In this week’s Quick Take, columnists and members of the university reflect upon the 10th anniversary of 9/11. What does this tragedy mean to AU students? How did the campus community handle its grief and how does it continue to do so? Should this date remind us of larger implications on U.S. foreign policy? Our Quick Take columnists and members of the AU community weigh in:
Professor Louis W. Goodman — 9/11 2.0: a new opportunity
Sarah Palazzolo — Remembrance through service
Rachel Lomot — From Finkel’s talk, an appreciation for acts of kindness
Nick Field — The 9/11 generation
Derek Siegel — The importance of our individual memories
Joe Gruenbaum — Lessons in U.S. foreign policy
Rev. Joe Eldridge — Responding to fear with interfaith solidarity
Louis W. Goodman
Professor and Emeritus Dean SIS
Sept. 11, 2001’s hideous criminal attacks brought personal tragedy to the thousands of families whose loved ones were murdered, maimed or mentally scarred by despicable killers. These attacks also increased fear and uncertainty for a world that was seeking a new path after a century of bloody war and ideological confrontation.
That day, illusions of U.S. invulnerability evaporated, and American leaders resolved to prevent future attacks. While steps to increase safety were announced immediately, questions remain about their real efficacy. What is without question is the need to learn from these attacks and the first decade of response. Recognition of U.S. vulnerability is an opportunity to engage and learn from actual and potential allies, many of which have dealt with massive criminal violence for decades and more.
While full trust and capacity for effective collaboration take years to mature, 9/11’s hallowed ground can best be consecrated by building collaborative capacity to enforce and respect the rule of law around the world. The wars of occupation of Afghanistan and Iraq, the Patriot Act restriction of civil rights, “tough interrogation” of prominent prisoners and other measures have to date consumed trillions of dollars world-wide, have brutally truncated millions of lives and have called to question the United States’ commitment to its founding principles.
Had this treasure been more directed to hone shared intelligence capability, to bolster police and judicial capacity and to build schools, roads and hospitals, a stronger base for future peace and prosperity would have been achieved. Perhaps our response during 9/11’s second decade can pull us back from the brink of military stalemate, financial catastrophe, human tragedy and moral attrition that has been the result of the 1.0 response to 9/11.
Louis Goodman is a professor and the Emeritus Dean of the School of International Service.
Sarah Palazzolo
People stood in a semblance of a line that curled around the concrete steps and down the wheelchair accessible ramp. There were kids everywhere, hanging on the metal guardrails draped with red, white and blue crepe paper streamers. There were mothers not quite in their twenties, staring out into the world with a hardened glint of reality, their eyes a reflection of struggle and a determination for overcoming it. There were older men, grayed and wrinkled, sitting in lawn chairs and slowly breathing smoke out into the air in the compound.
This is the Richardson Dwelling, a housing development in Northeast D.C. Through an organization called City Gate, a small group of AU students celebrated and commemorated the 10th anniversary of 9/11 there with new books, new clothes, a footwashing service and a cookout.
The event provided for basic, immediate needs of the residents: winter coats, books that a child can claim as his or her own. But everyone was waiting in line for a new pair of shoes that would keep their feet warm through the winter. Each person had to sign in, be measured for shoe size, and sit across from a volunteer who proceeded to wash their feet, laying hands on each resident, praying with them for strength and purity and drying them off gently with a towel. And they were christened with new shoes for the winter.
Outside the community room where the ceremonial shoe exchange took place, music was playing and people congregated over an all-American spread of hotdogs and potato chips. The community was at peace. Washing another person’s feet requires humbling yourself to confront the dirt and the grime that a stranger accumulates as he or she moves through society. The recipient has an equally important responsibility: to accept the act not as one of uninformed philanthropy, but as an act of compassionate understanding and commitment to change.
Directly after 9/11, people came together to comfort one another in a time of national mourning. But the sustainability of that unity is worth re-examining. If anything, social divisions have been perpetrated by fear and violence. Most people on the Metro that morning were not taking the Orange Line out to the Deanwood Station. Most people lived another uninterrupted, relatively routine day. If America is willing to be healed, we each individually need to seek opportunities to give and receive service grounded not in charity but in compassion. The National Day of Service here at AU, in Washington and across the country demonstrated that we as a nation are capable of temporarily abandoning our differences to turn a tragic event in our past into a dedication to a hopeful future — at least for a day.
Sarah Palazzolo is a freshman in the College of Arts and Sciences and a Quick Take columnist for The Eagle.
From Finkel’s talk, an appreciation for acts of kindness
Rachel Lomot
David Finkel, the author of “The Good Soldiers,” stated in his talk in Bender Arena on Sept. 7 that what moved him the most during his stay in Iraq was not the violence, bombs or death he experienced daily, but the little ways people would still act decently. When speaking of the soldiers committing small acts so as little as smiling, he stated, “For one second against this backdrop of war you could feel some beauty.”
