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The New Day of Infamy. Part 2

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I, on the other hand, am ready to sign up, darn socks, nurse soldiers, and intercept codes. But it is not that kind of war. It is a war against an elusive, multiplying agent—an enemy, which has imbedded itself in nearly every strata of societies worldwide. And so for the time being, there’s nothing more to do than pray for those who have lost their dear ones and to pray for wisdom for our leaders as they go about exercising the proverbial “arm of justice.”

And make no doubt about it. Those who abet and perpetrate these acts, directly or indirectly, must be brought to their knees, not merely dragged into a courtroom or targeted with a few ineffectual Patriot missiles. And this must happen no matter how unsettling the reality. Even if those found ultimately responsible were previously thought allies, even if their existence serves some geopolitical interest, even if, God forbid, they are sitting on vast oil reserves. This is not the time for Munich-like appeasement. Not the time for psychoanalyzing madmen. And certainly not the time to worry about stepping on foreign toes when U.S. appendages are at stake.

For the first time in our lives, our generation must consider drastically altered future—futures where more than mere personal advancement and careers will be considered. We are contemplating nothing short of war. And it is a sobering prospect for us. We, who grew up in a gilded age. We, who were unchallenged for so long. No more.

For the moment, the terrorists are victors. They have used our own technical expertise and planes to wreak havoc on us. We must now demonstrate the superior strength of our national will. The famous clash of civilizations rears its ugly head. But ours, not theirs, must triumph. While they have free access to our society (even in our tragedy, we staunchly protect all citizens’ civil liberties) theirs are closed societies, homogeneous societies, artificially “pure” societies. I am confident they will fail. But only if we are diligent, comprehensive, unified, and determined in our plans for total justice.

It’s clear that America has some major reassessing to do. The insouciant, laissez-faire 1990s are officially over. President Bush recently declared that the “First War of the 21st Century” had begun. He is right.

The New Day of Infamy. Part 1

Last Monday evening, my mother and I were sparring over how many toiletries to pack. By Tuesday morning, the whole world had been upended.

At 7:30 am, my brother barged into my room. “Bree, it’s Aunt Jan on the phone. Wake up! A plane crashed into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon!”

I stumbled out of bed and took the phone. “Turn on the TV,” she barked. I raced down the hall to the living room. Dan Rather’s placid voice narrated the scene as balls of fire burst from the north tower. Within minutes, the total destruction of the twin towers. Then part of the Pentagon collapsed. No. I’m screaming, shaking…this can’t be happening. The explosions are too perfect, too surreal, too other worldly.

Across the country, many in my generation—for the most part coddled 20-somethings—are in shock, numb, sick to our stomachs. With the telephone circuits overloaded Tuesday, we communicated by email. We shot off platitudes (“our innocence has been shattered,” “things will never be the same again”) to each other as quickly as our Hotmail accounts would allow.

It only took an hour online to account for nearly all my New York and D.C. friends. All except my best friend, that is. She lives in Battery Park, just blocks from the World Trade Center and works on Wall Street. She was likely on her way to work when the first collision occurred. I cannot get through to any of her numbers. I spend a day frozen in worry. Around 7pm Tuesday, however, another friend reaches her mother. She’s fine. She took a ferry to Staten Island, her mother says.

The courageous, lovely Barbara Olson was not so lucky, however, nor was a professor from my own alma mater Georgetown. No, no, no. I do not want it to be so. I want to rewind this awful movie and return it to Blockbuster.

It is fortunate I’m in Oregon and not D.C., my relatives tell me. But in the Pacific Northwest, the outrage is not so palpable. As one high school friend says, explaining her lack of connection to the tragedy, “I’ve never even been to these cities.”

..to be continued..