I Don't Know What to Say

September 11 is here.

But it's never been far away, closer than I thought as we dealt with anthrax and the Rockaway plane crash and Christmas and the Super Bowl and the Olympics and Enron and WorldCom and the baseball strike. I thought that maybe it had receded with the ceremony that marked the end of the recovery process a few months back.

Still this morning, it's here again in a way that hasn't been in quite a while. The memories of that morning had started to collect cob webs that were brushed away as the remembrances have been played. The first plane, then the second, then the Pentagon and the rumors of fire at the Supreme Court and the plane in Shanksville. The first collapse and then the second and trying to work and then finally giving up as the size of the events of that day overwhelmed all possible concentration.

It had receeded to another time, another lifetime, really, and now it's back.

I'm writing in the first person not to be self-absorbed, but because we each have our own September 11 experience and though the sweeping emotions of horror, fear, and anger are probably nearly universal, the fine strokes are different for everyone.

We are still here. We will not go away.

Maybe we're different. Maybe we're better people. And maybe we're just shells of our former selves. Or maybe nothing has really changed for us. That's an assessment for each of us, the mirror, and our God, if we believe thusly.

Labeling the event September 11 seemed appropriate at the time, after all, those two words said it all. They had more meaning than any two words since Pearl Harbor. But Pearl Harbor is a place that we can manage, visiting it if we wish. Thinking about it. Wishing we could go to the Arizona memorial. Or not.

September 11 takes on a new meaning today, as now it is here. And, for many of us, comes the realization that it will be here once a year forever. Of course, we all knew, but only now comes the realization.

And so emotions ramble into another year. Sloppy and meandering. But that's how it is today, one year later.

More Evidence to Make the Case

The Vatican has decided that the UN is apparently the voice of God and that United States action in Iraq is appropriate only if and when the UN says it's okay. Given the certain vetoes of any action by Russia and China, that's the same as an unconditional no. Of course, if Iraq nukes us, it saves China the trouble, but that's another story for another day.

Meanwhile, the evidence mounts. A report by the International Institute for Strategic Studies, a global think tank on international strategic issues, although Iraq will not be able to build robust nuclear weapons for years, it could build one now, if someone gave it nuclear material or if it used non-weapons-grade material. It also has a sizable biological weapons cache and may have viruses such as small pox. (For a description of what small pox could do to us, click here.) Its store of mustard gas, sarin, and VX can be measured in the hundreds of tons and perhaps more. According to the report, Iraq "has sacrificed all other domestic and foreign policy goals" to create and retain weapons of mass destruction in violation of treaty.

According to the IISS, "Wait and the threat will grow; strike and the threat may be used. Clearly, governments have a pressing duty to develop early a strategy to deal comprehensively with this unique international problem."

The New York Times reports that Iraq has made acquisition of nukes a top priority, and that it has obtained equipment that could be helpful in making atomic bombs.

Again, none of this information on its own is enough to prove the point. But there's a stunning lack of counter information from those who oppose US action.

Waiting for an Iraqi attack that could kill thousands before reacting (and facing the inevitable claims that it's our fault we were attacked) is nonsense. If the opposition can refute this case, it should do so now. The risk of staying quiet is too large.

A Tribute

Greater love has no one than this: than to lay down your life for your friends.

Except maybe to lay down your life for people you don't even know.

Wednesday marks a year. And this week, we will be inundated by stoies of heroism until the sweet taste of tribute will turn sour for the repetition. If it hasn't already.

An article in today's St. Petersburg Times speaks of a backlash against Lisa Beamer, whose husband Todd was the most visible symbol of our resilience a year ago. The article refers to a growing backlash against her, with people charging that her book sales and appearances are nothing more than an opportunistic way to make some money. (Her family is ineligible for aid from the foundation she set up, but she does get money from her book and from personal appearances. And she is a single mother with children to provide for.)

But still, the stories of heroism are real, if all too familiar, and they are important. Because what these people did wasn't heroism at all, really. It's what most people would do in the same situation. It's what millions of us do every day in far less visible circumstances.

Firefighters charge into burning buildings every day. Police officers face armed maniacs every day. Our military men and women risk their lives in service to us every day.

My father is retired. He used to be a lineman for Niagara Mohawk, the power utility where I grew up. If there were ever a job that is not associated with heroism and helping people, it's being a electric lineman. Like their football namesakes, linemen are only noticed when something goes wrong. Or when the state allowed the utility to raise rates (or included a tax that was not allowed to be itemized in the power bill). And typically the notice they got was negative. (What's orange and white and sleeps six? A Niagara Mohawk truck.)

Yet after icestorms and severe thunderstorms, in circumstances in which many people stayed inside, my father and his colleagues worked in the wind and the snow and the cold. Trips to Buffalo or Boston or elsewhere to help out after storms weren't uncommon. And on those trips, neither were 16-20 hour work days, a few hours sleep in a hotel someplace, then a cup of coffee and back at it.

Sure, the overtime money was nice. It made for better vacations, Christmas mornings full of forgotten stuff (and smiles of my parents watching the light in their childrens' eyes at seeing the stuff), and college educations. But they weren't the primary reason my father took that work. He took it because there were people in their houses without heat or electricity. He took it because there will children like my sister and I who were huddled under blankets because that was the only way to stay warm. And he took it in spite of the risk and discomfort and bone-weariness of the work.

My father never raced into a burning high-rise. He never crashed a plane to prevent it from killing others. Neither have I. Most likely, neither have you. But those actions come when every-day heroism meets circumstance. The people we'll hear about this week aren't heroes because of what they did, they did what they did because they're like the rest of us.

We should honor what they have done and the price they have paid, but we should realize the invisible sea of heroes around us for whom circumstance has been kinder.