Every year it arrives.
That day. That anniversary. Today is that day, and we remember.
Today, we display that scar, us Americans. So beaten down by public opinion the world wide over, but today is our day. No matter how much we are hated, this cannot be denied.
Americans take the memory of the September 11, 2001 attacks and treat it like a badge of courage, and of solidarity.
And they are not wrong to do so. I will not tell you so. I feel it, too. I remember waking up to my brother, telling me, “Hey, something’s happened in New York.” I remember the anger. I remember the pain.
I didn’t know anyone who died that day, on that spot, in those towers. But I felt the pain, just the same. That justifiable anger. The death of so many innocents, sacrificed at the altar of evil.
Today, my social media is littered with remembrances. So many who wish to acknowledge those whom have gone before us. Eevery soul who made the choice to either go down with the building—or step off of a 110th floor ledge. Every first responder who, without regard to their own safety, dove in to those towering death traps, hoping against hope to save a few before it came crumbling down about them.
I can’t deny the importance of remembering. Of that mutual feeling of pain.
But, here, as I look upon my feeds, on Facebook, on Instagram, on Twitter, and I wonder. Where are they cheering? Who looks upon our sorrow and rejoices?
And I am reminded that, in the ultimate result, three thousand lives matter little. But the symbol stands up, a beacon, it’s meaning to be determined by whether you cheered or you sorrowed.
And I consider, what is to be gained now that the act has happened? The man is dead. His body has long been consumed by the carrion eaters of the sea floor of the Persian Gulf, where his remains were dumped after Seal Team Six emptied him of his life, never to be found again. His followers are either dead or in prison.
We feel sorrow, and the enemy rejoices at our pain. And that is Osama Bin Laden’s enduring legacy. We have rebuilt a great structure, a defiant symbol on the spot of the Twin Towers. The Freedom Tower stands tall in downtown Manhattan, like a concrete middle finger to those whom would destroy this country and its peoples.
That pain is the gift we give to the enemy.
I understand the desire to remember. To not fail to acknowledge the loss of so many.
But I cannot also fail to notice that in doing so, we give strength to the enemy, to evil, to extremism in all its forms. We blazenly display our scar, and beg for sympathy. And our enemy draws strength with the knowledge that they hurt us, so bad they left their mark.
Every year on this anniversary, so long as my blog exists, I will return to this article, and re-post it.
When we, one day, fail to remember, we remove that last bit of power they have. On that day, I won’t need to re-post this article.
Only on that day will this evil be truly vanquished.