Tomorrow is the twentieth anniversary of the events of September 11, 2001...and, to tell the truth, I have been dreading this weekend, as I have just about every year for the last ten at least.
It seems to have become a day for the United States to sink into a morass consisting of false sorrow, false piety, and false patriotism. False sorrow because we spend about 48 hours mourning the loss of the victims of 20 years past and then promptly forget about them at midnight on the 12th. False piety because we go to our places of worship and pray for them, allegedly without regard to their beliefs, ancestry, or origins--and then, upon leaving the church, synagogue, or mosque, promptly begin spouting our ingrained prejudices. False patriotism because we will wave the flag in their honor, then disrespect everything it stands for by supporting political causes that defy the Constitution.
I was nine years old on the twentieth anniversary of Pearl Harbor, old enough that I can remember that there was some mention of it on the evening news, and articles in the newspaper about the commemorations and perhaps even interviews with servicemen (by then in their 40s) who were there. But we didn't devote an entire day of broadcasting to it, nor were there special inserts in the newspapers devoted to it. Why hasn't 9/11 become that kind of day?
Yes, far more people were killed than at Pearl Harbor; yes, they were mostly civilians. But were the aftermath and consequences of 9/11 more significant than those of December 7, 1941? I would argue no...except by our own making, as we instituted a regimen of fear and distrust, marked by the ridiculous "security theater" at our airports, the armed guards at our train stations and stadiums, and the concrete barriers surrounding our national monuments and buildings.
We allowed the terrorists to terrorize us; we gave in to the very agenda they planned...to make us afraid and change the way we live because of that fear. Why do we celebrate that surrender every year?
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