I would argue that Mr. Levant [author of The Enemy Within] and his ilk deserve some of the blame, too: By gleefully pretending, for more than a decade, that there was some way to avoid his eventual repatriation. Indeed, The Enemy Within concludes with a far-fetched, last-ditch plan to keep him out. It won't work; it was never going to work. He's coming home, and we made sure it was under the worst, most dangerous possible circumstances.
Oh, but it was fun, wasn't it? All those super talk radio ideas: Strip a nativeborn Canadian's citizenship, deport him to Pakistan, have him live in Jack Layton's basement. Oh, ho ho. And all those arguments about who is and who isn't a child soldier? Good times.Indeed. I for one have always resorted to a little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants to keep the horror re the Khadrs at bay. My bad. Queen Chrissy wants you to know that laughter in these circumstances is completely inappropriate, and, even worse, like, really immature. "A grown-up country would have done what the grown-up countries did, " he writes, "and vigorously pursued its long-term security. We just had fun hating the Khadrs. At least Mr. Levant got a book out of it."
Do my sensitive antennae detect a soupcon of jealousy there? Could that be at least partly what's behind Chris's unintentionally hilarious solemnity?
Ezra got a book out of it (a great read, BTW; I highly recommend it). I, on the other hand, got a song:
Jihad was your ticket out.
To that same old land
Your dad laughed about.
Well, your family is waitin' with open arms.
And the Ceeb is extolling
Your many charms.
Chillin' down in Gitmo
(Chillin' down in Gitmo)
You didn't wanna sit mo'
(Didn't wanna sit mo').
Well, we'll try to be mature
'Cuz you're comin' "home" for sure,
(Welcome back, welcome back,