As I watched Finkel during the ending slideshow his expression summed up more than all the words in “The Good Soldiers.” While watching the photographs of the soldiers killed in action he did not cry, but smiled. As I looked across the audience I saw many eyes filled with tears. The students who were previously on their phones texting froze and watched in sadness.
However Finkel’s face displayed not despair but nostalgia for the small moments of happiness. The difference between Finkel and us is that he knows these soldiers personally and understands that even in the worst of situations humans will find good in one another.
Having just spent my first 9/11 anniversary in Washington, D.C., I understand what Finkel meant by “the little things.” It could be seen all over Washington and AU where service events have been set up. Personally, I bagged trail mix for homeless people. I believe that the tragedy of 9/11 helped show what it really means to be American. We combat fear not with grief or anger, but with compassion. On this anniversary, Washington, D.C., has done “the little things” by taking this as an opportunity to give back.
It seems to me that humans have a great capacity for evil. Like many Americans, I am reminded of this on every anniversary of 9/11. As I watch the footage of the attack for the 20th time it has become increasingly hard not to lose faith in humanity. But this year, Washington, in the midst of memories of the violence, honors this day by uniting.
It’s the small actions such as holding hands with a crying friend during the candle vigil that prove to me compassion will always triumph hatred. I believe that we will combat terrorism with our spirit for good and our memories of the little things.
Rachel Lomot is a freshman in SIS and the School of Communication and a Quick Take columnist for The Eagle.
Nick Field
As we approach the 10th anniversary of 9/11, there will likely be a lot of reminiscing about how all of us spent that day and about those who tragically lost their lives. While we should of course always remember those who perished, it’s also worth asking what effect the tragedy had on us and continues to have on our world.
The terrorist attacks completely changed our national priorities, as national security and foreign affairs became our sole national focus. As a result, we became a generation uniquely concerned with world affairs. Today, however, the country has turned away from foreign affairs in favor of economic concerns.
For the first few years after 9/11, national security was a kind of countrywide obsession. We invaded Afghanistan under the pretense of capturing Osama bin Laden, and a year and a half later, we invaded Iraq because we were told it was related to the “war on terror.” The 2004 presidential election was, in large part, all about 9/11, how we should protect the homeland, how we should treat potential terrorists and how we should conduct the two wars we found ourselves in.
All the while, our generation was absorbing the lessons of the time and sought to become more involved in these critically important issues. This is especially true of our campus, as over half of the student body is in SIS or SPA, focusing on international relations, politics and government.
In the last few years, however, these issues have fallen completely off our national radar. After the Iraq War became a quagmire, people just seemed to lose interest and soon the global economic crisis became our primary concern. The 2008 presidential election was decided entirely on economic matters, and it appears that the 2012 election will be as well.
All this begs the question, how much did 9/11 really change our society? Did it truly change our priorities, or did it just create a short interval that temporarily interrupted the concerns over the long-term economic decline this nation has experienced for decades?
If the public remains concerned with only economic matters, that may put our generation at a supreme disadvantage. Is it possible that the “post-9/11 world” has already passed us by?
Nick Field is a senior in SPA and a Quick Take columnist for The Eagle.
The importance of our individual memories
Derek Siegel
Fast-forward 10 years and the exact details of the attack start getting a little blurry. I can’t remember how much time elapsed between the first collision at the World Trade Center and the second. I don’t remember who was the mayor of New York at the time or which words President Bush used to console a grieving nation. I can, however, tell you where I was when I first heard the news.
I was in Ms. Mushington’s third grade Language Arts classroom. We were gathered on the carpet discussing an article about the Alaskan Iditarod race when a strange woman entered the room. She and Ms. Mushington had a serious conversation. Then she left, and Ms. Mushington turned to us with a frown, “I have some very grown-up news to share with you guys.”
I am sure that each of you reading this has similar stories. By itself each story may seem like the jumbled memories of an elementary school student. But if we were to write our stories down and bind them together into a book, that’s powerful stuff. The book would be a testament to the unsettling post-9/11 nation we live in, an anxiety-ridden nation faced with blunt reminders of its own vulnerabilities.
We’re currently up to our eyeballs in a War on Terror against an unseen enemy. When you turn on the news they’re talking about al-Qaida and counter-terrorism programs. Terrorism hasn’t always been at the forefront of the American agenda, though — it’s the product of the socio-political tension that has been dominating our nation ever since 9/11.
But we’re used to it. We’re used to going through rigorous airport security and looking out for suspicious turban-wearing persons. That’s what we’ve grown up around. In so many ways 9/11 has become a central part of our lives, defining our generation.
I can still feel the scratchy threads of carpet wound around my fingers as Ms. Mushington explained what a World Trade Center was and how many brave Americans have died. Ten years have passed but I can still picture her face.
On this tenth anniversary of Sept. 11, I hope we can take the time to remember the many men and women who lost their lives. But I’d appreciate it if we also took the time to consider the legacy of 9/11: What it means to us as a nation, as a generation, but most importantly what it means to us as individuals.
