The days after September 11, 2001 had a dreamlike quality: painted in brilliant colors but blurry at the edges, as if the strange scenes could dissolve at any time into the more concrete, familiar reality of the vanished past. In that time before Facebook and smart phones we were linked by our television sets, captivated by images of destruction and grief, calls for vengeance and tolerance, and a massive mobilization of resources to secure the homeland.
After the first, dark day of utter helplessness, a new sensibility rapidly took hold. We felt an overpowering need to connect with each other, express our affiliation, and reassure ourselves of our resilience and strength. We reached out, everywhere and all at once: giving our blood and money so rapidly that we overwhelmed the agencies trying to collect and distribute them, and unfurling American flags in our windows and on our balconies. There was ugliness, too, as deluded haters assaulted Muslims (or people they imagined might be) and attacked their property. But at least for a few weeks, it was possible to see those ubiquitous flags as harbingers of a new era of unity and common purpose, in which we might pool our energies to help each other heal, and emerge a stronger nation. We had become newly visible to each other, and, spontaneously, we were working collectively to great effect. What could we not now accomplish together?
But alas. That galvanizing sense of purpose proved to be a powerful temptation to people with agendas beyond Americans’ unity and civic engagement. As the most hawkish political leaders and groups campaigning for new civil liberties restrictions began wrapping themselves in the flag, I sensed the meaning of the flag in my own window being co-opted. Ten years later, some activists invoke the surge of patriotism and fellowship after September 11th as a call to arms for those who believe government efforts to promote the general welfare violate individuals’ right to be left alone.
I draw a different lesson. For a few weeks in 2001, all we wanted to do was help and support each other, and we found that we could. Government was not an enemy but a resource, a forum for us to come together as a people. We were active and we were determined, and we did a lot of good. That energy and potential is still within us, however latent, perhaps one day to be released again through some combination of crisis, opportunity, leadership and will.
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After the first, dark day of utter helplessness, a new sensibility rapidly took hold. We felt an overpowering need to connect with each other, express our affiliation, and reassure ourselves of our resilience and strength. We reached out, everywhere and all at once: giving our blood and money so rapidly that we overwhelmed the agencies trying to collect and distribute them, and unfurling American flags in our windows and on our balconies. There was ugliness, too, as deluded haters assaulted Muslims (or people they imagined might be) and attacked their property. But at least for a few weeks, it was possible to see those ubiquitous flags as harbingers of a new era of unity and common purpose, in which we might pool our energies to help each other heal, and emerge a stronger nation. We had become newly visible to each other, and, spontaneously, we were working collectively to great effect. What could we not now accomplish together?
But alas. That galvanizing sense of purpose proved to be a powerful temptation to people with agendas beyond Americans’ unity and civic engagement. As the most hawkish political leaders and groups campaigning for new civil liberties restrictions began wrapping themselves in the flag, I sensed the meaning of the flag in my own window being co-opted. Ten years later, some activists invoke the surge of patriotism and fellowship after September 11th as a call to arms for those who believe government efforts to promote the general welfare violate individuals’ right to be left alone.
I draw a different lesson. For a few weeks in 2001, all we wanted to do was help and support each other, and we found that we could. Government was not an enemy but a resource, a forum for us to come together as a people. We were active and we were determined, and we did a lot of good. That energy and potential is still within us, however latent, perhaps one day to be released again through some combination of crisis, opportunity, leadership and will.
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