As the sun began to set this afternoon, I was starting to feel a little silly. Maybe, as usual, I was overthinking things.
 | ||
| Mozart's Requiem at Kawaiha`o Church, part of the worldwide Rolling Requiem. | ||
![[ Click thumbnail for full-size image. ]](http://www.lightfantastic.org/gallery/albums/200209/11kawaihao2.thumb.jpg) |
![[ Click thumbnail for full-size image. ]](http://www.lightfantastic.org/gallery/albums/200209/11cityhall.thumb.jpg) |
|
| The unseen chorus performed from the rear mezzanine. | The Eternal Flame Memorial in front of Honolulu Hale. | |
I was simultaneously exhausted by the overwhelming, smothering presence of today's anniversary, yet glad for it. I wanted to forget about it, but I was glad I couldn't — and even with the 24-hour network coverage and media saturation, I was still afraid some people would.
But after driving home, and picking up Jen and the kids to go shopping for a birthday present for Doris' daughter, I was almost embarrassed by the haze in which I've been floating this week. Maybe my colleagues in America's newsrooms are overdoing it. Maybe the time for mourning and remembering is past, and maybe the answer to everything is indeed to move forward boldly, as after all, life goes on.
Then I heard it.
A low rumble, immediately resolving itself into the unmistakable scream of military fighter jets passing overhead. It was deafening. Every piece of plastic and glass in the van rattled, everyone on the street and in their cars frantically scanned the skies, and for a brief moment I seized up, my foot falling off the brake, and we lurched a couple of feet into the next lane.
"Wow," is all I said. Of course the jets were just part of the day's memorial services at the National Cemetary of the Pacific in Punchbowl Crater, which looms over our neighborhood. Intellectually, I knew they'd be doing a flyover, just like they do every Veteran's Day and Memorial Day.
But emotionally, viscerally, for those four seconds on Ke`eaumoku Street, I was scared. Terrified. The montage of things real and imagined that raced through my mind left me breathless.
I still didn't feel safe. And more to the point, I realized, perhaps I never should have, and I probably never will again.
"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."
— T.S. Elliot (Little Gidding, 1942)
I no longer felt guilty about immersing myself in the words, images, and sounds that today brought. The big things — the haunting Mozart "Requiem" performed by an unseen chorus at one of Hawaii's most historic churches, the special editions of both daily newspapers (saving copies and sending one as requested to David in New York), the blanket coverage of commemorative events around the world — and the little things, like pausing after writing "9/11/02" on a check, or staring a second longer at the date on a drug store receipt.
I was glad I watched the special documentaries on A&E and PBS earlier in the week. And tonight I took in pieces of coverage from all the national and cable networks. I grimaced over all that was cloying or misguided (like incorporating the twin towers of the World Trade Center into a special network logo), but I also cried with both joy and grief at some of the stories and was immediately glad for having heard them.
Some day too soon, Sept. 11 — especially if it, in a misguided fit of mass mourning, is made into a national holiday — will be just another reason for a red, white, and blue car sale.
But right now, we're nowhere near closure. We're not "over it." We're not done with any of the things that horrible day brought into our lives. Not by a long shot.
"It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us... that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation under God shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth."
— Abraham Lincoln (The Gettysburg Address, 1863)
More than one writer today has said, "Everything has changed. Nothing has changed." Ultimately, I don't think we've strayed too far from where we were on Sept. 10, 2001. We've just traded one set of colored glasses for another.
A year ago, a new fire was lit in this country, a revived pride in and love for a country whose greatest currency was ideas, and whose greatest asset was freedom. The roar of patriotism was heartening... and frightening. Sept. 11 unleashed an energy, a force not seen in decades, power waiting to be used, or abused. And to many, particularly those in other nations, Sept. 11 was a wake up call for the United States: we are not an island unto ourselves, we are not immune or unaffected by our actions and the actions of others beyond our borders. "Now we'll know what really matters," pundits said, "Goodbye Gary Condit, goodbye Britney Spears." Barbara Walters mused in an e-mail, "Isn't it wonderful to be back in the news business again? And isn't it tragic that it happened for this reason?"
A year later, and where are we?
Radio deejays are sending peoples to have sex in churches. More people were voting for the next "American Idol" than in local elections. More people can name J.Lo's new boyfriend than the president of Afghanistan. Professional ball players and team owners are back squabbling over decimal points in seven-digit numbers. Church attendance did not go up, divorce rates did not go down.
Nothing has changed.
Meanwhile, patriotism is still at record levels. As are mentions of "freedom." But.
In the name of freedom, we went into Afghanistan after Osama bin Laden. But we didn't get him, managing only to replace one unstable government with another. And whether hoping to give Americans some cathartic release, or to renew a grudge left over from the last Bush administration, our government is now struggling to produce an excuse to launch an unprovoked attack on Iraq. Even today, in remarks to supposedly remember the innocent lives lost last year, George W. Bush still made a thinly-veiled pitch to start another war. We're itching, threatening to "go it alone," against a growing chorus of other nations, less than a year after invoking unity and interdependency to build a coalition to go into Afghanistan.
And in the name of freedom, our government came up with the Patriot Act, which ironically eats away at some of the most fundamental rights on which our nation was built. And all the flag waving has inspired many to vehemently decry or outright censor any dissenting view. Apparently with Bill Clinton and his cigars gone, the White House is suddenly beyond reproach. I, no doubt, should be ashamed of myself for writing any of this.
Everything has changed.
But what do I know, right? Truth be told, I'm just an aging liberal who's futilely trying to stem the rising tide of conservatism within him by joining the ACLU. People with memories that go back far longer than mine, and historians who are paid to study such things, all say that the "pendulum swings both ways." That isolationism and efforts to limit civil rights come after any major war or tragedy. That in the end, we'll come out okay.
I hope so. I honestly don't know where the country is today in relation to Sept. 11, 2001. But we're nowhere near where we need to be.
![[ PGP ]](/pgp.gif){kind=small}