Aftermath

A week later, and I'm finally starting to get my feelings sorted out.

I've spent much of the last week alternating between following the news and walking away from the television, unable to take any more. After a while, you can't continue to watch the same tragedy over and over again, no matter what angle they show it from.

I still feel numb. As I explained to Roger Mexico the other night, it's as if someone slapped me across the face hard without warning. All I feel is this overwhelming sorrow and sadness for thousands of people I've never met.

Oh yeah. And guilt.

I feel guilty about being so strongly affected by this horrible act of terrorism. I don't live in New York. Everyone I know in New York is OK. Even the people I don't really know in New York (but read on a regular basis) are OK. So why am I still bursting into tears at least once a day? I can't even watch VH1 for fear that they'll show the Sting clip of "Fragile," recorded the night of the attacks. Or - even worse - the tribute video of the makeshift memorials and posters of the missing and the rescue units with Jeff Buckley's cover of "Hallelujah" playing beneath it. That song has always choked me up, but the shot of the fireman pinning the American flag to the back of his jacket before he joined the search gets me every time.

I almost feel unjustified to be carrying around this much sorrow for something that happened miles away from me. And I feel afraid to say what I feel about the way this atrocity, because what I see around me frightens me. The unity and compassion that has resulted in the national disaster has been amazing and awe-inspiring, but some of the "patriotic" reactions of my fellow Americans makes me wonder if we have learned anything from this past week.

Over the past week there have been reports of violence against Arab-Americans. There has been a lot of over the top patriotism where people around me have pretty much proclaimed Americans to be superior to every other nation of people on the face of this planet and are ready to send in ground troops and begin air strikes without any direction.

"Bomb first, ask questions later," they say. "Let God sort 'em out. We'll show 'em what happens when you fuck with America."

Believe me, I'm all for justice being served. But there's a big difference between justice and vengeance. Charging in blindly and laying waste to whatever stands in our way is not justice. As this letter so clearly points out, this may not be the wisest course of action.

But of course, to say something like this out loud is unpatriotic. It makes me a bad American because I don't approve of bombing Afghanistan into submission, or because our president's use of the word "crusade" makes me apprehensive. It makes me a horrible person when I wonder if we, as a nation, would have reacted as the rest of the world has if it had happened in another country.

If the attack had been on the British Parliament or the Arc de Triomphe, would Congress have taken time out to sing "God Save the Queen" or "La Marseillaise?"

But then again, according to Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson, I am a bad person. And this is partially my fault.

These are men of God? If so, I fear for the future of our world.

But just when I've lost all hope that the entire world has gone mad, a small gesture reassures me that there may be hope for the human race yet. My resident manager left a note tacked to my apartment door this weekend that just completely blew me away, and I'd like to share it with you:

"I must admit that this is a letter that I never expected to be issuing, but feel that I must. In the wake of the past week's events, I have been stopped in the halls, in the parking lots, and at my door. The distress, the sadness, and even the fear in the eyes of my neighbors has caused a grief in my heart, and at the same time a renewed gladness of the diversity that exists here at [the apartment complex]. We are truly a community of man, a community of various cultures and religious beliefs.

"The terrorist acts that have caused such sadness throughout the world has not left this community untouched. I have been made aware that some of you have friends and/or family missing in the wreckage of the World Trade Center. Our hearts and prayers go out to you. I am painfully aware that for some, bigotry is being aimed in your directionon the streets, or at your place of worshp, and to you our hearts and prayers go again out. I am also aware that all of us have in one way or another been affected by this atrocity.

"My family is very much in agreement that a great act of terror was done to the American People, but in our hearts we are firm that and even greater act of terror was done to the Human Race. We are all one people sharing a very small planet. We are diverse and we are very different. We are white, beige, brown, black, and many colors in between. We are Muslim, Buddhist, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, and many other beliefs. We are gay and straight, and all the things in between. We are men and we are women, we are young and we are old. As different as all those things can make us, we are all HUMAN. One race, one earth, one place to live.

"Although at times we have our disputes, my family is so grateful to live in a place, as small a portion of the world as it is, that we are one. To that I want to thank my Goddess, that each and every one of you has been brought to this corner of the map. To share yourselves and your cultures.

"Again to all, I hope that you all realize that your personal safety is important to us. No bigotry of any kind will be permitted on these 5 acres. Perhaps these 5 acres can begin to make a change."

And after I sat at my kitchen table and read this (and cried...again), I began to think perhaps we, the community of the human race, will get through this. Perhaps, after we complete our own personal mourning periods, the nations of the world can work together and something good can come of this awful loss after all.

And that thought alone is enough to get me through another day.