Afterwords: Stories and Reports from 9/11 and Beyond,
compiled by the Editors of Salon.com
American Patriotism in the Crosshairs
By Micah Palmer
The post 9-11 literature in Afterword offers a revealing look at many of the disparities in defining American patriotism. All, if not most of the authors emphatically denounce the attacks of September 11, but not every author emphatically supports the military aftermath that ensued. Some authors like Noam Chomsky view the War on Terror as more of an extension of our “state terrorism” and “global dictatorship” (as one Taliban diplomat referred to it as) rather than as a self-defense strategy (287, 92). Other authors like Meera Atkinson humbly defend America’s role as the “world police” that deserve “compassion” in response to “its misfortunes” (268-272). While the authors that lean toward a more pacifistic ideology call for a reevaluation of America’s foreign policy in the Middle East claiming that we “played no small part in earning and fomenting that animosity,” other authors counter this call for empathy with convictions that no action, reasoning, or “moral suasion” will deter Islamic extremists from plotting future attacks, and that the only way to prevent disaster in America and elsewhere is to “pursue [terrorists] to the ends of the Earth” (44, 73, 325). Meera Atkinson is one of these authors, and I thought her analysis of the empathetic pacifists in her article America the Scapegoat offered a keen perspective of the fallacies of that mode of thinking in this particular situation. She writes, “there are problems with the assumption that America’s understanding and tolerance of the terrorist as stated could or would have spared further conflict and escalation” (271). She points out that “Islam has had a proud history of expansionism,” and suggests that if America were not to act swiftly with military engagement, there would be an “oil crisis and a series of successful insurgencies” (271). Atkinson refers to many of these types of thinkers as “apologists” and she questions their view that “the terrorists are somehow reasonable in their endeavor [and] that they would surely end the terror if they got their way” (270). She goes on to conclude that “the stridency of this habit of thought is laced with wishful thinking and is driven by a lack of equanimity fostered by the new reach of global terrorism. People are afraid. They want to believe that if only America had not responded militarily, if only it had seen the error of its ways and had met terrorists’ demands of pulling out of the Middle east, everything would be alright” (270). I have to agree with Atkinson on all points. America has had a long-standing policy of not negotiating with terrorists and 9-11 should be no different. The reaction should fit the crime, but I agree that the crime should also be understood for what it is. In his article Deciphering Suicide, Jeffrey Eugenides dismisses the common notion that the crime is an “assault on freedom,” saying, “it is nothing so philosophical as that” (73). But Eugenides also admits that there are many others out there besides the 19 hijackers that “feel constrained to commit such atrocities” (73). This is the threat of a crime, and America must act in a manner that swiftly apprehends the threatening menace while showing future copycats that terrorism will achieve nothing in the way of policy changes or otherwise. Let us not also be a victim of the principle of, as Meera Atkinson wrote, “damned if [we] do and damned if [we] don’t” when choosing to address the issue of terrorism in a militant fashion .
I don’t believe that the disagreements between those who want to address terrorism directly with military force and those who want to address it indirectly with policy changes devalues the patriotic integrity of either side. On the contrary, I think the argument about how America should act in such a tumultuous time strengthens the loyalties and admiration of America and its values here and abroad.
It appears to me that authors on both sides of the argument truly do want peace and an end to terrorism. I’m convinced that they all want Americans as well as innocent people on the other side of the globe to be safe from future violence. This reveals a thoughtful and genuine patriotism on the part of both sides. It is simply a matter of how we should go about attaining this admirable goal that is a creating a false dichotomy of patriotism. In the end, we all want the same thing—peace. This overarching similarity is an example of the American patriotism that commits us all to defending our country’s soil as well as its reputation as the world’s most compassionate, welcoming, and understanding superpower.
Two Towers of Tragedy: a Response to “Not Exactly Fatherless”
By Meggyn Watkins
Sweeney opens his article “Not Exactly Fatherless” by quickly disabusing his readers of the arising trope in the media after September 11. Yes, his father had died. But no, “the events leading to my father’s death were not shown on live television” (247). In the months following September 11, hundreds flocked to the newspapers, news channels, and radio stations to get their stories heard, and millions tuned in to hear the latest in close-call survivals, unbelievable miracles, and the life-changing sob stories about lost heroes and loved ones. Sweeney deigns to teach the fatherless a thing or two about adapting to single-parenthood, and preach to the men and women who might find themselves unwitting parental figures to the hordes of affected children throughout New York. Hardly over two months after the event, is it too soon for New Yorkers to allow this writer the gall to draw parallels between congestive heart failure and death “not by accident, but by mass murder” (261)? Alternatively, the warm-hearted account of a child successfully filling a hole in his life with superficial father figures is comforting to the countless impotent Americans scattered across the continent, who feel guilt over their safety and removal from Ground Zero.
In the epicenter of the travesty, the citizens of New York watched from their windows as neighbors were crushed by the weight of the towers collapsing from the city’s skyline, experiencing the disillusionment, fear, anger, and trauma that lead to isolation and resentment. Is it possible to equate accidental heart failure with the antagonistic attacks of foreign powers? The loss of a parent to murder is difficult enough without the ground-shaking reversal of established truths. Children are exposed to the ideals of patriotic American superiority in classroom renditions of “God Bless America” and “This Land is Your Land,” far away from the anti-American hatred harbored by the Middle East as well as “countries like Australia, Britain, and France” (142, 258). For many children, such as the then–middle schoolers enrolled in our course who shared their remembrances, the attack represents an awakening of the consciousness of a true challenge to the American ideology we are spoon-fed in elementary school. Though the untimely loss of a parent is always heartbreaking, an accident of organ malfunction surely cannot be compared to the trauma and ongoing fear experienced by the children of 9/11 victims, whose entire structure of stability and security (from parents to relatives to government entities) collapsed alongside the towers.
