September 11: 9-11, Patriotism, Better Than We Are, "The Names"

You will excuse me if I step away from Hitchhiker's on this day.

Today is the anniversary of the terrorist attacks of September 11.  Eighteen years ago, the world was changed irrevocably.  I'm not going to rehash my memories of that day.  The news playing 24/7.  The images of innocent people jumping to their deaths from those burning towers.  The towers collapsing.  Those ghostly faces of survivors stumbling out of that cloud of dust and dirt and smoke that covered and hovered over everything.

I don't believe in calling September 11th "Patriot Day."  For me, this day shouldn't be about patriotism, creating this feeling of the United State of America versus the world.  I am proud, most of the time, to call myself a citizen of this country.  (These Trump years have tested that pride a great deal.)  The kind of nationalism that exists in this country at the moment, that sometimes gets branded "patriotism," makes me a little ashamed of being an American.

For me, what I remember most about the days following September 11, 2001, is how it brought strangers together.  It seemed to provoke both the best (and worst) elements in human beings.  In some places, people (white, African American, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, man, woman, gay, straight, transgender, immigrant, citizen) felt a united grief and a united hope.  We simply weren't going to live in fear and hatred.  In other places, hatred did emerge, in the form of attacks against Muslim Americans and their businesses and homes.  That was the shameful side of the aftermath of 9-11.

Me?  I hold onto that grief and hope.  The idea that we can all be better than we are.  We can love each other more.  Respect each other more.  Support each other more.  Make the world a better, safer place through kindness and compassion.  That is something I can remember and cherish about this day when so many lost their lives.

So, if this day, for you, is about flag waving and chanting "U.S.A.!"--then this post is not for you.  However, if this day is about remembering the victims, joining together in love and support with all of your neighbors (no matter what color or gender or religion or nationality or sexual orientation), then you are a true patriot.

Saint Marty remembers this day with a poem from Billy Collins . . .

The Names

by:  Billy Collins

Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.

A fine rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,

And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,

I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,

Then Baxter and Calabro,

Davis and Eberling, names falling into place

As droplets fell through the dark.

Names printed on the ceiling of the night.

Names slipping around a watery bend.

Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.

In the morning, I walked out barefoot

Among thousands of flowers

Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,

And each had a name --

Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal

Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.

Names written in the air

And stitched into the cloth of the day.

A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.

Monogram on a torn shirt,

I see you spelled out on storefront windows

And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.

I say the syllables as I turn a corner --

Kelly and Lee,

Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor.

When I peer into the woods,

I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden

As in a puzzle concocted for children.

Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,

Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,

Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.

Names written in the pale sky.

Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.

Names silent in stone

Or cried out behind a door.

Names blown over the earth and out to sea.

In the evening -- weakening light, the last swallows.

A boy on a lake lifts his oars.

A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,

And the names are outlined on the rose clouds --

Vanacore and Wallace,

(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)

Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.

Names etched on the head of a pin.

One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.

A blue name needled into the skin.

Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,

The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.

Alphabet of names in green rows in a field.

Names in the small tracks of birds.

Names lifted from a hat

Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.

Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.

So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

May 16: The Army, D-Day, a Piece of My Mind

...My brother D.B. was in the Army for four goddam years.  He was in the war, too--he landed on D-Day and all--but I really think he hated the Army worse than the war...

Holden is not a very patriotic kid.  The little excerpt above should demonstrate this fact.  It's part of a much longer passage about war, the Army, and his brother.  The upshot of the whole couple of pages is that Holden isn't a big fan of authority, doesn't know much about poetry, and really hates the idea of war.

Today, on this inaugural A Piece of My Mind Thursday, I want to talk a little bit about patriotism.  You see, I get a little tired of Republicans and Democrats accusing each other of being unpatriotic because they hold opposing view points.  Just because I believe in universal health care doesn't mean I'm a communist, and just because my father is a member of the NRA doesn't mean he's any better of an American than I am.  We simply disagree.

At the height of the last Iraq War, I attended a local Fourth of July parade.  A local contingent of anti-war protesters were marching as a unit in the parade, carrying signs, wearing tie-dyed clothes, smiling, and waving.  Most of the protesters were old enough to have been Vietnam War protesters.  The rest of the parade consisted of the normal array of dump trucks, fire engines, and demented clowns.

I was sitting with a group of people who were, to put it lightly, highly conservative.  They considered themselves very Christian and very moral.  When the Iraq War protesters passed by, this entire group of people stood up from their lawn chairs and turned their backs to the parade, walking a few steps away.  I heard a few of them saying things like, "If you don't like America, why don't you move somewhere else?"  I was a little embarrassed to be standing by this group.

After the protesters had passed, everyone sat back down in their lawn chairs.  I looked at one of them and said, "You know, just because they don't believe in the Iraq War doesn't mean they hate America."

"I support our troops," he said.

"So do they," I said.  "One of them was carrying a sign that said so."

"How can they support our troops and be against the war?"

"How could George W. Bush invade a country that had no weapons of mass destruction?"  I said.

The rest of the parade was pretty quiet.

I support the members of America's armed forces.  I don't support the idea of war.  My parade pals, in their red-white-and-blue shorts and tee shirts, somehow equated being patriotic and Christian with being Republican and jingoistic.  Those two things simply don't go together in my head.

But that's what's great about the United States of America.  I can hold my beliefs; my parade pals can hold their beliefs; and we can still be patriotic Americans.  My patriotism has nothing to do with my political affiliation or religious affiliation.  It doesn't matter whether I'm pro-life or pro-choice.  Support gay marriage or oppose gay marriage.  Watch American Idol or The Voice.

I am an American.  On Memorial Day and the Fourth of July, I fly my flag.  I sing "The Star Spangled Banner" at sporting events (when I'm forced to go to them).  There have been times when being patriotic was difficult.  The first eight years of the new millennium were quite challenging for me.  However, I still think the United States is the best country to live in, because of its diversity of people and beliefs.

So if you see me marching in a Fourth of July Parade this summer, wearing a George Clooney for President tee shirt and passing out DVDs of Syriana, don't turn your back.  I'm simply exercising my rights as a patriotic American.

Saint Marty just gave you a piece of his mind.

They're just exercising their rights, folks