Three Days Later

Today is a stark contrast from the cold and rain we had on September 11th; that strange kind of rain that's barely visible but feels like a sheet of ice against your skin. Today it's sunny and warm, almost as if the weather knows how to appropriate itself for the occasion. Friday, we needed a solemn reminder. Today, we look ahead to the future, to a better place.

Don't forget, but do move on.
But when and who do you forgive?

Am I to believe that, as many Christian Americans think, those 9/11 terrorists are already suffering in Hell? Am I to believe that, by the twisted logic of their own fanatical extremism, they're being rewarded in Heaven? What if I don't believe in either place? What if I'm as unsure about death as I was when I was six? Why should we lean on religion to solve all our problems? How will entering an eternal resting place help stop the violence here on Earth? Does it matter what happened to those dead terrorists as much as what happened, what's still happening, here, right now, as a repercussion of terrible actions?

Don't look to punish the past; look to improve the future.

My mom tells me that she listens to racist people; she listens to what they have to say. She says that other people, non-racist people, often sound slightly appalled when she tells them this. She says that if you don't listen, how will you understand? If you don't listen, how can you convince them to think differently? If you don't listen, if you just talk and talk and talk, nothing you're saying will penetrate the other person's thoughts.

I think it's true. I think that my mother is one of the defining reasons why I try not to hate.

One day during recess in elementary school, one of my friends called something "gay." Clearly, she meant in the degrading sense, not the sexual preference sense or the happy-joy sense.
I didn't know what this meant. The only time I remembered hearing what "gay" meant was during Chorus while we were learning a Christmas Carol as part of our Winter Holiday Assembly; "don we now our gay apparel, fa la la la la la la la la."
When I got home I ran the word by my mom.
"It's when two boys love each other or two girls love each other."
Being nine, I needed some clarification and asked my mother if being gay was bad.
"No," she replied, "it's just different."
I still think it's one of the most accurate descriptions I've ever heard, something that describes so many different conflicts in the world.
It's not bad, it's just different.

People everywhere are different. Those terrorists who attacked us, they're different.
Are they really, though?
I am not defending their actions. Nothing - NOTHING - justifies what they did, what they're still plotting to do.
But haven't we done the same thing?
Oh, not terrorism, not by our standards. We don't try to hurt a group of people just because we don't like them. We don't kill randomly.
But we've done awful things under the name of spreading democracy and we've justified our dismissal of hurting peoples by claiming that it's none of our business or we lack the funds.
We're looking to exterminate the terrorist organizations, and I must say that I agree that they need to be stopped.
But look at it from another perspective.
Aren't they, as Americans, the only country to have ever used a nuclear bomb, yet they aim to rid the world of nuclear weapons?
Aren't they, as Americans, fierce defenders of free will, yet they invade other countries in direct contradiction to our governments or even our people?
We're all one world, aren't we? Aren't we all people? We're all animals and organisms and we all live in the same place. Genetically, we're only 1% different from our neighbors.
Why do we persecute each other?
Why do we think that that tiny bit of variation in all of us, that little piece of DNA that does make us all wildly different, is enough reason to kill and ignore and torture and hate?

Despite the mistakes America has made, despite the questionable judgment we've shown, despite the occasionally true negative stereotypes associated with me, I am still proud to proclaim that I am American.

I'm proud that I live in a place where I can be, and am, friends with people from all different races, people who may have been born in other countries. I'm unashamed to be liberal. I'm unashamed of what I believe in. I'm thankful to live in a place where that's possible. I'm thankful that I live in a country where virtually everyone is sorry for 9/11. I'm thankful I live in a country where my worst day is better than some people's best days.

I only hope that we learn not to retaliate with our hearts, not our heads, guiding us. It's not our job to kill. It's not our job to attack. It's not our job to terrorize people we don't like. I know that sometimes war is the only answer. I'm not naive. I'm glad that the Allies fought back during World War II because Hitler wasn't going to be stopped by words alone. If somebody attacks a country, they've earned themselves that retaliation. I want the terrorists to be stopped. I want them to stop hurting us, and North America, and South America, and England, and Europe, and the rest of the world, and their own people in their own country, but I'm thinking of the people in Iraq, Afghanistan, the Middle East and elsewhere, where innocent people live, people who don't want a war, people who may or may not dislike America but who don't think that massacring three buildings full of similarly innocent people is the way to resolve our problems. I want my government to think before they act.

People shouldn't pay with their lives.