Thoughts on 9-11

On the First of June of this year, I visited ground zero.

I found myself overwhelmed by the experience. I felt. I felt… sadness. I felt rage. I felt more than I could possibly describe – there were no words, no ideas, no concepts…. The rage was not exactly formless, shapeless, aimless; but it sure as hell wasn’t articulate.

I have to admit that I was not expecting the feelings I had. Not expecting to be mute as to those feelings. Not expecting not to know what was going through my mind. I am a horribly introspective person: not understanding myself is about the most uncomfortable experience, psychologically, I can endure. I stood at ground zero, fighting back tears for people I didn’t know, sealing off and pushing down rage about a crime committed nearly six years before.

I hardly noted today’s (I work nights, so, even though it is, technically, 9-12, upon waking up, just a few hours ago, it was 9-11) anniversary: I pondered the run-up to today, I watched part of a special on the History Channel, I was aware of the date and what happened on it. It was very… detached, however, very impersonal; and until I read a blog reminding me to be angry about what happened, I had not even made the connection of today’s date with my experiences on the First of June.

We are at War. I honestly do not understand those of my friends and acquaintances who do not understand that. Forget “American meddling in the MidEast” or “no blood for oil!” or “Saddam didn’t cause 9-11” or “War is not the answer.” Forget platitudes or simplistic reasoning or overly sophisticated reasoning. Forget “violence is never justified” or “one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom-fighter.”

Being at ground zero was like a psychological punch to the gut. It wasn’t something that I could intellectualize, something I could think or analyze away. Simply remembering what happened on this date has had little effect on me, but looking back over the pictures I took bring me back, remind me what this is all about.

They. HATE. Us. Over three thousand of us, three thousand friends, relatives, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters – three thousand of our flesh and blood, of yours, of mine – they DISAPPEARED from that very spot – because they hate the way we live, and because they find it acceptable to destroy us because we do not live as they do.

I, personally, do not mind how they live their lives, and I certainly do not have any desire to see them die; but they want to kill ME, and that is unacceptable. They want to destroy those who live this way of life, and in that I will not allow them to succeed. We had better be angry, we had better care about what they do, what they’ve done, what they want to do now, because if we do not, then they will win. They care, and if we don’t, they will, inevitably, win.

So I find the words of David Rusin resonating strongly with me. I’ve forgotten, not what happened, but how I’m supposed to feel because of it. Because if I stop caring, if I stop wanting to win…

how can I blame others for not wanting to win in the first place?