should disturb you. I'm guessing it will, even those of you who say that we're in a war and they had it coming (never mind that we, with a few isolated exceptions, treated the soldiers of humanity's most vicious enemies, the warriors of a mad Fuhrer and an equally mad Emperor, in a manner befitting our country, even as they beheaded and tortured our own).
Ahab stabbed at that white whale, that monster, that thing that had robbed him of so much. He stabbed at it for hate's sake. He spat his last breath at it. And it dragged him down.
