By Jeffrey C. Goldfarb, September 11th, 2012 
Today, we remember “9/11.” It’s a depressing day. I feel it personally, having lost one of my best friends, Michael Asher, 11 years ago, a victim of a terrorist attack, an attack that initiated deep and wide global suffering. Distant suffering, the deaths and mortal wounds of individuals and groups large and small, in Iraq, in Afghanistan, in Pakistan and elsewhere, including the four corners of the United States, combines with personal loss. The day is doubly depressing in my judgment because, tragically, remembering poorly has provoked more suffering than the terrorist act that started the whole mess, and this continues, guaranteeing that the suffering will not end. The term “9/11” and its remembrance are dangerous.
When I went to the ceremony commemorating the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks with my dear friend Steve Assael, a survivor, I heard too many blind patriotic cries, saw too many signs celebrating retribution and military might.
On the day Osama bin Laden was killed: I viewed with dismay the wild celebrations of young people outside the White House and elsewhere in the country. As I wrote here, their enthusiasm confused me. I didn’t understand it, though later with irony, I pretended I did as a way to call for the end of the war on terrorism.
And even as I shared my enthusiasm for the clarity and fundamental soundness of the Democratic Convention last week, specifically as it contrasted with the Republican Convention, the repeated reminders that Obama killed Osama turned me off. “Osama Bin Laden is Dead and GM is Alive,” Biden’s favorite slogan, I believe points the American public in the wrong direction. I understand why this served good partisan purpose, but find this deeply depressing.
Action is the major antidote for depression, and I have been self-medicating here at Deliberately Considered. Thus, . . .
Read more: 9/11: A Post on Memory and Forgetting
By Gary Alan Fine, October 12th, 2011 
One of our rhetorical tics, so common and so universal as to be unremarkable, is the shared assertion by liberals and conservatives alike that our soldiers are our heroes. We may disagree about foreign policy, but soldiers are the bravest and the greatest. That mainstream politicians should make this claim – Obama and Bush, McCain and Kerry – should provoke little surprise, but it flourishes as a trope among the anti-war left as well. Political strategies reverberate through time as we refight our last discursive war.
In the heated years of the War in Vietnam there was a palpable anger by opponents of that war that was directed against members of the military who bombed the killing fields of Cambodia, Hanoi, and Hue. While accounts of soldiers being spat upon were more apocryphal than real, used by pro-war forces to attack their opponents. According to sociologist Jerry Lembcke in his book The Spitting Image the story was an urban legend, but it is true that many who opposed the war considered soldiers to be oppressors, or in the extreme, murderers. This was a symbolic battle in which the anti-war forces were routed, and such language was used to delegitimize principled opposition to the war and to separate the young college marchers from the working class soldiers who were doing the bidding of presidents and generals. In the time of a national draft, college students were excused from service, making the class divide evident. (For the record, I admit to cowardice, fearing snipers, fragging, and reveille. I was a chicken dove).
After the war, war critics learned a lesson. No longer would the men with guns be held responsible for the bullets. All blame was to be placed upon government and none on the soldiers, even though the draft had been abolished, and the military became all-volunteer (and the working class and minority population continued to increase in the ranks).
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<p>Read more: <a href=") Our Heroes? Responsibility and War
By Daniel Dayan, May 17th, 2011 
 Let us compare two events: the Turkish flotilla that challenged the Gaza blockade and the suicide bombing that killed tourists in a Marrakesh café. The Turkish flotilla’s passage in May of last year had been scripted with a clear sense of drama. It resembled an epic, announced ahead of time. Aboard the ships were personalities from various countries, granting generously advertised interviews before, during and after the event. The advancement of the ships was amply covered and reporting further intensified when the ‘Freedom Flotilla’ closed in on the Gaza shoreline. The reporters from two TV channels (Al Jazeera and a Turkish station) had boarded the flagship, the “Mavi Marmara,” the Blue Marmara.
With these actions, journalists had turned this ship into a floating television studio, building a sense of suspense. The situation was carefully scripted, except for its outcome of course. However, in a way, the nature of the outcome did not matter. Either the Israelis would allow the flotilla to successfully challenge the Gaza blockade, which would show a sign of weakness, a defeat, a form of surrendering, or the Israelis would intervene to stop the flotilla. In that case, cameras were at hand to record violent actions: Israeli commandos attacking civilians, soldiers attacking “pacifists,” even if the latter are using weapons. Like in all reality shows, the narrative was built around a confrontation that took place on a small stage surrounded by cameras. The event was constructed as emblematic and endowed with a sustained visibility.
Let us now look at the explosion in the Argana café in Marrakesh, Morocca last month. The bombing occurred without warning. This suddenness is strategically understandable since an advance warning would have undermined its success. However, because it went unannounced, its impact has been enormously diminished. Of course, the number of victims in Marrakesh was much higher. If human lives count, the bombing at the popular Moroccan café should be considered a much more serious event than the odyssey of the Turkish flotilla. Yet, the victims, among them quite a few visiting foreigners, have stayed anonymous. The bombers are unknown . . .
Read more: The Dramaturgy of the Poor? On a Flotilla to Gaza, Suicide Bombings in Morroco and Pakistan
By Daniel Dayan, May 10th, 2011 
Watching Others Watching
Osama bin Laden has been killed and what do we get to see? A group of distinguished spectators watching an invisible screen. Vice President Joe Biden is close to the screen. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton is seen covering her mouth with her hand, perhaps in horror. President-elect Barack Obama is leaning forward. A New York City subway newspaper has speculated that this was “the moment the president watched bin Laden die.” The visibility of an event has been replaced by the image of a group of officials who are watching what is invisible to us.
Bin Laden’s death is one of this year’s major events. Transpiring less than a week after the British Royal Wedding, it reveals the futility of the London bash. It reminds us that from time to time there are events that are truly historic, events that end a period of intellectual and affective unrest. Yet, there is something puzzling about the death of bin Laden. Important events tend to be visible. Can we believe in their magnitude if visibility is missing? In fact, can we believe they truly happened? Why do we feel short-changed, almost disappointed, waiting for the rest of the event to occur? Perhaps because bin Laden’s death was a deed but not a discourse, a blow but not an expressive event. Or perhaps we are not used to events that are both blind and mute.
A Blind Event
In the absence of images, testimonies and narratives curiously vacillate. They start to stutter. During the raid, bin Laden attempted to resist and was shot in the head. Bin Laden threatened the American commandos with a gun and was shot in the head. Bin Laden hid behind a woman, using her as a human shield, and was shot in the head. Bin Laden’s wife rushed the assaulter and was shot in the leg. Bin Laden was unarmed but shot and killed.
Here is another example of an indecisive account. “Bin Laden was buried at the North Arabian Sea from the deck of a US aircraft carrier at 2 am EST after . . .
Read more: Osama and Obama: One Death, Four Invisibilities
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