But while “it’s impossible to be a New Yorker and not be perpetually cognizant of the smoldering mass grave downtown,” the rest of America was not faced with horrendous smoke and ash clouding the sky, but instead the red, white, and blue plastered on car antennas, porches, cranes, and Old Navy shirts (222, 140). Despite the media coverage of the event, we were removed enough from the events that they were little more than special effects from a particularly gruesome film. Among those of us who “looked uniformly shell-shocked and felt uniformly guilty about it,” an underlying impotence arose from the conflicting obligation to help and reluctance to donate an exorbitant amount of effort (42). Like tithing in churches, we donated our ten percent and hoped it was enough: any more effort would result in a heavy disruption of our daily lives. For these heavy consciences, Sweeney’s article is a welcome breath of fresh air—one among many instances of goodwill and hope that appeared in the news, momentarily unburdening us from the shame of inaction: if Sweeney was an industrious child who picked three male members of his community to teach him the ideals of masculinity and fatherhood, then other resourceful youths can be expected to do the same to fill their own voids.
“Not Exactly Fatherless” is a work of tension between impudence and consolation: daring to publish similarities between unfortunate tragedy and petrifying trauma at a time when tensions run high and emotions pull taut, and soothing guilty consciences with imperfect analogies. Sweeney wagers heavily on the proliferance of available and suitable parental figures—certainly a rare commodity in war-torn lower Manhattan, but not something that can be provided with the pocket change from out-of-state Americans.
Patriot or Dissident?
By Brittany Bond-Braatz
The terrorist attacks of September 11th seared themselves into the minds of every American old enough to remember, not only because of the horror of the situation but also from the widespread wave of national unity that swept across the country the following weeks. Though I was only 11 years old at the time, living on the complete opposite side of the country in California, I remember the upsurge in American pride that completely integrated itself into everyday life. Though staunch national pride isn’t a negative reaction, in the case of September 11th it came with the rejection of anyone who dared to differ from the group, whether it was politically or by religion. The American public started looking upon any dissenters with anger, claiming that they weren’t being supportive of their country like true patriots should be. Throughout Afterwords, the idea of being either “with us or against us” threads through the accounts regarding 9/11, exhibiting itself in different ways. I found that tracing this concept from one author to another allowed me to see it evolve and develop in unexpected places.
One of the things I noticed as I watched events unfold in the weeks after the attacks was how lack of real information was hidden under a blanket of patriotism. Maybe the actions that the government was taking weren’t the best. Maybe most citizens had hardly any knowledge of why a terrorist group would decide to attack America on home soil. Regardless, in this time of need everyone had to stick together to protect the country. I remember politicians becoming obsessed, but not over finding solutions to the new problems facing the country. Instead they worried over which of their peers were wearing a flag lapel pin, and who was not. King Kaufman’s “I Love Old Glory” expresses his dislike of how even physical items, like the country’s flag, were used symbolically to enforce patriotism and loyalty to distract from dissenting opinions during times of war. Kaufman argues “patriotism is more about the freedom to criticize the government than it is about waving a piece of red, white, and blue laundry around” (141). Kaufman also quotes the well-known slogans, “America right or wrong” and “America: Love it or Leave it” (141) that have sprung into society over the years during various periods of national difficulty. Mottos like these give further evidence to how little the individual’s stance matters to the forces of popular opinion and the government.
The problem with giving the population only a choice of being “with” the government or “against” them is that anyone who differs in opinion will be forced into the category of being against their country. Sadly, many Muslim-Americans and residents were labeled as dangerous outsiders by the patriotic extremists who were searching for an enemy to place the blame on. In another essay by Kaufman, titled “Stand Beside Her,” he mentions how one of many Muslims living in America was pressured into going out in public without her traditional veil in the aftermath of September 11th supposedly so she wouldn’t make the non-Muslim people around her feel uncomfortable (174). Sadly, Neema is forced into conforming to her neighborhood’s standards after receiving threats from absolute strangers, and has fears for her children’s safety (176). One of the more serious side effects of enforcing such a shallow definition of patriotism is that anyone with a personal life that doesn’t match the norm is instantly considered anti-American and harmful for society.
One of the lasting impressions I had after reading Afterwords was not just of the terrible destruction of civilian lives in the actual attack, but of the social aftermath that swamped the nation. Though the terrorist attacks were unforgivable, American society itself was demoralizing their freedom of speech and other individual rights. In “The Kitschification of September 11,” Daniel Harris confirms how deep the effects had gone, explaining that “many patriotic stalwarts seemed to believe that dissent amounted to a disavowal of one’s American citizenship” leading to what he called “a McCarthyite . . . atmosphere of fear and paranoia” (207). Nor was the anti-dissent movement limited to mere individuals. Whole populations can be put under criticism and boycott as well. The city of Berkeley’s mild resolution against the bombing in Afghanistan has earned “scorn and derision on the city; it has been widely denounced as naïve, simpleminded, and even traitorous” (186) according to Damian Cave in “Bringing the War Home.” Drawing on the accounts in Afterwords and from my own personal experiences, American culture seems to still be suffering from the damages of the attack 10 years later. Fear of both outsiders and of being the outsider has allowed society to cower behind symbols of patriotism as attempts are made to justify loss of freedom and racial discrimination. The atmosphere seems well on its way towards growing extremists of its own, this time in red, white, and blue, sworn to rid society of any “threat” all in the name of patriotism.
The Martyr’s Revenge
Posted by Debra Hunter
The terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 brought the Middle East to the forefront of America’s consciousness. Americans searching for an explanation for the attacks examined the region and sought to define who the Islamic terrorists were and why they targeted the United States. In the essay “The Martyr in Waiting,” included in “The Enemy” section of Salon.com’s 9/11 anthology Afterwords, author Asra Q. Nomani profiles a young Pakistani man who hopes to become an Islamic martyr. Nomani’s essay is as much a portrait of a young terrorist-in-training as it is of the nation that bedevils him; his reactions to the Western objects that permeate his life are illustrative of the frustration and anger provoked by the long history of American interference in the Middle East.
