I’m having trouble backing away from my mind’s fomenting of angry thoughts over the shooting of Malala Yousafzai, a fourteen-year-old girl, in Karachi, Pakistan. Armed men pulled over the school bus by waving their guns at the bus driver (one terrorist rode a bicycle). They boarded the bus asking for Malala and, recognizing her, shot her in the head and neck. Fucking bastards—I want them to die slowly and painfully. Perhaps that is what will win the war on terrorism—when their insane behavior finally produces not Terror, but Rage (as it always ought to have done).

She’s still in hospital, in critical condition as of this writing, but the bullets have been removed from her head and neck. The Taliban were quick to take ‘credit’ for this atrocity, promising to try again if she survives. So, perhaps they aren’t effective girl-slaughterers, but dogged ones? Can you imagine the psychotic viewpoint of the creature who wrote up that public statement? I can’t—I’m too caught up in rage and disgust.

Large-scale gatherings have been a hallmark of the Arab Spring phenomenon these last few years—if I lived in Karachi, I’d be thinking pretty hard about getting together and stringing those bastards from the lampposts. Not that further lawlessness is any remedy for their situation, long term—but maybe this calls for a brief recess for civility, while they drag these madmen into the street and beat them to death. (I’m sorry!—Did I just say that?)

As you can see, I’m just seething about this. It is probably because I have a daughter of my own, though she is grown now (with a college degree) but I can only imagine the feelings of the family of Malala Yousafzai—and every daughter’s father in Pakistan.

I felt, and still feel, a great protectiveness towards my beloved daughter. Male chauvinism notwithstanding, I can’t help thinking that the fathers of the Swat Valley feel the same way. If the Taliban organizing there are not in fear for their lives, than there’s a lot more wrong with Pakistan than anyone ever imagined.