It Can't Happen Here

It began with an attack, led by a bearded man, seeking to destroy the government of a country which stood for everything he stood against. Even though he failed, the people of the country began to fear bearded men like him, began to fear men who came from the same religious background. Right-wing religious, political, and media leaders referred to these people as vermin, less than human. They blamed them for the country's woes, a sick economy, a decline of national culture and stature. Popular cartoons appeared mocking their religion. Their places of worship, houses, and businesses were attacked. Their books were burned...

This may sound familiar to anyone following the current trend of anti-Muslim furor in this country. Osama Bin Laden attacked us. Right-wingers have stirred up anti-Islamic feelings. Those feelings have taken root in people who have suffered in our current economic downturn. Recently, a Muslim cab driver and a mosque were attacked. Now a Florida church plans to burn hundreds of Korans, the Muslim holy book, which have been sent to them from people all over the country.

But the story I began with is not the story of America's relationship with Islam following the September 11th attacks. It is the story of a different country, in a different time. Let me tell you the rest.

Over time, the dehumanization of these "enemies of the state" became accepted by the majority. After that, it was easy to pass laws restricting their freedoms. But this didn't make the people of the country feel quite safe enough. It was then suggested that there was an easy solution to the problem these enemies of the state presented. Kick them out.

I'm reminded of the simplistic solution many right-wingers have offered to the influx of illegal immigrants in this country. But this story isn't about Mexicans either.

But the solution wasn't that easy. Where would these people go? Neighboring countries didn't want them. In the meantime, they were forced to move into cordoned-off slums and makeshift encampments. These became overcrowded. Disease was rampant. The manpower and money necessary to keep these places under control was overwhelming. It was then that someone came up with a different solution. A permanent one.

Hopefully, you've figured out what story I'm telling here. It's the first part to a more popularly known story, an introduction that often gets skipped over, simply because the details of the final part are so chilling, so monstrous.

It's the story of a Jew, Kurt Eisner, who led the overthrow of the German government in Munich at the end of World War I, and was a key figure in forcing Germany's surrender. He didn't do it because he was a Jew, he did it because he was a radical communist. But his attack gave fuel to the right-wing forces that claimed Germany's defeat in World War I was due to leftist elements in their own country, not superior foreign might.





In this atmosphere of hatred, a new leader rose to power. He built his constituency by playing to their basest fears-- that Jews and the communists were trying to destroy their country. His hateful words inspired Germans to terrorize all Jews, no matter what their political beliefs. It was just a matter of time before this leader put into action his "final solution."

Could such a thing happen here? We're not at that part of our story yet. But the first few chapters written after 9/11 look eerily similar to that story of the past, with Muslims (and dark-skinned immigrants) instead of Jews. The Koran-burning parishioners are a reminder that people tend to follow their leaders, even into madness. 11,207 people are fans of this event on Facebook.

How many would have been fans of Kristallnacht?

Jews have a saying: "Never Again." I think that includes making sure that no other group is ever subjected to the kind of hate that spurs the most demonic violence in men.

So I've started a "Americans Against International Burn A Koran Day" group on Facebook. Show that there are enough Americans out there who recognize the signs of a country spiraling towards madness.

"Where they have burned books, they will end in burning human beings." -Heinrich Heine

[UPDATE: The book burning was canceled, proving that when the majority of good people stands up to the minority of bigots, the bigots sit back down.]

Mosquerade

Some people are not too fond of mosques, it seems.

"Ground Zero Mosque supporters: doesn't it stab you in the heart, as it does ours throughout the heartland? Peaceful Muslims, pls refudiate." --Sarah Palin

It's not about bigotry, say these bleeding hearts. It's about sensitivity. That's why they oppose a mosque two blocks away from the place they call "Ground Zero." "We are not bigots!" they insist. "We're sensitive!"

But what is sensitivity? Who are the sensitive, and why are they sensitive? Does their sensitivity have the morality of reason behind it? Or is it based on the fundamental lie that bigots use to rally the weak-minded to their cause?