The Disney videos that surround twenty-year-old Pakistani shop worker Qaiser Nadeem are a symptom of the American culture’s unwelcome infiltration into his country. Nadeem works under a sort of cultural occupation; the films offend his religious beliefs and yet he is forced by economic need and consumer demand to spend long days selling these symbols of a “decadent lifestyle” (75). It is true that many Middle Easterners welcome Western influence in their countries and it can be argued that the effects of globalization, and not Western imperialism, are responsible for the spread of the American consumer goods to countries like Pakistan. However, not all Middle Easterners embrace the West, and Nomani’s portrait of Nadeem highlights how the incursion of the American culture into Middle Eastern societies has created resentment among those with conservative Islamic ethics. Qaiser Nadeem must continually confront and cooperate with a lifestyle that he believes compromises his values and threatens his culture. It is not difficult to understand why the young man finds refuge and hope in the Taliban training camps, where he can escape Western incursions into his life and plan revenge against his perceived American oppressors.
The guns that aid Qaiser Nadeem’s Taliban training are the relics of a second type of American interference in the Middle East: its military incursion into Afghanistan. Nomani notes that the “pistols and Russian-made Kalashnikovs” that Nadeem uses in weapons training “were provided by the CIA to the Afghan mujahedin” (77). The American-supplied guns used by the Taliban in Afghanistan are symbols of the extensive American military and political involvement that has permeated the region. The United States has been engaged in a variety of open war actions in the Middle East, including Afghan and Iraq, and also has offered extensive covert support to oppressive governments, such as those of Egypt and Libya. This military interference provokes and frustrates extremist Muslims and leads them to feel that unlawful terrorist attacks, even those against American civilian targets, are justified. The pervasiveness of the American culture in the Middle East and American military actions in the region have given terrorists the excuse and, in Qaiser Nadeem’s case, the means to exact revenge.
After the events of September 11, 2001, many Americans asked the question, “Why do they hate us?” The terrorist attacks of that day made it clear that foreign citizens equate Americans with their government and that they hold Americans responsible for their government’s actions. Qaiser Nadeem looks at Disney videos and imagines the “decadent” American people who produced it and force him to sell it. Asra Q. Nomani’s essay “The Martyr in Waiting” is the portrait of a would-be Muslim terrorist, but reflected in the young man’s gaze is a vision of America that should not be ignored.
Boundaries
By Noelle Blicha
I call myself apolitical. Its not an excuse to be ignorant when it comes to world events or politics, neither does it provide me with opportunities to tell people “I told you so” when elected officials behave in ways that we would prefer them not to. Simply put, I’m apolitical because I don’t feel that I have enough unbiased information to actually vote. I don’t trust the talking heads, and I do not know the ramifications that would result from me voting a certain way for a certain man or piece of legislation. So I stay aware of political news and world affairs, and will even enter discussions about such things. I just won’t vote.
Posted by Debra Hunter
The terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 brought the Middle East to the forefront of America’s consciousness. Americans searching for an explanation for the attacks examined the region and sought to define who the Islamic terrorists were and why they targeted the United States. In the essay “The Martyr in Waiting,” included in “The Enemy” section of Salon.com’s 9/11 anthology Afterwords, author Asra Q. Nomani profiles a young Pakistani man who hopes to become an Islamic martyr. Nomani’s essay is as much a portrait of a young terrorist-in-training as it is of the nation that bedevils him; his reactions to the Western objects that permeate his life are illustrative of the frustration and anger provoked by the long history of American interference in the Middle East.
The Disney videos that surround twenty-year-old Pakistani shop worker Qaiser Nadeem are a symptom of the American culture’s unwelcome infiltration into his country. Nadeem works under a sort of cultural occupation; the films offend his religious beliefs and yet he is forced by economic need and consumer demand to spend long days selling these symbols of a “decadent lifestyle” (75). It is true that many Middle Easterners welcome Western influence in their countries and it can be argued that the effects of globalization, and not Western imperialism, are responsible for the spread of the American consumer goods to countries like Pakistan. However, not all Middle Easterners embrace the West, and Nomani’s portrait of Nadeem highlights how the incursion of the American culture into Middle Eastern societies has created resentment among those with conservative Islamic ethics. Qaiser Nadeem must continually confront and cooperate with a lifestyle that he believes compromises his values and threatens his culture. It is not difficult to understand why the young man finds refuge and hope in the Taliban training camps, where he can escape Western incursions into his life and plan revenge against his perceived American oppressors.
The guns that aid Qaiser Nadeem’s Taliban training are the relics of a second type of American interference in the Middle East: its military incursion into Afghanistan. Nomani notes that the “pistols and Russian-made Kalashnikovs” that Nadeem uses in weapons training “were provided by the CIA to the Afghan mujahedin” (77). The American-supplied guns used by the Taliban in Afghanistan are symbols of the extensive American military and political involvement that has permeated the region. The United States has been engaged in a variety of open war actions in the Middle East, including Afghan and Iraq, and also has offered extensive covert support to oppressive governments, such as those of Egypt and Libya. This military interference provokes and frustrates extremist Muslims and leads them to feel that unlawful terrorist attacks, even those against American civilian targets, are justified. The pervasiveness of the American culture in the Middle East and American military actions in the region have given terrorists the excuse and, in Qaiser Nadeem’s case, the means to exact revenge.
After the events of September 11, 2001, many Americans asked the question, “Why do they hate us?” The terrorist attacks of that day made it clear that foreign citizens equate Americans with their government and that they hold Americans responsible for their government’s actions. Qaiser Nadeem looks at Disney videos and imagines the “decadent” American people who produced it and force him to sell it. Asra Q. Nomani’s essay “The Martyr in Waiting” is the portrait of a would-be Muslim terrorist, but reflected in the young man’s gaze is a vision of America that should not be ignored.
Boundaries
By Noelle Blicha
I call myself apolitical. Its not an excuse to be ignorant when it comes to world events or politics, neither does it provide me with opportunities to tell people “I told you so” when elected officials behave in ways that we would prefer them not to. Simply put, I’m apolitical because I don’t feel that I have enough unbiased information to actually vote. I don’t trust the talking heads, and I do not know the ramifications that would result from me voting a certain way for a certain man or piece of legislation. So I stay aware of political news and world affairs, and will even enter discussions about such things. I just won’t vote.
