Subj: Leonard Pitts Commentary
It's my job to
have something to say. They pay me to
provide words that help make sense of that which troubles the American
soul. But in this moment of airless
shock when hot tears sting disbelieving eyes, the only thing I can find to say,
the only words that seem to fit, must be addressed to the unknown author of
this suffering.
You monster. You beast.
You unspeakable bastard. What
lesson did you hope to teach us by your coward's attack on our World Trade
Center, our Pentagon, us? What was it
you hoped we would learn? Whatever it
was, please know that you failed.
Did you want us
to respect your cause? You just damned
your cause.
Did you want to
make us fear? You just steeled our
resolve.
Did you want to
tear us apart? You just brought us
together.
Let me tell you
about my people. We are a vast and
quarrelsome family; a family rent by racial, social, political and class
division, but a family nonetheless. We're frivolous, yes, capable of expending
tremendous emotional energy on pop cultural minutiae -- a singer's revealing
dress, a ball team's misfortune, a cartoon mouse. We're wealthy; too, spoiled
by the ready availability of trinkets and material goods, and maybe because of
that, we walk through life with a certain sense of blithe entitlement. We are fundamentally decent, though --
peace-loving and compassionate. We struggle to know the right thing and to do
it. And we are, the overwhelming
majority of us, people of faith, believers in a just and loving God. Some people -- you, perhaps -- think that any
or all of this makes us weak. You're
mistaken. We are not weak. Indeed, we are strong in ways that cannot be
measured by arsenals.
Yes, we're in
pain now. We are in mourning and we are
in shock. We're still grappling with the unreality of the awful thing you did,
still working to make ourselves understand that this isn't a special effect
from some Hollywood blockbuster, isn't the plot development from a Tom Clancy
novel. Both in terms of the awful scope
of their ambition and the probable final death toll, your attacks are likely to
go down as the worst acts of terrorism in the history of the United States and,
probably, the history of the world. You've
bloodied us as we have never been bloodied before. But there's a gulf of difference between making us bloody and
making us fall. This is the lesson
Japan was taught to its bitter sorrow the last time anyone hit us this hard,
the last time anyone brought us such abrupt and monumental pain. When roused, we are righteous in our
outrage, terrible in our force. When
provoked by this level of barbarism, we will bear any suffering, pay any cost,
go to any length, in the pursuit of justice.
I tell you this
without fear of contradiction. I know
my people, as you, I think, do not.
What I know reassures me. It
also causes me to tremble with dread of the future. In the days to come, there will be recrimination and accusation;
fingers pointing to determine whose failure allowed this to happen and what can
be done to prevent it from happening again.
There will be heightened security, misguided talk of revoking basic
freedoms. We'll go forward from this
moment sobered, chastened, sad. But
determined, too. Unimaginably determined.
You see, the
steel in us is not always readily apparent. That aspect of our character is
seldom understood by people who don't know us well. On this day, the family's bickering is put on hold. As Americans we will weep, as Americans we
will mourn, and as Americans, we will rise in defense of all that we cherish.
So I ask again:
What was it you hoped to teach us? It
occurs to me that maybe you just wanted us to know the depths of your hatred.
If that's the case, consider the message received. And take this message in exchange: You don't know my people. You don't know what we're capable of. You don't know what you just started.
“But you're about to learn.”
By Leonard Pitts
of the Miami Herald