(By Leonard Pitts Jr. -- Syndicated columnist)
They pay me to tease shades of meaning from social and cultural
issues, 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, cultural, 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 its 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, indeed, 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 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, there is steel beneath this velvet. 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.
Still, I keep wondering what it was 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 about. You don't know what you just started.
But you're about to learn.
(Leonard Pitts Jr. -- Syndicated columnist)
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