Because of my apolitical leanings based on my distrust of what we, the consumers of news are told, and perhaps a little naiveté, I have a tendency towards leniency. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. I like to think that most times, we humans are just trying to do the best that we can. Of the reactions that followed September 11th, my leniency extends from the US Government (and the figurehead George W. Bush) to the masses from Manhattan Island, NY to Manhattan Beach, CA. I choose to believe that despite some political motivations, our government chose the course of action they saw fit; military counter-attack. I also choose to believe that Americans, regardless of their geographical location, experienced something unprecedented on September 11th, and responses including grieving, depression, and anxiety were all warranted.
And while I find the consumeristic tendencies towards exploitation and “kitschification” as unappealing and morally wrong as the next person, I was shocked and appalled at the inflammatory and offensive language used by Daniel Harris in “The Kitschification of September 11,” found in Salon Magazine’s Afterwords. I agree with Harris, that the slogans and songs that sprung up immediately after the attack served only to “anesthetize us” (Harris 204) to the atrocities the world witnessed on September 11th, but quickly Harris and I diverge in our thinking. Harris speaks in the language of absolutes, ridiculing those who would, with good reason, refer to the perpetrators of the terrorist acts of September 11th as monsters, claiming that “if the perpetrators are monsters, the victims are not just innocent but angelic, diaphanous seraphs with harps…” (Harris 205), a non sequitur statement that only serves to add insult to the injury the families and loved ones of those who died that day are left with. Here our divergence has just begun.
I continued to be offended by the non sequitur and critical language Harris continues to use to vilify pretty much everyone who did anything on or following September 11th. Harris attacks the charity campaigns for the children affected by September 11th for the fact that “only three victims were below the age of thirteen (all passengers on the hijacked planes)” (Harris 210), referring to the benefiting children as “cash cows” (Harris 210), and criticizing the use of children to solicit donations because they “are easiest on the eyes, the most photogenic of panhandlers,” even going so far as to call children “the unpaid workmen of kitsch, its drudges and slave labors” (Harris 210). Harris condescends to allow that some children did lose parents that day, but creates levels of victimhood sustained on September 11th in his assertion that “the primary victims of the tragedy were shuffled off to the sidelines to make room for a cast of more narratively appealing objects of compassion”—children. Harris however, offers no recommendations as to the proper treatment of those primary victims, or even an explanation of who those primary victims are; if they were the ones who died that day, or the ones who lived but whose loved ones didn’t.
Yet, while reading such abhorrent words, I found myself experiencing an increasingly emotional response. I felt as if I too had been attacked by Daniel Harris, that he was criticizing even my actions. I tried to pull back from the charged language and understand the heart behind what he was saying; after all, I could agree with Harris that kitsch was bad. And yes, I am offended by the commercialization of a national tragedy and those that care more for the almighty dollar than the names and faces of those personally impacted by the terrorist attacks of September 11th. But I draw the line at the insinuation that those who grieved that day, coast to coast or even abroad, had not the right to do so. Harris mocks the idea that “we were all casualties and had all narrowly escaped being crushed in the collapsing towers, rather than merely [sitting] safely in our living rooms glued to our television sets;” (Harris 213) the idea that as a country we needed to heal.
September 11th was an unparalleled event in the life of anyone born in the last 60 years. And while the attack on Pearl Harbor may be in some ways comparable, the United States in 1941 responded with less kitsch and more action, more reality than the United States of 10 years ago. Without 24-hour news stations and days upon days of Armageddon-esque footage, Americans did not create shrines or hang posters of the U.S.S. Arizona in their houses or buy T-shirts depicting that attack and a quick slogan. Americans responded in unity, mobilized by the idea of doing something good, not immobilized in front of TV sets, mesmerized by the hateful acts of religious extremists, and to be honest, if it was my place to judge the American public, I would have preferred a response to September 11th more similar to the national reaction to attack in 1941 than that of 2001.
But unlike Daniel Harris, I won’t condemn charity organizations or the banding together of communities; I will not decide who deserves to grieve. I do not have to defend the decisions of the US Government in its decision to go to war. I will not point fingers for the opportunity to have someone to blame. Daniel Harris and his words, however opposed to how I feel, have made me know what I will do. I will support the notion that in this country we are guaranteed certain freedoms, and my leniency does not extend to the defense of any of these freedoms, including the right to grieve, or the expression of thoughts or convictions of any extremist, including an American author armed with word and pen.
9/11: Good vs. Bad
By Deena Majheed
On September 11, 2001, America was attacked and thousands of Americans lost their lives. Today, ten years later, America continues to carry the burden of grief of that day. That day has left Americans feeling vulnerable and insecure. The events of that day have also widened the gap between America and the Middle East. Today, America is engaged with two wars in the Middle East, in Afghanistan and Iraq. The compiled stories and articles in Afterwords: Stories and Reports from 9/11 and Beyond reflect the immediate reactions of the events of 9/11. These reactions reveal the misunderstanding that has occurred between America and the Middle East as a result of the attacks. This misunderstanding is due to Americans attempting to cope with the tragedy of 9/11 by vilifying the people of the Middle East and simplifying the tangled, complex situation produced by the attacks.
After the events of 9/11, some have sought to figure out why America was attacked. In the article, “The Bloody Jordan River Now Flows through America,” Gary Kamiya offers a suggestion for America’s foreign policy. He argues that America has been attacked because “of those who hate us” (273). This article, dated just six days after the attacks, suggests an array of reasons to why America is hated. He starts off the article by claiming that “those” people hate America. It is difficult to understand who exactly Kamiya is referring to when he claims that certain people hate America. His rhetoric suggests that the people who hate America are people from the Middle East, which encompasses a large body of people. He does not stop to differentiate among the Muslims, Christians or Jews in the Middle East, or between the Arabs and the Persians. He may be referring to terrorists that hate America as well as any group of people whose ideologies are different than America. Whether or not Kamiya is pointing fingers at specifically terrorists in the Middle East or other people in that region, his writing does not make that issue clear enough. He, like many other Americans, attempts to cope with the attacks of 9/11 by becoming defensive. This is done on a grand scale by America when they invaded Afghanistan in 2001 and then Iraq in 2003. Both America and Kamiya decide to fight back in different ways yet both seem to be confused on who exactly the enemy is.
