Editorial
from the
Published Wednesday,
September 12, 2001
We'll
go forward from this moment
It's
my job to have something to say.
They
pay me to provide words that help make sense of
that which troubles the American soul. But in
this moment of airless shock when hot
tears sting disbelieving eyes, the only
thing I can find to say, the only words that seem to fit, must be addressed to the unknown author of this
suffering.
You monster. You beast. You unspeakable
bastard.
What lesson did you hope to teach us by your
coward's attack on our World Trade
Center, our Pentagon, us? What was it you hoped
we would learn? Whatever it was, please know that you failed.
Did you want us to respect your cause? You
just
damned your cause.
Did you want to make us fear? You just steeled
our resolve.
Did you want to tear us apart? You just
brought us together.
Let me tell you about my people. We are a vast
and quarrelsome family, a family rent by
racial, social, political and class division, but a family nonetheless. We're
frivolous, yes, capable of
expending tremendous emotional
energy on pop cultural minutiae
-- a singer's
revealing dress, a ball team's misfortune, a cartoon mouse. We're
wealthy, too, spoiled by the ready availability of trinkets and material goods, and maybe
because of that, we walk through life
with a certain sense of blithe entitlement. We are fundamentally decent, though -- peace-loving
and compassionate. We struggle to know
the right thing and to do it. And we are, the
overwhelming majority of us, people of faith, believers in a just
and loving God. Some people -- you,
perhaps -- think that any or all of this
makes us weak. You're mistaken. We are not weak. Indeed, we are strong in ways that cannot be measured by arsenals.
IN PAIN
Yes, we're in pain now. We are in mourning
and we are in shock.
We're still grappling with the unreality of
the awful thing you did, still working
to make ourselves understand that this isn't a special effect from some Hollywood blockbuster, isn't
the plot development from a Tom Clancy novel. Both in terms of the
awful scope of their ambition and the
probable final death toll, your attacks
are likely to go down as the worst acts of
terrorism in the history of the United
States and, probably, the history of the world. You've bloodied us as we have never been bloodied
before.
But
there's a gulf of difference between making us bloody and making us fall. This
is the lesson Japan was taught to its bitter sorrow the last time anyone hit us
this hard, the last time anyone brought us such abrupt and monumental pain.
When roused, we are righteous in our outrage, terrible in our force. When provoked
by this level of barbarism, we will bear any suffering, pay any cost, go to any
length, in the pursuit of justice.
I
tell you this without fear of contradiction. I know my people, as you,I think,
do not. What I know reassures me. It also
causes me to tremble with dread of the future. In the days to come, there will be
recrimination and accusation, fingers
pointing to determine whose failure allowed
this to happen and what can be done to prevent it from happening again.
There will be heightened security, misguided talk of revoking basic freedoms. We'll go forward from this
moment sobered, chastened, sad. But
determined, too. Unimaginably determined.
THE STEEL IN US
You see, the steel in us is not always readily
apparent. That aspect of our character
is seldom understood by people who don't know us well. On this day, the family's bickering is
put on hold.
As Americans we will weep, as Americans we
will mourn, and as Americans, we will rise in defense of all that we cherish.
So I ask again: What was it you hoped to teach
us? It occurs to me that maybe you just
wanted us to know the depths of your hatred. If
that's the case, consider the message received. And take this message in exchange: You don't know my
people. You don't know what we're
capable of. You don't know what you just started.
But you're about to learn.