What did you think they would do, Ms. Parker?
Honestly, what did you think?
These are the people who called 9/11 widows grief pimps, who insinuated that those most affected by the national tragedy the mouthbreathers were trying to hump didn’t deserve to deal.
Didn’t deserve to live, in some cases.
What did you think they would do to you?
These are the people who laughed at Katrina victims, who mocked them as they drowned, and who said to people standing on rooftops in rags in the days after, tough rocks, your own fault, and by the way fuck you, for still being alive to shame me.
They said they’d shoot them, if they could.
What did you think they would do to you?
These are the people who called a Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer a murderer.
These are the people who laughed at the idea of Timothy McVeigh making a detour to the New York Times Building.
These are the people who called Jill Carroll a traitor. After she was kidnapped. Held captive. Tormented.
These are the people who said Pat Tillman’s family should shut up and go away. That Cindy Sheehan was a whore. That Valerie Plame was a criminal. That Richard Clarke was a monster.
These are the people.
What did you think they would do to you?
Did you think it would be different because you’ve written favorably of their pet causes in the past? The past doesn’t exist to these people. There is no yesterday. There is no last week. There is no last year. There’s only today, and you’re with them or you’re not. When we call them ahistorical, did you think it was hyperbole? Do you think it now?
Did you think it would be different for you? You did, didn’t you. You poor, deluded thing. You thought your time in Wingnuttia would buy you out of jail. Would buy you the right to say something contrary. Would give you the benefit of the doubt. Some wiggle room, with them. You thought you were immune; when they threatened journalists and laughed at the death of “the dinosaur media” and fantasized about killing the people who disagreed with them, they didn’t meanyou. Surely notyou. They meant other people.
Colleagues maybe? Friends? Surely not. They didn’t mean anyone special little you could imagine knowing. And so it was okay, when their vitriol was directed at other people. People you’ve never met. People you don’t care about. And so you can be shocked when they turn on you, and say you had no idea this was lurking out there, this festering hatred, this rage. I feel something for you, though I’m having a hard time pinning it down. A combination, maybe, of disgust at your discovery of a wrong only when it stinks up your doorstep, anger at your lack of solidarity with your fellow journalists for so long, and finally pity. Pity at your utter foolishness.
They said:Rope. Tree. Journalist. Some Assembly Required.
What did you think?
That they were kidding?
A.