Kamiya goes on to simplify the complexity of 9/11 and to attempt to find answers to questions that America has been asking. He suggests that “less fortunate nations hate America because it is the world’s only military and economic superpower…because of our all-conquering culture. Others see us as godless infidels simply because we don’t subscribe to their psychotic version of Islam. There is nothing we can or should do about any of these things” (273). Kamiya believes that others hate America because of America’s status as a superpower and because of America’s cultural differences with other countries. He implies that the attacks on 9/11 happened because America is hated; however, perhaps the problem is more complex than Kamiya wants to believe. This oversimplification is done by America right after the attacks with the rhetoric of the good guys versus the bad guys employed by George W. Bush in his speeches. Americans sought answers after the attacks and the idea of having “bad guys” to blame seemed appealing. However, the idea of pointing fingers at the bad guys adversely affected the population in the Middle East as well as Americans who are from the Middle East. It eventually led to branding all Middle Easterners as America’s enemy.
One fundamental problem after 9/11 is that people vilified all people from the Middle East because of Osama Bin Laden who identified as a Middle Easterner. Kamiya eventually goes on to address a largely ignored problem among Americans, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. He believes that problem needs to be solved and “until that grievance is resolved, there is a greater possibility that one of those people will decide to strike a terrible blow at the United States” (274). Once again, Kamiya employs the rhetoric of “those people.” Does he mean the Palestinian people even though Osama Bin Laden was from Saudi Arabia? Or is he possibly referring to Arabs in general or all of the Middle East even though not all Middle Easterners are Arabs? After the attacks, it lines became drawn between good and evil when in reality there is no line. As evident in the Middle East, sometimes the line between good and evil is blurred. Although there are terrorists in the Middle East, they represent a small percent of the population yet they overshadow the rest of the general population. The terrorists on 9/11 have incited America to attack countries such as Afghanistan and Iraq, and the bulk of the people who have suffered are innocent civilians and American soldiers. These terrorists in the Middle East have also made Muslim-Americans the enemy in America. The attacks on 9/11 have forced Muslim-Americans to cope with an attack on their country as well as their religion and culture.
The attacks on America on September 11 were shocking and tragic. Its effects continue to reverberate throughout the world, whether it is with the family members of victims of the attacks, the civilians caught in the cross-fire of war in Afghanistan and Iraq, or with the Middle Easterners living in America who must constantly defend themselves against terrorist accusations. It is an event that will live on because of its disastrous consequences that, ten years later, are still fresh in everyone’s minds.
Reader Response #1: Afterwords
By Lisa Alway
In the immediate aftermath of September 11th, 2001, the American flag was inescapable. Every home in suburbia and beyond was decorated with American memorabilia and if one house in the multitudes was left bare, it was assumed as a statement in itself. In “I Love Old Glory- But Not the Creeps Who’ve Waved It All My Life,” King Kaufman revisits the controversial image of the American flag as his narrative moves from the freedom of speech response to burning of flags during the 1960s to the patriotic statements shared by the public display of flags post-9/11. While the flag can show solidarity between Americans in a time of tragedy, Old Glory is also meant to represent those who do not subscribe to the hyper-patriotic sentiment felt after 9/11. Since when did the flag and the colors red, white and blue begin to exclusively represent pro-war, right wing Americans? After a tragic moment or during a moment of celebration, the flag and its colors begin to represent something bigger than the American people themselves; this kind of power is difficult to control and can often raise uneasy responses. Symbols in this context often become a form of propaganda to intimidate those who do not necessarily follow the doctrine of the supposed masses. Symbols can be dangerous forms of communication when a visual representation of a country’s values simplifies and reduces the complex feelings or opinions of its citizens.
A symbol as imposing as the American flag suppresses American free speech when it starts to stand for a select group of Americans rather than the unified country with its many opinions and values. In “The Kitschification of September 11,” Daniel Harris poignantly describes symbols as “the language spoken by those who are uncomfortable with words” (208). When tragic events occur, symbols often take over when people cannot find the words to put forth what they are trying to communicate. The visual demonstration of voice can carry a heavy burden and can be misrepresented over the course of time, which has been demonstrated with “Old Glory” over the course of American history.
Since the time of the Vietnam War, the meaning behind the symbol of the American flag has remained controversial. Kaufman goes so far as to say that he hates the American flag and what it has come to symbolize: “For me statements like ‘America right or wrong’ or ‘America: Love it or leave it,’ a chestnut from my childhood, are the antithesis of what this country is all about. And those are the sentiments that the flag has come, over many years, to represent for me” (141). In the generally liberal Bay Area, many people have a conflicting relationship with the flag when it begins to fly as support for war when the “War on Terror” starts to mirror past imperialistic American fantasies or the repeat of failed conflicts like those seen in Vietnam.
This “love it or leave it” attitude is also seen in Muslim Americans who began to wrestle with their safety, roles in this country as American citizens, and faith. While Americans across the country supported the “War on Terror” utilizing these slogans, M.A. Muqtedar Khan uses the “love it or leave it” propaganda to reach a specific group of Americans in “A Memo to American Muslims.” Khan seeks to separate his faith from the extremists who were responsible for the attacks, but he adopts a troubling and familiar view that many non-Muslim Americans could relate to after 9/11:
It is time that we acknowledge that the freedoms we enjoy in the U.S. are more desirable to us than superficial solidarity with the Muslim world. If you disagree, then prove it by packing your bags and going to whichever Muslim country you identify with. If you do not leave and do not acknowledge that you would rather live here than anywhere else, know that you are being hypocritical. (192)When Muslim Americans felt stifled by fear or respect for victims to speak up against American revenge, symbols of solidarity with fellow Americans were displayed as replacements for their freedom of speech. This “love it or leave it” attitude and the symbolic representation associated with this attitude have been utilized in past extremist governments in order to segregate those who do not believe in the same simplified doctrine (e.g. Nazi Germany).
For some Americans, jumping on the Patriotic bandwagon to wave the flag in solidarity comes from a deeply-felt fear that dissenting will result in alienation and violence. In this era that has seen a repeat of McCarthyism, displaying the symbol of the American flag is the only way that certain Americans can communicate support for victims and their families, and emotional responses to the tragedy when words fail them. As for Kaufman, he is resolved to joining the masses by displaying his Patriotism via Old Glory: “It makes sense that I’d want to fly the good guys’ flag, but the flag come wrapped around a lot of baggage” (143).
