Attention: TDR Forum Junkies 
Leonard Pitts Jr.
Published Wednesday, September 12, 2001
We'll go forward from this moment
It's my job to have something to say.
They pay me to provide words that help make sense of that which
troubles the American 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.
IN PAIN
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.
THE STEEL IN US
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.
Published Wednesday, September 12, 2001
We'll go forward from this moment
It's my job to have something to say.
They pay me to provide words that help make sense of that which
troubles the American 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.
IN PAIN
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.
THE STEEL IN US
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.