Derek Siegel is a freshman in SIS and a Quick Take columnist for The Eagle.
Lessons in U.S. foreign policy
Joe Gruenbaum
In moments of great shock, trial and tribulation — 9/11, for example — it is easy for unity to become collective anger. After that fateful day, America was confused, bewildered and distraught. The populace didn’t know what exactly had hit us. Some wanted revenge—all wanted justice. But the commodity that we did not strive for enough after the dark, monstrous, ashen cloud had faded from the Manhattan skyline, after the smoke had dispersed over a Pennsylvania field of soft grass and goldenrod and wildflowers, after the last of the emergency crews pulled away from the Pentagon was fact. Our interpretation of those events — and our emotional connection to them — especially in the weeks and months and years following 9/11, was forever clouded by a renewed nationalism and a defiant celebration of American values.
President Bush characterized the origins and sentiments of radical Islam as hatred for these values: “They hate our freedoms: our freedom of religion, our freedom of speech, our freedom to vote and assemble and disagree with each other.”
But the evidence to the contrary is copious. The grievances al-Qaida and some members of the wider Islamic community had toward the United States were not with “our freedoms” — though it should be noted that Bin Laden’s final goal for the U.S. was that it should become an Islamic state—but with specific, repressive foreign policies.
“They rip us of our wealth and of our resources and of our oil,” bin Laden said in a 1998 interview. “Our religion is under attack. They kill and murder our brothers.”
It is much easier to personalize an enemy, to set things in terms of “you’re either with us or against us,” than to examine one’s own role. But I’ll try to quickly summarize it.
U.S. policy in the Middle East was not great before 9/11. Sanctions on Iraq caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocent people, many Muslim. The United States provided (and still gives) hundreds of millions of dollars in arms to an oppressive Saudi government and stationed troops there until 2003 — a policy that especially angered bin Laden and other Saudi nationals. We bombed a pharmaceutical plant in Sudan that produced 90 percent of the country’s pharmaceutical products. We aided both sides of the Iraq-Iran War. And we cannot forget the cherry on top of U.S. Middle Eastern policy, perhaps the single greatest roadblock to a constructive relationship with the Arab world: U.S. policy toward Israel, which the 9/11 commission report admits was a large motivator for Khalid Shaikh Mohammed and countless others.
The events of Sept. 11, 2001, were gut-wrenching, deplorable and downright disgusting. But we should — and still have the opportunity to — channel those feelings of remorse and revulsion into a constructive analysis of why and try to find out how we can adapt. Our country deserves such a response.
Joe Gruenbaum is a freshman in SIS and a Quick Take columnist for The Eagle.
Responding to fear with interfaith solidarity
Rev. Joe Eldridge
University Chaplain
A scant couple of hours after the planes slammed into the World Trade Center Towers, the Pentagon and the grassy field in Pennsylvania the university community gathered — almost spontaneously — on the steps of the Kay Spiritual Life Center. There were lots of emotions: fright, disbelief, grief, fear, anger, vengeance perhaps and maybe survivor guilt. For a while, our foundational certitude and core assumptions about life disintegrated. So many certainties about life that we take for granted living in the United States collapsed as surely as the twin towers. Suddenly, the same existential anxieties and insecurities felt by many peoples around the world were felt by us.
We felt sadness and outrage as we watched the awful death of so many. Almost 3,000 died in New York — and a seventh of those killed died trying to save others.
All these feelings were wrapped in a deeper emotion — a jarring sense of shock at our own vulnerability which left us mute and speechless. In this vulnerability, we became conscious about our own contingency and creatureliness. We suddenly became aware in a very profound way about what unites us, not divides us. We were brought to a very realistic sense of humility — and our common condition as mortal and finite human beings.
In many ways it was a profoundly religious moment — like none that I can remember. Places of prayer and worship were filled to overflowing as we all sought to claim that place in our souls that ached for certainty — that profoundly human place that acknowledges our humanity and God’s truth as creator and sustainer of life.
An important part of that learning is the recognition of our need to be with each other. So we gathered in front of the chapel. We had all come from different places — people of faith and people of no faith. We stood side by side physically. We stood side by side spiritually.
I will long remember the fear especially coming from our Muslim brothers and sisters. Some feared reprisals as they walked back to their cars in Nebraska. AU students volunteered to accompany them. At the regular community Jumu’ah prayer on Friday, as the Muslim Community gathered for its corporate weekly prayer, AU students spontaneously joined them in a magnificent expression of solidarity and support.
While the initial fear has abated, a decade later many of these same questions about ultimate security and “sovereignty” continue to abide. Over the intervening years, the corps of Kay’s chaplains have continued to be present for students in a discernment process that inevitably occurs in the search for meaning and purpose. We like to think that the Chapel continues to be a place where the community can find the emotional and ethical ballast that both sustains and enthuses. So as we look back and remember that terrible day of 9/11, we also anticipate a future claimed by God’s hope.
Rev. Joe Eldridge is the University Chaplain at the Kay Spiritual Life Center.
