And there shall be wars and rumors of wars.
- Revelations
There is a sense of indecency in doing a regular entry today, or doing much of regular anything this week. So, although I have personal things to tell, I will save them for a while.
An excerpt from an email I sent yesterday to U.S. and overseas colleagues on behalf of Law Journal:
I believe that we will find in the coming days, as the shock recedes and recovery begins, that we [Sponsor] and [Sponsor] Journal members have a unique role to play in the world's response.
The question that always arises in the wake of such a sad event is, "Why?" As scholars and students of international law, we can begin to help answer that question with analysis, education, and communication. As Ayn Rand writes, "The thing to do is not to be scared, but to learn." Each of us, simply by becoming part of [Sponsor] and [Sponsor] Journal, is contributing to that learning.
I believe we are all justified in the hope that our efforts, and the efforts of the law students who come after us, will in the long run help create a political culture in which such violence--whether directed toward the United States or toward any other country that has suffered similar devastation--is reduced to a mere historical footnote.
That does sum it up, what I feel, I think. At Journal we have received condolances from Belarus, inquiries for our safety from Africa, good wishes from Missouri, notes of good cheer from D.C. I appreciated those very much and forwarded them to Journal members.
One student at the law school has sent a thoughtful and cogent email saying, "I'm an Arab-American, and we are not all terrorists." I liked that, too.
The law school dean sent an email saying, "Let's remember that the U.S. Constitution, which is the real institution under attack, protects individual rights." Although it was a subtle email, I got the drift and I am sure a lot of others did, too. This horrible event must not become an excuse for the federal government to establish a non-federalist state.
The whole week has hit me harder than I thought it would. I think, as I expressed to my parents on the phone, it is because as a law student and future officer of the U.S.'s or a several U.S. state's court, I consider myself a part of the political process under attack.
The blood banks are full. The nation is swollen and bursting with blood, lying silent in rows upon rows in dark coolers, lying bright on beds of ice ready for shipping.
There is no need to ship it.
"The national response is wonderful," I said to D last night as we stood at the steak house's hostess station. (D and I are talking again. I will detail that development some other time.)
"It is, but you know what it means."
"Of course."
The blood banks are full because there is no need to ship the blood.
Because there are not many people to treat.
Because the Twin Towers are now the Twin Tombs. For more people, more human lives, more fathers, sisters, mothers, wives, children, brothers, husbands, than we will ever be able to count.
Because the Pentagon collapsed downward, creating stratified layers of solid stone. They are debating whether to use cranes. Or to cut it. Or what to do.
Because the airplanes were made of frail foil, and their brave bullet-shapes tried on impact to maintain the structure that human hands gave them with bolts and seals and plastic and rivets, tried to protect their soft small cargos, but could not.
I am sad for my country. I am sad for each person who still does not know whether his or her father, sister, mother, wife, child, brother, husband is alive. I am sad for each person who received a cell phone call from somewhere in the rubble, saying the caller was alive. For now.
I cannot shake the thought of those cell phones. In dark places between slabs of concrete, under steel beams, under clusters of wire. Blinking bright green numbers. In somebody's hands. With batteries but no way to recharge them. How many calls do you get on one cell battery?
How would you use them, if it was you?
And I am sad for other countries, too. Asia, England, Africa, all the people there who sent father, sister, mother, wife, child, brother, husband to the United States on a business trip. To New York. Maybe to do some sight-seeing during the business trip.
And I am sad for the people from Kansas and Oklahoma and Oregon and California whose father, sister, mother, wife, child, brother, husband went to visit New York for a vacation and woke up in hotels and had breakfast together and got an early start to ride the express elevators to the top of the slender buildings and visit the World Trade Center observatories on September 11, 2001.
I stood where they stood and looked over the city. Those people.
And because I am a student of international law, with a role to play, I am sad for other countries, too. "Oh, the Middle East is at it again." "Did you see the news tonight? More bombs in those little European countries that no one can pronounce."
In the future I will be more sad for those countries, too. So perhaps there is a lesson in compassion here, on a greater level.
The lessons can wait, though. For a little while.
Today I am sad for my country.
7:46 a.m. - 09-14-01
Recent entries:
Sealy Writes - 04-04-18
Rewind to "Everything's Fine" - 12-25-17
What We Have So Far - 12-25-17
Lightning Crashes - 2017-12-24
Long Years in a Short Time - 09-11-13
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