Let's establish the facts. The mosque may be near the site of the World Trade Center, but it is not within eyeshot. Tourists visiting the site of the largest terrorist attack on American soil will not see Islamic flags or symbols through their camera viewfinders. People will also not hear any Muslim call to prayer-- a common sound around mosques worldwide: there will be no loudspeakers or minarets attached to this mosque. Much has been said about the center's "15 floors" and amenities, but the truth is, all will be contained withing a rather non-descript Manhattan building (so un-notable, it was rejected for landmark status). The fact is, if there were no news articles about the mosque's existence, no visitor to the 9/11 memorial would know the mosque was there.

The other fact is that those behind the mosque, and those who will pray in it, are undoubtedly not terrorists. Can we say this with 100% certainty? No. But we don't shut down Catholic churches because Eric Rudolph bombed abortion clinics. The truth is, there are millions of Muslims in America, and if every one was a terrorist, we would have certainly been all blown to hell by now. Terrorists are a minority which can exist within any religion or political persuasion. It was not so long ago that communists were all terrorists. And before that, it was Japanese people. And before that, it was the Irish. Americans have a way of branding a whole group for the actions of very few members.

So on what premises are the builders of this mosque supposed to be sensitive? Are they supposed to not build their mosque because people associate the Muslim religion with the terrorism that happened nearby? The people who make that association are unable to draw distinctions between the millions of peaceful Muslims and the hundreds of bad ones. What do we call people who can't draw a distinction between the good and bad members of a race, creed, or religion? What do we call people who believe that all members of a group fall in line with the worst, most vile stereotypes?

Do we call them sensitive?

I think not.

Palin calls for "Peaceful Muslims" to "refudiate." Her twitter statement should draw laughs, but not for the new word she created. We should instead chuckle at the contradiction. If Palin honestly believed any or most Muslims were peaceful, she would reject arguments against the mosque being built. In standing against it, she either supports the fundamental basis behind the "sensitivity," or believes that the center would be a tribute to terrorists. Who are the "Peaceful Muslims," Ms. Palin? Because if they're not the ones that currently live peacefully in and around the New York City community, then I don't know where else they could be.

Let the mosque be built. You'll never see it. You'll never hear it. The only ones who will are the Muslims: Muslims who are seeking a place for prayer, not a place for terror.

---------
Nice thoughts from NYMag on this issue, here.

Apparently The Federal Government Has Never Heard Of Photoshop



Proving that government incompetence exists no matter which party is in charge, Obama officials terrified countless New Yorkers earlier this week when they authorized a photo shoot involving a 747 and two fighter jets flying low over downtown Manhattan.

Initially said to be a military drill, officials later admitted the flyby was done to update their photo records of Air Force One:

Air Force officials estimate that the mission and the photo shoot for the 747 and an accompanying F-16 fighter jet cost $328,835. But they said "the hours would have been flown regardless, and the expenses would have been accrued on a different mission."

An Air Force source told CNN on Tuesday that the White House Military Office planned a photo shoot over various Washington monuments next week, but the shoot has now been canceled.

No word on whether the flight was scheduled to fly low across the Pentagon.

This could have all been avoided had anyone working in the government heard of Adobe Photoshop. Take a photo of Air Force One, then take a photo of the Statue of Liberty. Use Photoshop to meld them together. I did this in 2 minutes, and I didn't even use Photoshop, I used the Paint application included with Windows:


The Government Owes Me $328,835

See, wasn't that cheaper? And less panic-inducing?

Obama's done less than I've hoped for so far (no world peace yet) but he can impress by doing what the Bush administration should have done when someone makes an idiotic decision... fire them.

No one who heard this idea thought, "Gee, I wonder if this will terrify thousands of people and cost a lot of unnecessary money?" Wouldn't that naturally be your first thought when the words, plane, lower Manhattan, flying low, and photo shoot are in the same sentence?

Bush didn't fire the idiots. Obama should. Or at least school these guys on Photoshop.

Seven Years

Osama Bin Laden is still free.
The World Trade Center is still a hole in the ground.
Oil prices have quadrupled.
4,721 American soldiers are dead.

