June 14, 2006

Zarqawi's Report From Paradise

The first thing I noticed when I got here was that there are hardly any virgins. But you quickly discover that such matters are the least of your concerns. How I got here is a much more interesting story, especially since it will surely be the last interesting thing that ever happens to me.

The last thing I remember was looking up from the stretcher and seeing the Americans.

Bastards. These infidels prop up the Zionist regime for nearly 60 years, then they take the liberty of trying to impose their godless culture on not one but two Muslim nations. So they think they’ve accomplished something by killing me? Who am I? My mode of killing was a machete to the neck. Theirs is a smart bomb. You think there’s more honor in that?

I knew that Nicholas Berg’s severed head in my hand would be all over the Internet within hours. I wouldn’t have killed with such style if it hadn’t served a purpose. You sever a head. You detonate a roadside bomb. And you make sure the western media has the pictures within hours – minutes, if possible. It’s must-see TV, and every time it happens, Americans at all ends of the political spectrum start demanding that the troops come home. 

But it didn’t happen fast enough for me.

I tried to roll off the stretcher and get away from them. It’s not that I was afraid to die. I just didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of watching it. But it is what it is.

So the next thing is that I’m standing in a white chamber and there’s a throne in front of me. The man sitting on the throne is dressed in brilliant white – gleaming white. It’s practically blinding me. I’m not sure exactly what I should be expecting with respect to the details of Paradise, so I wait to see what the man in the gleaming white is going to say.

Point blank, he asks me to give account for myself. That’s all he wants. I’m pretty sure this is not Mohammed, and if it’s Allah, it’s not precisely what I was expecting. But it didn’t seem like the time to demand he identify himself. Besides, I was very confident about my answer. So I spoke:

I lived my life in service to God. I studied the Koran intensely, lived according to Islamic law and was zealous in my opposition to evildoers. I devoted my life not only to the proliferation of Islam, but also to its defense. I paid a price for this with prison time in Jordan. I paid a price for it by becoming a fugitive in Iraq. Ultimately, I paid for it with my life, which has brought me here to you.

Wherever I encountered the enemies of God, I did battle with them. When the American infidels invaded our Iraqi brothers, I served as both the spiritual and tactical leader of the opposition. These pigs, the defenders of the Zionist entity, sought to bring their immoral culture and system to this most holy of lands. I sacrificed everything to stop them.

I come before you now, having completed my life, as God’s dedicated servant, confident of my reward.

He just stared at me for a moment. What was he waiting for? The whole thing was not unfolding the way I had expected – and believe me, I had thought about it many times. Who was this? What was his authority? Where did it come from?

But there was no questioning it. You could tell just from looking at him that his was the seat of judgment, and if I wanted a good outcome, it would have to be pleasing to him. I was starting to wonder if I had made my case effectively. Then I found out.

“Away from me, you evildoer,” he said. “I never knew you.”

I wanted to speak up and debate him, but just like that, he was gone. Or I was gone. It seemed like I was falling – just falling for the longest time – but not necessarily on a downward slope. Just freefalling in no particular direction. Not up. Not down. Just away. Away from hope. Away from my entire understanding of God, and of truth, and of everything I had ever thought or done.

And then I found myself here. I suppose the best way to describe this place is to suggest that you think about every good thing that ever happens to you – no matter how small. Every achievement. Every hopeful thought. Every smile. Every friend. Every breath of air that you need to live. Every inch of your body that doesn’t feel any pain.

Now imagine you just realized that there was a single force providing all this to you. Without the force, you have none of it. Now imagine you find yourself cut off from the force. Forever. To say this is not what I’d expected would be the understatement of all eternity.

I hate the God who sent me here. I didn’t realize it until now, but I always hated him. It would appear he finally decided he’d had enough of that – and of me.

This is Column # DC37. Request permission to publish here.