Advocating Empathy
By Niki Lesmeister
The anecdotes, thoughts, and ideas expressed in the post 9/11 collaborative articles manifest the many facets of how American’s perceive and think others should perceive the events and aftermath of that gruesome day. Most of the authors in Salon.com’s “Afterwords” reveal not just empathy but suggest unity and thoughtfulness all with a base of patriotism. However, there was one article that posed a very different perception of America’s reaction to the 9/11 atrocities. Daniel Harris’s “The Kitschification of September 11” at first served to entertain and point out a few capitolist-based American flaws, but later struck me as pretentious, cynical, and by the end, I felt it was a downright apathetic, angry rant.
Harris asks the question, “Does an event as catastrophic as this one require the rhetoric of kitsch to make it less horrendous?” (204). I agree that there were many instances in which over-the-top cutesy and/or patriotic symbols provoked a giggle or an eye roll, such as Harris’s example of the car decals “featuring a lugubritous poodle with a glistening tear rolling mournfully down it’s cheek”, but I do not feel that everything patriotic deserves such a cynical breach of his ultra-wordy and showy opinion (203). At the end of his first paragraph, I was thrown off by his claim that “Gigabytes of odes to the lost firemen and celebrations of American resolve turned the information superhighway into a parking lot” and then proceeds to quote a corny poem expressing that the American flag has “‘magical powers to keep away fear’” (203-204). Odes to the lost firemen and celebrations of American strength and determination to me seem like all too appropriate reactions to the morbid and history-making events that took place on September 11th. The cheesy poem has nothing to do with the lives of the firemen that were lost and therefore it was unnecessary and perhaps even cruel to use it to premise the odes to the dead heroes that somehow obstructed his personal web searches and online viewing pleasures. I was never offended by mushy-gushy patriotic this and that in the margins of my webpage as I surfed the “information superhighway”.
One can credit Harris as a realist. He wants to appear as though he is very no-nonsensical about how America should have accepted the event, grieved appropriately, and not to have dwelled on the gruesome details via revenue-gaining “kitsch”. However, he expressed that opinion via extravagant and overly-colorful vocabulary, which serves to contradict his pragmatic understanding of America’s reaction. His grandiose exaggerations are obtained by wordy fluff that eliminates practicality, which is one of the modes he uses to get his points across.
It is clear that Harris does not hate everything America stands for, and in fact, makes a few incredibly important observations that the “kitschification” of America by means of commercializing patriotism sometimes makes the event itself under-examined and somewhere along the way that it loses some of its significance and it’s meaning may be skewed to some. Commercializing patriotism can make a situation in which there are so many undiscovered grey areas into black and white. However, I do not see how everything symbolically American must be transcribed by Harris as kitsch and therefore loses credibility and meaning. “Symbols are the language spoken by those who are uncomfortable with words”, Harris claims boldly (208). I think this is what really turned me from his magnificent article in that I see that symbols are literary. They are part of the spoken word as well as tangible and inanimate objects, and people define them in their own way. People find comfort in remembering the twin towers symbolized not in a way that defies their existence and avoids discussion but serves as a mandatory remembrance.
It is clear to me what Harris wants to get across but the way he presents his view is extravagantly worded but at the same time simplistic. He does not credit that America is slowly becoming an apathetic nation and that these (albeit sometimes cheesy) patriotisms are not all trival and “kitsch”, but in fact preserving empathy and unity. Although it does seem that some of them are profit ploys for big name brand companies, many people find comfort in numerous expressions of patriotism, and they serve as constant reminders that we are united and strong.
Screenshocked
By Erma Halili
A recurring character in the broad spectrum of experiences recorded after 9/11 is the television. Unlike many other media, we take in the countless frames per second of developing scenes, the nuanced tones of a speaker and the music which undeniably structures our mood. It would seem that many post-9/11 Americans were glued to their sets generally for informative or emotional reasons, but at the heart of it, even the "cult of war" – zealous followers of updates and answers who "believe in dread and cable news" – have an emotional basis for their tuning in (Colin 197). Yet, for all of the cult's zeal, the continuous consumption of news via television is a fairly passive act. Outweighing their desire for information is the unspoken readiness to see one's worst fears confirmed, an extension of the prevailing paranoia that took hold after the attacks. Colin describes lurching between sensing the "good science fiction" aspect of impending war and the numb habit of news-watching, both of which are emotional responses to the surreality of post-9/11 America. News consumption, the type which he characterizes as disorienting when one tries to returns to everyday living, shares some aspects with what Knapp termed as the "ordinary opiate" in "Consciousness On Overload:" comparable to computer solitaire, it suggests a distracting, somewhat repetitive action that becomes an engrossing separate world to the individual (Knapp 44).
In Marsh's "Running Against The Grain", David Boyles' attention switches between his apartment window's view of the ongoing destruction and television footage of the same scene, "as if to verify his own impressions" (Marsh 5). Whether he witnesses this scene first- or second-hand is not so much point as the instinct, amidst his recent shock, to confirm through televised footage and thus, lend it more trust than his own experiences for the time being. In addition to this, the action speaks of an immediate need to make sense of his own experience and the attacks. The television is where we would normally turn to for a narrative, where the resolution of a conflict usually presents itself if we watch up until the credits. It's not much of a surprise that in McNichol's satire, "Bin Laden's Diary," the ideological kryptonite of the fictional bin Laden is the sitcom Friends which enjoyed ubiquity in pop culture before and after 9/11 and displayed a New York untouched by tragedy. Neither is it surprising that Bob, Ketcham's neighbor in "The Devil's Smoke," spent an hour watching Barney & Friends, as a way to avoid lies presented by those who wield the nation's power. More than an escape, however fictional the show may be, Bob does not feel lied to while he watches the show, thus momentarily returning to a pre-9/11 state of relative innocence. For all of our complaints of a narrative-driven news culture that strays into kitsch, it is worth remembering that many people, subconsciously (or not), look for a neat narrative in response to shock.
