SimplyStrange
September 14th, 2001, 11:10 PM
Here's something a friend emailed me....though I dunno where it came from...
We'll Go Forward From this Moment
by Leonard Pitts Jr., the Miami Herald
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.
We'll Go Forward From this Moment
by Leonard Pitts Jr., the Miami Herald
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.