After reading Shoshana Hebshi’s blog post about being removed from an airplane and strip searched this past Sunday (9/11/2011) I was overwhelmed by a sense of hopelessness. It had been building for days, probably months, maybe even years. I realized tonight when I attended “Journey to Hope: How do we heal the wounds?” at the Rothko Chapel that I haven’t gotten into the “Where were you on 9/11/2001?” storytelling because I didn’t see where my story connected to the larger story. Without that connection, saying where I was ten years ago is not much more than placing my dot on a google map.
That said, on September 11, 2001, I was the campus minister at the Wesley Foundation at Kilgore College in Kilgore, Texas. A student rushed into the building to tell us that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I don’t remember where I was standing or who was nearby, except for Laura Vaughn, the administrative assistant. I do remember that as soon as I realized how devastating this was, my first thought was about John Deuel, a dear friend I’ve known since we were 10 years old, and his husband, Bill Cruse, both of whom worked in New York City. Knowing that the phone lines were tied up, I went to AOL instant messenger. I found Bill online at home and not in the city, and asked about John. ”He’s here,” Bill typed back. John had been in the city, just a few blocks away when the first plane hit, and had sent everyone in his office home immediately. He was on one of the last trains to get out that day. John got online, and the only thing I needed or wanted to say was, “I love you.” He replied, “I love you, too.”
While I remembered that part of the story, I was reminded tonight of the larger story, told in a profound way through the Frontline program “Faith and Doubt at Ground Zero” which aired originally in 2002. One part of the program covers the phone calls from people in the Towers and on Flight 93 who realized that these were going to be their last words. They were not words of anger or calls for revenge, but words to the people they loved. As my first instinct on hearing the news was to express my love for a friend, the last instincts of those who were able to use a phone were declarations of love.
Again and again we’ve told stories of the courage of the first responders who lost their lives that day, and we’ve told of the courage of the passengers of Flight 93 who made sure that no one else would suffer the same fate as those in the WTC and in the Pentagon. These were people who gave of themselves for the good of everyone. We have told the stories, but we have failed to honor their sacrifice. We have betrayed their memories.
We Americans have betrayed the courage of those who died 10 years ago through our failure to speak out against those who would fan the flames of fear for financial gain and political expediency. We have allowed that fear to divide us ideologically, economically, and spiritually. We have sacrificed our liberty, and countless more lives, for a fleeting sense of security. This is when I start feeling helpless (often) and hopeless (sometimes). I am not willing for an American citizen like Ms. Hebshi (or guests like the Indian men seated next to her, but that’s another issue to some) to be strip searched so that I can (falsely) feel a little more secure. Fear causes us to descend and act out of the worst of who we are.
The Bible says that “perfect love casts out fear”. Love unites what fear divides. Love builds up what fear tears down. No doubt, the people who made their last phone calls on September 11, 2001 were very much afraid, but they didn’t let fear be their final word. To honor their memories, neither should we.
You speak my mind, Susan.
Thank you. Have you been reading the blog post of The Sustainist? yours connects with his.