Do I want to say anything about Paris?
No, not really. I can't find the wherewithal to join the masses of people who choose to keenly feel these deaths of a 129 (or possibly more) victims while blithely overlooking for months the thousands dying in Syria, Iraq, Jordan, Burma, Zaire . . . but then, when these things happen, I always seem to be the only person with a memory of the world that actually reaches back before Friday.
I believe it is because many Westerners or First Worlders have an impression that when a woman and her children die in Syria because a French, American or Russian bomb hits the building across the street, that death is somehow deserved because those people are foolish enough to have been born in Syria . . . whereas the death of people in a football stadium in Paris are victims of a greater tragedy because they had the good sense to live in Paris.
In tragedy, geography is everything. So is coverage and so is public relations. Google did not create a black ribbon for all those poor little brown people dying in Gilead, L'Abba and Anbar. But those are vague, unfamiliar names, so fuck those people. These are people who died in Paris! A center of civilization!
I don't see any difference between one violent death and another. If we're going to gnash our teeth and cry for these people, let's take the next step and give a damn about everybody. We haven't done that. Instead, we've pissed on a large part of the world with our arms sales and colonial resource rape, our insistence on controlling every government run by people who have less resources than us and we have casually spent the lives of millions of people to make billions of dollars we toss into our coffers with the label, "Entrepreneurism." We piss on these people and then we sell them guns, then we sell their neighbors guns, then we encourage neighbor to fight neighbor amid a chaos where their mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers and children die every day, then we throw more fuel on the fire by telling them they're dirty and ignorant, unwanted and unimportant, followed by press stories of how much we hate immigrants. Which are run on global networks every day.
Then some of these sad, miserable, hated, ignorant people with guns sneak into our house and shoot some of our family and we cry out about the indecency of it all.
Yes, it is all indecent. All of it. All of us.
But we with the bigger voices and the greater resources will now bellow very loudly for several months (and then again for the next ten anniversaries) about OUR pain and OUR loss and fuck those other people, fuck them, fuck their losses, fuck their world, fuck their resistance to our will and their misery under the official justice wrought through our economic crapulence.