The Newsweek correspondent Susan Morgan, standing in the front, shielded Torbiornsson from the full force of the blast. Morgan suffered serious injuries in one arm, her legs and face. The BBC recently ran a video clip of Morgan confronting the hapless Torbiornsson, who seems still unable to fully understand his culpability.
The killers and the paymasters, the spies and gangsters, the terrorists and jihadists, on all sides of the divide, have grown in numbers to carry out a vast war in the shadows. They are determined to perpetuate the senseless violence and mayhem that are the currency of their profession. And they make peace and diplomacy impossible. That is their goal. Sen. Frank Church in 1975, after chairing a Senate committee investigation into U.S. intelligence activities, defined "covert action" as a "semantic disguise for murder, coercion, blackmail, bribery, the spreading of lies, and consorting with known torturers and international terrorists."
The multitudes of crimes these killers, torturers, kidnappers,
propagandists, special operations units and spies have carried out in
our name are well known to those outside our gates. There are hundreds
of millions of people who have a tragic intimacy with the twisted and
brutal soul of American imperialism. Okinawans. Guatemalans. Cubans.
Congolese. Brazilians. Argentines. Indonesians. Iranians. Palestinians.
Panamanians. Vietnamese. Cambodians. Filipinos. South Koreans.
Taiwanese. Nicaraguans. Salvadorans. Afghans. Iraqis. Yemenis. Somalis.
They can all tell us who we are, if we can listen. But we do not. We are as ignorant, gullible and naive as children. We celebrate fictitious red-white-and-blue virtues while our clandestine armies, which at times achieve short-term objectives but always finally plunge us deeper into violence, have steadily weakened and discredited the nation as well as the purported values for which it stands. These clandestine armies travel the globe, awash in hundreds of millions of taxpayer dollars, sowing dragon's teeth that rise up later, like the warriors in the myth of the Golden Fleece, to become mirror images of our own monstrosities.