Condemnation swiftly followed last week’s terrorist attack in Seattle. Call it a hate crime. Call it senseless violence. Call it the isolated act of a disturbed lone gunman.
Call it what you will, but also call it what it is: terrorism.
When Naveed Afsal Haq entered the offices of the Jewish Federation and started spraying bullets, killing Pamela Waechter and wounding five others, he brought to the Northwest the indiscriminate combustibility of terrorism. The identities of the victims mattered not, other than that they were presumed Jewish. The gunman said that he was a Muslim and hated Israel.
Local Muslims decried the “heinous” act, separating Haq from themselves and their faith. The larger religious community came together, recognizing the shootings as an act of hate, not an act of Islam. And the region’s political leaders said that hate has no place in any religion, nor any place in Seattle, or presumably anywhere else.
Early stories suggest Haq felt estranged from his family, converted to Christianity for a while, was not a practicing Muslim and had difficulty holding a job. Despite a degree in electrical engineering, he’d recently taken an unskilled job at a big-box store. He suffered from mental illness.
That things weren’t exactly working out for him hardly disqualifies him as a terrorist. Guys like American Taliban John Walker Lindh and British shoe bomber Richard Reid weren’t fast-tracked for success, either. And well-adjusted guys generally don’t become suicide bombers.
Nor does it matter that, so far, there’s no evidence that Haq had sought to affiliate with radical groups. Today’s terrorists do not need to provide evidence of direct ties to al-Qaida, a joint checking account with Osama bin Laden or a graduation certificate from a training camp in Afghanistan. It’s enough to believe you’re advancing the cause, inflicting pain on your enemy, proving that no place is safe and no one untouchable.
Haq’s own words convict him and tie him to Islamic extremists pursuing a virulently anti-American, anti-Israeli jihad. That makes him a terrorist, even without a club card.
As Israel fights to destroy Hezbollah in Lebanon and America stands by her staunch ally, al-Qaida and Hezbollah have urged Muslims around the world to join the fight wherever they are. On July 27, Ayman al-Zawahri said, “We will attack everywhere” and summoned the “downtrodden,” including non-Muslims, to fight “tyrannical Western civilization and its leader, America.” Haq’s attack came the next day.
Conservatives can readily understand Muslim leaders’ concern with guilt by association. Liberals have tried to hold talk radio, evangelical Christians and pro-lifers responsible for the likes of Timothy McVeigh, the murderers of Matthew Shepherd and abortion clinic bomber Eric Rudolph.
Talk radio’s “promoters of paranoia,” said Bill Clinton, contribute to a climate in which violence finds justification. Others blamed the polarizing effects of the “Republican revolution.” The accusations were shameful, as if murderous thugs, skinheads and zealots took their marching orders from Rush Limbaugh or Newt Gingrich. American conservatives denounced the violence, which they had never encouraged.
Every religion and political movement spawns some disordered disciples, fringe figures hungry for acceptance, notoriety, even martyrdom. It would be wrong to hold the leaders of these movements accountable for the acts of their addled adherents. Yet it’s also wrong to ignore the link between radical Islam and the present terrorist danger.
The heightened suspicion local Muslims face is, sadly, unavoidable. The enemy declares holy war, reviles Christians and Jews, and appeals to Muslims everywhere to join the fight. And, everywhere, some may, alone or with others.
Thanks to aggressive law enforcement – including wiretaps, use of informants and tracking financial information – organized terrorist cells in America have been dismantled or disrupted. The effectiveness of these strategies increases the likelihood of independent action, of loners acting on their own to minimize the chance of exposure and apprehension.
The tragic shootings underscore the threat we face. This is more than a hate crime. It’s terrorism. And it’s here.
Richard S. Davis, president of the Washington Research Council, writers every other Wednesday. His columns do not necessarily reflect the views of the council. Write Davis at rsdavis@researchcouncil.org.
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