|View From a Height
Commentary from the Mile High City
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Here's what I don't get.
This is supposed to be a Syrian band of some sort. The lunatic fringe, also known as Erika Green, knows knows knows that it isn't her friend Kulna Sawa, or Kama Sutra, or whatever. Fine. It's the only Syrian band we can find, but the picture's got a girl in it, and we know there weren't any girls sneaking around, disabling lavatory music sensors, and planting flute parts where later bands could find them. So let's say it wasn't them.
Why hasn't anyone involved with the gig come forward?
Really. The guys on the plane were clearly aware they were freaking people out. How hard would it have been for a musician to nudge the guy next to him and say, "eh, you know, what's the best way to the Mojave from the airport? We've got a gig there tonight." It would have embarrassed the hell out of whomever he told, and probably defused a situation that, instead, ended up with a regiment of armed federal agents doing triage on the passenger list.
Since then, it's been three weeks since the flight (whose number, origin and destination, and flight number were given, for crying out loud), and one week since the article. And silence. Nothing. Chirp-chirp-chirp, as the crickets play a capella. No band, who might well be back in Syria being questioned by their government about what went wrong. No booking agent. No party host. No casino owner. No pissed-off hotel manager wanting to know who to bill for dry-cleaning the prayer mats. Nobody - at all - telling us that everything's ok, move along, there's nothing to see here.
We're supposed to be chasing down these folks to find out who they are. But if everything's as innocent as all that, why wouldn't they avail themselves of the chance to make us all look bad, and maybe pick up a few bookings by famous lefties who want another platform to lecture us about the evils of racist profiling? Seriously, if it were you, wouldn't you say something?