September eleventh rocked my world.  Before I watched a TV news report on the attacks, a flash of wild hope stabbed the shock and momentarily uplifted me.  I thought, “Now everyone will have to realize how evil our government is, and this will be a great leap for liberty.”  I even seriously entertained the idea of America in a state of anarchy for a few minutes.  Well, I guess that just showed my age, because those thoughts are hopelessly naïve.  I listened to various news anchors report poll results, saying Americans are calling for war, and that we are willing to give up our liberties to aid the end of terrorism.  I listened as political and military leaders in Washington spoke bland pablum and oxymoronic euphemisms, and cried when I heard my peers echo the trite, double-edged words.  

The prospect of war is frightening, and I shudder every time I see a headline announcing “America’s New War.”  Since the attack, many adults have attempted to open my eyes to the somber facts of life.  (My father used that exact phrase.)  It seems that one somber fact of life is that the government must blow up a yet to be determined country to prove that we really are boss, and we will obliterate anyone who thinks otherwise.  After all, if you’re not with Bush, you’re against him, and you’re a terrorist to boot.  I just can’t agree.  A somber fact of life is that thousands are dead, and another somber fact is that the course of action promoted by so many is going to kill thousands more.  

One man sat me down, and looked me in the eye very seriously. 

“Rachael, this is part of life.  I know it probably feels shocking to you right now, because you’re so young, but this is the way things are.  You’ll understand one day.”  

My eyes watered, and I felt my stomach flip-flop.  Yes, this tragedy wounded me deeply, and I felt intense pain.  Maybe I hurt so much because I’d never been exposed to massive destruction of life in such a fresh manner.  What made me sick to my stomach is that he was saying I am going to get used to this, one day massacres won’t get to me anymore, I’ll be desensitized and mature like him, and I’ll react to tragedy with bloodlust.  I guess I have a lot to look forward to when it comes to this mysterious “growing-up” deal. 

I suppose I ought to make something clear:  I am not a terrorist.  I do not support terrorism.  I do not agree with terrorist action.  I do understand why the United States is hated and feared, and I do believe that the attacks were not motivated by hatred for our (somewhat) free market or democracy.  It has a heck of a lot more to do with the government’s invasive and controlling foreign policy.  I want to see those responsible punished mercilessly, and I want to see the end of the American Empire.  I’m not excusing anyone.  I just find it highly ironic that the arguments I hear for retaliation must sound a hell of a lot like an average discussion between the terrorists that planned those attacks.  

“We have to let their government know that we won’t stand to be treated like this.  They can’t kill innocents and get away with it.  This isn’t right, it isn’t just, and we must take action.  From this point on, anything we do is retaliatory action, a proper and necessary measure.” 

The incident itself and all the aftermath mark the end of an epoch of my childhood.  I lost a certain sense of blithe innocence.  But I guess I’m just not fully grown up yet.  I’ll never understand why governmental power is inflated in a non sequitur fashion.  I’ll never understand jingoism.  I’ll never, ever understand why so many people don’t think logically.  And what’s more, I’ll never accept fallacies as somber facts of life.