Behead those who insult the peace of Allah (Highschool History l)
There’s not much you can do about idiots. During the Crusades one of the favourite battle cries was: Kill them all and let God sort them out.
That, in a way, made somewhat more sense than that American officer in Vietnam who reported that, in order to liberate the village they’d had to destroy it. Same results maybe but lacking even the somewhat primitive vision of a caretaker God to clean up the mess afterwards.
Still, that army officer was a moral Einstein compared to the demonstrators carrying banners that demanded those who insulted the peace of Allah were to be beheaded – as a protest to a few cartoons which had dared to suggest that Muslims were, amongst other things, bloodthirsty barbarians who couldn’t take a joke.
Not much you can do about idiots indeed. That’s about the simplest lesson history could teach us – if history ever taught us anything:
You can easily do the TV sitcom setting. First shot: an outdoors picture of your typical American highschool. Some cheerleaders going through their routines, a flag proudly going through its more exalted (if simpler) motions, hundreds of adolescents of all colours and backgrounds available, all hoping against reason they will end up as summer king or queen.
We don’t even do that nonsensical pursuit of happiness anymore. Nowadays, we’re entitled, thank you very much – and we’ll hold in our breath (or better: sue) if we’re not given what we want right now. And kind Fate better smile and wish us a very nice day while It hands out these blessings or we’ll make damn sure It will be fired, plenty pronto.
Anyway, second shot: the inside of a classroom. Another flag in a corner; a portrait of the president. In the benches all those hopelessly spoilt kids; in front of the class, in a middle-aged suit, with dandruff-speckled specs, bad skin, dubious teeth and a slight stammer, stands History, trying to teach the basics to all the wannabe kings and queens.
Fat chance.
History is not a very inspired or inspiring teacher. Its stories are somewhat repetitive and lack cohesion. When you ask History about meaning it justs stands there, grinning somewhat inanely, raising chalkdust while waving vaguely to a grey-faced blackboard that’s seen it all, at least a million times before.
Not that we make the best students, of course but then again, what do you expect? We’re apes, for crying out loud. We climbed down that damn tree in order to see further - and our inquisitive Huhs? are always soon followed by a bored Whatever.
Nothing much you can do about idiots – except conclude: Seen it, done it, now please go bury yourselves in that T-shirt.
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