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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'd 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 we are a family nonetheless.
We're frivolous, yes; capable of expending tremendous emotional energy on
pop culture minutiae - a singer's revealing dress, a ball team's misfortune,
a cartoon mouse. We're wealthy, too, spoiled by 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 of 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.
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 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.
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