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Today's the day I remember why I hate mindless patriotism.
It's that day again where people pull out their fake patriotism and pretend that it was Pearl Harbor for the next generation. How about a moment of silence for those people who's memories have been used to start war, a moment for the possibility for world peace that was passed by in favor of aggression, a moment for those who have died in a misdirected attack fueled by battered car flags and a misbegotten notion that disregarding the constitution, and personal freedoms is patriotism.
It infuriates me. The damage that was done in the name of 9/11 was larger than the damage done on that day. For a breif moment in time, the entire world reached out a hand. For one short period of time, the shock of such a slaughter, such a publicized slaughter in a first world country, reached across barriers and opened the channels for a strong alliance based on condemnation of such a horrible act. For a few days... it seemed as if world peace was a possibility. Countries that were enemies seemed willing to talk, to console.
And then, little by little, that openness was chipped away by arrogance, hate, the hunger for power and ego. Unilateral action, denial of personal rights and freedoms, the condemnation of speaking out, rallying in the name of fear and hate...
Phone taps. Racial profiling. Holding prisoners without due process. Torture. So much more, all in the name of 9/11.
I remember being in a parking lot on campus and seeing all the battered, faded, torn and shredded car flags. The faded, yellowed, sun-wash flags torn from the newspapers, hung in the windows of the dorms.
It was symbolic, really. A symbol of a strong country that used to stand for freedom and liberty, battered in the name of patriotism.
Yes, I was terrified the morning of 9/11. Yes, I called every person I knew who was in the area of NYC. Yes, I panicked. The sky, free of vapor trails, silent from air traffic was bizarre and surreal and I watched more news that day than I ever had in my life.
But that doesn't mean a goddamned thing.
It infuriates me. The damage that was done in the name of 9/11 was larger than the damage done on that day. For a breif moment in time, the entire world reached out a hand. For one short period of time, the shock of such a slaughter, such a publicized slaughter in a first world country, reached across barriers and opened the channels for a strong alliance based on condemnation of such a horrible act. For a few days... it seemed as if world peace was a possibility. Countries that were enemies seemed willing to talk, to console.
And then, little by little, that openness was chipped away by arrogance, hate, the hunger for power and ego. Unilateral action, denial of personal rights and freedoms, the condemnation of speaking out, rallying in the name of fear and hate...
Phone taps. Racial profiling. Holding prisoners without due process. Torture. So much more, all in the name of 9/11.
I remember being in a parking lot on campus and seeing all the battered, faded, torn and shredded car flags. The faded, yellowed, sun-wash flags torn from the newspapers, hung in the windows of the dorms.
It was symbolic, really. A symbol of a strong country that used to stand for freedom and liberty, battered in the name of patriotism.
Yes, I was terrified the morning of 9/11. Yes, I called every person I knew who was in the area of NYC. Yes, I panicked. The sky, free of vapor trails, silent from air traffic was bizarre and surreal and I watched more news that day than I ever had in my life.
But that doesn't mean a goddamned thing.