by Leonard Pitts Jr.
Miami Herald
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 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? Did you want to make us fear? Did you want to tear us apart?
Let me tell you about my people. 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 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. You're mistaken. We are not weak. Yes, we're in pain now. 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. 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 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. 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.
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.
It's my job to have something to say.
You monster.You beast.
Whatever it was, please know that you failed.
Did you want us to respect your cause?
You just damned your cause.
You just steeled our
resolve.
You just brought us together.
We are a vast and quarrelsome family, a family rent by racial, social, political and class division, but a family nonetheless.
We are fundamentally decent, though -- peace-loving and compassionate.
Some people -- you, perhaps
-- think that any or all of this makes us weak.
Indeed, we are strong in ways that cannot be measured by arsenals.
IN PAIN
We are in mourning and we are in shock.
But there's a gulf of difference between making us bloody and making us fall.
I tell you this without fear of contradiction.
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.
THE STEEL IN US
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?
But you're about to learn.
Click on Larry
has honored this story by Glenn Ward.