Two significant events occurred last week, both carrying important messages to a world grappling with the menace of jehadi terrorism. On Thursday, Britain’s intelligence establishment thwarted a terrorist attack on as many as 10 passenger aircraft flying to the United States, thus averting what could have been ‘‘mass murder on an unimaginable scale’’. In a clear and candid articulation of what the conspiracy meant for the UK, its Home Secretary, John Reid, said that terrorism poses ‘‘the most sustained severe threat to the security of our nation since the end of World War II’’. (Contrast this to the namby pamby initial reaction from our own Home Minister, Shivraj Patil, after the 7/11 serial bomb blasts in Mumbai.)

Had the plot succeeded (it still might, who knows?), one can imagine the outrage it would have generated around the world. But even in its failure, it has succeeded in sending a wave of fear and apprehension among a large section of air travellers, especially those in Europe and the US. Suddenly, much of the safety, comfort and freedom that westerners enjoyed, and which they took for granted, seemed threatened. Britain, in particular, is hit by the most excruciating existential crisis in its history. Which country wouldn’t if a significant section of its own population expresses sympathy for warlike terrorist acts carried out on its own soil?

In a recent opinion poll, almost a quarter of British Muslims said the July 2005 bombings in London (which killed 56 people) can be justified because of the Government’s support for America’s ‘‘anti-Muslim war on terror’’. Even in Thursday’s aborted terrorist attack, a majority of the 21 people arrested reportedly are British Muslims of Pakistani origin. US President George Bush was right when, reacting to the foiled terrorist plot, he described the menace that his own country and Britain faced—and which many other countries, including India, also face—as ‘‘Islamic fascism’’.

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