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 ay
before yesterday there were three Barbaras, close as sisters, joined
by their zest for life, their volcanic passions, their total commitment
to their loved ones, their fearless work for freedom. Barbara Olson,
Barbara Comstock, Barbara Ledeen. All three chose to fight for their
convictions.
All three were
singled out by the Left for slanderous attacks, dehumanizing slogans,
the usual stereotypes. Had there been a feminist movement worthy
of the name, they would have been its heroines; instead, because
they rejected the fashionable causes, insisted on traditional virtue,
fought limits on real choices, and relentlessly exposed the emptiness
of the Leftist slogans, they became the feminists' targets.
Now there are
two. And what a loss we have suffered. Barbara Olson was a life
force, a protean woman who lived life as it is supposed to be lived,
celebrating the good times to the full, enduring its worst moments
with grim resolve, supporting her friends and allies at all times,
taking the fight to her enemies with joyful enthusiasm. She had
one of the quickest and finest minds in Washington. Married to one
of the greatest attorneys of our time, she was the equal of anyone
in legal and political debate. But above all, she was our Braveheart,
leading us into battle with the cry of "Freeeeeedom,"
carrying the flag of proud independence.
Braveheart
to the end, fighting to the last. She had the presence of mind and
the force of will to call Ted from her doomed aircraft to ask, "What
should I tell the pilot to do?" Unwilling to go quiet into
the dark night she wanted marching orders, for herself and for the
people around her. She would not cow in the rear of the plane and
submit to the murderous instructions of her captors; she wanted
to go down fighting.
Perhaps she
did. A person from the White House told me that there is reason
to believe that plane/bomb was intended for the presidential residence,
not the Pentagon, and that something happened to make it swerve
suddenly. I like to think that at the last, Barbara charged the
cabin, survived the knife thrusts of the monsters, and hurled herself
at the kamikaze pilot, putting the plane into a loop toward Virginia.
A great woman,
a woman of immeasurable valor, who brought a singular light into
our lives. To see Ted with her was to understand the power of an
enduring love. He was so proud of her, so delighted by her, so totally
overcome with her love for him, that he knew he was the luckiest
of men.
The death of
such a person cannot be accepted, cannot be digested and must be
avenged. Her killers are many, from the evil men on the plane to
their supporters and Svengalis around the world, to all those among
us who dehumanize their political opponents and thereby facilitate
the transition from the politics of personal destruction to the
physical destruction of their opponents. She was killed by a fraudulent
and arrogant establishment that pretended it was capable of providing
our people with good security and our leaders with good intelligence.
Why are they permitted to remain at their posts? And not least of
all, she was killed by a corrupt elite that celebrates murder, provided
that the killers hold the right views and slaughter those who are
political lepers. "No Regrets for a Love of Explosives"
babbles the <I>New York Times</I> headline atop a disgraceful
puff piece on Weathermen killers that appeared on the day of Barbara
Olson's murder.
My America,
the real America, abhors these people, as Barbara did and as the
two surviving Barbaras do. And, in the course of our revenge against
the physical killers, the state sponsors, the sources of the money,
the dance masters in the streets of the Middle East who reveled
in our misery, the leaders of the Hate America and Kill the Jews
crowd, we must retain our capacity for righteous indignation against
those among us who bear a heavy moral responsibility for it.
If she were
still here, Barbara would have led that charge. But there are plenty
of us left.
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