The day that lives in recent memory of the horror mankind is capable of arrived today covered not with healthy respect but with bitterness and spite. After nine years, we still are not at peace with the day, and the anger that has swelled in the years following the destruction of the World Trade Towers is fresher now than in the immediate aftermath of the attacks. Maybe we were in a daze then; maybe we were afraid to speak of our fear then; maybe we were more preoccupied with what to do than with working through the stages of grief that normally follow such losses. So now nine years later we are still working through the shock and the anger that leaves us raw and hurting. Had this event not served as a political tool to get us into two wars, we might now be better able to see normalcy taking over our lives, but as it stands, we see only more anger as more and more politicians and radio talk show hosts and public speakers use this moment to keep us in a perpetual state of hurt and anger. Even as we look back to the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the event that took us into World War II and an event that 9/11 is most often compared to, we see that the anger then did not last this long. We were involved in WWII only five years, after all, not nine. But then the aftermath of that attack was harsher, comparatively speaking, when we struck out at all Japanese-Americans and put them into concentration camps. We did not do that to all the Muslim Americans after 9/11. At least that is something. But what we do continue to do is exact a different kind of price from those on our home soil we deem responsible for 9/11. We do not let them live as free Americans.
This is not something that makes me proud. And although I understand that those who refuse to differentiate between the extremists responsible for the attacks on 9/11 and the moderates who had no part in the attacks are themselves a radical fringe of the public, they have nonetheless claimed an emotional place among the larger population. It is their voices that are carried out into the airwaves and their faces that are seen on the television screens that become associated with all Americans for those in other countries. When not enough people rise up to denounce them, their attitude, their words, then these radical fringe are what the world labels as American.
On a day that should be held in reverence and remembrance of those who lost their lives and of those who survived the unprovoked attack and those who risked everything in the name of service to others, it is a disgrace that these fringe elements are allowed to have the final word about how we observe the event that marked our lives and forever changed us. Not only should this not be a day to burn a Qur’an, but this should not be a day to even focus on the other. It should be a day to recognize that out of a great disaster, we rose to overcome, and a day to thank those who gave their lives and experience for showing us a better attitude, a better way of embracing the event, a better way of defining the American spirit.
But we haven’t so far. Instead, we continue to let the kooks and the vengeful-minded tell us how we should feel, show us how to reserve the day for hate and fear — not for release, but for keeps.
When I think of September 11, 2001, I remember more than the shock of the attacks. I remember how an international community came together, not just worldwide, though that is certainly true. The United States was buoyed by words of sympathy and support from all around the world that day, from friendly and not so friendly nations alike. But in my classroom in a university town in the Ozarks, my international students came to my office to support me and to share their words of kindness and respect and sympathy for what had happened to my great country — my great country, their words to me.
I had vacillated between going in and staying home that morning, but after talking to my husband who had called to say he was locked down at the base and would not be home that evening and after calling my daughter’s school only to learn that it too was locked down and no one was allowed on campus, I was compelled to go to my students, to see that they were okay. The Ozarks were not exactly known for tolerance of outsiders, even if the small community was the home of one of the best engineering schools and had been home to professors from all over the US and beyond. I was very much scared for my students. My visions of a few of our own extremists storming the university campus, demanding blood for blood entered my mind more than once as I prepared for the worst for my students. But the long drive into Rolla was eerily quiet. Hardly any traffic was on the highway, a highway normally populated by big trucks making their way ‘cross country to St. Louis and Chicago and beyond. And as I exited for the town, the streets normally buzzing with student traffic were nearly void of walkers, save a few who seem to be walking in stilted calm. (All this would change by the time I got out of class.) Easily I found a parking place and walked toward the international center, not knowing whether any of my students would come, but hoping to learn about their safety, perhaps from the center’s secretary or from the dean of the international center. I went first to my office….and my students came.
Their homes were in Saudi Arabia, Morocco, Libya, Turkey, Japan, China, Thailand, Korea, Argentina, Columbia, and Peru. They were Muslim, Jew, Buddhist, Catholic, and no religion. They had called their families just after the attacks on the World Trade Center, to let them know they were unharmed and to say good-bye, they told me. They did not know when they would see them again or if they would be able to get back home soon, if they needed to. But mostly they wanted reassurance from home; they were scared like the rest of us. After a briefing from university representatives, these international students were then “locked down” in their dorm rooms for their own safety. They were released for lunch and decided instead to come to my office. They were glad I had come to work, glad to see a friendly face, hear a friendly voice, and glad to know someone was here within sight for them. None of their other teachers had come in that morning.
They wanted to talk, so we talked. They shared their thoughts and disgust for what had happened and expressed their sympathy for this great tragedy to my country — my great country, they said. It is a great country, they assured me. I am always heartened when I remember that. My students, who themselves were scared and a long way from the comforts of their families, were so respectful and full of heart for me and my country. Many times since then I have wished that those in the US who are full of hate and wish harm on others could have such an experience to recall, to remind them that the world is not full of evil, that everyone does not hate us. There is good, too. Perhaps then they would be better able to reject the hair-on-fire rhetoric that so dominates our radio and television today and refrain from mislabeling and stereotyping, be better able to put the emotionalism in perspective and deal in rational thought and civil discussion.
I have lived in foreign countries and I know from personal experience the good and bad that exists in all, but I choose the good — not blindly, but with open eyes and non-prejudicial expectations. I choose to live up to what is good, right, and beneficial for all; at least this is what I strive for. I hope that this day recalls more than shock; I hope it summons memories of all that is good within us and brings it out of us, encouraging us to overcome the infamy. Granted, we have some work to do, some voices to overcome and to put in their rightful place, but we can do it…and I hope we can do it for more than a day.
Tags: 9/11, international relationships, Ozarks on 9/11, stories about 9/11, teaching at a university
