Meditations on September 11

I am afraid. At first I think that I am afraid for my safety,
but I am in no physical danger. I am not afraid of the
terrorists, but of the response to the terrorists, and where it
will lead. I am afraid that these events will confirm people
in their fear of those who are different from them. I am
afraid that the *response* to these events will confirm
people in their fear of those who are different to them. I
am afraid that this is the next acceleration in the spiral of
violence, and that there will be too few, fewer than ever,
willing to listen to words of peace.

I accept my fear. I will not let it paralyse me.

I am angry. I am spurred to nearly incoherent rage by
commentators who do not seem to be able to tell the
difference between a country's foreign policy and its
citizens. I am equally infuriated by those who say that
'retaliation' must have no regard for 'collateral damage'.

I accept my anger. I will not let it blind me.

I grieve. I grieve for the dead, the wounded, the bereaved.
I grieve for those who will never feel safe again when they
go to their workplace. I grieve for those who are
frightened that retaliation will become indiscriminate
revenge. I grieve that I live in a world where children
can grow up in such fear and hatred that they become
adults who could do such things. I grieve that I live in a
world where children and adults can see such horror as a
cause of celebration.

I accept my grief. I will not let it choke me to silence.

I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I live in peace, and
security, and freedom, and can take things like clean
water, and a roof over my head, and choosing my
government at the ballot box, for granted. I feel guilty that
I have, and others have not. I feel guilty because I have
not taken the opportunity of these privileges to do
everything I can, in every second of every day, to fight for
a world where such things as this do not happen – even
though I know that this is an unreasonable expectation. I
feel guilty for every time I have not spoken up when I hear
hatred. I feel guilty because I live in a Western country
that has, despite its freedom and its power, done nothing to
stop the cycle of violence that breeds hatred and
hopelessness and still more violence. In fact, my country
has contributed to it.

I accept my guilt. I will not let it shame me into turning
away from what I know is right.

I feel helpless. I feel helpless because I am only one
person, and I cannot hope to change the policies of my
government. I feel helpless because I know that no matter
my good intentions, there will be many times when I will
yield to the temptation to go home after work rather than
to a public meeting or an action group or a political
gathering. I feel helpless because I know that there will be
many times when I will hear someone advocate violence
and hatred and I will not speak up because I am afraid, or
tired. I feel helpless because there is so much to do, and I
can do so little, and that little I can do seems so useless in
the face of the anger and the grief and the pain of so many
people.

I accept my sense of helplessness. I will not use it as an
excuse to do nothing.

I believe that the only way children raised to hate can
learn to love is if the world shows them love.
I believe that this latest and horrific act of terrorism is not
something new, but is the continuing consequence of the
terrorisms that we commit against each other: from the
small terrorisms of racial vilification to the huge ones of
suicide bombings and cruise missiles and ethnic cleansing.
I believe that the only way we can find a future where
such things cannot happen is by reaching out to each other
with love and with care, and with peace – and not with
fear or anger.

I have heard and read many people saying that the world
will never be the same. The world *is* the same: this is
part and parcel of the world we have made.

I say: The world *must* never be the same.

By saying it, I make myself responsible for trying to bring
it about. I am helpless; I am guilty; I am grieving; I am
afraid.

I am responsible.

I accept my responsibility


Meditations on September 11 I am afraid. At first I think that I am afraid for my safety, but I am in no physical danger. I am not afraid of the terrorists, but of the response to the terrorists, and where it will lead. I am afraid that these events will confirm people in their fear of those who are different from them. I am afraid that the response to these events will confirm people in their fear of those who are different to them. I am afraid that this is the next acceleration in the spiral of violence, and that there will be too few, fewer than ever, willing to listen to words of peace. I accept my fear. I will not let it paralyse me. I am angry. I am spurred to nearly incoherent rage by commentators who do not seem to be able to tell the difference between a country's foreign policy and its citizens. I am equally infuriated by those who say that 'retaliation' must have no regard for 'collateral damage'. I accept my anger. I will not let it blind me. I grieve. I grieve for the dead, the wounded, the bereaved. I grieve for those who will never feel safe again when they go to their workplace. I grieve for those who are frightened that retaliation will become indiscriminate revenge. I grieve that I live in a world where children can grow up in such fear and hatred that they become adults who could do such things. I grieve that I live in a world where children and adults can see such horror as a cause of celebration. I accept my grief. I will not let it choke me to silence. I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I live in peace, and security, and freedom, and can take things like clean water, and a roof over my head, and choosing my government at the ballot box, for granted. I feel guilty that I have, and others have not. I feel guilty because I have not taken the opportunity of these privileges to do everything I can, in every second of every day, to fight for a world where such things as this do not happen – even though I know that this is an unreasonable expectation. I feel guilty for every time I have not spoken up when I hear hatred. I feel guilty because I live in a Western country that has, despite its freedom and its power, done nothing to stop the cycle of violence that breeds hatred and hopelessness and still more violence. In fact, my country has contributed to it. I accept my guilt. I will not let it shame me into turning away from what I know is right. I feel helpless. I feel helpless because I am only one person, and I cannot hope to change the policies of my government. I feel helpless because I know that no matter my good intentions, there will be many times when I will yield to the temptation to go home after work rather than to a public meeting or an action group or a political gathering. I feel helpless because I know that there will be many times when I will hear someone advocate violence and hatred and I will not speak up because I am afraid, or tired. I feel helpless because there is so much to do, and I can do so little, and that little I can do seems so useless in the face of the anger and the grief and the pain of so many people. I accept my sense of helplessness. I will not use it as an excuse to do nothing. I believe that the only way children raised to hate can learn to love is if the world shows them love. I believe that this latest and horrific act of terrorism is not something new, but is the continuing consequence of the terrorisms that we commit against each other: from the small terrorisms of racial vilification to the huge ones of suicide bombings and cruise missiles and ethnic cleansing. I believe that the only way we can find a future where such things cannot happen is by reaching out to each other with love and with care, and with peace – and not with fear or anger. I have heard and read many people saying that the world will never be the same. The world is the same: this is part and parcel of the world we have made. I say: The world must never be the same. By saying it, I make myself responsible for trying to bring it about. I am helpless; I am guilty; I am grieving; I am afraid. I am responsible. I accept my responsibility