The moment the second plane hit. Who doesn’t remember that? The first plane was a horrible accident. Pilot error, who knows. Then the second plane hit and our hearts sunk and we all collectively thought, “Oh fuck.”
I lived in upstate New York, pretty far from Manhattan when the attacks happened. It was far enough away to feel as safe as any American was likely to feel at that point in time. It was close enough to be cocooned in a yellow haze that made it difficult to see more than a foot or two away.
The fear that originated from the 9/11 attacks was genuine. Nobody got up that day and thought something so grave would happen.
I’ve never been more proud of my country, or of the world, than I was in the week or two after 9/11. For a short period of time I felt an overwhelming spirit of patriotism, but really, earthism. The attempted terror attacks did scare us, but not into hiding. If there ever was a moment for world peace, it came in those first few days after the attacks.
There was so much potential. Potential to spend the collective loving capital to promote unity. To spread peace. To say “We will not allow these attacks to change us for the worse. We will take this opportunity to be better.”
But America, the world’s superpower, was under direction of an awkward fratboy government. Bush’s best intentions fell far short of the ability to embrace the opportunity before him. For us, it was a chance to unite the world. For him, it was a chance to use his daddy’s toys and finish out a family vendetta.
I find myself conflicted today. Osama Bin Laden is dead. For many families who have lost loved ones to attacks masterminded by this man, there is likely a certain amount of closure to be had. For that, I am glad. For the world’s safety, we can rest just a tiny bit easier. Al Qaeda is not disbanded, but without it’s affable leader, their operations will be more difficult.
On the flip side, what have we accomplished? Is the world any safer today than it was a decade ago? Has our quality of life improved? I’d argue no. The only thing we are today that we weren’t ten years ago is scared. We’re spending an hour in line at airports so uneducated workers can make sure we aren’t carrying more than 3oz of shampoo. I look out my window and see homeless people and armed drug pushers. Kids aren’t graduating from school, their parents can’t get jobs, and those are just some of the problems plaguing our own country.
How much money and how many lives have we put into this? If we’d spent half that on feeding people, on missions to eradicate disease, on education and employment, where would we be today? If we’d spent that human capital on peaceful things that had immediate benefits instead of blowing shit up?
Terrorism doesn’t work if people aren’t terrorized.
So where is the disconnect?
Terrorism sells. And it gets votes. The most skilled terrorists are not hiding somewhere in a desert. They’re our leaders and journalists.
So Osama Bin Laden is gone. I don’t feel any better now than I did yesterday. Someday, someone will figure out the answer to uniting people in the pursuit of peace. Until then, try not to be too scared, okay? Turn off the major news outlets. They’re only there to freak you out. Vote for someone in a third party. Eat a fruit or vegetable that you didn’t like when you were a kid and haven’t tried in a decade. There’s a chance I’m wrong, but I have a hunch that it will be a pretty good ride if you focus on the love and joy of life.
This blog is generally about politics, men, music, and technology. It’s not very often that I stray from that to write anything personal. I need to tell a story that is hugely important to me, and although it occurred a very long time ago, it really has had a profound effect on shaping me as a person.
My Aunt Marie was not a person that I knew terribly well. I could count the number of times I met her on my hands. I also haven’t seen her since 2005; so it’s all the more remarkable that her passing today was able to inspire so much emotion in me.
I must have been well under ten years old. My immediate family took a trip to central New York to visit the bigger Bouvier clan. It’s a tremendous family on my father’s side; he’s the youngest of ten children, and the various aunts, uncles, cousins, and their children are incredibly well dispersed. I don’t remember the occasion, but I know a lot of my extended family was there.
My dad is a funny man. He wields his machismo in such a humorous manner that it completely erases any chance of him seeming intimidating. Let me provide an example so you can see what I mean; trust me, it’s on topic.
Aunt Marie had a fabulous back yard. Her house was in the woods and in the back yard was a tiny lake. Okay, it was probably just a large pond, but I was very small so it, in turn, seemed very big. Aunt Marie would feed the fish in that pond so regularly that the fish were not at all afraid of humans. I feel horrible now that my first fishing expedition was in this lake, I was catching her pets! I, of course, had no clue at the time, so really I should be expunged of any guilt.
So dad decides to impress me and the rest of the crowd by literally catching a fish. No, not casting a line and getting one to bite. He stuck his hand into the water, wrapped his fingers around a fish, and picked it up. Quite the achievement! My dad was a hero to me. Unfortunately for him, that fish was something sharp, and it cut his hand right up. My father lost the battle with the fish, but he won the war of awing me.
The point is Aunt Marie just loved everyone and everything. She loved the fish enough to feed them. She loved us enough to let us hunt her pond. The love that she shared had no borders. It was there for all takers, and we all took and are better for it.
When we had to leave her house, I did the most curious thing for a little future-gay to do. I tried to climb in the cupboards. It takes a lot of love to make a homosexual enjoy being in a closet, but I didn’t ever want to leave her palace. I wanted to pick blackberries and pet the deer in her back yard.
I’m lucky to have a family that is filled with examples like Aunt Marie. People who are joyous, welcoming, and most of all loving. If there’s one thing I’ll carry from this it is that when you love all things, all things love you. There is no greater legacy to be had.