Not wishing at all to belittle the tendency towards some emotional stimulation, whether through footage of the actual attacks or through light-hearted scripted television, I regard it as a valid mode of mourning and keeping everything together. Commemoration need not be kitschy, as Fitch and Zacharek discuss in their pieces, as the sight of the twin towers up in the sky can be the very balm for emotional wounds. Neither author believe that the ingredients for kitsch – the slogans, catchy titles or dramatic music – are necessary, just the image. The move to erase the twin towers from the backgrounds of several existing movies and TV shows is a strange one in the age of rhetoric-filled, round-the-clock news coverage. To acknowledge instead the post-9/11 New Yorkers who felt a glow of pride when seeing the twin towers thriving in the skyline or the background of a movie, and then assume that these glorious images trump that of recent horrors in the minds of the public are ways to manage trauma, as well as to prevent these images from becoming too associated with their destruction.
The authors discussed have experienced and described the pull of events unfolding on the television screen. As traumatic as the attacks were in their own right, the fact that many Americans’ main source is a box to which we turn for laughter, information or a good story adds dimension to how we consume information and for what reasons we do so. It is not completely wrong to say that we, as a culture, put forth a demand for news-narratives which is one of the consequences of consumer media, as well as the need to find sense and meaning after trauma.
Finding a Scapegoat
By Melissa Lopez
In “Stand Beside Her” by King Kaufman in Afterwords we learn a little about the anti-Muslim sentiment that followed in the wake of 9/11. A woman is forced away from an elementary school when she tries to drop her daughter off by school parents. It is relatively simple to take the face of a murderer and to accuse everyone who shares the slightest similarity. While the atrocities committed on 9/11 were done by terrorists, these terrorists also happened to be religious zealots. Their religion (Islam) became the religion of the infamous “other” to many people in America as soon as the first plane crashed.
The reason that people are so eager to forget horrendous histories of the concentration camps of Germany and the Japanese internment camps of America is because fear eradicates logic. Fear floods the senses, and when something so heinous occurs people look for someone they can blame, someone they can punish, someone they can be suspicious of, be careful of.
What is interesting in this article is that so many people did just the opposite. Realizing how many people would look to the American Muslim people as a scapegoat for the terrorists, many American people stepped up to defend those innocent people. It is wonderful to see how courageous and compassionate people were in the face of such fear and uncertainty.
People are panicked over what occurred on 9/11, and they act in outrageous ways in order to enact “revenge” over the lost lives, or even to “prevent” further attacks by regarding anyone with Arab features as the enemy, regardless of what their true religion or their true nationalities are. It seems that America is the “melting pot” only until a certain race is targeted for the acts of a small percentage, and the stereotyping takes place. In this scenario the melting pot becomes a soup contaminated by certain unsavory ingredients that must be removed.
People who are willing to blame an entire group of people for the actions of a few are, themselves, very similar to terrorists. They group together for the sake of identifying the enemy, when in reality there are enemies who look nothing like the terrorists, and not every person that looks like the terrorists is one themselves. The human’s mind need for organization and simplicity is helpful, but is also the cause of much grief.
Those individuals who stood with the Muslim people who were being harassed saw through the “boogey man” persona that certain Americans were trying to place on Muslim people, however, as is stated in the article, “…if you walk beside that one (person targeting all Muslims), it doesn’t matter, you could still be really harmed” (182). Despite the efforts of the volunteer group, innocent people are still at risk of being harmed, or harassed because even if the number of ignorant people is small, they can create terrible pain.—which is exactly what happened on September 11th.
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close,
by Jonathan Safran Foer
History of Suffering
By Deena Majeed
The novel Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer analyzes the grief that young Oskar feels after losing his father in the 9/11 attacks; however, the story also focuses on grief that is felt on a larger scale. Throughout the novel, there are references to World War II and to the tragedies that have occurred during that time. The integration of the tragedies of WWII and the 9/11 attacks suggest that the pain that Oskar feels throughout the novel is a shared pain and that the narrative of tragedy plays out in the same way throughout the history of human suffering.
Foer makes references to the bombing of Japan and shows how it has been forgotten by America. After listening to a victim of the atomic bombing of Japan, Oskar explains to his class, “another interesting feature that has to do with the explosion was the relationship between the burning and color…the bomb destroyed everything…all that was left were white pieces on white square islands” (190). The atomic bombs dropped by America on Hiroshima and Nagasaki killed thousands of people in seconds, yet Oskar explains the results in a detached manner. Although the children listening initially appear to be sad, they quickly move on and begin to tease Oskar (187). This suggests that the bombing of Japan is a forgotten event in America’s collective memory. Americans have a short memory when it comes to events that have happened in other countries and Foer demonstrates this through references to civilian killings within the past century. He also shows the irony behind this because America was the perpetuator of these attacks on Japan. This connection between Japan’s tragedy and America’s tragedy suggests that America can alleviate its suffering by acknowledging other tragic events that have happened in the past. By understanding the grief of others, America can finally begin to heal as a country rather than continue to lament on what has happened. This is further shown in Foer’s portrayal of Thomas Schell, Oskar’s grandfather.
The connection between Oskar and his grandfather represents the connection between the bombing of Dresden and the attacks on 9/11. Throughout the novel, Thomas writes a series of letters to his son, Thomas. He describes the bombing of Dresden, Germany and writes about how he “saw and heard humans trapped, I smelled them, standing in the moltin, burning streets like living torches, screaming for help that was impossible to give” (214). Thomas has lost his unborn child in the bombing of Dresden and the child he never met in the 9/11 attacks. He represents the connection between the two seemingly separate events. Both events led to mass civilian causalities. Both events created two instances of sorrow in his life. The integration of this event within Oskar’s narrative suggests that the two stories are part of the same narrative in the same way Oskar and Thomas are two people in the same family. When Oskar and Thomas come together, they are able to help alleviate one another’s suffering. Thomas is able to start his healing process after meeting his grandson and in a way he meets a part of the son he never met.