The national debt has doubled.
Russia is performing military exercises in Venezuela.
The Euro is stronger than the dollar.
91,380 civilians have been killed in Iraq.

The inflation rate has doubled.
More than 40 terror groups have joined al Qaeda in the past 3 years.
The Taliban control half of Afghanistan.
A BBC poll found 49% of people worldwide think the U.S. hurts the world.

In the seven years since 9/11, the United States has done nothing to erase the scars created that tragic day. In fact, in most cases, our government has increased the magnitude of the loss we suffered. Nearly 3,000 died on that September morning, but since then, thousands upon thousands more have lost their lives. By attacking the center of our nation's financial strength, the terrorists sought to destroy our economy and change our way of life. Thanks to the Republican administration over the past 7 years, the terrorists have largely succeeded. The economy is imperiled, overwhelming security has hindered even the most innocuous of our recreational activities, and the national discourse now focuses on "who's more patriotic" rather than promoting advances in science and technology.

That would be bad enough.

Worse, the mastermind of this crime is still at large. His organization is growing. The despotic leaders that gave him shelter still control half of Afghanistan, seven years after the greatest army in the world began an attempt to drive them out. Worse, we devoted our resources to a different nation, Iraq, a country which had nothing to do with the attacks on 9/11. In doing so, we created two safe havens for terrorists-- in an uncontrolled Afghanistan and a leaderless Iraq.

We sunk so much money into our misadventures since 9/11, that our nation's infrastructure is crumbling. New Orleans, one of our nation's most beautiful cities, is still a shattered shell, 3 years after Hurricane Katrina. The city hardest hit by the September 11th attacks still has its gaping, open wound downtown, while skyscrapers and hotels are popping up in places like China and Dubai with astonishing speed and regularity.

Seven years after 9/11, our country hasn't recovered. What's worse, it's actually declined further. When the world saw the towers fall, they reached out to us, unequivocally. They wanted to know how they could help. We brushed them aside with a preemptive war that even Colin Powell had to lie about to justify. And now, stuck in the money pit, we see our banks and mortgage lenders collapsing. Oil prices inflating the costs of everyday goods and services. And rapidly disappearing influence, both financial and political, throughout the world.

Seven years after 9/11, make no mistake. The terrorists are winning. Every day Bin Laden twiddles his thumbs is testament to that. Our President isn't concerned with any of this. Indeed... we've seen him little in the past few months, save for an address at the Republican National Convention.

"Osama bin Laden is not out there leading any parades," says White House spokesperson Dana Perino.

He doesn't have to. He's doing just fine destroying America while sitting in a cave.

-------------------------
You should really check out Thomas Friedman on Charlie Rose. He says some real intelligent things. "We've become the United States of Fighting Terrorism." So true. Whatever happened to the America that was the beacon of freedom, science, and culture? Is the new American dream simply "lets not get blown up??" Feel free to skip to 20:09, because a lot of the earlier stuff is about the environment and Friedman's latest book.

A nice piece on the Republicans' failed attempt to "change the world" after 9/11.

You can read my previously stated feelings about 9/11 here.

Steam Scare, Old Scars



I took this with my camera phone, as did about 10,000 others around me. Of course, I didn't whip out the cell phone camera until after I heard that the cause of the explosion wasn't Bin Laden, but a burst steam pipe.

I left work (at 34th and Madison) and headed towards my sister's place (54th and 1st). When I got to 34th and Lexington, I saw people running down the street, looking over their shoulders.

Instantly, my blood ran cold. I'd only seen people running like that once before in my life.

I looked up Lexington, and saw the huge geyser of brown smoke, erupting from the street. It filled in all the spaces between the skyscrapers in the distance, reaching the tops of the buildings, seemingly coming towards me and the rest of the crowd that stood in stunned silence.



I'd only seen smoke like that once before in my life.

I called my sister, and told her to turn on the TV, see what the news said. There wasn't anything at first. After a few minutes, she said one report mentioned a transformer may have exploded. "More Than Meets The Eye" jokes aside, I felt some relief.

