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.
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