Foer brings together Thomas and Oskar through Oskar’s father. When Thomas sees Oskar he follows him and “tried to learn about him as he tried to learn about you, he was trying to find you, just as you’d tried to find me, it broke my heart into more pieces than it was made of” (279). Thomas and Oskar’s relationship represents the relationship between tragic events throughout history. When they find each other, they find that they both have been suffering and they take comfort in knowing that they are not alone. Through this, Foer reveals how America is also not alone in its suffering. The attacks on 9/11 were not just an attack on America but an attack on humanity itself. In the same way, the attacks on Japan and Dresden were attacks on humanity as well since civilians were the ones that suffered. Moreover, America’s decision to invade Iraq and Afghanistan after 9/11 led to more civilians suffering in those countries. Foer goes through the history of attacks on civilians within the past century in order to show how they are all connected and that to understand the motives and reasons behind one attack means to understand the motives and reasons behind all attacks.
Foer brings together three major events throughout history in this novel in order to imply that there is a connection between them. He doesn’t try to explain the motives or reasons behind the attacks but instead focuses on the aftermath and on the reactions of the people affected by these events. He attempts to unite humanity together through their suffering and suggests that these events are not separate but the same story of suffering constantly repeated throughout history.
Speak No Evil, Hear No Evil: a Response to Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
By Meggyn Watkins
Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Close and Incredibly Loud presents the fictional account of a young boy named Oskar Schell as he experiences the very real loss and trauma felt by many after the attacks on September 11, 2001. Foer weaves the narratives of two major civilian attacks in the story of one family, representing universal responses to suffering in cultures worldwide. Throughout the novel, various characters are profoundly affected by loss and respond by succumbing to silence or by refusing to listen; though fictional and exaggerated, these responses are highly emotional and draw in the readers, inviting them to understand and engage in the community of sorrow that trails in the aftermath of catastrophe.
The most visible examples of traumatic silence are the characters who are physically incapable of speech, either psychologically or medically. Thomas Schell, the grandfather of Oskar, is a survivor of the Dresden bombings during World War II, during which he endured two days of violence and the loss of his beloved sweetheart. The gradual loss of speech resulted in a silence that forced him to turn to writing daybooks, yet it was profoundly deeper than the choice his wife believes it is: she insists, “Say it. [...] Say it!” but, to him, “nobody would choose to be like that (311, 16). The a parallel between Thomas Schell and Stephen Hawking helps us understand how restrictive and unwilling silence can be indicative of being “physically and emotionally depleted” (304). Whether the silence is compensated by hundreds of daybooks or a voice synthesiser, the effort inherent in compensation indicates a desire to communicate that cannot be successfully enacted. Readers can feel Thomas’ frustration each time he repeats, “I don’t speak. I’m sorry” (30, 81, 280); we are similarly filled with anticipation and regret when Thomas has the opportunity to speak and fails, resulting in a deep sympathy and shame that mimics the tumultuous emotions of the character as he deals with his post-traumatic life.
However, even when it is physically possible to speak, many of Foer’s characters find themselves incapable of articulating their emotions to themselves or one another. Oskar struggles with the assumption that his mother doesn’t care where he is going and fights a crippling inability to respond to his psychiatrist’s word association exercise. The latter scene is particularly unrealistic since a nine-year-old as achingly precocious as Oskar would undoubtedly be clever enough to outwit a simple psychiatric word association exercise, but serves to show us how he suffers with the incapacity to express his feelings surrounding the events of September 11 (202). We see this failure to communicate emotion when he and his mother interact: he never tells her about his father’s recordings or about his mission to find the lock, and she never tells him about Thomas’ cell phone call or about her support group for people that have lost family. These bottled emotions erupt for Oskar’s grandmother in her final letter to her grandson when she admits the answer to her own question, “But it was unnecessary. There would be other nights. And how can you say I love you to someone you love? [...] Here is the point of everything I have been trying to tell you, Oskar. It’s always necessary. I love you” (314). His grandma reaches this realization and decides to finally pursue her love and express what she feels, allowing Oskar and the readers to understand the depth of this epiphany and her desperation to succeed at finally communicating with the person whom she loves.
Despite the common inability of Foer’s characters to verbalize orally as well as on paper, the few that try are met with an astounding reluctance to listen. Oskar illustrates this unwillingness to listen to his parents about highly emotional events: he refuses to listen to explanations of his mother’s relationship with Ron, and shies away from the phone when his father calls for the last time. Oskar believes that because “Mom was with Ron in the living room, listening to music too loud and playing board games” then “She wasn’t missing Dad”—a very obstinate assumption common to young children, perpetuated by his refusal to listen and cemented in childhood anger when he cries, “Either promise me you’ll never fall in love again, or I’m going to stop loving you” (35, 171). Later, Oskar starts discovering his mother’s presence in his adventures and her devotion to his father, and he is stunned by what she hadn’t said because he hadn’t been listening, “I didn’t look at Mom, and she didn’t look at me. Why hadn’t she told me she was in a group?” (315). He confesses to William Black, a stranger he meets on his quest for the lock and the only Black who doesn’t expect him, the extent of his inertia to listen and speak to his father on September 11: “I couldn’t pick up the phone. I just couldn’t do it. It rang and rang, and I couldn’t move. I wanted to pick it up, but I couldn’t. [...] He needed me, and I couldn’t pick up. I just couldn’t pick up, I just couldn’t.” (301). After listening to the other recordings on the answering machine, Oskar, like William, knows that it is too late to save his father. Thomas calls again and again, searching to communicate with his son (whom he knows is at home from his call with Oskar’s mom on her cell) for the final time, but Oskar cannot allow his father to say goodbye. Similarly, William’s father wrote hundreds of letters to every person in his life before he died, but his son “couldn’t read it. Not for a few weeks” (297). Oskar reacts to the concluding quest as he reacted to the final phone call: “I wanted to make the story as long as I could, because I was afraid of its end” (297). The reader is as torn as Oskar between apprehension over the conclusion and the necessity of forward motion, causing us to feel as unwilling as Oskar to reach the end of the quest. When the key has nothing to do with Thomas Schell, we are somewhat unsurprised—no matter what Oskar found at the end of his adventure, the key could neither save Thomas from the fate we know he met nor give Oskar the conclusion for which he yearned.