I called Jay, who works around there. His building was being evacuated. I told him what my sister had told me.

As word spread that officials had ruled out terror, the mood of the ever-growing crowd on the streets lightened. What had been, moments before, an eerie mass of quivering dread, the crowd of people began to drop their guard, smile, and exchange expressions of gratitude. Police urged everyone to be on their way. "Nothing to see here, folks," someone cracked.



I thought about 9/11. Though it happened almost 6 years ago, images remain seared in my memory as if I had witnessed them today. Ambulances speeding from downtown, throwing off gray ash; people applauding them as they passed. A man in a suit, clutching a briefcase, walking stunned, his hair and shoulders sprinkled with dust. A woman falling to her knees in Union Square Park, a stranger bending down to embrace her. Shopkeepers, students, businessmen, taxi cab drivers, all standing in the street, silently staring in the same direction. That sickening gray ash caking on the railing of my dormroom balcony; that plume downtown that seemed to glow brighter and more terrifying as the hours passed and the city fell into the darkest night it had ever known.

Years later, these images still strike me. Last week, I was watching Saturday Night Live, and there was a semi-amusing skit set in an office building, where the boss goes around the conference room table, asking the staff's suggestions on how to save money. As he goes rapid-fire around the table, the employees the camera shows are more and more ridiculous, including a turkey sandwich and a mounted deer head. I admit, I giggled a bit. But then, as nearly all Saturday Night Live skits do these days, it ended with a bizzarre and disturbing ending:

The building collapsed.

I sat there quiet, feeling chills throughout my body. I doubt any of the people involved in that sketch were thinking about 9/11 when they wrote it. And 9/11 certainly wasn't on my mind when the boss asked the turkey sandwich his opinion on budget restructuring. But that final shot, of the building collapsing, quickly and shockingly sent my brain back to that horrible day. I shut SNL off. I didn't feel like laughing anymore.

I was 20 blocks north of the WTC on 9/11, far enough away that there was no evacuation, no close up look at the maimed and killed. My memories of that day pale in comparision to the traumatic things first responders and those further downtown witnessed. If I can be shaken to the core by something as simple as an SNL sketch, I can't imagine the terror those closer to the events of 9/11 felt yesterday when they saw the smoke exploding from the street in front of Grand Central Station, and people covered in mud and dirt and blood, fleeing the scene.

Six years after 9/11, this is a city still very much in shock. While day to day life has returned to normal, I don't think anyone living here believes everything is still the same. All the wars Bush starts won't restore that damaged place inside ourselves, the place within us that collapsed along with the towers on that awful day. It's a fact that's incredibly frustrating and incredibly sad.

But as I walked uptown yesterday to meet my parents and sister for dinner, I was struck by the difference between how I am now and how I was on 9/11. That day my roommates and I basically just huddled around the television. I couldn't go near Ground Zero until a year after. But when I saw that smoke at Grand Central, I didn't feel the urge to run and hide. I felt this strong desire to help, to call my friends and find out if they were ok, to get closer to the scene and see what I could see. I can't quite explain it. But even if it was an attack, I didn't want to just go home and watch it on the news. I needed to be there. And looking around me, I could see a lot of people felt the same thing.

Maybe we are scarred for life. But scars are simply new skin, new tissue, that fills our wounds and strengthens them for our next painful scrape. In many ways, this is a braver city than it was before 9/11. And if it's one positive that came from that day, it's that we know what we're able to make it through. We know we can survive. Our memories, however painful, are perhaps our bodies' way of reminding us that we're, in fact, survivors. And that's a good thing to remember. We're still here.

Post-



Woke up a little before 9 am. Suitemate said a plane hit the Twin Towers. Turned on the TV. Mom called. Told me not to use this as an excuse not to go to class.

Just after nine AM. Me and my roommates see the second plane hit on tv. Mom calls back.

Don't go to class, she says.

We get dressed, go outside. The towers are smoking. Everyone on the street is staring the same direction. After a few minutes, we go into a deli, get some breakfast.

Go back into the dorm, watch the towers collapse on tv. Roommate's friend visiting from California discovers he won't be flying home for a while. We go back outside. Nothing but smoke. Everyone staring.

