On Surviving Two National Disasters

On September 10th, 2001 I stayed at work until 11pm desperate to finish a project, for no particular reason. I slept in on the 11th to be awoken by the phone ringing off the hook to discover I was in the midst of a national tragedy. Two airplanes had flown into the World Trade Center, just a couple miles away. The days that followed were piercing sadness. The social fabric had changed instantly. Everyone needed to see or talk with everyone they knew. We were unable to joke. There’s was only “are you okay? Is your family okay?” Work at our jobs felt meaningless. All we could do was talk about the attack. We collectively went through the stages of grief. Shock. Complete and utter shock. Denial: this couldn’t be happening. Despair for the victims. And then anger at the perpetrators. Sound familiar?

On September 10th, 2001 I stayed at work until 11pm desperate to finish a project, for no particular reason. I slept in on the 11th to be awoken by the phone ringing off the hook to discover I was in the midst of a national tragedy. Two airplanes had flown into the World Trade Center, just a couple miles away.

The days that followed were piercing sadness. The social fabric had changed instantly. Everyone needed to see or talk with everyone they knew. We were unable to joke. There’s was only “are you okay? Is your family okay?” Work at our jobs felt meaningless. All we could do was talk about the attack. We collectively went through the stages of grief. Shock. Complete and utter shock. Denial: this couldn’t be happening. Despair for the victims. And then anger at the perpetrators. Sound familiar?

In higher education today we all bagged our lesson plans. Our students grieved openly. Many cried. Eye contact with anyone led to a grimace, and then a nod of recognition of mutual pain.

Let’s get back to anger for a sec because I promise you the nation will. After September 11th we felt sheer, blind rage towards the terrorists. That was our right, that’s what we got: the fury at those that would harm our friends and neighbors.

Today we’re angry again, but as we arrive at anger, we can’t discern a clear destination. That’s when the nausea starts. At first I was angry at Donald Trump. But the truth is, he’s just one guy. A fairly troubling one, but he didn’t elect himself. It was half the electorate that voted for him. They are the perpetrators. But we are the electorate. We all are. We are angry with half of ourselves. So… how does that work?

I have a Muslim friend whose eight-year-old girl was told she’d have to leave the country by another kid at school. I am not prepared for how to handle the kind of cultural setting that could create that situation. Is the other eight-year-old to blame? Probably not. He heard it somewhere. What about his parents? They probably told him. But then why do they think that’s okay? Probably they’re angry about something. Maybe they are down on their luck, and lost their jobs, and might lose their house, and are just getting by now (or aren’t) and they think the money that used to pay them is now paying someone else. And they don’t think that’s fair. Is that entirely their fault? Or is it partially ours that we haven’t explained it properly? Where is the fault that created this earthquake?

I have to believe that half the country isn’t really racist, misogynistic assholes. I think it is blinded by rage and that caused the seismic disruption. Hate, as my sixth grade English teacher used to say "is the reason, but not the excuse".

We talk a lot on the left about helping each other out, but obviously a segment of the population feels forgotten. We have to face that reality even if it doesn't make us feel good. Maybe their school didn’t teach them skills, or to seek answers and think critically. Or maybe they are just lazy jerks; it’s possible. But I think we have to consider the possibility that we, as a country, failed them. If it takes a village to raise a child… we’re half the village.

For me, 59,796,778 voters is too many to me angry at. Half our country is our country. We can no longer pretend that we aren’t part of the problem. We don’t think we are, and we didn’t mean to be. But truthfully, we should reserve half of our anger for ourselves.

So, I argue for mutual disarmament. To stop the bleeding we need to heal the wound. We can only control ourselves, so I’m afraid the onus is now on us to help our other half catch up if we want to get ourselves out of this mess. Don’t ask me how. I haven’t figured that out yet.