Nineteen years ago, a catastrophic event occurred that changed our nation forever. On 9/11/2001, four commercial aircrafts were hijacked and crashed into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and into a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. This unspeakable terrorist attack crippled the airline industry and shook America’s sense of security, affecting every American and likely every person in the world in some way.
The tragedy of September 11, 2001 will be indelibly recorded in our visual consciousness―seared in our memory as if it were yesterday. Each one of us can remember with great clarity where we were and what we were doing as we focused on the most horrific attack ever on American soil. We can recount, in slow motion detail, how our hearts were ripped out as we watched the twin Towers collapse, killing thousands of innocent people and shattering America’s innocence. Many of us encountered recurring waves of nauseating visceral reactions of despair, incomprehension, fear, anger, sorrow, anxiety and vengeance. It’s not surprising that these attacks provoked a whole slew of emotions in a country that was forever changed.
No words could have been more inspiring or insightful in those first hours, than those of Leonard Pitts Jr, a columnist from the Miami Herald, who wrote an angry and defiant open letter to the World Trade Center terrorists, which circulated the globe via the internet. His passion and resonant voice gave our hearts words when we grappled with the shock and horror of that dreadful day. I hope his words are a source of strength for you, as they were for me.
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 block-buster, 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.