Around 10, the first people arrive, walking up from downtown. All covered in gray ash. Some staring straight ahead, some staring at the ground, none staring back. Everyone staring at them. A man in a suit, holding a briefcase, trying to get through on his cell phone-- his sweat making streaks in his ash covered skin. A woman collapses to her knees, a man, a stranger, rushes over and puts his arms around her.

An ambulance rushes past, coming from downtown, throwing off grey dust. People stand on the corner and applaud it. Then they look at each other awkwardly. The air smells like a blacksmith shop.

We go back inside, sit in front of the TV for hours, watching the coverage. Where the hell is the President? Giuliani says everything will be ok. Somehow, I feel a bit better. We drape an American flag bag over the side of our balcony. Finally, I go with my suitemate to the duane reade to buy some supplies for the rescue effort. The shelves are almost empty.

We walk past the barricades at 14th street, showing our NYU student IDs to the police officers. I've never heard the city so silent before. No alarms, no horns. Just people staring in silence at the thick smoke shrouding downtown.

They're having a vigil in Washington Square Park. People are holding candles. Me and my roommates decide not to go. Instead we drink a few beers and stare at the tv. My eyes hurt. It's late. I answer some IMs and return a few phone calls from people wondering if I'm alright.

A thin film of gray dust covers everything on our balcony. I try to wipe it away, but it sticks. I realize I'm breathing in remains.

I'm fine, I say. I learn my high school friend lost his sister.

I get a weird call on my cell phone which sounds like people screaming. It sounds like things collapsing. I wonder if it's someone's sick idea of a joke or if its just that the phones are somehow screwed up.

And I go to bed that night hoping it was all just a nightmare. That the next day I'll turn on my TV and there won't be any mention of anything.

But the next day it's all still there. And it still is.


[What if?]
[And what if?]
[and what if?]
[or what if?]
[and what if?]

PLUS:

"Tears don't flow the same in space."

and

Maybe it's just me, but perhaps this is not the best way to commemorate 9/11

Appeal From A Blue State

Dear Swing Voters, Republicans, Disenfranchised Democrats,

This is it. The Last day. The 11th hour. Tomorrow the polls will open and the future of the nation will lie in the balance. By now, chances are your decision has been made, and very little can convince you otherwise. But if you'll allow me a final appeal, I just have one more thing to say.

The top issue in this election, as defined by the voters, is homeland security. Who can we trust to keep us safe? Who will be the best man to have in the White House when the terrorists try and strike again? Who can help us avoid another 9/11?

Perhaps there are only two groups of people that can truly answer that question with any authority. The people from the two places hit hardest on that morning. The people of New York and Washington D.C.

On September 10th, I went to bed late. It was the first week of college, and my roommates and I still hadn't gotten the summer out of our systems. I went to bed feeling nothing but some lightheadedness. I didn’t have class until 12 that next day.

I woke up to see my roommate standing next to my bed. He had just turned on the television. I opened my eyes slowly, blinking them from the light filtering in through the window. “What’s going on?”

“A plane hit the twin towers.”

At the time, none of us really knew what had happened. The newscaster was saying it was most likely an accident. I closed my eyes, disturbed, but not unsettled. Then the phone rang. It was my mother.

“Don’t use this as an excuse not to go to class,” she said.

I hung up, and looked at the tower, looking like a chimney on the television screen. I was watching when the plane cut through the second tower.

My mom called again. “Don’t go to class,” she said.

When we left our dorm, at 14th street, the sun was bright, it was warm but with a cool breeze. We left through the glass doors, out into Union Square.

I’ll never forget it.

Everyone. Everyone in the entire square was frozen. They were all staring downtown. As we stepped off the sidewalk and into the street, we saw it come into view.

The towers were on fire.

If there ever was a vision of the end of the world, chances are it couldn’t have been anywhere close to as real as that moment. Dead silence in New York City, home to taxicab horns, headset cell phones and shouting solicitors.

Silence. Only faces. Staring at the same thing.

