I’m not going to take sides here. This is a writer’s magazine, and writers come in all shapes, sizes, and political stripes, from Ayn Rand to Helen Thomas to Jeanine Garofalo to Bertrand Russell. So I’m not going to take sides, even though I am very much on one side or the other, even though I have very strong ideas about many, many things—from the opinions of the very opinionated Helen Thomas to the politics of Ayn Rand. I’m not going to take sides. It would do no good. This is a writer’s magazine. We think about words, sentences, paragraphs, style, flow, point of view, narrative line, characterization, building suspense… Wait a goldarned minute—that’s just what people are thinking about outside these hallowed cyber-halls, isn’t it?—people in the great world of wars, and rumors of wars, smart bombs, dumb bombs, smart men, and not-so-smart men.
When I first heard the acronym W.M.D. (or, as it’s sometimes used, WMD), I cringed. I knew instantly to what it referred because I heard it in context: “And we have proof that he is amassing W.M.D’s at this very moment.” I knew who “he” was and I knew what “W.M.D’s.” meant. I cringed when I heard it because the acronym minimized a…thing that should not be minimized, a thing that’s driving our world to the brink of…conflagration, annihilation, madness, liberation—your definition of where we’re all headed because of WMD’s is doubtless as valuable, meaningful, and policy-changing as mine.
Here’s what’s really important about acronyms: They’re usually pretty useless and forgettable if they try to embrace an idea—except, of course, for those rare acronyms which not only embrace an idea (instead of a thing) but which also sound really cool at the same time, like M.A.D., or, for that matter, M.A.D.D. or CREEP (think Dick Nixon). Acronyms such as “CIA,” “NBC,” “TWA,” and “FBI” are easily remembered; we know to what they refer—they refer to things, not ideas.
Oddly, however, WMD refers not only to things, but, in a roundabout way, to ideas, too: After all, in the real world, where are these WMD’s? Under five acres of desert sand? In a hangar guarded by a platoon of swarthy, bearded, armed men? In a bunker not far from Reno? In someone’s very vivid imagination? All of the above?
Here’s what’s really important about the acronym WMD (other than, in using it, we invariably make a double plural out of a plural—“WMD” becomes “WMD’s”): It’s not cool. You can’t say it. It has no music. No panache. It’s not memorable or exciting. It has no punch! Plus, it could be an acronym for any number of things—especially if you don’t know what it’s really an acronym for; things like “Web M.D.,” for instance, or “We Might Die,” or “Weapons Mean Defense,” or “We Must Decide!” or “We Might Decide,” or “We Made Dinner.” It might even refer to a new brand of underwear. But none of that is important because, basically, “WMD” simply doesn’t roll nicely off the tongue and get under the hide of listeners and readers; it doesn’t foment anger, hatred, or the need for revenge.
You’re watching a press conference on the tube; a fit-looking man struts up to the podium, his chest thrust out, his arms swinging wide with authority, his jaw square, his eyes steel-blue and filled with resolve: He leans over the podium, actually puts one elbow on the podium, and says through clenched teeth (as if he’s actually speaking to you), “These WMD’s are a threat to our way of life, our freedoms, and all we hold dear.” His steel-blue eyes scan the room, and he adds, “He must destroy these WMD’s, now.” You cock your head at the screen, purse your lips, sigh. What next? you wonder. TELAWKI?