9/11. . . Redefining a Tragedy

        

         Days before the 10^th anniversary of 9/11, I was in a funky little shop, the kind of place that splashes words of whimsy and inspiration across magnets, overstuffed pillows, pads of paper, and weathered planks of wood. There were quotes from Eleanor Roosevelt, Mark Twain, and Proust and pithy contemporary pronouncements like, “Due to the Current Economic Crisis the Light at the End of the Tunnel Has Been Turned Off.”

         Three women stood behind me, reading their favorite words aloud to each other, laughing lightheartedly. Then one of the women read, “Everything happens for a reason.” The other two women sighed in agreement, to which the reader responded, “I used to believe that. Until 9/11.”

I turned around and saw the reader’s solemn face and was painfully reminded of that tragic September day in 2001. I will never forget it. Car windows down, I was enjoying the crisp, clear morning air before heading to a dentist’s appointment. The radio was on NPR. A news report said a small plane had crashed into a building in New York City. By the time my appointment was over, people were jumping from the blazing Twin Towers.

To say this horror has changed us is an understatement. Fear and suspicion are now very real parts of the American experience and will be for a long time to come. I understand that and know we need to protect ourselves from future terrorist attacks.

But what I find myself longing for is a better way for all Americans and people around the world to honor the victims of this tragedy. An inclusive and enduring way that supports my belief that there are more tolerant people in the world than the extremists at home and abroad would have us believe.

A way that redefines 9/11.

Were it up to me, 9/11 would become a day to work towards world tolerance. I would invite one adult and one child from every country in the world to come to New York City and gather at Ground Zero. After the traditional reading of names, tolling of bells, and moments of silence, each child would step up to the podium and offer, in their native language, simple words like, “I come to you from my home in Syria to stand beside you in peace and tolerance on your national day of mourning.”

No politics, no religion, just words of understanding and hope from small emissaries across the globe. Emissaries who will one day inherit this fractured world.

I am aware not everyone would embrace this plan. Many countries would decline our invitation. Others would seek ways to thwart its message.

That is to be expected.

            But this day wouldn’t be for them. It would be for the majority of people who would like to turn the tragedy of 9/11 into something very different. Something the terrorists never envisioned when they flew those planes into the Twin Towers, Pentagon, and the field in Pennsylvania. Something that would prove the woman in the shop wrong. . .
            Tolerance. 

A Plan for Redefining 9/11

            My father, a veteran of WWII, was a Knickerbocker. A proud New Yorker who grew up on Long Island Sound, he reminded me a little bit of Frank Sinatra and even more of James Cagney in Yankee Doodle Dandy.

Dad died in September of 1999, two years before the morning of September 11, 2001. I am glad he was not here then. It would have broken his heart to see New York attacked. There is no doubt in my mind he would have demanded we retaliate by invading Iraq. No doubt he would have fully supported President Bush when he did just that, in March of 2003. Back then, frightened and horrified by the events of the day, I may have even agreed with him. One of the few times I would.

But as the ninth anniversary of 9/11 approaches, as reports of a pastor in Florida wanting to burn copies of the Koran fills the news, I find myself longing for a new way to acknowledge and honor what happened on that bright, clear September morning.  A way of remembering the victims that is more representative of the principles I believe this country was founded upon. A way that gives me hope and confidence in the future. A way that supports my belief that there are more tolerant people in the world than the extremists of the world would have us believe.

I am, of course, just one woman, in one small town in America. I have no influence or position in the world. But I know what I would do if I had the power.

I would redefine 9/11.

From this day forward I would declare it a day of world tolerance. I would then invite two representatives from every country in the world to come to New York City. They would gather at Ground Zero and offer, in their native language, their simple wish for tolerance. The two representatives would be one adult and one child. The adult would be there simply as an escort for the child who would say, for example, “I come to you from my home in North Korea to stand beside you in tolerance and peace on this day of your national mourning.” Or something to that effect.

            Imagine the power this would have. Imagine the good will it would foster, even if just for one day. No politics, no religion, just small emissaries from across the globe speaking words of hope. Promise, for a world they will one day inherit.

           My plan would be to have the children read these messages aloud each year following the traditional four minutes of silence at Ground Zero. Our country’s television stations and radio stations would air the children’s message for everyone to hear.

            It’s a large dream, I know. And though I dream big, I am not naïve. I am well aware that there are countries that would decline our invitation. I also know there are many people in this country who would vehemently oppose such a plan, preferring instead to hold on to their anger and hatred.

            This day would not be for them. It would be for the majority of Americans, like me, who are ready to turn the tragedy of 9/11 into something very different. Something the terrorists never envisioned when they flew those planes into the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, and the field in Pennsylvania. Something bigger and more powerful than their message of hate and revenge. Something that is inclusive and enduring.

Something I’d like to believe my father would embrace.

Tolerance.