As I watch the commemorations of that September day, the feelings that come to me are much as they were then. There is disbelief at the sheer scope of the tragedy, sorrow for the pain of the victims and all who loved them, pride in the humanity of the many brave souls who risked everything to aid others -- risked and lost but in the losing won so much. I remember watching several days later as the stars of America gathered to support the families of victims and knowing bone-deep that on that day there had been not a dime’s worth of difference between me and them and indeed much of the world as we watched the 11th unfold. And I took comfort in the messages of commiseration that came from everywhere, from the offers of a village in Kenya to send cattle to the condolence of Queen Elizabeth of England.
But now there is a new feeling, a kind of resignation. What I feared then might happen as a result of that day became reality, and now must be lived with. The rush to flaggery that alarmed me then continues to undermine the vision many of us cherished of a world moving toward peace and justice. I feared that a peculiar patriotism would react by becoming jingoistic and the record of that happening is too long to cite. A blank check was given to people in a position to use 9/11 to further their own aims of power both personal and national.
And so, to use a homely metaphor, both shoes dropped and life went on. I have a private set of beliefs that are somewhat religious and they are: when there is a huge tragedy then the sacrifice is meant to awaken in the living a common purpose toward righting wrongs. Ten years on I believe that any hope of a better world requires still more sacrifice.
Gem: black onyx
