Thursday, September 11, 2003

Two years later... and a day.

It's 7am here, but that means it's midnight on the east coast, and 9/11/2003 has passed without incident (as near as I can tell). Yesterday was a bit more tension-filled than our typical day here, but there were some bright spots that I wanted to share with you.

The chaplain for our post organized an impromptu gathering, to coincide with the exact time the first plane hit the WTC. About 50 military men and women were gathered, as the events that took place 2 years ago were described by Col. Hagan, our interim Port Commander. There was a moment of silence, then a huge man. whose name I didn't catch, sang "I'm Proud to be an American". It was hard to see some of the big tough military guys struggling not to shed a tear, but it also seemed to reinforce their belief in what they're doing here. Some of them have received orders that their tour of duty has been extended, so they won't be home for Christmas like so many had hoped. But at this moment, that was completely forgotten of course. From where I stood I could see two huge naval transport ships unloading and loading their cargo, as people milled about and noticed our gathering. Those that realized what it signified stopped and put their heads down for a minute, then continued their work.

I really wanted to post this earlier, but there were too many people in the apartment already using the TV, and I couldn't get to it until this morning. That's ok, I needed the sleep!

I was looking for this column all day yesterday, but i was looking in the wrong place online. I found it this morning, and I wanted to put it here for anyone that hadnt' read it when it was originally published September 12, 2001, by Leonard Pitts, a columnist for the Miami Herald:

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.


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.


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.

Read his other columns. I'm especially looking forward to what he has to say today.

Well, that's all for now, I need to get into work. I'll post something a little later today, hopefully I'm going to be moving to our new apartment, more details later!

Love to all!

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