We went inside a couple minutes later. We couldn’t say a word to one another. What could we say. All that came out was silence, some bits of denial, a feeling that we weren’t yet awake.

We were back in the apartment and watching the TV when the towers folded in on themselves.

When we went outside again, they were gone. Nothing but the largest, thickest cloud of smoke I’d ever seen and never hope to see again.

Everybody stunned. A hundred faces in Union Square, all looking at the same thing. All incapable of any thought. It surged through your body, something collapsed inside. It caused some people to crumple where they stood, as others standing nearby when over, strangers putting their arms around strangers, not strangers anymore.

When they started to come, a few at first, gray dust obscuring their faces, we stood and stared, no sure what to do. Not sure what to say. The flow picked up and soon there was a flood, businessmen without briefcases, some of their pants tattered. Everyone dulled that same shade of gray. An ambulance passed by, screaming. Shaking off that same sick gray.

You know this. You know what you saw on TV, what you’ve read. What you’ve heard from friends and relatives. Even if you’re lucky enough to have never smelled that iron laced air, you felt the loss of innocence we all felt. How could you not? This wasn’t an attack against America. This was an attack against America’s people. This was an attack against you.

But here’s what you didn’t see. People stopping together on street corners to applaud the passing fire engines. Thousands of people in the park, holding candles, crying on the shoulders of total strangers. The scene as you walked in Union Square, fences painted with the faces of the missing, people curled up in the streets and passerby curling up next to them. College kids putting 20’s in Red Cross jars, clearing the shelves of Duane Reade to send supplies to Ground Zero.

We felt angry, sure. But even more we felt together. Our sadness became our link. We suddenly had respect for one another. New York City, for almost 300 years has been a place of fierce ethnic lines, tension between police and public, and rude cabbies, cutting off traffic. In the aftermath, you couldn’t hear a car horn. You didn’t hear a fight. You saw a cop and you thanked him. In the aftermath, we were united. We talked about rebuilding. We talked about how lucky we were to be alive, how stupid we had been to care about all the insignificant little nothings that occupied our thoughts, before. We didn’t feel strong, we felt weak. And from that weakness came the need to find solace in one another, to embrace our neighbors, to appreciate our differences.

We supported the war in Afghanistan. We talked about rebuilding the towers in Kabul. We cheered George W. Bush in Yankee stadium. We cried during God Bless America. Still do.

But then. Then Bush said we had to go to Iraq. And more than a couple of us wondered why. We had just lost nearly 3,000 of our brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, friends, cousins, neighbors. We didn’t feel arrogant. We felt sad. We wanted Bin Laden to pay. But Saddam? He was bad but, what did he do to us? We were confused.

And as the reports come now, worse and worse each day from the battlefront, we mourn the loss of our soldiers in a very different way from the loss of our heroes on 9/11. We mourn our soldiers with angry grief, because we know we could have stopped it. We know their deaths were not inevitable. We mourn with confusion, we mourn with protest. We lost our hearts on 9/11. Now we’re losing our minds.

Over 1,000 soldiers dead because of what? Because our President decided to use 9/11, and our grief, our loss as justification for a broader war? Meanwhile, our soldier’s sacrifice, and the sacrifice of the men and women who died on 9/11 is in vain. The murderer walks free, and gets free air time.

On November 2nd, New York and Washington D.C. will vote for John Kerry. The two places that got hit hardest by terrorism will be voting for a man our president calls “weak on terror.” The two places that learned the most about themselves, the most about each other, the most about terrorism and how it can change the course of a life, will have their citizens step into voting booths tomorrow and select a flip-flopper for Commander-in-Chief. The results will not be close. And this is from a state with a Republican governor, a city with a republican mayor, and a city where George Bush has lived for the past four years. On November 2nd, we will vote Bush out of office because we believe he has not made us safer. Not with the pitiful funds he’s given us. Not with this war that he’s given us. Not with the lies and policies that he’s given us, which have severed our bonds of unity and thrown them to the dogs of the religious right.

On November 2nd, New York and Washington D.C. will be blue.

We know what we’re doing.