The Wrong End of the Telescope

by Rabih Alameddine

I should write this thing, you told me. You called it a thing, flicking your hand with a dismissive Levantine gesture. Every idiot thinks they’re a writer; they’re not. Every dullard thinks they have a tale to tell; they don’t. But I should. I have a good one. You insisted I write the refugee story, as well as your story and mine. This thing.

The Americans? A man drove a truck full of explosives into the US barracks just outside of Beirut, killing 241 young marines. Reagan withdrew all his forces, washing his hands of irrational Lebanon, calling the Lebanese terrorists, terrorists, terrorists that kill innocent peacekeepers. Why couldn’t they fight fairly, like decent people, using battleships, fighter jets, shock and awe?