Ten years ago, September 11, 2001 was a perfectly clear day in Anchorage and for several days after, the evening TV weather showed those happy yellow suns all across the USA, from Anchorage to New York, Florida to Montana. I sat on the sloping grass in Elderberry Park looking out at the water and mountains across Cook Inlet, wondering "how can the sun be shining everywhere when the world has just ended?" Many people were out, just wandering around in the sun, perhaps exhausted from watching the Towers fall again, and again on the news, perhaps drawn by instinct into the sunlight that we so seldom enjoyed. I remember the clear blue sky and hungering for the 'normal' sight of a plane passing through it. The bright light of vulnerability shone on us; our naïve innocence melted in its glare. It was dawn; we did not know what that day, or future days, would bring.
It's hard to start over. We are young as a nation, and like any youth, we take ourselves so seriously. After ten years, I am like many Americans, still trying to find myself in the ashes of grief and powerlessness. That is my word for 9-11 – powerlessness. The powerlessness of the passengers on the planes, the powerlessness or the men and women in the Towers, the powerless of firefighters in the stair wells, and police officers in the streets who went to work that day, pulsing, free, living beings. And the powerlessness we all felt as we watched them evaporate and rise to heaven in the spiral of souls we called 'smoke.' We lost them. They disappeared. And with them, they took what we so innocently called "freedom."
We are still struggling. We watch in dismay as those we've elected devote their time to political gamesmanship instead of working together to help us move on. If the passengers on Flight 93 could vote to die to save others; why can't they vote on a debt limit increase? These are good people, who begin their careers in public service with high ideals. It would be easy to judge them, but perhaps compassion is more appropriate. We are still at a crossroads. Their struggle, as superficial and self-serving as it appears, is the heart of our dilemma. Which way do we go? Is there a place of safety? How do we get back to 'normal'? Is there a choice that will move us away from powerlessness?
Luckily, it's not just up to them. In the book 1861, Adam Goodheart writes about events that led up to the Civil War. He compares it to 9-11, an event that 'changed the past as much as the future; rewriting not only our expectations of what was to come but also our sense of what had gone before." His impetus for the book was a collection of letters written just prior to the War, in which a career officer in the US Army stationed in Far West Indian Country, wrestles with his decision of which side to choose in the impending battle that would determine whether we would maintain this union called the United States of America. Though these letters, and his research, Goodheart determined "history is decided not just on battlefields and in cabinet meetings, but in individual hearts and minds."
I think we are most powerful when we focus our hearts and minds on the Four Fundamental Freedoms Franklin D. Roosevelt said everyone in the world should enjoy in his 1941 State of the Union address. These are the paths back to Freedom.
Though our "Freedom of speech and expression" was buried by the dark convergence of electronic media and governmental proclamations of 'right speech' and dissent equated to treason in the years after 9-11, it can be reclaimed. I am a member of the last generation that will remember personal privacy – there are no secrets now. I am a member of the 60's generation that marched with fearless anonymity to protest racism and the Viet Nam war. In my heart, I know privacy and anonymity are gone; but not Freedom. My freedom is recovered if I simply accept that cost of acting on individual conviction is much higher now but the benefit of individual conviction turned into action remains the same.
Though "Freedom of Worship" has been suppressed by the resurgence of fundamentalism, it can be reclaimed. In my world, it's as simple as averting my eyes when I see a woman in Target bearing a burka, instead of staring. I don't need to judge her, or feel sorry for her. In my mind, I know that is Freedom for me, and for her.
Our "Freedom from Want" suppressed by the economic penalty of isolationism and unbridled greed can be reclaimed. My Freedom from Want is regained when I am generous with my time and give to those less fortunate when I can. I can do so because it's good for me, not because they are good enough to warrant it. In my heart, I know that is the true meaning of Freedom from Want.
Our "Freedom from Fear" has been suppressed, not just by the realization that we are not exempt from terror, but by an addiction to adrenalin fed by the media. My most sobering realization and most dramatic resolution during this month of remembrance is that I must turn off the news. Before 9-11, I admit I seldom watched or read anything but local news. Since then, I have checked three internet news sites several times a day – maybe hourly – not to see what was newsworthy, but as subconsciously assuring myself that we have not been attacked again. Words like "Car bomb", "torture", "evacuate", "flee", "victim", "suicide bomber", "molestation", "devastation", "destroyed", "weakened" and "genocide" are available every day to keep my adrenalin levels high. I suspect they are the key words that increase readership – not the key words that describe world news. These words and the evolution of 'news' into opinions speeches telling us how to think about them hide our Freedom. In my mind, I know Freedom from Fear is choosing my own thoughts and not being confused or controlled by institutionalized fear mongering.
A big storm passed through Tucson last night – layers of dark clouds rushed by; winds ripped branches off trees; rumbles of thunder rattled the dishes in the cupboard; water rushed down parched dry arroya. We even had a rare tornado warning. Roxy shivered and crept under the covers and I watched lightning flashes through the blinds before we went to sleep.
Big storms are frightening and it is hard to accept that storms (and war) are a natural part of our existence. They do not mean The End even though they can change what has been. I awoke in the night. The clouds had moved on and the full moon was so bright, I could make out cholla and prickly pears in the open space beyond our back yard. I imagined small critters out there saying "Whew! We made it through another one." Some were undoubtedly swept away by flash flooding, but others survived the torrent. And so will we. We are confused – not weak.
And today here in Tucson, the sun will shine – not because there will never be another storm; but because good times and bad are a natural part of life. Some things I can change and others not. If I hold that one small thought in my heart, and don't spend my day looking for dark clouds on the horizon, then I am free.
