Attention: TDR Forum Junkies 
Leonard Pitts wrote a column today in the Miami Herald which puts into words how most of us are feeling today after the shock of the events from a few days ago wears off.
We'll Go Forward from the Moment
by Leonard Pitts Jr. , the Miami Herald
It's my job to have something to say, words that help make sense of
that which troubles the soul. But in this moment of
airless shock when hot tears sting disbelieving eyes, the
only thing I can find to say, the only words that seem to fit,
must be addressed to the unknown author of this suffering.
You monster. You beast. You unspeakable *******.
What lesson did you hope to teach us by your coward's attack
on our World Trade Center, our Pentagon, us? What was it you
hoped we would learn?
Whatever it was, please know that you failed.
Did you want us to respect your cause?
You just damned your cause.
Did you want to make us fear?
You just steeled our resolve.
Did you want to tear us apart?
You just brought us together.
Let me tell you about my people.
We are a vast and quarrelsome family, a family rent by racial,
social, political and class division, but a family nonetheless.
We're frivolous, yes, capable of expending tremendous emotional
energy on pop cultural minutiae -- a singer's revealing dress,
a ball team's misfortune, a cartoon mouse. We're wealthy, too,
spoiled by the ready availability of trinkets and material goods,
and maybe because of that, we walk through life with a certain
sense of blithe entitlement. We are fundamentally decent,
though -- peace-loving and compassionate.
We struggle to know the right thing and to do it. And we are,
the overwhelming majority of us, people of faith,
believers in a just and loving God.
Some people -- you, perhaps -- think that any or all of this
makes us weak.
You're mistaken. We are not weak. Indeed, we are strong in
ways that cannot be measured by arsenals.
Yes, we're in pain now. We are in mourning and we are in shock.
We're still grappling with the unreality of the awful thing you
did, still working to make ourselves understand that this
isn't a special effect from some Hollywood blockbuster, isn't the
plot development from a Tom Clancy novel. Both in terms of
the awful scope of their ambition and the probable final
death toll, your attacks are likely to go down as the worst
acts of terrorism in the history of the United States and,
probably, the history of the world. You've bloodied us as we
have never been bloodied before.
But there's a gulf of difference between making us bloody and
making us fall. This is the lesson Japan was taught to its
bitter sorrow the last time anyone hit us this hard, the
last time anyone brought us such abrupt and monumental pain.
When roused, we are righteous in our outrage,
terrible in our force.
When provoked by this level of barbarism, we will bear any
suffering, pay any cost, go to any length, in the pursuit of
justice.
I tell you this without fear of contradiction. I know my people,
as you, I think, do not. What I know reassures me. It also
causes me to tremble with dread of the future.
In the days to come, there will be recrimination and accusation,
fingers pointing to determine whose failure allowed this to
happen and what can be done to prevent it from happening again.
There will be heightened security, misguided talk of
revoking basic freedoms. We'll go forward from this moment
sobered, chastened, sad. But determined, too.
Unimaginably determined.
You see, the steel in us is not always readily apparent. That
aspect of our character is seldom understood by people who
don't know us well. On this day, the family's bickering is put on
hold.
As Americans we will weep,
as Americans we will mourn,
and as Americans, we will rise in defense of all that we cherish.
So I ask again: What was it you hoped to teach us? It occurs to
me that maybe you just wanted us to know the depths of your
hatred. If that's the case, consider the message received.
And take this message in exchange:
You don't know my people. You don't know what we're capable
of. You don't know what you just started.
But you're about to learn.
We'll Go Forward from the Moment
by Leonard Pitts Jr. , the Miami Herald
It's my job to have something to say, words that help make sense of
that which troubles the soul. But in this moment of
airless shock when hot tears sting disbelieving eyes, the
only thing I can find to say, the only words that seem to fit,
must be addressed to the unknown author of this suffering.
You monster. You beast. You unspeakable *******.
What lesson did you hope to teach us by your coward's attack
on our World Trade Center, our Pentagon, us? What was it you
hoped we would learn?
Whatever it was, please know that you failed.
Did you want us to respect your cause?
You just damned your cause.
Did you want to make us fear?
You just steeled our resolve.
Did you want to tear us apart?
You just brought us together.
Let me tell you about my people.
We are a vast and quarrelsome family, a family rent by racial,
social, political and class division, but a family nonetheless.
We're frivolous, yes, capable of expending tremendous emotional
energy on pop cultural minutiae -- a singer's revealing dress,
a ball team's misfortune, a cartoon mouse. We're wealthy, too,
spoiled by the ready availability of trinkets and material goods,
and maybe because of that, we walk through life with a certain
sense of blithe entitlement. We are fundamentally decent,
though -- peace-loving and compassionate.
We struggle to know the right thing and to do it. And we are,
the overwhelming majority of us, people of faith,
believers in a just and loving God.
Some people -- you, perhaps -- think that any or all of this
makes us weak.
You're mistaken. We are not weak. Indeed, we are strong in
ways that cannot be measured by arsenals.
Yes, we're in pain now. We are in mourning and we are in shock.
We're still grappling with the unreality of the awful thing you
did, still working to make ourselves understand that this
isn't a special effect from some Hollywood blockbuster, isn't the
plot development from a Tom Clancy novel. Both in terms of
the awful scope of their ambition and the probable final
death toll, your attacks are likely to go down as the worst
acts of terrorism in the history of the United States and,
probably, the history of the world. You've bloodied us as we
have never been bloodied before.
But there's a gulf of difference between making us bloody and
making us fall. This is the lesson Japan was taught to its
bitter sorrow the last time anyone hit us this hard, the
last time anyone brought us such abrupt and monumental pain.
When roused, we are righteous in our outrage,
terrible in our force.
When provoked by this level of barbarism, we will bear any
suffering, pay any cost, go to any length, in the pursuit of
justice.
I tell you this without fear of contradiction. I know my people,
as you, I think, do not. What I know reassures me. It also
causes me to tremble with dread of the future.
In the days to come, there will be recrimination and accusation,
fingers pointing to determine whose failure allowed this to
happen and what can be done to prevent it from happening again.
There will be heightened security, misguided talk of
revoking basic freedoms. We'll go forward from this moment
sobered, chastened, sad. But determined, too.
Unimaginably determined.
You see, the steel in us is not always readily apparent. That
aspect of our character is seldom understood by people who
don't know us well. On this day, the family's bickering is put on
hold.
As Americans we will weep,
as Americans we will mourn,
and as Americans, we will rise in defense of all that we cherish.
So I ask again: What was it you hoped to teach us? It occurs to
me that maybe you just wanted us to know the depths of your
hatred. If that's the case, consider the message received.
And take this message in exchange:
You don't know my people. You don't know what we're capable
of. You don't know what you just started.
But you're about to learn.
