So this is how history is made. An astonishing phenomenon. Suddenly we are all lifted as by a whirlwind out of our individual, quotidian, petty concerns, into something larger, much larger. Only one name does it justice: Revolution.
There are many striking things about the revolt sweeping the Arab world — sweeping it clean, we hope, though it's far too early to say. Journalists, historians, novelists, poets, intellectuals of all kinds will be writing about it for decades to come, centuries maybe, plumbing depths closed to us who watch it unfold day by day. Even we, though, can see this much: No one, anywhere, saw it coming. Which is scarcely less astonishing than the event itself.
Think of all the brainpower, the trained intelligence, the electronic equipment, focused every second of every day and night on that most strategic and volatile region on Earth. And suddenly, in an instant, everything they had all been observing, scrutinizing, analyzing and probing, morphed out of recognition, leaving the observers and analysts gaping in the same dumb surprise as the rest of us.