Don't Make A Martyr Of Him

Granted, using aid from the outside to build a nation is difficult anywhere. In Afghanistan (which, riven by bitter ethnic rivalries, barely counts as a nation at all) it will be a challenge for heroes. But the third front is the most difficult of all. For millions in the cities of the developing world, even in places that have seen miraculous economic growth, the promise of plenty is an illusion. Like the children in a Victorian novel, they press their nose against the windows of a house within which tables groan under jellies and pies. Relative poverty did not create and does not excuse international terrorism. But it can build a network of sympathy for those who take up the bomb and gun. Somehow the West, with its commitment to rationalism, belief in the future, confidence in the soothing effects of prosperity, has to learn how to talk to those with a different mental map--those for whom change is threatening, yesterday is more comforting than tomorrow and faith is a rock amid shifting sands.

In a brilliant contribution to the new collection of essays How Did This Happen?, Anatol Lieven tells of Pakistani Islamic radicals in the 1980s. They lived in a "semi-Western, semi-modern culture." They faced the threat of "sinking into the immiserated, semi-employed proletariat--with the hira mandi, or prostitutes' quarter, as the possible destiny of their sisters and daughters." It is men like those who may soon be tempted to venerate bin Laden's memory. We must persuade them to withhold the accolade; we can start by listening to their stories.