From the Seattle Times
>
> By Leonard Pitts Jr.
> Syndicated columnist
>
> They pay me to tease shades of meaning from social and cultural issues, to
> provide words that help make sense of that which troubles the American
> soul. But in this moment of airless shock when hot tears sting
disbelieving
> eyes, the only thing I can find to say, the only words that seem to fit,
> must be addressed to the unknown author of this suffering.
>
> You monster. You beast. You unspeakable bastard.
> What lesson did you hope to teach us by your coward's attack on our World
> Trade Center, our Pentagon, us? What was it you hoped we would learn?
> Whatever it was, please know that you failed.
>
> Did you want us to respect your cause? You just damned your cause.
> Did you want to make us fear? You just steeled our resolve.
> Did you want to tear us apart? You just brought us together.
> Let me tell you about my people. We are a vast and quarrelsome family, a
> family rent by racial, cultural, political and class division, but a
family
> nonetheless. We're frivolous, yes, capable of expending tremendous
> emotional energy on pop cultural minutiae, a singer's revealing dress, a
> ball team's misfortune, a cartoon mouse.
>
> We're wealthy, too, spoiled by the ready availability of trinkets and
> material goods, and maybe because of that, we walk through life with a
> certain sense of blithe entitlement. We are fundamentally decent, though -
> peace-loving and compassionate. We struggle to know the right thing and to
> do it. And we are, the overwhelming majority of us, people of faith,
> believers in a just and loving God.
>
> Some people - you, perhaps - think that any or all of this makes us weak.
> You're mistaken. We are not weak. Indeed, we are strong in ways that
cannot
> be measured by arsenals.
>
> Yes, we're in pain now. We are in mourning and we are in shock. We're
still
> grappling with the unreality of the awful thing you did, still working to
> make ourselves understand that this isn't a special effect from some
> Hollywood blockbuster, isn't the plot development from a Tom Clancy novel.
>
> Both in terms of the awful scope of its ambition and the probable final
> death toll, your attacks are likely to go down as the worst acts of
> terrorism in the history of the United States and, indeed, the history of
> the world. You've bloodied us as we have never been bloodied before.
>
> But there's a gulf of difference between making us bloody and making us
> fall. This is the lesson Japan was taught to its bitter sorrow the last
> time anyone hit us this hard, the last time anyone brought us such abrupt
> and monumental pain. When roused, we are righteous in our outrage,
terrible
> in our force. When provoked by this level of barbarism, we will bear any
> suffering, pay any cost, go to any length, in the pursuit of justice.
>
> I tell you this without fear of contradiction. I know my people, as you, I
> think, do not. What I know reassures me. It also causes me to tremble with
> dread of the future.
>
> In days to come, there will be recrimination and accusation, fingers
> pointing to determine whose failure allowed this to happen and what can be
> done to prevent it from happening again. There will be heightened
security,
> misguided talk of revoking basic freedoms. We'll go forward from this
> moment sobered, chastened, sad. But determined, too. Unimaginably
> determined.
>
> You see, there is steel beneath this velvet. That aspect of our character
> is seldom understood by people who don't know us well. On this day, the
> family's bickering is put on hold. As Americans we will weep, as Americans
> we will mourn, and as Americans, we will rise in defense of all that we
> cherish.
>
> Still, I keep wondering what it was you hoped to teach us. It occurs to me
> that maybe you just wanted us to know the depths of your hatred.
>
> If that's the case, consider the message received. And take this message
in
> exchange: You don't know my people. You don't know what we're about. You
> don't know what you just started.
>
> But you're about to find out.
>
> By Leonard Pitts Jr.
> Syndicated columnist
>
> They pay me to tease shades of meaning from social and cultural issues, to
> provide words that help make sense of that which troubles the American
> soul. But in this moment of airless shock when hot tears sting
disbelieving
> eyes, the only thing I can find to say, the only words that seem to fit,
> must be addressed to the unknown author of this suffering.
>
> You monster. You beast. You unspeakable bastard.
> What lesson did you hope to teach us by your coward's attack on our World
> Trade Center, our Pentagon, us? What was it you hoped we would learn?
> Whatever it was, please know that you failed.
>
> Did you want us to respect your cause? You just damned your cause.
> Did you want to make us fear? You just steeled our resolve.
> Did you want to tear us apart? You just brought us together.
> Let me tell you about my people. We are a vast and quarrelsome family, a
> family rent by racial, cultural, political and class division, but a
family
> nonetheless. We're frivolous, yes, capable of expending tremendous
> emotional energy on pop cultural minutiae, a singer's revealing dress, a
> ball team's misfortune, a cartoon mouse.
>
> We're wealthy, too, spoiled by the ready availability of trinkets and
> material goods, and maybe because of that, we walk through life with a
> certain sense of blithe entitlement. We are fundamentally decent, though -
> peace-loving and compassionate. We struggle to know the right thing and to
> do it. And we are, the overwhelming majority of us, people of faith,
> believers in a just and loving God.
>
> Some people - you, perhaps - think that any or all of this makes us weak.
> You're mistaken. We are not weak. Indeed, we are strong in ways that
cannot
> be measured by arsenals.
>
> Yes, we're in pain now. We are in mourning and we are in shock. We're
still
> grappling with the unreality of the awful thing you did, still working to
> make ourselves understand that this isn't a special effect from some
> Hollywood blockbuster, isn't the plot development from a Tom Clancy novel.
>
> Both in terms of the awful scope of its ambition and the probable final
> death toll, your attacks are likely to go down as the worst acts of
> terrorism in the history of the United States and, indeed, the history of
> the world. You've bloodied us as we have never been bloodied before.
>
> But there's a gulf of difference between making us bloody and making us
> fall. This is the lesson Japan was taught to its bitter sorrow the last
> time anyone hit us this hard, the last time anyone brought us such abrupt
> and monumental pain. When roused, we are righteous in our outrage,
terrible
> in our force. When provoked by this level of barbarism, we will bear any
> suffering, pay any cost, go to any length, in the pursuit of justice.
>
> I tell you this without fear of contradiction. I know my people, as you, I
> think, do not. What I know reassures me. It also causes me to tremble with
> dread of the future.
>
> In days to come, there will be recrimination and accusation, fingers
> pointing to determine whose failure allowed this to happen and what can be
> done to prevent it from happening again. There will be heightened
security,
> misguided talk of revoking basic freedoms. We'll go forward from this
> moment sobered, chastened, sad. But determined, too. Unimaginably
> determined.
>
> You see, there is steel beneath this velvet. That aspect of our character
> is seldom understood by people who don't know us well. On this day, the
> family's bickering is put on hold. As Americans we will weep, as Americans
> we will mourn, and as Americans, we will rise in defense of all that we
> cherish.
>
> Still, I keep wondering what it was you hoped to teach us. It occurs to me
> that maybe you just wanted us to know the depths of your hatred.
>
> If that's the case, consider the message received. And take this message
in
> exchange: You don't know my people. You don't know what we're about. You
> don't know what you just started.
>
> But you're about to find out.
